I drove south with the radio off and allowed my mind to drift, letting individual thoughts grab a quick solo when the spirit moved them. I wasn’t worried. Graham wasn’t inviting me out to his house to fire me. Hire, yes, but if he no longer needed my services, Lundquist would have just told me over the telephone. So what did he want? Did this have something to do with Brenner’s body being found in the river? Damned odd coincidence if it didn’t, but if any foul play was suspected, that was a matter for the police, and I resolved to tell Graham so if it came up. Cops don’t care too much to have private citizens tramping through their investigations, and a good way to keep the bulls off your back is to show a little professional courtesy and not crowd them. Sure, there are guys in my line of work who like to think they’re clever, like to think they can slip right into the thick of something. What they usually get for their cleverness is a night or two as a guest of the county for obstructing justice. On those rare occasions when I’m working on something that’s still an open police matter, I make myself and my plans known to the officers in charge. Hell, nine times out of ten they’ll give me most of what they have, knowing I’ll do the same for them. Unromantic as it sounds, most crimes get solved by the co-operation of a group of experienced professionals. The myth of the private detective finding the smoking hot clue that ties it all together is right up there with the myth of the scientist working alone in his laboratory and shouting “Eureka!”
I thought back over this past week, the steps I’d taken so far and what else I could have done, or done better. I didn’t waste any worry over getting tumbled by Carlton. The sloppy move had been made and couldn’t be taken back, and the fastest way to make your next mistake is to be distracted thinking about your last one.
I’d considered either putting another tail on Carlton or trying it again myself from a much greater distance, and had rejected both options. The job was to find out as much as I could about the man, and with time in such short supply, I didn’t think it would add much to learn what he ate for his meals and what nightclubs and gambling halls he liked to frequent. I might get a peek at who all he was meeting (I thought of the gray-haired man in spectacles I’d seen at Liberty Memorial, tried to place where I might have seen him before), but I didn’t have the manpower to split a tail if someone interesting did show his face. No, I’d have better luck with Jennings planted at his hotel. Jennings may act lazy, but he keeps it on the sharp. He’d never mention Carlton’s name to any of the other employees, but as soon as one of them did, Jennings would give a half-hearted “Oh yeah?” followed by an even less enthusiastic “You don’t say,” and then remember every detail of what was told to him.
I mentally reviewed the business files in Kansas City and Chicago and the rap sheets from Chicago and New York. I’d also called a girl I knew at the county courthouse and asked her to check for any lawsuits pending against Carlton or Kansas City Builders. If a company could get endorsements and contracts in so short a time, I figured it could get sued as fast, but I hadn’t heard anything back from her and doubted I would.
I tried to figure Graham’s angle on all this. He wouldn’t really care about the criminal stuff, but he’d want to know about it. If any of it came out later, he could easily pull a sour face for the press and wash his hands of his business partner. We’d all seen him do it before. Nah, all he’d really care about was whether Carlton could hold his end up, which meant delivering on promises and paying his debts on time. I couldn’t vouch for the quality of Carlton’s work, and wasn’t sure I’d want to live in one of his buildings, but I was getting a pretty clear picture that he moved in a world where you didn’t stiff your overlords, at least not twice.
I pulled up the gentle incline and into Graham’s circular driveway just before seven. The light from my headlamps picked out maybe half a dozen cars parked in front of the house – nice ones, including a two-toned, cream-and-brown Duesenberg that was pulling away just as I pulled up. I parked about where I had the last time, shut off the engine, and stepped out onto the pavement. Light spilled out from the front entrance and I saw Felding standing under the portico, holding one door open and waiting. I hustled up the steps and over the threshold, snatching my hat off as Felding closed the door behind us.
“Mr. Graham having a party tonight?”
“No, sir. This way, please.” That was Felding for you: straight and to the point, and remarkably unhelpful. He didn’t even offer to take my hat. I followed him to the elevator. Was there some protocol that determined when we rode up versus when we walked? Was I only required to climb the staircase the first time, or did the mode of transportation reflect my current standing in the household? Could be something simpler still: the slight whine of the elevator’s motor might serve as a signal, alerting those upstairs.
I stood there in the cage as we ascended to the second floor and found myself wondering where Melinda Graham was tonight. Was she cloistered in her room or some other part of the mansion, or was she being shown a night on the town by some young swell who dropped more on dinner than I made in a week? I pictured a handsome youth with an Eastern diploma, a fraternity pin, and a good leg up in his father’s company. Where would he take her? Some elegant nightclub, I decided, with exotic food and the lights kept low over the dance floor.
I bullied my mind back into the here and now as we approached the sliding wooden doors to Graham’s office. I could hear muted, male voices coming from the other side. Felding gave his sharp rap and the voices stopped. He slid the doors open and I followed him inside. The office was lit brightly, and a line of men were disappearing between the bookcases to our left. The center bookcase was swung out on a hinge, and through the passageway I caught a glimpse of one end of a table and a few chairs. Some kind of war room for meetings, I supposed. The last man in pulled the door closed behind him and the door disappeared and became just a bookcase again.
Graham waved me over and offered me a seat while Lundquist dimmed the overhead lights, killing the glare and letting the Tiffany lamp on the desk throw its electric bouquet. Graham was in another tailored suit and bowtie, but he looked slightly more haggard than the last time I’d seen him, his eyes blinking a little more freely. He thanked me for coming. I assured him it wasn’t a problem.
“Can we offer you a drink, Mr. Caine?” Lundquist asked, taking his usual seat to my left. I noticed he and Graham were both having one, and Felding was waiting by the liquor cabinet, so I admitted a whiskey and soda would be nice. We sat in silence for half a minute until Felding came over with the drink and traded me my hat for it. It was a good trade. I decided reluctantly that I probably shouldn’t finish it – a nice display of decorum, but a shameful waste of good whiskey.
“I’m afraid we’ve suffered a loss,” Graham began after Felding left. “Brenner, the man who normally does our research and security work, the kind of thing we’ve asked you to do for us...well, we learned this afternoon that he has met with an unfortunate accident.” People don’t generally fall into the river by accident, but I figured Graham knew that. His eyes stopped blinking for a long moment and seemed to search mine.
“I heard something about it on the radio this evening,” I said slowly.
“What did you hear?” It came out a little too fast, so he amended it: “That is, what details did the news service provide?”
“Not much, really. His name, age, who he worked for.” I took another sip of my drink and added: “And the fact that his body was pulled out of the Missouri River.” Graham and Lundquist exchanged a glance.
“Have you heard anything from other sources, Mr. Caine?” Lundquist asked. “Sources in your line of work, perhaps?”
I shook my head. “Nothing. If I hadn’t had the radio on, I doubt I’d have known anything until I saw tomorrow’s newspaper.”
Graham gave Lundquist a slight nod and Lundquist gave me what few details they had. Brenner was supposed to leave for Denver on business earlier this week, but he failed to show up for work Monday and no one heard from him. They knew nothing until the police came to Graham’s downtown office today and told Lundquist the sad news. The coroner’s office had determined that Brenner’d been dead a couple of days at least, and that he hadn’t drowned. The bullet in his chest had saved him from that.
“He was murdered?” I’d assumed as much, but the bullet kind of cinched it. Rivers collect their share of suicides, even deaths by misadventure when people are drunk, stupid, or careless (often all three), but shooting yourself in the chest and tossing your dead body into the water afterward isn’t really a one-man job.
“It would appear so,” said Graham. “The police think it might have been robbery. Terrible thing.” I echoed the sentiment, still not sure why I’d been brought out here tonight. Lundquist took out his ivory cigarette holder along with his mother-of-pearl case, and Graham invited me to smoke if I wished. I’d run out and hadn’t had time to roll or buy more, so Lundquist offered me one of his. Single malt whiskey and English tobacco; these rich folks treat you right after dark.
Lundquist cleared his throat quickly.
“I’m afraid,” he said to Graham, “that I haven’t had the opportunity to receive Mr. Caine’s report this evening. All this activity...perhaps we should hear it now?” Graham seemed to think this was a good idea, so I took a breath and gave them both a brief summary of my progress to date. I rehashed the business and criminal records, made mention of my inquiry at the courthouse, and told them I’d assigned an operative of mine to keep tabs on Carlton. I didn’t tell them specifically that my operative was planted at Carlton’s hotel; something made me hold back on that. They both listened attentively and Graham gave an approving nod.
“That’s impressive work for three days on the job, Mr. Caine.”
Now what the hell? Except for the parts about my operative and calling a courthouse clerk, this was exactly what I’d given Lundquist yesterday evening when he as much as told me I’d been sitting on my thumbs. Maybe that’s just how the two of them worked: Lundquist the foreman cracked the whip while Graham played the magnanimous chieftain.
“I’m afraid I can’t make any promises for the next three days, Mr. Graham,” I said. “More information may turn up, but there’s an excellent chance this will be all we get.”
“I understand,” Graham replied, in a tone that suggested he appreciated my candor. He turned to Lundquist and the two had one of their brief, unspoken exchanges.
Lundquist turned to me and asked: “Are you available for further work, Mr. Caine?”
“I’m available,” I said carefully, “if it’s something in my line.”
“We’d like you to continue your researches into Mr. Carlton, still exercising the utmost discretion, of course. Beyond that...well, to be frank, losing Mr. Brenner, rest his soul, puts us in something of a bind just now. Mr. Graham and I wanted to talk with you about the possibility of your taking over his duties for a time.”
That funny stomach flutter was back. Fortunately, another small sip of whiskey was available to help calm it.
“I’d have to know what his duties were.” What I was really interested in was whether Brenner’s duties had played any part in him getting plugged and dumped in the drink, but I couldn’t seem to find a delicate enough way to phrase such a question.
“Oh, very much in the nature of what you’re already doing for us,” Lundquist answered. “Research, routine investigative matters, all with the regard for confidentiality and discretion you’ve been so careful to demonstrate.” Here was the velvet again. Let me drop the ball one time and see what happened. And this time I’d be deeper in with these guys. It wouldn’t be so easy for me to tell them to take a walk, not without my reputation suffering some.
“I do have obligations to other clients at present,” I said, and Graham nodded in understanding.
“I’m not talking of hiring you on as permanent staff,” he explained. “More in the nature of having you lend us a hand while we scout out Brenner’s replacement. Of course,” he mused, “if you help us out now and decide the work suits you...” He hung the rest of that thought in the air, assuring me that they would be willing to accommodate my schedule for the time being. I scraped the backs of my fingers along my chin and told them I was certainly willing to consider it.
“Perhaps you could take this evening to think it over and telephone me tomorrow?” Lundquist always seemed to have the diplomatic suggestions in these situations. I could guess how valuable he was to Graham.
“I can do that, yes. Of course, I’ll still need a few more details before I’m able to render a final decision.” The word “render” seemed to suit the moment, but then I’ve always been somewhat imitative around people.
“Of course,” Lundquist purred. Graham glanced over at the hidden bookcase door and I took the cue.
“If there’s nothing else I can do for you gentlemen tonight?” I stood and put my drink down on the desk. The other two men rose quickly and offered apologies for interrupting my evening. We shook hands and I saw that Felding was already standing by the open doors with my hat, ready to lead me out. As he slid the doors closed behind us, I could hear the men filing back into Graham’s office for what I imagined would be a long night.
I had a lot to mull over on my drive back into the city. First and foremost: what was the real reason Graham had wanted to see me tonight? It was obvious he wanted to know what I knew about Brenner’s death, which was no more than I’d told him. Neither he nor Lundquist asked any questions when I gave my report on Carlton (which I could just as easily have given to Lundquist over the telephone). They’d wanted to know if I was available for additional work – had as much as offered me the dead man’s job, in fact – but had given no real details beyond that. I was being felt out, sure, but in a pretty goddamn general way.
I didn’t believe for one minute that a high-level employee of Graham’s hadn’t shown up for work all week and that Graham had just waited around to see what had become of the man. If his people hadn’t been out beating the bushes for Brenner, it was because Graham already had a pretty good idea what must have happened to him. Had the police really come by today, or was that just what I was being told? Graham could have easily used his influence to keep the story out of the news for a day or two.
I thought for a moment about the Duesenberg I’d seen pulling out of the driveway when I arrived. Whose car was that? Someone who’d already finished his business with Graham, or someone who didn’t need Graham’s permission to leave?
To hell with it, I thought. I wasn’t being hired to look into Brenner’s murder. I had no real idea what I was being hired for exactly. Maybe I’d find out tomorrow when I went to see Lundquist. If I went to see Lundquist.
I was feeling a bit blue for some reason, maybe a little lonely. The mansion hadn’t seemed so cheerful at night. No beautiful young heiress to banter with, just talk of a murdered employee. I found myself driving over to the library and waiting outside for Phyllis to come off her evening shift. She saw me and continued walking as I put the car in first and kept pace beside her.
“Had dinner yet?” I called through the open window.
“I’m eating at home tonight,” she replied, no real tone in her voice.
“Like a ride?”
She shrugged and got into the car. I made a few half-hearted attempts at conversation, then gave up and put the radio on. When we got to her building, I offered to walk her up. Another shrug, so I parked the car and saw her to her door. I asked if she’d like me to come in and keep her company.
“I don’t care what you do.” She walked inside without a backward glance, but she left the door open behind her.
It’s true that the more time you spend around women, the less you understand of them. She was silent, almost gloomy during the simple meal of cabbage soup and bread we shared, but once we made it to the bedroom, she came alive. Clothes couldn’t come off fast enough, and the sense of vigor didn’t end with undressing each other. There was a near desperate quality to her approach that made me glad I kept myself in some semblance of shape. Not that I was complaining, you understand; it had been awhile.
Afterward, I lay there on my side spooned up against her, my arm draped over her waist and a gentle breeze cooling us through the open window. Her shoulder rose and fell in a steady rhythm. My eye traveled down the slope of her back, catching the angry red marks where I’d sunk my nails into her flesh, the same marks she’d given me. Her hair, very black in the light of the waning moon, was fanned out across the pillow. I wondered if Melinda Graham’s hair fell that same way when she slept.
“Please be gone in the morning.”
She said it without turning her head. I hadn’t even realized she was awake.
I love you, too, Phyllis, I thought.
I gave her a slight squeeze and she snuggled closer into me.
¥ ¥ ¥
Jennings showed up at my office the next morning, dressed in his usual pea coat and cap. He had one hell of a shiner on his left eye and his right wrist was wrapped tightly in a bandage.
“It’s just a sprain,” he said, then went on to explain that he no longer had his job at the Muehlebach. He’d been fired his first night for stealing from the guests.
“Tell me about it,” I suggested, finding his lazy smile less charming by the moment. Jennings had been nosing around inside Carlton’s room – against my explicit orders, I reminded him – when Carlton and his bodyguard returned early to the hotel and caught him going through a set of dresser drawers, his uniform pockets bulging out like saddlebags. I held my breath, waiting for the rest of it.
“The big goon comes up to me, grabs me, and starts trying to shake me down.”
“What did you do?”
“Just what I figured you’d ’a done,” he smiled.
“Dropped to your knees and offered him money?”
He laughed. “Heck with that. I told him to get his grubby paws off me or I’d bust him in the chops. Which I did, or tried to.” He cast a rueful smile at the bandage on his wrist.
“So then what happened?”
Jennings shrugged. “He catches my wrist, pops me one, then yanks my arm up behind my back and pushes me over to the bed. He lets my arm go and tells me to empty my pockets, quick-like, if I know what’s good for me.”
“Jennings, you dope, that thug could have killed you!”
“Ah, hell, Mr. Caine, my mother hits harder than that.” I brought back the bodyguard’s sweaty face in front of me, making a mental note to use my best Sunday manners if I ever met Jennings’ mother.
So Jennings had emptied his pockets onto the bedspread. I could see him doing this with slow, lethargic motions, not a care in the world or enough shame to feed a baby sparrow. Out came a nice brush and comb set, several fountain pens, a couple of pocket watches, and other odds and ends Jennings had stuffed into his jacket and trousers, just another light-fingered bellhop caught in the act. He’d made sure to grab some of the loot from other guests’ rooms to complete the ruse. Goddamn, the kid’s good, I thought.
“The goon holds me there while Carlton calls the night manager,” Jennings continued, “and he’s pretty nasty on the phone so the manager hustles right up. Carlton shows him the stuff on the bed, asks him what the hell kind of hotel they’re running here, hiring a buncha goddamn sneak-thieves. The manager just stares in shock, then starts cussing me out, then starts falling over backward apologizing to Carlton and kissing his rump, then cusses me out some more. The goon shoves me out into the hallway and the manager yells at me all the way down in the elevator and into the changing room while I give him his uniform back and get my clothes. That’s pretty much it,” he said, leaning back easy in his chair.
No chance I was reporting this to Lundquist. Tell him the second guy in a row got tumbled? Wouldn’t he just know he’d hired a fine bunch of amateurs!
I rubbed a hand across my face. Jennings had loused up and I needed to make sure he understood that, especially as the kid could have gotten himself hurt.
“Jennings, I’m damn disappointed in you. You didn’t follow what I told you and that’s not how things work. Not if you want to keep working for me. Hell, kid, I’m glad you’re okay. Could have come out a lot worse, I guess, but the thing is now we have to start from scratch. I wanted you there long enough to find out something useful.”
His lazy smile crept back and Jennings told me, oh yeah, almost forgot, he’d had a peek at Carlton’s personal calendar for the week. He’d committed it to memory so nobody would find a copy on him. After leaving the hotel, he’d walked to an all-night diner and written the whole thing down over a plate of corned-beef hash. He grinned big-time as he dug into his coat pocket and handed over a folded sheet of yellow paper.
Okay, so maybe instead of bringing him on full-time, I’d just make him a partner, and hope he didn’t take my office out from under me. I gave him another chewing out, for all the good it was likely to do, along with his fee and a bonus of fifty dollars (hell, it was Carlton’s fifty dollars anyway).
Jennings left and I smoothed the yellow sheet against the desk, flattening it. All of Carlton’s appointments for the week – at least the ones he’d recorded in his personal calendar. I looked it over carefully, but one thing had already caught my eye when Jennings first handed it to me: the same entry appeared at the same time for every day this week. It was the only repeating entry, and it read simply:
“Meet with Lundquist – Lobby”