Traps Need Fresh Bait

Chapter 3

George Bains was listed in the telephone book. I got him on the phone.

“I know it’s an imposition,” I said, “but I’d like to talk with you for a few minutes about a personal matter. Will you see me if I drive out?”

“What’s the name?” he asked.

“Donald Lam,” I told him.

“Oh, all right,” he said. “Come on out. If you want to make the trip, I’ll take a look at you and see how you impress me.”

“Fair enough,” I told him, and hung up.

He lived down at the beach. It took me a while to get out there. The place turned out to be a small apartment. Bains and his wife were in their thirties and apparently had no children.

“All right,” he said; “what’s it all about?”

“April fifteenth means anything to you?” I asked.

He grinned and said, “What does it mean to you?”

“It means something I’m investigating.”

“All right,” he said; “I was in an automobile accident.”

“What happened?”

“I was driving my automobile along Gilton Avenue, and when I came to the intersection at Crenshaw I slowed for a stop light, but the light changed just as I got there so I moved on through.

“A Cadillac driven by a man named Samuel Afton was coming fast down Crenshaw. I think he tried to beat the red light, saw he couldn’t make it, slammed on the brakes, couldn’t stop fast enough, and ran into me.”

“What’s the status of the litigation?” I asked.

“There isn’t any litigation.”

“What’s the status of the claim you’ve made?”

“Paid.”

“You mean Afton has paid off?”

“It was the insurance company that did the paying,” Bains said. “And I’ll say this: their investigator was a nice guy. He came out and got my statement, looked at the damage, asked me if I was hurt, took me to a doctor for a checkup, took my car to the garage, ordered repairs on it, fixed up everything in first-class shape, and came out to see if I was completely satisfied with the car.”

“You were?”

“Yes. It ran like new.”

“How much was the damage?”

“I don’t know. The car was damaged pretty much, but the insurance company took care of the whole thing.”

“Know what insurance company it was?”

“Sure,” he said, “It was the Metropolitan Auto Indemnity Company.”

“Fine,” I told him. “I was just checking up on some of the insurance companies. I wanted to see how they handled their claims. You’re certain this was handled in a manner satisfactory to you?”

“It sure was.”

I thanked Bains and drove back to the apartment.

Daphne Creston was fresh and radiant.

“Donald,” she said, “I’ll be moving out tonight as soon as I get the money, and I do want you to know how much I appreciate all that you’ve done for me. I’ve cleaned things up a little bit. Well, I’ve straightened up the kitchen and on the shelves. It doesn’t look as though you’ve been here very long, Donald.”

“No,” I told her, “not very long.”

“You have a lot of new provisions that haven’t even been opened.”

“I keep them so I can eat here when I need to, but I eat out a lot of the time.”

She regarded me thoughtfully for a moment, then said, “Well, Donald, it’s been fun knowing you, and I want to tell you you’re one of the nicest men I’ve ever known.”

“You’ve never given anybody the address of this apartment?” I asked.

“Heavens, no. I gave them the address of the hotel where you met me. I intend to get a room there just as soon as I get some money and ...”

“And no one knows how to get in touch with you?”

“No. I get in touch with them.”

“Now, your instructions tonight are what?”

“I’m to be in front of the Monadnock Building at ten minutes to ten on the dot. I’m going to be picked up there and taken to the residence of the attorney, who is going to give me the three hundred dollars. It’s out in Hollywood somewhere.”

“Daphne,” I said, “do something for me.”

“What?”

“Don’t go.”

“Don’t go, Donald?”

“That’s right. Don’t go.”

“But, Donald, I’m absolutely flat broke. You know that. I’ve done the job; I’ve given them the affidavit. And, as you pointed out, they’ll probably use that affidavit to make a settlement and — why, Donald. I’m entitled to the money.”

“It’s a poor way to make money,” I told her.

“Beggars can’t be choosers.”

“To some extent they can. And you’re not a beggar.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“You’ve got a home,” I said.

“Where?”

“Here.”

“Oh, Donald, I couldn’t. I... Why, Donald, you don’t really mean — or do you mean...?”

“What?”

“Move in with you.”

“That wasn’t what I said. I said you had a home here. I’ve got a place I can stay.”

“Another place?” she asked.

“It’s a place I can stay.”

She came to me and looked searchingly into my eyes. She was angry. “Donald,” she said, “are you spending the time with some other girl in her apartment while I’m here?”

“I didn’t say that,” I said. “I said I had another place I could stay. I live in this town, you know. I have friends. You can stay right here until you connect with something; I can give you get-by money, and there’s enough groceries in the kitchen to keep you going for a while.”

“I noticed,” she said thoughtfully, and then added, “New groceries. The packages haven’t been opened — canned goods, frozen foods in the freezing compartment of the refrigerator... Tell me, Donald, do you really love her?”

I laughed and said, “That’s the way with a woman. She jumps to conclusions. Now, forget this appointment tonight and don’t ever go back to those people. Just stay away from them. Then let’s keep an eye on them and see what they do next.”

“But, Donald, it’s all very obvious. They already have my affidavit. They’ll use that to make a settlement with the insurance company, just like you said.”

I said, “That office up in the Monadnock Building is just a hole in the wall. You can go in there and rent one of the offices by the day, by the week, by the month, or probably by the hour. You can have the office from twelve noon until one o’clock; you can pretend it’s your office; all you pay is an hour’s rental.

“When you’re finished, someone else moves in and pays an hour’s rental. Some of them probably rent by the day. Perhaps they have a few customers who rent by the week; but it’s a fly-by-night business with the woman out in front running things, collecting rentals; and probably she’s a stenographer who furnishes stenographic service when necessary.”

Daphne thought it over, then said, “Well, if they’re just doing temporary investigative work on account of one accident, you wouldn’t expect them to have a permanent office.”

“Why not? If you’re dealing with a reputable insurance company and an attorney at law who is so darned ethical, you’d expect...”

“No, Donald,” she interrupted; “I’ve gone this far. I’m going to see it through. I’m a young woman who likes to stand on her own two feet. I’ve appreciated what you’ve done for me; but I’m not going to sponge on you, and I’m not going to put you out of your own apartment.

“And,” she added after a moment, “so far, those are the only alternatives you’ve indicated as possibilities, Sir Galahad!”

She was looking at me with laughing eyes.

“All right,” I told her, “you’re living your own life, but I just have a hunch on this thing. I’m smelling something very, very fishy.”

“Donald,” she said, “you never have told me about your connection with this.”

“What do you mean ‘my connection’?”

“You went there to try and collect three hundred dollars. They didn’t play ball with you. Do you know why not?”

“No.”

“Donald, tell me — did you see the accident?”

I grinned at her and said, “I saw the ad in the paper.”

“Do you need money that badly, Donald?”

“I’m a sharpshooter,” I told her. “I can always pick up a few bucks here and there; and when I see an ad like that, it’s a challenge.”

“Donald, I have a peculiar feeling that there’s more to this than you’re telling me.”

“But you’re not going to listen to me?”

“No. And I’ve got to go.”

“All right,” I told her, “I’ll drive you to within a couple of blocks of the Monadnock and you can walk from there. Now, you stay here tonight. When you come back, you let yourself in; you have a key.”

“And where will you be, Donald?”

“I have another place to stay. I told you.”

“Donald, you could... well, what I mean... Donald, I simply can’t keep putting you out of your place this way and I’m not going to stay here. I’ve got everything all ready for you to move back in. I’ll have three hundred dollars, and I’m going to that little hotel down the street a block and a half from the Monadnock. It’s reasonably priced and respectable.”

“Have it your own way,” I told her.

She said somewhat wistfully, “After tonight, I won’t be seeing you again. I’ll go my way and you’ll go yours. The city will swallow us up. It’s unlikely our paths will ever cross again.”

“Well, it’s been nice knowing you,” I told her.

She said, “I don’t want to say goodbye to you in an automobile parked on a crowded street a couple of blocks from the Monadnock Building.”

“When do you want to say goodbye to me?”

“Now.”

“Don’t you want me to drive you to...”

“Of course I do. I’m not talking about that; I’m talking about saying goodbye.”

And with that she put her arms around my neck, held her face close to mine for a moment, said, “Donald, you’re marvelous! You’re... you’re... you’re just too darned good to be true!

“Here’s my thank-you!”

She pressed her lips against mine and gave me a long kiss that started out as a chaste thank-you but speedily went into high gear and stayed there.

When she broke away, she looked at me with starry eyes. “Donald, I wasn’t sure about you, but...”

“What do you mean you weren’t sure?” I asked

“I didn’t know. You never tried to push things, never tried to take advantage, never made any — well, dammit, you didn’t make any passes!”

“Was I supposed to?”

“Of course you were supposed to! Men are supposed to make passes; women are supposed to have the right of selection. They accept the ones they want and dodge the ones they don’t want.”

“So you weren’t sure of me?”

She laughed and said, “I was afraid perhaps you were one of those men who... who didn’t like women.”

“And what do you think now?”

“Good Lord, Donald, you wound me up and started me running! Come on; we’ve got to go, we’ve things to do. I was just saying goodbye and thanking you while I had the chance... Now I’m all packed up. If you want me to... All right, Donald, you carry the suitcase, I’ll carry the overnight bag and coat, and we can leave them at the hotel.”

“And you won’t call it off?” I asked.

“No. I’ve gone this far and I’m going to see it through.”

“All right, let’s go,” I told her.

I carried the suitcase and she carried the other stuff down to the car. I put it in the back, drove to the hotel, gave a bellboy a tip and told him to hold the baggage for a couple of hours; then I drove around the block and let Daphne out.

She said goodbye once more, regardless of the people streaming by on the sidewalk, regardless of the fact that we were parked in front of a fireplug with the motor running. It was some goodbye. She came up for air, looked at me speculatively.

“Donald, I get the darnedest feeling about you,” she said in a taut voice.

“What sort of a feeling?” I asked.

“You’re holding yourself back. You’re holding yourself under wraps. Why? You’re a man. Let me make the decisions.”

“What makes you think I’m holding back?”

“You act as though this was some sort of a... I don’t know — some sort of a business assignment. I thought for a while you were working with the insurance company — a part of the whole setup. But — I just don’t know. All I know is that, for some reason, you’re holding back.”

“And it bothers you?”

“Of course it bothers me. A girl doesn’t like to have the boys hold back. She wants to do the holding. But you’ve got something way down deep in the bottom part of your mind, something you’re working on. I was afraid for a while you weren’t human; that you weren’t... well, I didn’t mean that you weren’t human; I meant that you weren’t one of the men who appreciated the opposite sex.”

“You’ve got that out of your mind now?”

She laughed and said, “I haven’t had such a kick saying goodbye for a long, long... Heavens, I’ve got to be there at ten minutes to ten on the dot, and I’ve got a block and a half to walk! Goodbye, Donald.”

She gave me another hurried kiss, jerked the door open, jumped out to the sidewalk, and quickly walked away.

I let her get well down the street; then I moved the car down to a point where I could see the entrance of the Monadnock Building.

Rodney Harper was there waiting for her. He looked accusingly at his wrist watch when she came up, and I saw her stand close to him and start talking rapidly.

Harper took her elbow, piloted her down the street to the parking lot.

I slid in front of a fireplug and waited for them to come out.

I didn’t have long to wait. Harper was doing the driving; she was sitting beside him in a Lincoln Continental.

I swung in behind, got close enough to see that the license place of the Lincoln had been removed. After that I eased back so Harper wouldn’t know he was being followed.

I knew that I stood a risk of ranking the whole job; but that was a chance I had to take.

I did a pretty fancy job of tailing. At times I turned my lights down and slid in close to the curb when I was sure of myself and of him. At times I stayed far behind; at times I moved up close.

It was one of the times when I was far behind that I lost them. When I moved up, they were gone.

I circled the block; I cut down side streets; I used every trick I knew, but the big Lincoln was gone. I revised my opinion of Harper. He hadn’t been a simpleton; he’d known he was wearing a tail, and he’d waited until his own time to ditch it in the way he wanted it ditched.

I tried methodical thinking, but I was having a little difficulty.

The car couldn’t have gone on down the main boulevard. He must have turned either right or left — probably right. He could, of course, have doubled back; but he had probably gone down a side street. If Harper knew he was being followed, he’d have cut corners and done some fancy driving and I was out of luck. If he didn’t know he was being followed, it was possible he was parked somewhere nearby.

I had lost him if he was on the move. The only chance I had left was that he was parked. So I drove down the side streets looking in the driveways. Twenty minutes passed. Then, suddenly, I heard a siren. I pulled over to the curb, shut off my headlights.

A police car rocketed past me, going fast, siren screaming.

I cursed myself for letting her go with these chiselers, cursed myself for being so conservative on a tailing job that I lost the car I was tailing, and cursed myself for letting the agency get hooked into this sort of a deal.

I took out after the police, going fast.

It went on down the street for about three blocks, then suddenly splashed into crimson all over the rear end as the driver slammed on the brakes hard and made a turn into a driveway.

I was trapped. There was only one thing for me to do and that was to keep moving.

As I went past the place where the police car had turned in, I tried to catch the house number. As nearly as I could tell, it was 1771; but I had only a brief glimpse. Then I saw officers coming out of the car — one of them running around to the rear door of the house and the other one starting for the front door.

Then I had passed by.

The officers had been intent on what they were doing. They weren’t paying attention to my car. I heaved a sigh of relief and gradually started building speed.

Then, suddenly, a siren sounded and a police car swung around the corner two blocks ahead of me, turned in my direction, and started coming fast — red light blinking, siren screaming.

I pulled over to the curb.

I was in a residential district. It was a well-used street. The police car was screaming for the right of way. I had the right to pull over to the curb and stop. In fact, it was my duty to do so under the law; but, under the circumstances, it made me a target.

I saw an officer in the rear seat of the car peering out through the window. Then, suddenly, the brakes went on on the police car.

I pretended I hadn’t noticed anything, waited until the car went past, pulled away from the curb and started moving. But it was no use. The police whipped into a U-turn. The siren sounded again, and the red spotlight bathed my car in ruddy brilliance.

Once more I pulled into the curb.

The police car came alongside.

“Just a check,” one of the officers said. “You have your driver’s license and registration slip?”

“What’s the big idea?” I asked.

“Just a check,” the officer repeated.

Then the rear door opened. Sergeant Frank Sellers got out, took one look at me and said, “Well, I’ll be a son of a sea cook!”

“Hello, Sergeant,” I said.

“Well, if it isn’t Pint Size himself!” Sellers said.

The officer who had asked for my driver’s license said to Sergeant Sellers, “You know this guy?”

“Hell, yes!” Sellers said. “He’s a private eye. He’s mixed in more wild-eyed cases than you can shake a stick at. What are you doing down here, Pint Size?”

“I’m working,” I told him.

“Isn’t that nice! What are you working on down here?”

“I came down here to meet a man.”

“What’s his name? Where does he live?”

“I don’t know. He told me to cruise along Hemmet Avenue between the seventeen-hundred and one thousand blocks and he’d pick me up.”

“What’s his name?”

“I don’t know. It was a telephone call.”

“Somebody just told you to come down to Hemmet Avenue at this time of night and cruise around and he’d pick you up. He didn’t give you a name, and you jumped in your car and came scooting down here.”

“That’s not right, but we’ll let it ride at that.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Nobody asked you to.”

“Well, for your information,” Sergeant Sellers said, “there’s been a murder committed at 1771 Hemmet Avenue — that’s back here a couple of blocks. Somebody shot a very prominent lawyer. And we come boiling out here in response to a radio call and find you cruising in the neighborhood. Now, isn’t that a coincidence?”

“Meaning you think I committed the murder?”

“No,” Sergeant Sellers said, “You’re not that dumb. But I wouldn’t be at all surprised if the person who did commit it is a client of yours or if you aren’t mixed up in the case in some way.”

“Well, I’m not mixed up in it in any way,” I told him.

“You are now,” he told me. “Get in your car and follow us back to 1771; that’s where we’re stopping. I’ll look the place over and then I’ll do some more questioning. Maybe by that time you’ll have thought up a more convincing story.”

Sellers climbed back in the police car; I put my car in a U-turn and followed them back to the big house where the first police car had turned in.

I saw then there was another police car back in the driveway and that the car Sergeant Sellers was in made three police cars parked at the place.

Lights were on in adjoining houses, and people began to gather — timid, diffident people, poking their heads out of doors, then coming out to front porches, then walking over the property lines.

Sellers said, “You wait here, Lam, and don’t make any move to get away. Don’t try to communicate with anybody. Just stay right there.”

“Am I under arrest or something?”

“We’ll put it this way,” Sellers said: “one false move out of you and you will be under arrest.”

“Just because I was driving a car in the neighborhood,” I said bitterly.

“Just because you were driving a car in the neighborhood,” Sellers said, “and because you’re mixed up in more unconventional stuff than any other private detective I’ve ever met. You’re daring; you’re ingenious; you’re unconventional; and the hell of it is you’ve got a reputation all over town for being daring, ingenious and unconventional. The result of all that is that people come to you with assignments they wouldn’t give to anybody else; and you take them.

“Eventually, that’s going to lead to losing your license. One of these days you won’t be lucky.”

“You say there’s a murder in there?” I asked.

“That’s the story. Dale Dirking Finchley — ever heard of him?”

I shook my head.

“He’s quite a lawyer, although he doesn’t get around court much. He’s one of these fellows who plays it behind the scenes. I guess you’d call him a political attorney. Now then, having refreshed your recollection, so to speak, does the name mean anything to you?”

“Not a thing.”

Sellers said, “And, of course, you’d tell me if it did!”

“Of course,” I echoed.

Sellers grunted, turned away from me and went on into the house.

I sat there and waited.

Officers came and went. I could hear the police radios on the parked cars conveying messages back and forth. After a while, Sellers came out. He walked over to my car. “Thought up any better story by this time?” he asked.

I said nothing.

“All right, Lam. I’m going to ask you some questions. Now, this is going to be official. I’m investigating a murder case. If you lie to an officer who is investigating a murder case, it consists of giving false evidence. You know what that means.”

“Listen,” I told him, “just because you’re investigating a murder case doesn’t mean you have the right to ask a lot of extraneous questions and come prying into the private business of a detective agency, trying to get me to betray the confidences of clients. Now, you ask me any question that is connected in any way with this murder investigation, and if I have any pertinent information I’ll give it to you and I’ll try not to lie.

“On the other hand, if you ask me questions which would cause me to betray a confidence in regard to my business, and questions which have no bearing on the murder, I’m going to give you some purely synthetic answers.”

“You aren’t going to give me any synthetic answers on the questions I ask,” Sellers said. “Now, I’ll ask you first — how long have you been in the neighborhood?”

“I was just cruising. I came down the street directly behind the police car that turned in the driveway. I thought at the time it was the first car, but I see now there was a car ahead of it.”

“That checks,” Sellers said. “The driver remembered you were coming behind him. Now then, were you alone in the car?”

“I was alone in the car.”

“What were you doing down here?”

“I was looking for a party.”

“Someone who had telephoned you and told you to meet him here?”

I said, “That story I told you was condensed and slightly edited. The true facts are I’m doing a confidential job for a man who gave me an unlisted telephone number and a retainer.”

“What sort of a job?”

“It has to do with an automobile accident. At least, as far as I know.”

“Do you know if Dale Finchley was working on that case?”

I shook my head. “I don’t know that he was, but I have every reason to assume that he wasn’t.”

“Why?”

“Because the case, as such, had been settled and...”

“Settled?”

“That’s right. Settled out of court.”

“Then why were you investigating it?”

“Because my client wanted me to.”

“And why should he want to investigate a case that had already been settled?”

“That,” I said, “is one of the things that’s bothering me about the case. But I think my client is interested in a whole series of cases, of which this just happens to be one. There’s supposed to be an insurance angle, and it just may be that someone has worked out a system of sticking insurance companies.”

“I’d like to have the name of your client,” Sellers said.

“I’m not at liberty to give it to you because, as you can see, it has absolutely nothing to do with this case.”

“But it had something to do with this territory — this neighborhood.”

I said, “I don’t think it did.”

“Then what were you doing here?”

“I’ll put it right on the line, Sergeant. I was trying to tail a car. I was afraid the driver was suspicious. I was coming down the boulevard and had every reason to believe we were going on for quite a ways. I dropped far behind so he wouldn’t notice my headlights, because it was a one-man trailing job. And I lost him.”

“Where did you lose him?”

“About five blocks back on the boulevard.”

“How did you lose him?”

“I was so far behind, I don’t know. A couple of cars were coming toward me, their headlights dazzled me, and when they got past, I couldn’t find my man anywhere, I assumed he must have turned off. If he’d speeded up and gone on ahead, I was licked. So I was starting a swing around the residential district here to see if I could pick up the car.”

“What kind of a car?”

I looked him straight in the eye. “A four-door sedan.”

“Dammit,” Sellers said, “that isn’t what I meant and you know it. What make? If you were tailing the car, you picked up the license number.”

I said, “If it’s connected in any way with the murder case, you may have it. But the car wasn’t parked on Hemmet Avenue; it wasn’t parked on any of the side streets around here. I’ve come to the conclusion it went on through. I think the driver knew I was tailing him and speeded up when I dropped so far behind.”

Sergeant Sellers said, “I’m going to let you get by with it this time, Lam, largely because I can’t put my finger on anything specific. But I’ll put it right on the line with you: every time you’re mixed into a case, you try to protect the interests of your clients without regard for how the police may feel.

“You have the right to represent a client, but the police are in charge of every phase of a criminal investigation, and don’t ever forget it.

“Now, get the hell out of here!”

I got out of there.

I couldn’t be certain whether I was being followed or not, so I decided to play it safe and drove directly to my regular apartment, without going near the new one I had rented. If Sergeant Sellers was having me tailed, I didn’t want to tip him off to that new apartment — not just yet.