“Miranda’s a nice girl,” I said. “Who was the fellow that called you Sunday night?”
“Keith Dalling. Did he get in touch with you?”
I made a quick adjustment. “Yes, he did. I talked to him on the phone, but I haven’t see him yet.”
“Funny, he sounded in a hurry. What sort of job does he want you for, anyway?”
“He asked me to keep it confidential. I have my doubts about it. That’s why I’m here.”
“Hell, there goes my extra-sensory perception. Dalling mentioned me to you, eh?” He took a long black Havana out of a box on the desk and bit its end off. “Have a cigar.”
“Not in the morning, thanks. Yes, Dalling mentioned you. He said you told him a little story about a man called Dowser.”
“The mobster?” Unconsciously he began to eat the unlit cigar. “Dowser’s name never came up between us.”
“You didn’t give him any information about Dowser?”
“I don’t know anything about Dowser. I’ve heard he was in the dope racket but they’re saying that about them all these days. You were the only name I mentioned. What kind of a line has Keith been feeding you?”
“Grade B movie stuff,” I said. “Is he a pathological liar?”
“Not when he’s sober. You’ve got to watch him when he’s drunk, and it’s hard to tell when he is. He’s a terrible alcoholic.” Severn removed the cigar from his mouth and looked at the wet mashed end without seeing it. “I hope our Keith hasn’t got himself mixed up with a crew of thugs. I warned him about the girl he was running with.”
“Galley Tarantine?”
His eyebrows moved. “She comes into the picture, too, eh? Did Dalling tell you who her husband is? I don’t know Tarantine, but he had a bad name with the police. I told Keith he better lay off her or he’d end up with a knife stuck under his ribs. Is he in trouble with Tarantine?”
“He may be. He didn’t say very much. If you can fill me in on his background, it might help.” I tried to sound as diffident as possible. Severn looked sharp. Very sharp. The blue eyes under his heavy black brows were hard and bright as diamonds. “Are you working for Keith or against him? You’re not very communicative yourself.”
“I’m for him a hundred per cent.” Which was true. I was a sucker for underdogs, and dead men were at the bottom of the heap.
“Good enough. I’ll take Miranda’s word for your honesty. I like the boy, you see, I’ve known him since he was a kid. He used to crew for me before the war when I had my Star boat, and we won the cup at Santa Monica one year. I didn’t fire him until I was forced to; the sponsor was raising Cain.”
“He worked for you?”
“He worked on a lot of shows, he’s a good actor. Trouble was, he couldn’t lay off the liquor and they canned him one by one and finally blacklisted him. I was the last one that kept him on; he played my detective-lieutenant for over two years. It got pretty rough. He fluffed so many lines I was scissoring the tape every bloody week. One day he passed out in the middle of a show and I had to go out on the streets for an actor. I cut him off, though it broke my heart to do it. It played hell with his life, I guess. He was going to get married, and he was building himself a house. I guess he lost the house. I know he lost the girl.”
“Jane Hammond?”
“Yeah. I feel kind of sorry for Jane. She works here, you know. A lot of women have carried the torch for Keith – that’s probably what ruined him – only Jane is different. He was the one big love in her life, but she was too successful for him. When I fired him, he ran out on her. I was afraid for a while she’d go crazy, though she keeps a stiff upper lip.”
“When was this?”
“Around the first of the year. I fired him the day after Christmas.” He made a sour face, champing savagely on the cigar. “Nice timing, eh? Soon after that he started with Tarantine’s wife. I see them in night spots now and then. As a matter of fact, I slip him a few lakhs of rupees when I can.” He glanced at the dictating machine in polite impatience. “Will that do? The things I know about Keith would take all day.”
I rose and thanked him. He followed me to the door, massive and quick-moving: “I’ve let down the old back hair, Dalling’s anyway. Do you care to tell me what it’s all about?”
“He’ll have to tell you himself.”
He shrugged his shoulders, easily, as if his weight of integrity was no burden. “Okay, Archer.”
“Give my love to Miranda.”
“I never see her. She moved to Hawaii. See you around.”
I had to pass Jane Hammond’s door to get to the elevator. The door was standing open. She was still behind her desk, sitting erect and trim with a telephone receiver in her left hand. Her right hand gripped her right breast, its carmine nails digging into the soft flesh. Her eyes were dark and deep in her head. They looked straight at me and failed to recognize me.
The police had found her name in the red leather address-book.
Chapter 13
I crossed to Pico Boulevard and drove to Mrs. Lawrence’s house in Santa Monica. Tiredness was catching up with me. The glittering late-morning traffic hurt my eyes and feelings. I had a notion at the back of my mind that at worst Mrs. Lawrence could rent me a room to sleep in, out of reach of policeman’s questions for a while. At best she might have heard from her daughter.
Mrs. Lawrence had done better, and worse, than that. The bronze Packard was parked at the curb in front of her house. The sight of it acted on me like benzedrine. I took the veranda steps in one stride, and leaned my weight on the doorbell. She came to the door immediately: “Mr. Archer! I’ve been trying to get you by phone.”
“Is Galley here?”
“She was. It’s why I called you. Where have you been?”
“Too far. I’d like to come in, if I may.”
“Excuse me. I’ve been so dreadfully upset I don’t know if I’m coming or going.” She looked distraught. Her gray hair, which had been so carefully done the previous morning, was unkempt, almost as if she’d been tearing at it with her hands. A single day had drawn deeper lines in her face.
Still she was very courteous as she stood back to let me enter and led me down the hall to her hoard of old furniture. “You look quite worn out, Mr. Archer. May I make you some tea?”
I said: “No thanks. Where’s Galley?”
“I don’t know where she went. A man came to get her about ten o’clock, when I was just giving her her breakfast. I was frying the bacon, crisp, as she’s always liked it, when this man came to the door. She went away with him, without a single word of explanation.” She sat down in a platform rocker just inside the door of the room, her clenched hands resting stiffly on her knees.
“Could he have been her husband? Did you see him?”
“Her husband?” Her voice sounded weary and bewildered. She had encountered too much life in too short a time. “Surely she isn’t married.”
“She seems to be, to a man called Tarantine. Didn’t she tell you?”
“We barely had a chance to talk. She came home late last night – I don’t know how to thank you, Mr. Archer, for what you’ve done–”
“Galley mentioned me, then.”
“Oh, yes. She came straight home after you found her. It was very late, after dawn in fact, and she was too tired to want to talk very much. This morning I let her sleep in. It was so grand to have my girl back in her own bed. Now she’s gone away again.” She sat gazing at the fact, drearily blinking her eyes.
“This man,” I nudged her to attention. “Did you see the man she went with?”