“I think you can see that he’s not here,” Duff said.
“I can see he’s not in
this
room. Let’s look in the bathroom.” Though I knew we had to look in there, I wasn’t thrilled about it, remembering the last time I’d done that.
We made our way around the bed and Duff switched on the light. The bathroom was empty. Back in the bedroom I saw a canvas duffel bag on the floor. It was open but all I could see was a khaki shirt, the piece of clothing on top.
“I’ll hafta go through this,” I said.
He removed his pince-nez, closed his eyes, and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I
really
can’t let you do that, Miss Quick.”
I decided not to push the point right then.
“May we abandon this search now?”
“No,” I said. “I need to check drawers, closets, anyplace that could give a clue to where he might be.”
“Well, hurry up. Clearly this room hasn’t been seen to for days.”
I looked in the drawer of the night table and found only the Gideon Bible. In the small desk drawer was Commodore stationery. I went to the wardrobe to open its doors.
“Why is this locked?”
“How would I know? However, it’s obviously locked for a reason.”
“Exactly. Can ya open it?”
“Miss Quick, I must insist that we leave here.”
“Mr. Duff, we’re not leavin till I open this wardrobe.”
“What do you think you’ll find in there?”
“I don’t know, but I gotta look.”
“Oh, all right. Here.” He reached in front of me, put a key in the lock, and with a flourish opened the double doors.
That’s when the naked man fell out.
THREE
D
uff gave a yelp like a bleating goat and jumped backward.
“Who’s that?” he asked.
“Goin out on a limb, I’d say Charlie Ladd.” The body had no dog tags, though, so I couldn’t ID him. He mighta been anybody. But since this was his room, you didn’t have to be Einstein to figure that one out.
“What was he doing in there?”
“My best guess is that someone bumped him off, then stuffed him in the wardrobe.”
“Why is he . . . naked?”
You woulda thought it was Mae West in her birthday suit the way Duff was acting.
“I don’t know why he’s naked. But I bet we’ll find out. I think we’d better call the cops.”
“Can’t you handle this?”
Was he crazy? “Mr. Duff, I’m a PI—not a cop. When ya got a corpse, ya call the cops.”
I could see that the guy on the floor was young and in good shape. His hair was brown, which tallied with the description of Charlie that Claire gave me, but since he’d landed front-down I couldn’t see his face. I pulled the spread off the bed and covered the body. Then I went over to the phone on the desk.
“No. Wait, Miss Quick.”
“Yeah?”
“I have to think.”
Seemed chances of that were slim. “There’s nothin to think about. We have no choice. The police gotta be called.”
“Can they be discreet? I don’t want to alarm the other patrons.”
“They’ll send a couple a uniformed cops and some plainclothes guys. I don’t know how discreet they’ll be.”
“This is terrible for me.”
I wanted to point out that it was more terrible for the guy on the rug, but I didn’t think he’d get my meaning. I picked up the phone and asked the operator to call the local precinct. Once I got connected I gave the cop on the other end the info.
“I think we’d better go downstairs and wait for them,” he said.
“Somebody has to stay with the body.” I was pretty sure Duff wouldn’t want that job.
“Oh. Yes. I see. Will you do that?”
“Glad to help out, Mr. Duff.” I had to stifle a chuckle.
“All right. I’ll go downstairs. Do you think they’ll come in the front door?”
“I’m sure they will.”
“Of all the days for Detective Arden to be sick.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll stand guard.”
“Yes, yes. I’d better go to the lobby. Maybe I can keep the police quiet, at least.”
Fat chance. I watched as he headed to the door and left. I could give the place a real look-see before the cops got there.
I poked my head into the open wardrobe. There was a khaki shirt, pants, and a dark brown jacket. I patted em down, but all the pockets were empty. I assumed these were Ladd’s clothes. I couldn’t give a real toss to the duffel bag cause the cops would know. So I took it slow and peeled back the clothes going as far down as I could. I swept my hand around inside, but there was nothing else.
I already knew there was nothing in the drawers. I felt kinda dumb doing it, but I got down on the rug and peered under the bed. Dumb or not, there were things under there— and I don’t mean dust balls. I was pretty sure it was clothing and I was about to pull stuff out when I heard the thundering hooves of cops in the hall.
I got up in time to look innocent. Just as I’d thought, there were two plainclothes and two uniforms. One of the plainclothes told a uniform to stand guard in the hall. Duff was off to one side, wringing his hands and holding his handkerchief up to his nose.
The new arrivals were gagging and hurrying to pull out their own handkerchiefs. I had no idea why it didn’t bother me that much, but I didn’t wanna make the boys feel like sissies, so I took my sneezer outta my pocketbook and put it up to my nose. We all looked like idiots.
“You’re the PI,” a plainclothes said.
“Right. And who are you?”
“Detective Powell. This the body?”
What other lump would be under a bedspread on the floor? I nodded.
He pulled back the spread and saw that the body was naked. “This the way ya found him?”
Everybody was trying to break the IQ record. Did he think I’d undressed the guy? “Naked as a jaybird.”
“You know who he is?”
“No.” I told him why I was there and what had happened.
“So this could be Private Ladd then?”
“Could be.” It occurred to me then that this could be Ladd’s buddy, David. Why he’d be naked and dead in Ladd’s room was another story.
“Don’t nobody touch nothin. Ya touch anything in here?” he asked.
“Yeah, I did.” I explained about the drawers, the wardrobe, the phone.
“You should know better.”
I wanted to belt him. “I did all this, except for callin you guys, before I found the body.”
“Even so.”
“Even so?”
“Yeah.”
“Listen, Detective, I came here lookin for Ladd, a missin person. I did what I needed to do.”
The other plainclothes said, “We’re wastin time with this broad. We’ll get her prints so we can rule em out.”
Powell nodded. “Where’s the coroner?”
“I’m right here,” a familiar voice said as he came through the door. It was Glenn Madison, assistant to the coroner. “Hey, Quick, what’re you doing here?”
“Too long to explain.”
“Don’t tell me you found a body again?”
“Whaddaya mean,
again
?” Powell asked.
Madison realized he’d put his foot in his mouth and looked at me like he was begging for mercy.
I had to answer. “Another case.”
“And you found the body?”
“Yeah.” I didn’t wanna tell him it’d been two bodies.
Powell looked at me like I was Bonnie Parker. Then he said, “Do your stuff, Madison.”
Glenn pulled the spread farther down and started to examine him.
“You see how he was knocked off?” Powell asked me.
“I didn’t look.” And I wondered why I hadn’t. Maybe it was Duff’s bleating got me off course.
Glenn said, “I think I know, but let me turn him over first.”
“You’d better turn your back, miss,” Powell said.
“Why?”
“Dincha hear? He’s turnin him over.”
“So what?”
“Don’tcha have no sense a decency?”
“Oh. Yeah.” I thought the whole thing was stupid, but I’d already gotten off on the wrong foot with Powell, so I turned my back.
Glenn said, “He was strangled. See the thumbprints on his neck?”
“Can I turn around now?” Nobody answered.
“How long?” Powell said.
“He’s been in and out of rigor, and the way he smells it could be as much as forty-eight.”
“Can I turn around now?”
“Cover the body,” Powell said. “Yeah, ya can turn around. But don’t get in the way. You,” he added.
“Me?” Duff was pointing to himself like he had no idea who he was.
“Can you identify this man?”
“Me?”
“Who d’ya think I’m talkin to?” Powell’s face was taking on a reddish hue.
“I’d rather not.”
“I don’t care what you’d
rather.
Come over here and look at this guy’s mug.”
“I’ve never seen a dead person.”
“Well, now’s your chance,” Powell said.
“Do I have to?” It looked like he might bust out crying.
“Look, mister—whatever your name is—ya gotta dead body in your hotel and we don’t know who it is.”
“Duff.”
“What?”
“Wallace Duff. That’s my name.”
“I don’t care what your name is. Get over here and look at this stiff.”
“Why?”
“I wanna see if ya can identify him.”
“I’m the manager. I don’t check in guests.”
“Who does?”
“Clerks at the reservation desk.”
“First take a look-see yourself, then get those clerks up here pronto.”
Duff took baby steps across the room like it might be easier to look if he got there later rather than sooner.
“C’mon. Get a move on,” Powell said.
Duff stood above the body, his back to me. Powell was at the corpse’s feet.
“Hey,” Powell said, “open your eyes, Duff.”
I guess he did cause a few secs later he shook his head, then quickly turned and scrambled to the doorway.
“I’ll send the clerks up one by one,” he said from there and beat it.
Powell turned to the other detective. “Stevens. Empty out that duffel.”
Stevens pulled it open and dumped everything on the rug. There were clothes, but no personal items. No wallet. No ID.
Powell tapped a uniform. “Take this lady down to the precinct and get her fingerprinted.”
“Yes, sir.”
I didn’t know if I should tell them about the clothes under the bed. I knew they’d find the stuff themselves, but there might be an ID there and I’d know now who he was.
“Let’s go,” the cop said to me.
“Wait a sec.”
“Yeah?”
“There’s somethin under the bed.”
“Another body?” Powell asked with a wicked smile.
I didn’t take the bait. “Clothes.”
“Look under the bed,” Powell said to the uniform.
He got down on his knees, took off his cap, and shoved his head underneath. When he came up for air he said, “Yup. Clothes.”
“Well, pull em out, you numbskull.” Then to me, “Why’d you wait so long to tell us?”
I didn’t like this Powell. I played it dumb. “I forgot.”
“Forgot?”
“Yeah.”
“Dippy dame.”
Just what I wanted him to think. Sometimes I got more info that way.
The cop started dragging out one item after another. Pants, shirt, undershirt, underpants, shoes.
“These might belong to the victim,” Powell said.
Or David, I thought. But let em find out about him themselves.
“There’s nothin here to ID them,” the uniform said.
Powell gave a big loud sigh. “Nothin’s easy. Take this broad outta here.”
“Now, listen, Powell . . . there’s no reason I hafta go to the station.”
“You gotta be fingerprinted and you gotta make a statement. What’s wrong wit you? You don’t know about procedure? What kinda shamus are you?”
I wasn’t about to tell him I was the beginner kind.
At the precinct Detective Bendix gave me a pad and pencil and told me to write my statement. After that they took my prints and I was free to go. But Powell came back as I was making tracks outta there.
“Don’t leave town or nothin,” he said.
“Ah, too bad. I was plannin to go to Iceland.”
“Don’t crack wise wit me or I’ll lock you up as a material witness,” he said.
This I knew he couldn’t do. I got the feeling Detective Powell didn’t like me as much as I didn’t like him. I left.
Stepping outside, I felt like a lobster being dropped in a pot of boiling water. It was still a sizzler. I walked west, back toward my office. I needed to talk to Marty Mitchum, my personal friend on the force.
My
most
personal friend, Detective John Lake, was my boyfriend, but I didn’t like using him on my cases. He told me I could but I didn’t wanna mix business with pleasure. I was seeing Johnny that night and I’d tell him about this cause we’d agreed we had to be able to yak about our work. But I wouldn’t ask for his help even though I knew he’d offer.
Back at the office after I hung my limp hat on the rack I saw that Birdie was eating a sandwich at her desk, which made me realize I hadn’t had anything since breakfast.
“What kind?” I asked.
“Pastrami on rye. Ya want half, Faye?”
“Nah.”
“Ya want I should order ya somethin?”
“Okay. Same as you, Bird.”
“Comin up.”
“How ya doin with the Rhode Island kettle of fish?”
“So far I tried all the so-called big cities and there weren’t any Ladds.”
“Ya got more places to call?”
“Yeah.”
“Keep on it.”
“What happened at the Commodore? Ya find Private Ladd?”
“I mighta.”
“Huh?”
I told her the story.
“So ya don’t know who the lucky stiff is?”
“Not yet. I gotta track down Ladd’s buddy who came on leave with him. Trouble is I only know his first name. Did ya get a number for George Cummings yet?”
“I called the college, like ya said. It’s in Lancaster, Pennsylvania, in case ya ever wanna know. It took a little doin but I finally got a dame to tell me where Cummings is from.”
“How’d ya do that?”
“I got my ways.” She gave me a wink.
An annoying thing about Birdie was she wouldn’t tell her sources. As her boss I coulda pressed her, but so far I hadn’t really needed to know.
“So where’s he from?”
“Right here in good old New York City.”
“Did yer
source
tell ya if he came back here after graduation?”
“She didn’t know, but she said he wanted to be a stockbroker so he probably did.”
“That makes sense. So have ya found him?”
“I’m gonna start on that after lunch.”
I didn’t wanna tell her to look in the phone book cause that’d be insulting and since I didn’t need his number right away, I could wait until she finished her pastrami.
“Gotta make some calls,” I said.
“Right.”
I went into my office, put my pocketbook on the floor next to my chair, opened the drawer, took out my in-house Camels, lit one, and picked up the phone.
I tried Marty at his precinct but he wasn’t there so I dialed Smitty’s, his favorite gin mill. The day guy, Lupino, answered and I asked for Marty. I had to go through a rigmarole with some of the bartenders cause they protected Marty from Bridgett, his wife. But the main guys, Lupino and Coburn, knew me now.
“Hey, Faye,” Marty said.
“I need yer help.”
“Shoot.”
I told him the story. He said soon as there was an ID on the John Doe, he’d give me a jingle. Or if I was out burning shoe leather, ring him.
Next I dialed Van Widmark’s number. A man picked up on the first ring.
“Mr. Widmark?”
“Who’s calling?”
“Ya don’t know me. My name’s Faye Quick. I got yer name and number from Claire Turner.”
Silence.
“You there?”
“What is it you want?”
“I’d like to come over and talk to ya.”
“Why? Who are you?”
“Sorry. I shoulda said right off. I’m a private investigator and I’m on a case.”