“I’ll go over to the office now,” Dodd decided, “and catch him there. I want you to—”
“Wait a minute,” Meekins requested. “I got something else to tell you. Did you ever think how Tooper was a very funny name for a guy to have?”
“Oh, very funny,” said Dodd.
“Yeah. Well anyway, me and Hennessey was talking about it, and he got to thinking that maybe he had seen a name that was something like it and just as funny somewhere kinda recently. You know them wanted posters they send out — with a guy’s picture and description and fingerprints and stuff on ’em?”
“Yes,” Dodd said patiently.
“Well, they get ’em by the bale here because the cops in Bay City is supposed to distribute them around to the other departments in the north end of the state, but of course they don’t.”
“Of course not,” Dodd agreed.
“Hennessey just turns ’em over to the junkman for wastepaper as they come in. He nets himself five-six dollars a month that way. Well, he had an idea he had seen this name on one of them wanted posters, and so we started calling up other police departments in New York and Chicago and Miami and places and sure enough we run it down.”
“What?” Dodd asked.
“Get this. A guy by the name of Colonel Hans E. Van Tooper of Batavia, Netherlands East Indies, married a rich widow by the name of Blanche Trilby in Lansing, Michigan, last August.”
Dodd jumped. “Blanche Trilby!”
“Yeah. Ain’t that the name you spoke when you was beefing with the railroad guy about gettin’ your dough back?”
“Yes!” Dodd exclaimed. “She’s the one who used the extra ticket — the one who came here with Blinky’s alleged body.”
“No, she ain’t.”
“What?” said Dodd.
“She ain’t the one, because she’s dead. Colonel Van Tooper went and cut her throat while they was on their honeymoon and walked off with all her jewelry and dough. He was very smart and didn’t leave no fingerprints behind him, but they got a good description of him on the poster, and it sure sounds an awful lot like Blinky Tooper to me.”
Dodd swore softly to himself.
Meekins said: “This looks worse and worse to me, Dodd. There’s altogether too many people running around here that are dead and don’t stay that way. Maybe they can get buried and still percolate, but I can’t. And another thing: You know Lieutenant Kastner?”
“I know him, all right,” Dodd stated.
“Yeah. Well, he’s the one that’s supposed to be investigating that bomb blast in our office. He’s been around here laughing like hell. He says he ain’t going to do nothing until that old gal makes a better job of wiping you out because if he started now it might discourage her.”
“That’s very thoughtful of him,” Dodd said grimly. “He may have to start sooner than he thinks. I’ve got a telephone number here — Garden 2212. Find out the name and the address of the party for me right away.”
“O.K. I’ll have Hennessey check it.”
“Call me at the office. I’m going over there now.”
“Take it easy, boss,” Meekins warned. “Somebody is mad at you, I think.”
It was dusk when Dodd drove his battered coupe slowly along the street past his office. He made a U-turn at the end of the block and came back again, watching closed store fronts and shadowy doorways warily. Now, after business hours, the street had a sinisterly deserted appearance that made him feel very uncomfortable.
He stopped near the corner and whistled to the newsboy who was sitting on the curb. The newsboy strolled over and put his head in the window.
“Hi, guy. What’s it?”
Dodd said: “I’m looking for a dame. I wondered if you’d seen her around here.”
“Seen lots of ’em. What kind you want?”
“This is an old dame,” Dodd explained. “She’s tall and skinny and she wears a ratty old fur coat and she’s got thick ankles.”
“Oh, that one,” said the newsboy. “I seen her just a minute or so ago. She was hangin’ around like she was waitin’ for somebody.”
A voice said softly: “Hello, Mr. Dodd.”
Dodd jumped so violently that his head hit the roof of the coupe and smashed his hat down over his eyes. He pushed the brim up shakily and stared into the round, dour face of Lieutenant Kastner.
“Well, if you ain’t the jumpy one,” Kastner observed. “You ain’t really scared of just a screwy old dame, are you?”
“You haven’t run into her yet, pop-off,” Dodd said angrily. “Just wait till you do. She may be screwy, but she knows how to make bombs and guns work.”
“Never mind. I’ll protect you.”
“That relieves my mind a lot,” Dodd told him. “Who’s going to protect you?”
Kastner opened the door of the coupe. “Tut-tut. Don’t get overwrought. Come on along up to your office. Hang on to mama’s hand.”
Dodd got out and slammed the door. He stalked across the pavement toward the darkened entrance of the office building with Kastner strolling along behind, chuckling to himself.
Dodd pushed through the heavy door. There was only one dim light burning in the lobby, over the elevators, and Dodd started in that direction. Kastner came in the door.
There was quick, furtive movement in the shadows of the stairs to Dodd’s left.
“Look out!” Kastner yelled. He whirled around and dove back out the door into the street.
Dodd was caught in the middle of the lobby with nowhere to go. He stood rigid, his pulse hammering a hard drumbeat in his throat. Nothing happened. After a minute that dragged like a century, Dodd swallowed and said thickly: “Who’s there?”
“Oh, Mr. Dodd!” a voice gasped. “Oh. Oh, Mr. Dodd!”
Slowly a head wavered into view above the railing on the staircase.
“Miltgreen!” Dodd exclaimed. “What are you doing there? What’s the matter with you?”
“Oh, Mr. Dodd,” said Miltgreen in helpless agony.
“Are you hurt?” Dodd demanded.
“Mr. Dodd,” Miltgreen sobbed, “I haven’t got any trousers!”
“No what?” Dodd asked, advancing.
The front door squeaked open a cautious foot, and Kastner said: “Dodd! Hey, Dodd! Has she got another bomb?”
“Come on in, superman,” Dodd told him. “Everything’s under control. Miltgreen, have you turned nudist on us?”
Miltgreen was crouched woefully on the stairs, trying to pull his shirt-tails down far enough to hide green shorts and long, skinny legs.
“Mr. Dodd, I’ve never, never had anything as horrible as this happen to me before! She... she took my trousers!”
“Who did?”
“That awful woman. That awful, immodest creature. That Blanche Trilby. She pointed a gun at me and made... made me take off my trousers and give them to her.”
“Blanche Trilby!” Dodd repeated. “Do you know her?”
“Why, yes,” said Miltgreen. “That is, I’ve met her. She was at the station when I went to get Mr. Tooper’s body. She introduced herself to me.”
“That’s the bomb dame, huh?” said Kastner eagerly. “What does she look like?”
Miltgreen stared at him blankly. “Why, I don’t know. I mean, she’s middle-aged and thin and tall for a woman. She comes up to about here on me.” He indicated the level of his nose. “She’s very hard-looking, and she has a rough, hoarse way of speaking.”
“What do you care?” Dodd asked Kastner. “Or do you figure on spotting her a long ways away and getting a headstart? Miltgreen, what happened? Why did she take your pants?”