‘I know.’ I accepted the cigarette he offered me and lit it. ‘But sometimes when one starts digging into an old case, you get on better than if it had just happened. If this girl met with foul play, the guy who did it is sitting pretty. Then he suddenly discovers, just when he is certain he is safe, that a new investigation has started up. The chances are he’ll get rattled. He might even make a mistake and give himself away. It’s happened before.’
‘Yes, I can see that. Well, how can I help?’
‘Have you any idea how the girl, dressed as she was, could have left here without being seen?’
Weiman shook his head.
‘I’ve often thought about it, but it foxes me. Both the rear exits were guarded, and she couldn’t have gone through the restaurant without being seen.’
‘Who were the men on the rear exit?’ I asked.
‘Joe Farmer was on the stage door exit and Pete Schultz was on the basement exit.’
‘Did it occur to you one of them might have been lying? If one of them lied, there’s no mystery to this at all. Didn’t the police think of that?’
‘Oh sure. They worked on both of them, but they couldn’t shake them. They both swore they didn’t leave their posts nor did they see the girl.’
‘Got anything against either of them?’
‘Schultz was all right. Besides, he was taking a delivery of beer and the police checked with the driver of the beer truck. He said Schultz was on the door at the time the girl disappeared.’
‘So that leaves Farmer. Anyone to support his story?’
‘No. I’ve often wondered about Farmer. He used to drink more than was good for him. Before this happened, he used to slip across the road to Mike’s bar, and I caught him at it. I told him if he did it again, I’d give him the gate.’
‘That’s not in your statement,’ I said.
‘I know it.’ Weiman smiled. ‘I didn’t want to get the guy into trouble. I talked to him before I called the cops and he convinced me he hadn’t been across the road.’
‘You caught him at it once. He knew if you caught him again he’d go. He would be pretty convincing, wouldn’t he?’
‘Before I questioned him, I went over to Mike’s bar. The barman there said he hadn’t seen him. I’m sure Joe was telling the truth.’
‘If he wasn’t, there’s no mystery. The girl could have gone that way.’
‘She couldn’t have gone far without being seen.’
‘Why not? If a car was waiting for her, she wouldn’t have had any trouble in getting away. I’d like to talk to Farmer.’
‘He’s dead.’
I stared at Weiman.
‘Dead? When did he die?’
‘Two days after the girl disappeared. He was killed by a hit and run driver. They never did find the driver.’
‘Well, that’s that,’ I said, disappointed. ‘I thought I was getting somewhere. Is the call-boy still with you?’
‘Spencer? Yes, he’s with us. Want to talk to him?’
‘He was the last one to see her, wasn’t he?’
‘Yes. You stick here, Mr. Sladen. I’ve got business to look after. I’ll send him to you.’
‘What did you think of Fay Benson?’ I asked as he got up. ‘Was she the type who could get into trouble?’
He shook his head.
‘I wouldn’t have thought so. She was a fine kid and her act was a success. She wasn’t like the usual girl we get here. She kept to herself, but she wasn’t unfriendly, and she behaved herself. No, she wasn’t the type to get into trouble.’
‘She didn’t mention her people? She didn’t give you a lead to where she came from?’
‘She didn’t talk about herself. I liked her act. She obviously had plenty of experience. She must have been in the game for some years. You can always tell if a girl’s had experience, and she had.’
‘It looks to me as if she was hiding from someone. She had no friends, no mail, kept to herself and lied about her background. It points to it. Well, okay, I mustn’t keep you. I’ll talk to Spencer.’
When Spencer came into the office, I waved him to a chair. He was tall and lanky and in his early twenties. He looked pop-eyed at me, and there was a mixture of nervousness and admiration in his gaze.
‘Excuse me,’ he said, ‘but are you the Chet Sladen who writes for Crime Facts?’
‘That’s right,’ I said. ‘You read my stuff?’
‘Read it! Gosh! I’ll say I do. I think it’s terrific. I’ve been reading it for years.’
‘I’ve been reading it for years myself, so that makes two of us,’ I said grinning. ‘I’m working on the Fay Benson case, and I’m hoping you can help me. How did you get on with her?’
‘I got on fine with her. She was a sweet kid, Mr. Sladen. She never made trouble for me.’
‘When you went to her room to call her the second time, was the room all right — no sign of a struggle?’
‘It was just the way I had seen it when I gave her her first call; except she wasn’t there.’
‘When you called her the first time, you’re sure she was there?’
‘Why, sure. After I knocked and she had called out, I opened the door and looked in. She was standing by the mirror. She had on her stage get-up and she said she would be right along. She asked about a telephone call she was expecting and I told her she’d have to take it when it came through in Joe’s office.’
‘She was expecting a call?’
‘Yes; she seemed anxious about it.’
‘Did it ever come through, do you know?’
‘I don’t think it did.’
‘Can I take a look at her dressing-room?’
‘You can see the outside, Mr. Sladen. There’s a girl using it right now.’
‘The outside will do.’
He took me along a passage down some stairs and to the back of the building. He opened a door and I found myself in a lobby that contained among other things wooden crates, odd spotlights and musical instrument cases.
The dressing-room door didn’t tell me anything. It was only fifteen yards from the stage door exit and the stage door office was just around the bend in the passage out of sight of the dressing-room door.
‘You’re sure she didn’t have any other clothes in her room? She couldn’t have changed out of her stage get-up?’
‘I’m sure, Mr. Sladen. One of my jobs is to clean out the dressing-rooms, and the cupboard was always empty. There was nowhere for her to keep anything except in the cupboard.’
‘It’s a baffler, isn’t it?’
‘It certainly is, Mr. Sladen.’
‘Well, thanks. If I can think of anything I’ll look in and see you again. Where’s Mike’s bar?’
‘I’ll show you.’
He took me past the stage door office, opened the stage door and pointed across the alley.
‘That’s it.’
‘Thanks,’ I said, crossed the alley and pushed open the bar door.
There were three men, sitting at a table drinking beer; another man lolled up against the bar, a whisky in front of him.
The barman, a beefy looking man with a red humorous face, was fiddling with a radio set.
I entered and going to the far end of the bar away from the four men, waited for the barman to come to me.
‘I’ll have a double Scotch and water,’ I said, ‘and if you have nothing better to do, have one yourself.’
He grinned.
‘Glad to, mister, and thanks.’
When he came back with the drinks, I said, ‘I haven’t been in Welden for over a year. I used to know Joe Farmer. I hear he’s dead.’
The barman nodded.
‘That’s right. He got killed by a hit and run artist. The driver was never found. The cops in this town couldn’t find their own names in a telephone book.’