The operative came back and said, “After I got there, I figured I might as well have breakfast, so you wouldn’t have to relieve me. I hope I wasn’t too long. It took a hell of a while to get what I wanted.”
I said, “It’s okay. Get in, sit down, and keep quiet for half an hour. I’ve got some thinking to do.”
We sat side by side in the car while the morning began to hum with activity.
Shortly after seven o’clock I walked around to the alley and relieved the other operative while he got breakfast. When he came back, J took time out to walk down to a service station, go in the wash room, and freshen up a bit. I walked around to the restaurant and had some ham, eggs, and coffee. Then I went back to the Key West and waited for Bertha.
Chapter Twelve
Bertha showed up in a taxi about nine-thirty. I thought she looked plenty worried. She came over and told the operative, “There’ll be a relief for you in half an hour. Give me a ring shortly before five and I’ll let you know whether you work tonight.”
He said, “Thanks.”
Bertha said, “You can go wash your hands while we’re in there. She won’t leave while we’re there.”
The operative said, “Thanks,” and added with a grin, “My hands are clean. Lam held the fort for a while early this morning.”
Bertha looked me over and said, “Donald, you look hell.”
I didn’t bother to say anything.
Bertha said, “Drive around to the alley and tell the operative who’s watching the back that I’ll have a relief for him. Tell him to call up shortly before five. You can leave the agency car out in front.”
She looked at me. “Okay, lover?” she asked.
“Okay,” I said. “What’s new?”
We started across the street towards the entrance of the apartment house. She avoided my eyes. “Come on,” I said. “Let’s have it. What’s new?”
“A telegram from the Bureau of Vital Statistics.”
“Saying what?”
“Amelia Sellar married John Wilmen in February of 1922. She was never divorced. There’s no record of the death of either Amelia or John Wilmen. Where does that leave us, Donald?”
“Right in front of the Key West Apartments,” I said, “with a tough job on our hands.”
“What are we going to say to her?”
“It’ll depend on how she reacts. You let me take the lead. Then you follow my play. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking. Today is probably the time they intend to spring their trap. There’s just time enough before election to let the news get exaggerated by word-of-mouth gossip. There isn’t time for any refutation.”
“Had breakfast?” Bertha asked.
“Yes.”
The day clerk at the desk smiled at us. I nodded and walked past him to the switchboard. Frieda Tarbing looked up with a perfectly blank face.
“Will you ring Mrs. Lintig,” I said, “and tell her that her dutiful nephew is in the lobby. Please ring very quietly because if she’s asleep I don’t want to disturb her.”
I saw a quick flicker of comprehension on Frieda Tarbing’s face. “Ring quietly?” she asked.
“Very quietly,” I said.
“I get you,” she said.
The clerk gave us the once-over then turned away. Frieda Tarbing went through motions at the switchboard and said, out of the corner of her mouth, “Do you really want me to ring?”
“No,” I said.
She raised her voice, and said, “Mrs. Lintig says for you to go right up. It’s forty-three A on the fourth floor.”
I thanked her, and Bertha Cool and I walked into the elevator. A coloured elevator boy shot us up to the fourth floor. The Key West was an apartment that had just a touch of swank. The service was quietly efficient.
We walked down to 43A, and I knocked on the door.
Almost immediately we heard motion on the other side of the door, and I said to Bertha Cool, “Today’s the day all right. She’s up and ready. Probably she’s due to drive up to Santa Carlotta and be there by afternoon. They’ll let the story break this evening.”
The door opened then. The woman I’d seen in Oakview stood on the threshold. She stared at me frowning, then suddenly recognition dawned on her face. I noticed that she wasn’t wearing spectacles.
“Good morning, Mrs. Lintig,” I exclaimed cordially. “You’ll remember me. I’m from the Blade in Oakview. A friend of yours, Sergeant Harbet, told me he thought you’d have a story ready for me.”
She frowned and said, “I didn’t know he wanted it published in Oakview. I didn’t— Do you know Sergeant Harbet?”
“Sure,” I said. “We’re old buddies.”
She said dubiously, “Well, come in.”
I said, “This is Bertha Cool, Mrs. Lintig.”
Bertha Cool flashed her diamonds, and Mrs. Lintig smiled all over her face. “So pleased to meet you, Mrs. Cool. Won’t you come in?”
We went in. I closed the door and noticed there was a spring lock that clicked into position. I said, “I don’t know the details. I understand the Santa Carlotta paper is to publish it the same time we do.”
“And who was it sent you?” she asked.
“Why, John,” I said. “John Harbet. He said you knew all about it.”
“Oh, yes,” she said. “You’ll excuse me if I’m a little cautious. Here’s the story. I think you know the first part of it, how my husband ran away and left me absolutely destitute.”
“Didn’t you get some property?” I asked.
She snapped her fingers and said, “A mere sop! I didn’t get enough money out of it to keep me for two years. It’s been twenty-one years since he ran away with that hussy. I’ve been searching for him, trying to find him. The other day I located him, and where do you think he was?”
“Santa Carlotta?” I asked.
She said, “Is that a good guess or did John tell you?”
“It’s more than a good guess,” I said.
“Well, he’s in Santa Carlotta, all right, under the name of Dr. Charles Loring Alftmont. He’s living shamelessly and openly with that Carter girl, and they have the crust to pose in the community as man and wife, but the most startling thing of all is he’s running for mayor. Can you imagine that?”
I gave a low whistle.
She said, “Now, I don’t want to be vindictive, but I certainly am not going to have this creature dropping a mantle of respectability over her scarlet shoulders, and then adding insult to injury by becoming the Mrs. Mayor of Santa Carlotta. I think my husband will withdraw from the campaign on the eve of election. If he does, you understand the story isn’t to be published.”
I said, “I understand. John told me all about that. I promised to hold it until I got a release.”
She said, “Of course, you can play up the local angle.”
I said, “That’s fine. That’ll make a nice story. Now, about this Evaline Harris who came up to Oakview, and was subsequently murdered. I understand she was doing some work for you, trying to find out about your husband.”
The woman’s face became a cold mask of suspicion. “John didn’t tell you that,” she said.
“Why, yes,” I said. “That is, not in so many words, but he dropped some remarks which led me to believe that was the case.”
She said, “What did you say your name was? I’ve forgotten.”
“Lam,” I said. “Donald Lam.”
She said, with growing suspicion in her eyes, “John never mentioned to me that he had a friend on the newspaper in Oakview.”
I laughed and said, “He didn’t know where I was until just the other day. I’ve known John for years.”
She reached a decision and said, “Well, John certainly didn’t tell you anything about that Harris girl because he didn’t know anything to tell. I never saw her in my life.”