Macey brooded. He was interested all right. He had even let his cigar go out. “How did this guy get the photographs to give Dixon?” he asked, rather to say something than to pick holes in what I’d told him.
“That’s easy. Each girl he kidnapped had the Street-Camera ticket with her. That ticket entitled the holder to go to the Studio and buy the photographs. All he had to do was to hand over the ticket and collect the photographs. The joint must do a big trade, and whoever handed the photos over would not be likely to remember who had bought them.”
Macey brooded some more, and then as he was going to say something the telephone rang. He scooped up the receiver and growled into it.
I watched him as he listened and saw his eyes light up. He glanced at me and looked away. Then he said, “Okay, that’s fine,” and hung up.
“Maybe you’ve got something,” he said, but I could see he wasn’t concentrating. He was thinking of something else. “Suppose that did happen, who’s the fellow behind it?”
I shrugged. “That’s what I’m going to find out,” I returned, “but as long as I know it isn’t Starkey and as long as you know it isn’t, then we can pry the lid off without worrying what’ll come out of the tin.”
He pulled a slip of paper towards him and scribbled on “Yeah,” he said, “but suppose it’s Wolf? You’re acting for him and it wouldn’t suit you to turn up Wolf, would it?”
“It isn’t Wolf,” I said, “and if it is, I wouldn’t care.”
“Give this to Joe,” he said, offering the paper to Beyfield. “Tell him to get a move on.”
Something at the back of my mind told me that what was happening right under my nose wasn’t going to do me any good. But unless I snatched the paper from Macey I couldn’t know what it was all about. I watched Beyfield take the paper and leave the room.
“One of my men’s found a guy we’ve been looking for,” Macey explained, without looking at me. “Excuse me interrupting you, but I want to get after him.”
“Sure,” I said. I knew he was lying, but I couldn’t imagine what his game was.
“So you wouldn’t care if Wolf was at the bottom of this?”
I shook my head. “I liked Marian French,” I said. “She was a stranger to the town and I was looking after her. Whoever killed her is going to burn. I don’t give a damn who it is.”
“Suppose you’re right and it is murder,” Macey said, folding his arms and resting them on his desk. “Where are the bodies?”
“Where have you looked?” I said, lighting another cigarette.
That held him for a moment. I knew damn well he hadn’t looked anywhere, and he, knew I knew it.
“Where do you suggest I look?” he said at last.
I shook my head. “I don’t know,” I returned. “Anywhere is a likely bet. Suppose you get a crowd of men organized and take the whole town to pieces? Get a map and mark it off in squares. Have ten men to each square and let ’em hunt. A body isn’t easy to conceal. It’s the hard way, but I can’t suggest a better one.”
He grunted. “How do you suppose this French girl’s body was taken out of the house?”
“The back way. Easy enough if the guy who did it was strong. All he had to do was to carry the body downstairs into the back garden and heave it over the fence into the lane that runs along at the back of the gardens. If he had a car there, it would be easy. It was dark and no one would see him if he didn’t make a noise.”
“I’ll have the lane checked for wheel-marks,” Macey returned. “Okay, Spewack, I’ll get working on this. I’ll let you know if we find anything.”
“So you’re sure Starkey’s in the clear?”
“Never mind that,” he said shortly. “I’ll look for the bodies on your say-so, but I’m not expecting to find them.”
“Depends how hard you look,” I said, and stood up. “Maybe it would be an idea to let Starkey know I’m not after him anymore. Somehow I don’t think that guy likes me.”
“I’ll let him know,” Macey promised, and smiled again. It was a cold, foxy smile, and I didn’t like it.
I went downstairs and found Reg Phipps waiting for me.
“How did you know I was here?” I asked as we went down the yellow-walled passage to the street.
“When I reached the house and found you weren’t around, I guessed you’d been taken to headquarters,” he said. “What happened?”
I gave him a brief outline of the set-up. “Did you locate Latimer?”
“Yeah, he’s waiting in the car at the next parking lot. We didn’t know where to get in touch with Audrey Sheridan so we thought we’d better hang around for you.”
I quickened my pace. “I want that kid out of the way,” I said. “If Starkey knows where she is, there’ll be trouble.”
“You’ve cleared him of the kidnapping rap, but he’s still in it on the Dixon murder, is that it?”
“Yeah, and Macey knows it. We didn’t touch that angle of it, and if Starkey gets that picture you took of Dixon, then he’s clear of everything.”
We found Latimer in the car and we scrambled in.
“Gazette,” I said to Latimer. “And tread on it.”
As the car shot away from the kerb, Reg said: “So it’s murder and not kidnapping?”
“It’s murder all right,” I said, thinking of Marian and feeling bad about the whole business. “We’ll drop you off at the printer’s. You’ll have to cut out that stuff I gave you on Macey and get the story of the murder on the front page instead. We’ll lay off Macey for a while and see if he plays. If he doesn’t, then we’ll use the stuff.”
Reg groaned. “You make a hell of a newspaper man,” he complained. “You don’t seem to know your own mind.”
I grinned savagely in the darkness. “I do now,” I said. “It only wanted this to happen. I’m going all out to get that killer, and I’ll get him if it’s the last thing I do.”
There was silence for a while, then Reg said: “You know, I can’t believe she’s dead. She was swell.”
“She was,” I said, “and that’s what gets me. This is a personal matter now.”
Latimer pulled up outside the printer’s shop and Reg got out of the car.
“Give all the facts,” I told him, “and when you’re through, grab some sleep. I’ll see you in the morning.”
I changed seats and got in the front with Latimer.
“I want a quiet hotel,” I told him. “Where do I go?”
He said the Palace wasn’t bad and it was not far from the Gazette offices.
We passed the hotel on our way and it looked all right to me. When we reached the Gazette offices I told him to get off home.
“Sure you don’t want me?” he asked.
I shook my head. “I’ll pick up Audrey and then we’ll go to the hotel. We can’t do much tonight. Be at the office early tomorrow.”
As I was walking across the sidewalk to the entrance of the building he called me back.
“All this excitement made me forget,” he said. “I’ve checked up on Starkey. He has a cast-iron alibi for two o’clock that night. You can’t nail him for Dixon’s killing.”
“I didn’t think I could, but I can nail one of his mob, and that’ll finish him in Cranville,” I returned. “Anyway, thanks for finding out.”
“And another thing,” he went on. “I don’t know if it’s any use to you, but Edna Wilson’s his daughter.”
I stood still. “His what?”
“Yeah. I happened to run into a guy I know and he told me. Starkey married about eighteen years ago. His wife got tired of his ways and left him. She died last year and her kid — Starkey’s daughter — came back to Cranville hoping he’d look after her. He planted her on Wolf, and she’s been feeding Starkey information ever since. The guy who told me used to live in the same town as Starkey’s wife and recognized Edna.”