“WHEN VINNY CAME back from Europe, he took his old job back at the firm, and Ed Thompson let me work for him again. We all pretended like his arm didn’t matter, that he wasn’t a cripple, and I thought things would go back to the way they were.”
Mindy was standing by the hotel room’s window, looking out on the sensational view of a movie house’s dingy brick wall.
Jack’s view was better. Twilight had set in and Mindy Corbett’s hourglass form was nicely outlined against the darkening windowpane, her snug-fitting suit an affecting distraction.
“Go back to the way they were?” Jack repeated, loosening his tie. He was sitting in the room’s only chair—an upholstered number with overstuffed arms. “But not just in the office, right? Out of the office, too.”
Mindy turned to face Jack, leaned her bountiful hips back against the window frame. “Sure, Vinny and me, we always used to have good times together.”
“You mean you always drank together.”
“That’s right. It was fun.”
“But the fun times stopped?”
“We tried to go back to the way it was, but Vinny couldn’t. He was so unhappy after he came back from the war. It’s hard to explain.”
“You don’t have to, honey. I follow. The war changed a lot of men.”
“So Vinny met this Dorothy woman at a New Year’s Eve party, and they hit it off. She’s a teetotaler, but…” Mindy shrugged. “That’s what he preferred, so what’s a girl to do?”
“What is a girl to do? You tell me.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, are you sure you weren’t angry about Vincent getting engaged to another woman?” Jack wondered for a minute whether Mindy was truly an innocent, or had she made Vinny disappear?
“No. I swear. I wanted Vinny to be happy. And he sure wasn’t happy with me. And if a guy’s not happy, it doesn’t take long before he makes a girl miserable.”
“I get the picture.”
“But Vinny and I were still good during working hours, so I stayed as his secretary. He was a real swell boss, too—polite, civil. He never ordered me around or barked like a jerk. He always asked like a gentleman. Then I came in one day, and he didn’t. And the next day came and went, and the next…”
“And before you know it, your life’s over,” Jack muttered.
“Huh?”
“Sorry, sweetheart, my mind wandered. A little too much gin.” It was amazing how well this tomato held her liquor. She was a real boozehound, all right. “Tell me now,” Jack said. “Why do you think he left?”
“I’m sure it had to do with the way the business changed since the war.”
“How do you mean?”
“I mean…”
Jack watched Mindy’s careless expression begin to change. Her relaxed posture appeared to stiffen, and she began to chew her lower lip.
“What is it, honey? You can tell me. I’ll never repeat what came from that pretty mouth of yours.”
Mindy turned around, faced the window again even though there was nothing in front of her. Darkness had fully descended and the alley she overlooked was black as a coffin.
Jack sat very still. “Remember, you’re helping Vincent now, sweetheart. Tell me what you know.”
Jack waited for her to decide, and she slowly began to spill.
“Vinny…he was used to doing things on the up-and-up, square investment products for square Johns and Janes, you know? But…that’s not how the new management operates.”
She went on to explain how the firm had fallen on hard times during the war years and had been taken over by silent partners. Carter & Thompson’s old, long-standing clients were still set up with good stocks and investment portfolios. It was the best front imaginable for gaining the confidence of new clients.
But for every legit client Vincent and his colleagues managed, there were two or three suckers, set up with shell investment schemes. The scheme would appear to pay off for a while, but the phony venture would soon collapse, netting the firm a hefty profit.
The swindled clients would move on, but the firm would find new rubes, usually uptown types, society ladies, and war widows, brought in through the new silent partners and reassured via the old, long-standing network of legit clients.
“And who are these silent partners?” Jack asked.
“I don’t know. But I think I know where you can find at least one of them.”
“Tell me.”
“There’s an awful lot of packages going back and forth to a place you wouldn’t expect.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, the address isn’t a law office, a bank, or a residence. It’s a warehouse, way over on the West Side docks, near Hell’s Kitchen.”
“Mindy, this is very important. Do you remember the exact address?”
Mindy laughed, her tense posture finally relaxing. “I’ve sent so many packages there, it’s practically tattooed to my brain.”
Jack wrote the address on his notepad.
Mindy’s whole demeanor seemed a thousand times lighter. Sometimes, a confession will do that for a person. She strode over to the bed and flopped down on the mattress, crossed her shapely legs.
“When Vinny cut out the way he did, boy oh boy, Ed Thompson really started to panic! There were files missing, and other things, too.”
“What other things?”
“Funny as it seems…a picture on my desk. It was a photo he’d given me before the war.”
Jack rose from the armchair, dipped a hand in his pocket. “Not this one?” He brought out the small oval-framed photo, walked to the bed, sat next to her on the mattress.
“Omigosh! Where did you find that!”
“Dorothy Kerns gave it to me. Apparently, Vincent sent this to her right before he disappeared.”
“But why?”
“I don’t know.”
Sending the photo in the first place seemed odd to Jack, but sending one that was out of date and belonged to another woman was odder still. He couldn’t figure it unless Vincent Tattershawe was truly a heel, sending Dorothy a gesture of trumped-up sentiment to throw off her scent while he went on the lam with her money.
“Can I have that picture back?” Mindy asked, reaching for it.
Jack gently pulled it beyond her grasp. “Sorry, Miss Corbett. I can’t.”
She slumped again, letting out a sad sigh.
“Listen, Mindy, you’ve been a big help. But there’s one more thing. Do you know anything about Ogden Heating and Cooling?”
Mindy repeated the name with a puzzled look.
“It’s an air conditioner manufacturing company,” Jack explained. “Do you think it could be one of your firm’s phony investment schemes?”
“I’ve never heard of it, and believe me, I know the list of fake companies like the back of my hand.”
Jack nodded. “Well, listen, baby, I guess that’s about all I need from you.”
He pushed off the bed, rising to his feet. “Tell you what…when I find Vincent Tattershawe, and I fully expect to, I’ll ask him to get you another photo, maybe a more recent one.”
Mindy stood too, gave Jack a sad smile. “I don’t want a more recent one. I liked looking at the older picture. It reminded me of the old times, know what I mean?”
Jack nodded, slipped the photo back into his pocket. “I know.”
Mindy stepped closer, gazed up at him with big olive soaked eyes. “That’s nice of you, anyway, to try replacing my photo.”
Jack smelled the alcohol, but his real drink was perfume, and hers hadn’t worn off yet; it was still there, light and sweet.
“You’re really thoughtful, Jack. You remind me of Vinny in some ways…what I mean is, you seem like a really nice guy…”
“I’m not.”
“But I bet you could be…for a little while, right?”