The Mike Hammer Collection, Volume 3 Read online

  “What about the other two?”

  “One was a Caddy. I seen it around a few times. Remember it because it had one side dented in. The other was that Grange dame’s two-door sedan. Guess she was out wolfing.” He laughed at that.

  “Grange?”

  “Yeah, the old bag that works out at York’s place. She’s a stiff one.”

  “Thanks for the info, kid.” I slipped him a buck and he grinned. “By the way, did you pass that on to the cops too?”

  “Not me. I wouldn’t give them the right time.”

  “Why?”

  “Lousy bunch of bastards.” He explained it in a nutshell without going into detail.

  I hopped in and started up, but before I drove off I stuck my head out the window. “Where’s this Grange babe live?”

  “At the Glenwood Apartments. You can’t miss it. It’s the only apartment house in this burg.”

  Well, it wouldn’t hurt to drop up and see her anyway. Maybe she had been on her way home from work. I gunned the engine and got back on the main drag, driving slowly past the shaded fronts of the stores. Just outside the business section a large green canopy extended from the curb to the marquee of a modern three-story building. Across the side in small, neat letters was GLENWOOD APARTMENTS. I crawled in behind a black Ford sedan and hopped out.

  Grange, Myra, was the second name down. I pushed the bell and waited for the buzzer to unlatch the door. When it didn’t come I pushed it again. This time there was a series of clicks and I shoved the door open. One flight of stairs put me in front of her apartment. Before I could ring, the metal peephole was pulled back and a pair of dark eyes threw insults at me.

  “Miss Grange?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’d like to speak to you if you can spare a few moments.”

  “Very well, go ahead.” Her voice sounded as if it came out of a tree trunk. This made the third person I didn’t like in Sidon.

  “I work for York,” I explained patiently. “I’d like to speak to you about the boy.”

  “There’s nothing I care to discuss.”

  Why is it that some dames can work me up into a lather so fast with so little is beyond me, but this one did. I quit playing around. I pulled out the .45 and let her get a good look at it. “You open that door or I’ll shoot the lock off,” I said.

  She opened it. The insults in her eyes turned to terror until I put the rod back under cover. Then I looked at her. If she was an old bag I was Queen of the May. Almost as tall as I was, nice brown hair cut short enough to be nearly mannish and a figure that seemed to be well molded, except that I couldn’t tell too well because she was wearing slacks and a house jacket. Maybe she was thirty, maybe forty. Her face had a built-in lack of expression like an old painting. Wearing no makeup didn’t help it any, but it didn’t hurt, either.

  I tossed my hat on a side table and went inside without being invited. Myra Grange followed me closely, letting her wooden-soled sandals drag along the carpet. It was a nice dump, but small. There was something to it that didn’t sit right, as though the choice of furniture didn’t fit her personality. Hell, maybe she just sublet.

  The living room was ultramodern. The chairs and the couch were surrealist dreams of squares and angles. Even the coffee table was balanced precariously on little pyramids that served as legs. Two framed wood nymphs seemed cold in their nudity against the background of the chilled blue walls. I wouldn’t live in a room like this for anything.

  Myra held her position in the middle of the floor, legs spread, hands shoved in her side pockets. I picked a leather-covered ottoman and sat down.

  She watched every move I made with eyes that scarcely concealed her rage. “Now that you’ve forced your way in here,” she said between tight lips, “perhaps you’ll explain why, or do I call the police?”

  “I don’t think the police would bother me much, kiddo.” I pulled my badge from my pocket and let her see it. “I’m a private dick myself.”

  “Go on.” She was a cool tomato.

  “My name is Hammer. Mike Hammer. York wants me to find the kid. What do you think happened?”

  “I believe he was kidnapped, Mr. Hammer. Surely that is evident.”

  “Nothing’s evident. You were seen on the road fairly late the night the boy disappeared. Why?”

  Instead of answering me she said, “I didn’t think the time of his disappearance was established.”

  “As far as I’m concerned it is. It happened that night. Where were you?”

  She began to raise herself up and down on her toes like a British major. “I was right here. If anyone said he saw me that night he was mistaken.”

  “I don’t think he was.” I watched her intently. “He’s got sharp eyes.”

  “He was mistaken,” she repeated.

  “All right, we’ll let it drop there. What time did you leave York’s house?”

  “Six o’clock, as usual. I came straight home.” She began to kick at the rug impatiently, then pulled a cigarette from a pocket and stuck it in her mouth. Damn it, every time she moved she did something that was familiar to me but I couldn’t place it. When she lit the cigarette she sat down on the couch and watched me some more.

  “Let’s quit the cat and mouse, Miss Grange. York said you were like a mother to the kid and I should suppose you’d like to see him safe. I’m only trying to do what I can to locate him.”

  “Then don’t classify me as a suspect, Mr. Hammer.”

  “It’s strictly temporary. You’re a suspect until you alibi yourself satisfactorily then I won’t have to waste my time and yours fooling around.”

  “Am I alibied?”

  “Sure,” I lied. “Now can you answer some questions civilly?”

  “Ask them.”

  “Number one. Suspicious characters loitering about the house anytime preceding the disappearance.”

  She thought a moment, furrowing her eyebrows. “None that I can recall. Then again, I am inside all day working in the lab. I wouldn’t see anyone.”

  “York’s enemies. Do you know them?”

  “Rudolph . . . Mr. York has no enemies I know of. Certain persons working in the same field have expressed what you might call professional jealousy, but that is all.”

  “To what extent?”

  She leaned back against the cushions and blew a smoke ring at the ceiling. “Oh, the usual bantering at the clubs. Making light of his work. You know.”

  I didn’t know anything of the kind, but I nodded. “Anything serious?”

  “Nothing that would incite a kidnapping. There were heated discussions, yes, but few and far between. Mr. York was loath to discuss his work. Besides, a scientist is not a person who would resort to violence.”

  “That’s on the outside. Let’s hear a little bit about his family. You’ve been connected with York long enough to pick up a little something on his relatives.”

  “I’d rather not discuss them, Mr. Hammer. They are none of my affair.”

  “Don’t be cute. We’re talking about a kidnapping.”

  “I still don’t see where they could possibly enter into it.”

  “Damn it,” I exploded, “you’re not supposed to. I want information and everybody wants to play repartee. Before long I’m going to start choking it out of people like you.”

  “Please, Mr. Hammer, that isn’t necessary.”

  “So I’ve been told. Then give.”

  “I’ve met the family very often. I know nothing about them although they all try to press me for details of our work. I’ve told them nothing. Needless to say, I like none of them. Perhaps that is a biased opinion but it is my only one.”

  “Do they feel the same toward you?”

  “I imagine they are very jealous of anyone so closely connected with Mr. York as I am,” she answered with a caustic grimace. “You might surmise that of any rich man’s relatives. However, for your information and unknown to them, I enjoy a personal income outside the salary Mr. York pays me and I
am quite unconcerned with the disposition of his fortune in the event that anything should happen to him. The only possession he has that I am interested in is the boy. I have been with him all his life, and as you say, he is like a son to me. Is there anything else?”

  “Just what is York’s work . . . and yours?”

  “If he hasn’t told you, I’m not at liberty to. Naturally, you realize that it centered around the child.”

  “Naturally.” I stood up and looked at my watch. It was nine fifteen. “I think that covers it, Miss Grange. Sorry to set you on your ear to get in, but maybe I can make it up sometime. What do you do nights around here?”

  Her eyebrows went up and she smiled for the first time. It was more of a stifled laugh than a smile and I had the silly feeling that the joke was on me. “Nothing you’d care to do with me,” she said.

  I got sore again and didn’t know why. I fought a battle with the look, stuck my hat on and got out of there. Behind me I heard a muffled chuckle.

  The first thing I did was make a quick trip back to the filling station. I waited until a car pulled out then drove up to the door. The kid recognized me and waved. “Any luck?” he grinned.

  “Yeah, I saw her. Thought she was an old bag?”

  “Well, she’s a stuffy thing. Hardly ever speaks.”

  “Listen,” I said, “are you sure you saw her the other night?”

  “Natch, why?”

  “She said no. Think hard now. Did you see her or the car?”

  “Well, it was her car. I know that. She’s the only one that ever drives it.”

  “How would you know it?”

  “The aerial. It’s got a bend in it so it can only be telescoped down halfway. Been like that ever since she got the heap.”

  “Then you can’t be certain she was in it. You wouldn’t swear to it?”

  “Well . . . no. Guess not when you put it that way. But it was her car,” he insisted.

  “Thanks a lot.” I shoved another buck at him. “Forget I was around, will you?”

  “Never saw you in my life,” he grinned. Nice kid.

  This time I took off rather aimlessly. It was only to pacify York that I left the house in the first place. The rain had let up and I shut off the windshield wipers while I turned onto the highway and cruised north toward the estate. If the snatch ran true to form there would be a letter or a call sometime soon. All I could do would be to advise York to follow through to get the kid back again then go after the ones that had him.

  If it weren’t for York’s damn craving for secrecy I could buzz the state police and have a seven-state alarm sent out, but that meant the house would crawl with cops. Let a spotter get a load of that and they’d dump the kid and that’d be the end of it until some campers came across his remains sometime. As long as the local police had a sizable reward to shoot for they wouldn’t let it slip. Not after York told them not to.

  I wasn’t underestimating Dilwick any. I’d bet my bottom dollar he’d had York’s lines tapped already, ready to go to town the moment a call came through. Unless I got that call at the same time I was liable to get scratched. Not me, brother. Ten G’s was a lot of mazuma in any language.

  The lights were still on en masse when I breezed by the estate. It was still too early to go back, and as long as I could keep the old boy happy by doing a little snooping I figured I was earning my keep, at least. About ten miles down the highway the town of Bayview squatted along the water’s edge waiting for summer to liven things up.

  A kidnap car could have gone in either direction, although this route was unlikely. Outside Bayview the highway petered off into a tar road that completely disappeared under drifting winter sands. Anything was worth trying, though. I dodged an old flivver that was standing in the middle of the road and swerved into the gravel parking place of a two-bit honky-tonk. The place was badly rundown at the heels and sadly in need of a paint job. A good deodorant would have helped, too. I no sooner got my foot on the rail when a frowsy blonde sidled up to me and I got a quick once-over. “You’re new around here, ain’t you?”

  “Just passing through.”

  “Through to where? That road outside winds up in the drink.”

  “Maybe that’s where I’m going.”

  “Aw now, Buster, that ain’t no way to feel. We all got our troubles but you don’t wanna do nothing like that. Lemme buy you a drink, it’ll make you feel better.”

  She whistled through her teeth and when that got no response, cupped her hands and yelled to the bartender who was busy shooting trap on the bar. “Hey, Andy, get your tail over here and serve your customers.”

  Andy took his time. “What’ll you have, pal?”

  “Beer.”

  “Me too.”

  “You too nothing. Beat it, Janie, you had too much already.”

  “Say, see here, I can pay my own way.”

  “Not in my joint.”

  I grinned at the two of them and chimed in. “Give her a beer why don’t you?”

  “Listen, pal, you don’t know her. She’s half tanked already. One more and she’ll be making like a Copa cutie. Not that I don’t like the Copa, but the dames there are one thing and she’s another, just like night and day. Instead of watching, my customers all get the dry heaves and trot down to Charlie’s on the waterfront.”

  “Well, I like that!” Janie hit an indignant pose and waved her finger in Andy’s face. “You give me my beer right now or I’ll make better’n the Copa. I’ll make like . . . like . . .”

  “Okay, okay, Janie, one more and that’s all.”

  The bartender drew two beers, took my dough instead of Janie’s and rang it up. I put mine away in one gulp. Janie never reached completely around her glass. Before Andy could pick out the change Janie had spilled hers halfway down the bar.

  Andy said something under his breath, took the glass away then fished around under the counter for a rag. He started to mop up the mess.

  I watched. In my head the little bells were going off, slowly at first like chimes on a cold night. They got louder and louder, playing another scrambled, soundless symphony. A muscle in my neck twitched. I could almost feel that ten grand in my pocket already. Very deliberately I reached out across the bar and gathered a handful of Andy’s stained apron in my fist. With my other hand I yanked out the .45 and held it an inch away from his eye. He was staring death in the face and knew it.

  I had trouble keeping my voice down. “Where did you get that bar rag, Andy?”

  His eyes shifted to the blue-striped pajama bottoms that he held in his hand, beer soaked now, but recognizable. The other half to them were in Ruston York’s bedroom hanging on the foot of the bed.

  Janie’s mouth was open to scream. I pointed the gun at her and said, “Shut up.” The scream died before it was born. She held the edge of the bar with both hands, shaking like a leaf. Ours was a play offstage; no one saw it, no one cared. “Where, Andy?”

  “. . . Don’t know, mister. Honest . . .”

  I thumbed the hammer back. He saw me do it. “Only one more chance, Andy. Think hard.”

  His breath came in little jerks, fright thickened his tongue. “Some . . . guy. He brought it in. Wanted to know . . . if they were mine. It . . . was supposed to be a joke. Honest, I just use it for a bar rag, that’s all.”

  “When?”

  “. . . ’s afternoon.”

  “Who, Andy?”

  “Bill. Bill Cuddy. He’s a clam digger. Lives in a shack on the bay.”

  I put the safety back on, but I still held his apron. “Andy,” I told him, “if you’re leveling with me it’s okay, but if you’re not, I’m going to shoot your head off. You know that, don’t you?”

  His eyes rolled in his head then came back to meet mine. “Yeah, mister. I know. I’m not kidding. Honest, I got two kids . . .”

  “And Janie here. I think maybe you better keep her with you for a while. I wouldn’t want anyone to hear about this, understand?”

  Andy un
derstood, all right. He didn’t miss a word. I let him go and he had to hang on to his bar to keep from crumbling. I slid the rod back under my coat, wrung out the pajamas and folded them into a square.

  When I straightened my hat and tie I said, “Where is Cuddy’s place?”

  Andy’s voice was so weak I could hardly hear it. “Straight . . . down the road to the water. Turn left. It’s the deck . . . deckhouse of an old boat pulled up on the . . . beach.”

  I left them standing there like Hansel and Gretel in the woods, scared right down to their toes. Poor Andy. He didn’t have anymore to do with it than I did, but in this game it’s best not to take any chances.

  As Janie had said, the road led right to the drink. I parked the car beside a boarded-up house and waded through the wet sand on foot. Ten feet from the water I turned left and faced a line of broken-down shacks that were rudely constructed from the junk that comes in on the tide. Some of them had tin roofs, with the advertisements for soft drinks and hot dogs still showing through.

  Every once in a while the moon would shine through a rift in the clouds, and I took advantage of it to get a better look at the homemade village.

  Cuddy’s place was easier to find than I expected. It was the only dump that ever had seen paint, and on the south side hung a ship’s nameplate with CARMINE spelled out in large block letters. It was a deckhouse, all right, probably washed off during a storm. I edged up to a window and looked in. All I could see were a few vague outlines. I tried the door. It opened outward noiselessly. From one corner of the room came the raspy snore of a back-sleeper with a load under his belt.

  A match lit the place up. Cuddy never moved, even when I put the match to the ship’s lantern swinging from the center of the ceiling. It was a one-room affair with a few chairs, a table and a double-decker bed along the side. He had rigged up a kerosene stove with the pipe shooting through the roof and used two wooden crates for a larder. Beside the stove was a barrel of clams.