Chapter 23 CHAPTER XXIII CHARLES PROCTOR DOWN
I was half dressed when Dick Fry came over the next morning.In his customary penny-pinching fashion he reported that Bill Quint had moved out of the Miner's Hotel at noon the day before, without saying where he was going next.
There is a train from Bosheng City at 12:35.Dick had wired the Continental Detective Agency's Salt Lake City bureau to send someone to Ogden to track down Quint.
"We can't let go of any clues," I said, "but I don't think Quint is the man we're looking for. She's dumped him long ago. If he wanted to deal with her, he should have done so before then. I guess he's in After hearing that she was killed, I thought that I was an old lover who was abandoned by her and threatened her, so I decided to disappear."
Dick nodded and said, "Another shootout on the road last night. Road robbery. Four bootleg trucks got hit and burned."
This looks like Reynold Stuckey's response to the bootlegger's minions becoming SWAT.
Mickey Linehan arrived just as I was getting dressed.
"Dan Rolfe did go to that house," he reported, "and the Greek grocer on the corner saw him come out about nine o'clock yesterday morning. He staggered down the street talking to himself. The Greeks thought he was drunk."
"Why didn't the Greeks call the police? Or did they?"
"I didn't ask. The police department in this city is insane. What should we do? Find him for them, get everything done, and hand them over?"
"McGraw has decided that the Whisperer killed her," I said, "so he won't go to the trouble of pursuing other possible clues. It wasn't Rolf's murder, unless he went back to find the gun later." The ice pick. She was killed at three o'clock in the morning, and Rolf didn't get there until eight-thirty, and the ice pick was still on her, and it was—"
Dick Fry came up and stood in front of me and asked, "How do you know that?"
I don't like the way he looks at me and talks.I said, "Because I told you so."
Dick said nothing.Mickey flashed his trademark smirk and asked, "What shall we do now? Let's get this over with."
"I have an appointment at ten o'clock," I told them, "stay around the hotel until I get back. Whisperer and Rolf are probably dead—so we don't have to go find them." I glared at Dick , said, "I was told, and I left them alone."
The little Canadian nodded, but didn't lower his gaze to my gaze.
I ate breakfast alone, then headed to the lawyer's office.
Turning King Street I saw Hank O'Mara's freckled face.He was sitting in a car on Greene Avenue next to someone I didn't know.The long-legged young man waved at me and stopped the car.I walked over.
He said, "Reynolds wants to see you."
"Where can I find him?"
"boarding."
"Not now," I said, "not until the afternoon, I'm afraid."
"Go to Pique when you're ready."
I agreed.O'Mara and his partner drove on to Greene Avenue, and I walked half a block south to the Rutledge neighborhood.
As soon as I put one foot on the dilapidated steps leading to the lawyer's office, I stopped and looked at something.
The thing was hidden in a dim corner on the first floor, barely visible.It's a shoe, lying where a shoe shouldn't be.
I retract my foot from the stairs and walk in the direction of the shoes.Now I can see the ankle, the black cuff and the leg attached to it.
I mentally prepared myself for what I was going to see next.
I found Mr. Charles Proctor Down entangled in two brooms, a mop, and a bucket, stuck between the back of the stairs and the corner.Blood flowed from the gash that ran diagonally across his forehead, staining his beard red.His head was twisted back and to one side, an angle only possible with a broken neck.
I quoted Noonan to myself: "What must be done must be done." I carefully pulled the deceased's coat from one side, cleared out the contents of the inner pocket of the coat, and transferred a black notebook and a stack of papers into it. my pocket.I didn't find what I was looking for in the other two pockets, and the remaining pockets required moving the body, which I was too lazy to do.
I was back in the hotel five minutes later, entered through a side door, avoided Dick and Mickey in the lobby, and walked to the mezzanine to take the elevator. I sat down in the room and inspected the loot. I take out the notebook first.It was a cheap faux-leather-bound memo you could buy at any stationer.It contains bits and pieces of stuff that mean nothing to me.There are three dozen more meaningless names and addresses, with one exception: This is amusing, first of all, because a young man named Robert Aubrey is currently in jail for killing Donna Wilson because he was jealous of his association with Dinah Bland.Next, Dinah Bland lived and died at 1232 Hurricane Street, across from 1229A. I didn't find my name in the book. I put the notebook aside and started looking through the documents I brought back.This time, it was still after struggling to read a lot of useless things before I found something meaningful-four letters bound together with rubber bands. The letters came in torn envelopes, and the dates on the postmarks indicated that they were mailed an average of every other week.The earliest one was more than six months ago.The letters were all addressed to Dinah Bland.The first one—the earliest one—was not bad, as far as love letters go.The second letter was outrageous, and the third and fourth letters were a perfect example of the folly of an enthusiastic and failed suitor, especially considering that he had courted for many years.All four letters were signed by Elihu Wilson. I haven't found a clue to tell me exactly why Mr. Charles Proctor Down thinks he can extort a thousand dollars from me, but there's a lot to think about.With the aid of two prods to my head, I went downstairs. "Go see how much you can dig up about a lawyer named Charles Proctor Dawn," I said to Mickey. "He has an office on Greene Avenue, but don't Spending too much time on him, I just want to know a general situation as soon as possible." I told Dick to wait for me for five minutes and then follow me around 1229A Hurricane Street.
1229A was on the second floor of a two-story apartment building, almost directly across from Dinah's house.No. 1229 includes two houses, each with its own entrance.I rang the doorbell of the house I was looking for. The person who opened the door was a thin girl of eighteen or nineteen years old, with a shiny light yellow face, a pair of black eyes close together, and short brown hair that was somewhat damp. She opened the door and made a choking sound from her throat, then took a few steps back and covered her mouth with her hands. "Are you Miss Helen Aubrey?" I asked. She shook her head violently from side to side, without any sense of reality.There was madness in her eyes. "I want to come in and talk to you for a few minutes." I said as I walked in and closed the door behind me. She didn't say anything, and walked up the stairs first, turning her head from time to time and looking at me with a pair of frightened eyes. We went into a poorly furnished living room, from the windows of which Dinah's house was clearly visible. The girl stood in the middle of the room, her hands still covering her mouth. I wasted some time and words trying to convince her that I meant no harm, but to no avail.Everything I said seemed to add to her panic.What a fucking nuisance.I give up trying and go straight to the point. "Are you Robert Aubrey's sister?" I asked. No response, save for a look of silly horror. I said, "Since he got arrested for killing Donna Wilson, you've moved into this apartment so you can spy on her. Why?" She said nothing.I had to answer myself: "For revenge. You blamed Dinah Bland for your brother's troubles. You watched her, waiting for your chance. The night before yesterday your chance came. You sneaked into her house and found her Passed out, and stabbed her to death with an ice pick I found." She still didn't say anything.I still hadn't succeeded in shaking the blank look on her frightened face.I said, "Dawn helped you, helped you plan everything, and you gave him a letter from Elihu in return. Who did he send to get the letter? That's the real murderer, who is he?" Still no response.Her expression still didn't change, or she had no expression or words at all.I really want to slap her. I said, "I gave you the chance to speak. I would like to hear what you have to say. Do as you like." She likes to keep silent.I gave up.I was a little afraid of her, afraid that if I forced her again, she would do something crazier than silence.I walked out of the apartment, wondering if she understood a word I said. At the corner, I told Dick Fry: "There lived a girl named Helen Aubrey, eighteen years old, five foot six, very thin, under a hundred pounds, eyes very close together, brown Skin, short straight brown hair, now in a gray suit. Stalk her. Lock her up if she tries to dump you. Be careful—she's crazy."
I went to Pique Murray's stronghold to find Renault and see what he wanted to do.Half a block away from my destination, I ducked into the doorway of an office building to check out the situation. A police patrol car was parked in front of Murray's store.A group of people came out of the billiard room. They were dragged, pulled, or carried into the police car. The guys who did it didn't look like regular police.I think these guys are Finn Pete's men, now SWAT.With McGraw's assistance, Pete is clearly enjoying his declaration of war on the Whisperers and Raynor. An ambulance came while I was watching, filled up and drove away.I was too far away to see who was dead.After the intense orgasm passed, I took a detour a few blocks back to the hotel. Mickey Linehan was waiting for me with news of Mr. Charles Proctor Down. "He's what the joke says 'Is he?' 'Yes, heinous.' That guy Aubrey you arrested, his family hired this rotten bird Dawn to defend him. Dawn went to see him Aubrey didn't say anything to him at the time. The villain with the long name nearly died last year for racketeering and was involved with a man named Hill, but he got away with it. His assets are in Libert Street, God knows where that is. Shall I keep digging?" "That's enough. Let's stay here and wait for news from Dick." Mickey yawned and said he didn't care, he wasn't someone who had to run around to keep his blood flowing.Then he asked me if I knew we were already famous all over the country. I asked him what that meant. "I just met Tommy Robbins," he said. "United Press sent him for an interview. He told me there were some other wire agencies and one or two big city newspapers who sent special reporters to help us fan the flames." I'm back to my usual complaints—newspapers are good for nothing but ruining things so badly that no one else can make it worse.That's when I heard a waiter call my name, I gave him a dime and he told me someone was calling for me. It's Dick Frye. "She's coming out right away. 310 Green Street. It's all cops. Lipstick Dawn was killed. The cops took her to the station." "Is she still there?" "Yes, in the director's office." "Stay there, and let me know if you hear anything." I went back to Mickey Linehan, gave him my room key, and ordered, "Stay in my room. Answer any calls that are looking for me, and then pass them on to me. I'm at the Shannon Hotel around the corner." , register with JW Clark. Don't tell anyone but Dick." Mickey asked, "What the hell is going on?" He didn't get an answer, so he could only shake his slack body and walk towards the elevator.
Notes:
I was back in the hotel five minutes later, entered through a side door, avoided Dick and Mickey in the lobby, and walked to the mezzanine to take the elevator. I sat down in the room and inspected the loot. I take out the notebook first.It was a cheap faux-leather-bound memo you could buy at any stationer.It contains bits and pieces of stuff that mean nothing to me.There are three dozen more meaningless names and addresses, with one exception: This is amusing, first of all, because a young man named Robert Aubrey is currently in jail for killing Donna Wilson because he was jealous of his association with Dinah Bland.Next, Dinah Bland lived and died at 1232 Hurricane Street, across from 1229A. I didn't find my name in the book. I put the notebook aside and started looking through the documents I brought back.This time, it was still after struggling to read a lot of useless things before I found something meaningful-four letters bound together with rubber bands. The letters came in torn envelopes, and the dates on the postmarks indicated that they were mailed an average of every other week.The earliest one was more than six months ago.The letters were all addressed to Dinah Bland.The first one—the earliest one—was not bad, as far as love letters go.The second letter was outrageous, and the third and fourth letters were a perfect example of the folly of an enthusiastic and failed suitor, especially considering that he had courted for many years.All four letters were signed by Elihu Wilson. I haven't found a clue to tell me exactly why Mr. Charles Proctor Down thinks he can extort a thousand dollars from me, but there's a lot to think about.With the aid of two prods to my head, I went downstairs. "Go see how much you can dig up about a lawyer named Charles Proctor Dawn," I said to Mickey. "He has an office on Greene Avenue, but don't Spending too much time on him, I just want to know a general situation as soon as possible." I told Dick to wait for me for five minutes and then follow me around 1229A Hurricane Street.
1229A was on the second floor of a two-story apartment building, almost directly across from Dinah's house.No. 1229 includes two houses, each with its own entrance.I rang the doorbell of the house I was looking for. The person who opened the door was a thin girl of eighteen or nineteen years old, with a shiny light yellow face, a pair of black eyes close together, and short brown hair that was somewhat damp. She opened the door and made a choking sound from her throat, then took a few steps back and covered her mouth with her hands. "Are you Miss Helen Aubrey?" I asked. She shook her head violently from side to side, without any sense of reality.There was madness in her eyes. "I want to come in and talk to you for a few minutes." I said as I walked in and closed the door behind me. She didn't say anything, and walked up the stairs first, turning her head from time to time and looking at me with a pair of frightened eyes. We went into a poorly furnished living room, from the windows of which Dinah's house was clearly visible. The girl stood in the middle of the room, her hands still covering her mouth. I wasted some time and words trying to convince her that I meant no harm, but to no avail.Everything I said seemed to add to her panic.What a fucking nuisance.I give up trying and go straight to the point. "Are you Robert Aubrey's sister?" I asked. No response, save for a look of silly horror. I said, "Since he got arrested for killing Donna Wilson, you've moved into this apartment so you can spy on her. Why?" She said nothing.I had to answer myself: "For revenge. You blamed Dinah Bland for your brother's troubles. You watched her, waiting for your chance. The night before yesterday your chance came. You sneaked into her house and found her Passed out, and stabbed her to death with an ice pick I found." She still didn't say anything.I still hadn't succeeded in shaking the blank look on her frightened face.I said, "Dawn helped you, helped you plan everything, and you gave him a letter from Elihu in return. Who did he send to get the letter? That's the real murderer, who is he?" Still no response.Her expression still didn't change, or she had no expression or words at all.I really want to slap her. I said, "I gave you the chance to speak. I would like to hear what you have to say. Do as you like." She likes to keep silent.I gave up.I was a little afraid of her, afraid that if I forced her again, she would do something crazier than silence.I walked out of the apartment, wondering if she understood a word I said. At the corner, I told Dick Fry: "There lived a girl named Helen Aubrey, eighteen years old, five foot six, very thin, under a hundred pounds, eyes very close together, brown Skin, short straight brown hair, now in a gray suit. Stalk her. Lock her up if she tries to dump you. Be careful—she's crazy."
I went to Pique Murray's stronghold to find Renault and see what he wanted to do.Half a block away from my destination, I ducked into the doorway of an office building to check out the situation. A police patrol car was parked in front of Murray's store.A group of people came out of the billiard room. They were dragged, pulled, or carried into the police car. The guys who did it didn't look like regular police.I think these guys are Finn Pete's men, now SWAT.With McGraw's assistance, Pete is clearly enjoying his declaration of war on the Whisperers and Raynor. An ambulance came while I was watching, filled up and drove away.I was too far away to see who was dead.After the intense orgasm passed, I took a detour a few blocks back to the hotel. Mickey Linehan was waiting for me with news of Mr. Charles Proctor Down. "He's what the joke says 'Is he?' 'Yes, heinous.' That guy Aubrey you arrested, his family hired this rotten bird Dawn to defend him. Dawn went to see him Aubrey didn't say anything to him at the time. The villain with the long name nearly died last year for racketeering and was involved with a man named Hill, but he got away with it. His assets are in Libert Street, God knows where that is. Shall I keep digging?" "That's enough. Let's stay here and wait for news from Dick." Mickey yawned and said he didn't care, he wasn't someone who had to run around to keep his blood flowing.Then he asked me if I knew we were already famous all over the country. I asked him what that meant. "I just met Tommy Robbins," he said. "United Press sent him for an interview. He told me there were some other wire agencies and one or two big city newspapers who sent special reporters to help us fan the flames." I'm back to my usual complaints—newspapers are good for nothing but ruining things so badly that no one else can make it worse.That's when I heard a waiter call my name, I gave him a dime and he told me someone was calling for me. It's Dick Frye. "She's coming out right away. 310 Green Street. It's all cops. Lipstick Dawn was killed. The cops took her to the station." "Is she still there?" "Yes, in the director's office." "Stay there, and let me know if you hear anything." I went back to Mickey Linehan, gave him my room key, and ordered, "Stay in my room. Answer any calls that are looking for me, and then pass them on to me. I'm at the Shannon Hotel around the corner." , register with JW Clark. Don't tell anyone but Dick." Mickey asked, "What the hell is going on?" He didn't get an answer, so he could only shake his slack body and walk towards the elevator.
Notes: