“Good for her? Why not?”
“Forget it, Miss Quick. I think it’s time for you to go now.”
The words I loved to hear. The words I’d heard too often. I stood up.
Widmark didn’t say anything. Just sat there looking down at the blanket that covered his missing legs. I started to leave and then I remembered my stolen wallet.
“Mr. Widmark. I have one more question.”
He looked up at me. “Yes?”
“Could ya lend me a nickel?”
“What?”
“My wallet was stolen on the subway up here and I don’t have any money. I’m very embarrassed to ask ya for it, but I don’t have any choice. I hope you’ll understand.”
“Who stole your wallet?”
“I don’t know.” I wasn’t about to tell him that it was an old lady.
A grin grew on his kisser and then he broke out guffawing until I thought he was gonna hurt himself.
I waited.
“I’m sorry. It’s just that . . . you’re . . . well, you’re not much of a detective, are you?”
What could I say to that?
“Can I have the nickel?”
“Sure. Take it from that jar over there.”
He pointed to a small purple vase with a large opening. I dipped in and came up with some change, went through it, picked out the nickel, and threw the rest back.
“Thanks,” I said.
“Think nothing of it.” With that he started laughing all over again.
I was gonna thank him for seeing me but there was no way I could break through the laughing and I didn’t feel like hanging around till he stopped. I went out the door and rang for the elevator.
I could still hear him while I waited. It was nice to know I could lay em in the aisles.
The elevator came and I got on. “I was wonderin somethin,” I said.
“Yeah? You’re not the first.”
“Meanin?”
“What’s a nice girl like me doin runnin an elevator?”
“That’s not what I was gonna ask. A war’s on and there’s a man shortage. Everybody knows that.”
“Come to think of it, it’s only old geezers who ask me.” She gave me a knowing smile. “Whaddaya wanna know?”
“That girl who used to visit Mr. Widmark? The one you mentioned? You ever get her name?”
“Yeah. It was Lucille Turner.”
FIVE
W
hen I came through my office door, Birdie was holding up a bunch of pink message notes in one hand and, in the other, my wallet.
“Where’d ya get that?”
“A little boy delivered it.”
“A little boy?”
“That’s what I said.”
I took it from her and opened it toot sweet. No filthy lucre. But everything else was there. I had nice pictures of Johnny and me from one of those machines that were four for two bits. He had the other two. And there was one of Woody in his uniform and some of me with my girlfriends, making faces and acting nutty. And my library card was there, which made me breathe easier. I kept my PI license in a separate folder so I hadn’t worked myself into a lather about that.
“How’d ya lose it, Faye?”
To tell or not to tell. “I met up with a pickpocket.”
“Yer kiddin.”
“Nope.”
“Where?”
“I don’t have time to go into all the details, but suffice it to say my wallet got liberated on the subway.”
“He musta been some smooth operator to get it outta yer bag.”
Not in a million years was I gonna identify the thief who boosted my property. “
Smooth
is the right word. I never felt a thing.”
“How’d ya get back here?”
“I had to tap the guy I was interviewin.”
“I bet that put a crimp in your tail.”
“It wasn’t fun. This boy just knocked on the door and gave ya the wallet?”
“He didn’t knock and he didn’t give. He banged and threw. I’m happy to say it didn’t hit me.”
“Did ya get a look at him?”
“Ya don’t care that it didn’t hit me?”
“Bird, what’s to care? If it’d hit ya, I’d care.”
“It’s gettin dangerous to work around here.”
“Meanin what?”
“Nothin. I’m just sayin.”
“Anything more on the Rhode Island Ladds?”
“I got a few more places to try, but nothin yet.”
“What’s takin so long?”
“
You
wanna try?”
“Hold yer water. Any important messages?”
“Some new people, some old, and . . . oh, yeah, somebody named Johnny Lake.”
“Hilarious.”
I took the memos from her, went into my office, turned on the fan, and stood in front of it.
All the way back from Eighty-sixth, I’d been thinking about this Lucille Turner. Could the elevator dame have made a mistake with the name? I didn’t think so. I don’t believe in coincidences. Lucille hadda be related to Claire.
Having the name I coulda gone back to Widmark’s apartment and asked him who she was, but I wanted to talk to Claire first.
If Lucille was connected to Claire, why hadn’t she mentioned her? And why was Lucille visiting Widmark?
I flipped through the memos real quick to get to Johnny’s cause he wasn’t always at the same number. The one on the message was his precinct. I dialed him there but he wasn’t at his desk. So I buzzed him at Joe’s Chili Parlor. Joe got him to the phone.
“Hi, Faye. What’s up?”
I knew he couldn’t be lovey-dovey in front of his cronies. Still. “
You
called
me,
Johnny.”
He laughed and my heart did a tango. “We still going to the movies tonight?”
“Yeah, why not?”
“I wasn’t sure since you found another body. You’re really something, Faye.”
“I guess I’m just lucky.” I didn’t bother asking him how he knew. The New York City Police Department was like a small town. “We’re gonna see
This Is the Army,
right?”
“Right. I hear it’s real good.”
“Swell.”
“I’ll pick you up at seven. We can have a bite to eat, then hit a nine o’clock show.”
“Sounds good.”
“Okay. See you at seven.”
“Bye, Johnny.”
“Faye?”
“Yeah?”
“Watch your step, okay?”
“Would ya say that to a man?”
“No, but I wouldn’t be having this conversation with a man.”
“Very funny. See ya later.” I could hear him chuckling as we hung up.
We’d been dating for about four months. We met on another murder case of mine. That second body I’d found was in his precinct. One thing led to another and before I knew it we were dating. Neither of us had said the three little words yet, but I had the feelings and I thought he did, too.
I’d been lucky to find Johnny. If you were a cop, you got a permanent deferment cause we needed the police on the home front. I’d been going solo for a while when I met him, but that wasn’t why I picked him. He was everything I wanted in a guy. We even had our work in common. That, I had to admit, could get in the way sometimes. We’d had to break a lotta dates. But when we were together, we got along great.
I dialed Detective Powell’s precinct. I wasn’t sure he’d give me any info, but I had to try.
“Detective Powell,” he said.
I told him who I was and then asked, “You identify the John Doe yet?”
“Why would I tell you?”
“I thought if ya hadn’t, I might put ya on to somebody who could.” I was thinking of Claire.
“You on the level?”
“I am.”
“Cause if yer not I can make life pretty uncomfortable for ya.”
“Meanin?”
“No help from the department, no way, never.”
“I’m on the level. So did ya ID him?”
“So happens we didn’t. None a those boneheads at the hotel knew nothin. Listen to them you’d think
nobody
ever checked in Private Ladd.”
“Ya couldn’t find his buddy?”
“Nobody knew about him neither.”
“Gimme a little time and I’ll call ya back with the name of somebody who at least can tell ya whether John Doe is Charlie Ladd or not.”
“Why can’t ya tell me now? Thought ya were on the level.”
“I am. I just gotta make a phone call.”
“You said . . .”
“Call ya back.”
Next I dialed Claire at work. I got a lotta malarkey about who was I and why was I calling. And the clock kept ticking. Not that I was itching to tell Claire about the body in Ladd’s room, but I hadda do it, and find out about Lucille Turner. Finally I heard Claire’s voice on the other end.
“It’s Faye Quick,” I said.
“Have you found Charlie?”
The first time I called a client, they were sure I’d solved their case. Fat chance.
“No. I need to clear up a few things.”
“I can’t stay on that long.”
I heard her light a cig and it made me want to light my own, which I did. “Do you know anyone named Lucille Turner?”
Silence. I had my answer.
“Did ya hear me, Miss Turner?”
“Yeah, I heard.”
“So who is she?”
“My sister.”
“You never said ya had a sister.”
“I didn’t think it was important and you never asked.”
Claire Turner could be a royal pain in the keister. “The more ya tell me the more I can help. May as well get your money’s worth.”
“That’s the last thing on my mind. Why do you want to know about Lucille?”
“Her name came up. Can ya give me her phone number?”
“Why would you want to speak to her?”
“Have ya been listenin to me, Claire?”
“But what could Lucille have to do with Charlie?”
“One last time. Follow my ground rules, no exceptions, or I’m through. You wanna find yer soldier boy or ya wanna give me the runaround?”
“Lucille and me . . . we’re estranged, like they say.”
“Why’s that?”
“Lucille’s got nothin to do with this, and I’m not goin into family problems.”
“You just don’t get it, do ya? I’ll put yer refund in the mail.”
“No, wait. Please don’t give up on me. All I want is to find Charlie.”
“This is tough enough without you gettin in my way.”
“You’re the boss. Whatever you say goes.”
I wondered how long this little honeymoon of ours would last. She was sincere enough now cause she was scared. All my instincts told me I should drop this, but I’m a stubborn girl.
“Okay. Tell me this, did Lucille know Van Widmark?”
“I think they met once.”
“Before ya were estranged.”
“Yeah.”
“Do ya think she mighta seen him on her own?”
“Van? You mean, dated him?” She sounded miffed.
“Seen him.”
“I doubt it.”
“Why?”
“Have you met Van?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, then.”
“You mean cause he’s in a wheelchair?”
“Yeah, I do.”
“That wouldn’t stop somebody from visitin him, would it?”
“Did Van tell you he’d seen her?”
“I haven’t checked it out with him yet.”
“Well, maybe you should.”
This broad couldn’t keep her yap shut. “Lucille’s number.”
“It’s in my address book in my pocketbook, which is in my locker. I’ll have to give it to you later.”
They probably weren’t too chummy if she had to look up her sister’s number.
“What else did you want to clear up?” She could hardly wait to be cooperative.
“I went to Charlie’s hotel room. Look, there’s no good way to tell ya this. I found a dead man there.”
She drew in her breath. “Was it Charlie?”
“We don’t know.” I told her what’d happened.
“So it could be anyone?”
“It could, sure.” She didn’t want to think it was Charlie and I didn’t blame her. But more than likely it
was
Charlie and somewhere she knew that.
“Miss Turner, you’re the only link we have to Charlie right now. We need this John Doe identified.”
“I . . . I don’t know. I’ve never seen a dead body. And if it’s Charlie, I might go mad.”
I didn’t know why so many broads were so dramatic. I wondered if they got it from radio soap operas.
“They’ll just pull back the sheet and show ya his face.”
“But he’ll still be dead.”
I couldn’t argue with that. “It would help a lot if you’d do it, Miss Turner.”
“All right. Will you go with me?”
She was my client. What could I say? “Sure. Let me call and set up an appointment.”
“Do you think it’ll be today? I’ll have to ask for time off.”
“Call ya back soon as I know.”
“No. I can’t keep comin to the phone here. So when you call back, leave a message about the time and tell me now where to meet you.”
“Across the street from Bellevue Hospital where the morgue is. There’s a coffee shop there.”
When we hung up, I dialed the morgue. It gave me the heebie-jeebies that I knew the number by heart. I asked for Glenn Madison. When he came on the line, we set up an appointment for later that day. I called Claire Turner’s number and left a message to meet me at three-thirty.
Then I gave Powell a jingle and told him the arrangements.
“Ya made a morgue appointment without me?”
He sounded like a two-year-old. I said I’d see him later.
Next I tried Van Widmark’s number to ask if Lucille Turner was his lady visitor, but there was no answer. I thought that was kinda strange, but maybe he had somebody who took him out now and then. Or maybe he didn’t feel like answering the phone.
I bellowed for Birdie.
She came into my office. “Ya gotta get one a those thingamajigs. Ya want me to go shoppin for one?”
“No.” I held out the pink message papers. “I want ya to call all these people back and tell em I’m goin outta town for a week. And if they want their money back we’ll give it to em.”
“We will?”
“Sure. Why should they have to wait?”
“Why will they?”
“I have a feelin this Turner case is gonna take up all my time.”
“Anything ya say.” She took the papers from me. “Your command is my word.”
Claire Turner was waiting for me in the coffee shop when I got there. I wasn’t crazy about that cause I always liked to be at a meeting first. She was sitting in a cherry-red leather booth at a Formica table, a Coke in front of her, the straw bent and unused, and a cigarette in the ashtray, the smoke rising in front of her kisser. I could see she was worried.
“You nervous?” I asked, sitting opposite her.
“Yeah.” She took a tiny sip of her drink. “I just don’t know what I’ll do if it’s Charlie.”
“Let’s cross that bridge later, okay?”
“I’ve been thinking.”
Always a mistake.
“If it isn’t Charlie, where is he? And if it isn’t Charlie, why was a dead man in his closet?”
“Good questions.”
“No answers?”
“Not yet. Another one of those bridges. Can I have yer sister’s number and address now?”
“You mean you’re gonna go see her?”
“I might hafta.”
“Why?”
“Ya gotta let me do my job.”
“Oh, all right.”
I wrote down what she told me in my notepad. I didn’t like it at all. Lucille Turner lived in New Jersey. Not that far away from my folks, in Newark. Plus, to get there I’d hafta get a car somehow. I’d worry about that later.
“Can we go soon?”
“Sure. Right now.”
Her check was on the table. She put down some money and we left. Impossible, but outside felt hotter and stickier than when I’d gone into the coffee shop. At the corner of Twenty-seventh and First we waited for the light to change, then crossed.
The thing about Bellevue was it had a creepy rep. Everybody knew the squirrelly types landed there. They probably knew about the morgue. And even though the place was also a regular hospital, its look added to the sense of spookiness.
The redbrick building had big wrought-iron gates in front and bars on some of the windows. It loomed large, like a medieval dungeon.
The gates were open and we walked through to the main entrance and directly to the elevators. I knew how to get to the morgue.
“I don’t think I can do this, Miss Quick.”
I gently put my hand on her arm. “Sure ya can.”
“I wish Charlie was here.”
Maybe he was, I thought. Had she forgotten?
“Claire . . . can I call ya Claire?”
“Sure.”
“Claire, I know this is tough for ya, but I think yer made of strong stuff. I know ya can do this. And I’ll be right by your side.”
The elevator opened. The operator was one of those older guys and had a face like a turnip. We got on.
“Morgue, please.”
He looked at me suspiciously. “You sure, girly?”