True Crime by Max Allan Collins Read Free Book Online Page B

calls himself…” And she paused here, as if what followed would be significant. “…Jimmy Lawrence. Says he works at the Board of Trade.”
    “Gold-rim glasses, pencil mustache, kind of medium build? Nice dresser?”
    She kept nodding, seeming suddenly vaguely troubled. “That’s him.”
    “Who before that?”
    She touched a finger to her cheek, thinking. “I believe—I’m not sure, mind you—I believe it was a traveling salesman.”
    That was more like it. Now I could begin to make sense of this.
    “Was his name Howard? John Howard?”
    “I don’t know. I never knew his name. Why don’t you ask Polly?”
    “That would be awkward, at least at this point. The traveling salesman, is he a blond man, also with wire glasses and mustache?”
    “Why, yes.”
    “Physically a bit similar to this Jimmy Lawrence?”
    “I suppose. Why?”
    “Nothing. I had a client who lied to me, is all. A man who said he was a husband when he was really just a jilted boyfriend. Who was afraid no self-respecting private detective would take on his case, if he weren’t the girl’s spouse.”
    “He doesn’t sound like he’s from Chicago.”
    “No,” I said. “He just passes through here, obviously.”
    I stood.
    “Thank you, Anna. And thanks for the ice water.”
    “Are you going to talk to Polly?”
    “No.”
    “Why not?”
    “Why? I’ve finished the job I was hired to do. And I’ve answered the questions that had my curiosity up. You needn’t show me out, and thanks again….”
    She reached out and touched my hand; her touch was warm, her hand was trembling. Trembling! This cool cucumber was trembling….
    “Why, Anna,” I said. “What’s wrong?”
    “Nothing,” she said, her face impassive, but her hand still trembling against mine. “Please—sit down. I’d like to talk to you. I need to talk to someone, and…you would do nicely. You’re almost a policeman, after all.”
    I sat down.
    Her dark eyes seemed very soft, then, and compelling; this big attractive woman had the ability to seem strong one moment, vulnerable the next—like many madams, she’d got out of hustling herself early enough to hold onto her looks; but had hustled long enough to remember how to push a man’s buttons.
    Leaning forward in her chair, hands folded in her lap, she said, “You spent a night with Polly once.”
    “In a manner of speaking. I was drunk, and I hadn’t been with a woman in a long time…I’d had some of that other kind of trouble—woman trouble. You’ve heard of that.”
    My effort to lighten this conversation wasn’t having much effect: Anna’s ready smile was nowhere to be seen.
    “She liked you,” Anna said.
    “I wouldn’t go that far,” I said.
    “She said she did. And you, maybe you liked her, a little?”
    “I liked her in the sack, Anna, to be blunt, but that’s as far as it went. I was drunk, remember? And if you do remember, you’re one up on me.”
    Her face looked pale and tragic, the dark eyes hooded, the red mouth a thin line. “I thought you might be interested in…helping her.”
    “Well…sure. I guess. Anna, I’ve been shadowing her for a couple of days, and she hasn’t recognized me, even up close. We’re not bosom buddies.”
    “But you’d help her, if you could. You’d help anybody in trouble.”
    “Not really. But make your pitch. You’ve got my curiosity back up, if that’s what you’re after.”
    She stood and paced; whether for dramatic effect, or out of actual nervousness, I didn’t know. I still don’t.
    She stopped and said, “Polly may be in dangerous company.”
    “How so?”
    “This Jimmy Lawrence. She brought him here. For dinner. Polly, and several of the other girls, are more than just employees to me—they’re family. And I often invite them here. Have Romanian specialties, which I cook myself. I’m famous for my culinary arts, for my dinner parties.”
    “I’m convinced. But you’ve drifted off the point, Anna.”
    She paced some more,