I left her at the run, with her mouth open to start all over again. I guess that dame enjoyed her lunch-hour. It certainly had given her something to talk about. And could she talk?
CHAPTER NINE
ALL THIS DIDN'T get me anywhere. When I got to the address the blonde had given me, Mardi wasn't there. She had left about two days ago, the landlady told me, taken her bags and left no address. Was. I pleased?
I returned to my apartment, feeling sore. The only thing I did know was that Mardi had left her job because of me. That told me that Spencer thought she knew something and wasn't risking anything. If what she knew was important, maybe he'd hidden her away. Against that, the landlady had told me that she had come by herself to pack her bags and didn't seem very worried. She did say that she had to go out of town on business, and didn't know when she would return. This was probably an excuse to satisfy the landlady, or was it?
I sat on the table and brooded about it. I wondered if I should find her again by proceeding in the investigation of the Vessi frame-up. While I was thinking about it the telephone rang.
The hard, clear metallic voice floated over the wire. “Nick Mason?”
I didn't beat about the bush with this baby. “Yeah,” I said. “Been shootin' any more colonels?”
I couldn't help grinning a little. I seemed to be always slipping a nasty one in with this dame.
She said, “You know about that?”
“Sure,” I said. “I was the guy that got you out of the jam. I recognised your voice.”
There was a moment's silence, then she said, “You are looking for Mardi Jackson. I told you last time that you would be interested before long. You see, I am not wrong. Mardi Jackson knows too much. I don't think you will see her again. All the same, you might have a look at the Wensdy Wharf to-night at nine o'clock. You might see something there that will interest you further.”
“Why the hell must you be so mysterious....” I began, but the line went dead. If I ever caught up with this dame, I thought savagely, slamming the telephone back on the table, I'd give her something to be mysterious about.
All the same, I was alarmed. She had confirmed my suspicions. Mardi did know something. I didn't like that crack about not seeing her again. I wandered round the room restlessly. Who was this woman? Why was she so anxious to get me started on this business? Kennedy knew who she was. I guessed that my next step would be to go along and have a straight talk with him. If I put my cards on the table, maybe he would open up.
In the meantime, I decided to check the morgue, just in case Mardi was there, unidentified.
I was mighty glad to get the job over. I didn't find Mardi. There were a good number of young girls lying on the slabs waiting for someone to claim them, and by the time I got through I was feeling low.
I had a chat with the morgue attendant before going. Casually I asked him if he knew anything about Wensdy Wharf. To my surprise he knew quite a lot about it. His brother used to work close by the place.
“A real tough spot,” he told me. “No one uses it now. They go farther up river to Hudson's Wharf. You will find all the river rats around Wensdy. Mike... that's my brother... used to say that Wensdy Wharf was used for smuggling. I guess it's cleaned up a bit since then. All the same, it's a tough spot.”
I got directions from him how to get there, gave him a couple of bucks, and beat it.
The rest of the day I spent sorting out my correspondence and seeing some of the boys. Things were quiet, and there were no big news stories coming in.
Around about eight o'clock I took my battered Ford and drove over to the
“H'yah,” he said. “I never really thanked you for fixing Kennedy for us. It was grand work.”
I waved aside his thanks. “Know anythin' about Lu Spencer?” I asked.
Hughson shrugged. “I should forget it,” he said. “That Vessi business is buried. You won't get anywhere digging around that mud-heap.”
I shook my head. “No... I wasn't lookin' at that angle,” I told him. “I just wanted to find out the type of guy he was. A girl friend of mine used to work for him and she's disappeared. I wondered if he'd got anything to do with it.”
Hughson shook his head. “Spencer ain't that sort of a guy. He's got a wife an' he's crazy about her. He wouldn't go two-timin' with one of his workers. Of course, I may be wrong, but I don't think so.”
I offered him a Camel. “Spencer's a pretty tough bird, ain't he?” I asked.
Hughson shrugged. “Yeah, I suppose he is. He's smart and he makes dough. Don't you worry your brains about Spencer.”
We went downstairs together and I drove him part-way home. I left him at a convenient subway and drove on towards Wensdy Wharf.
So Spencer was married. I told myself that I'd got to meet this guy soon. I must find Mardi first and hear her story. Then I could go along and talk to Spencer. It seemed I was getting involved in this business, whether I wanted to or not.
