You’re Lonely When You’re Dead

I

On a nice sunny morning in mid-March, around eleven o’clock, I drove over to the Santa Rosa Estate where the owner, Jay Franklin Cerf, was expecting me.

I had been out when he had called the office, but Paula Bensinger, who runs the business and me too if I don’t watch out, had told him I would be over within the hour. He hadn’t volunteered any information except the matter was urgent and confidential, but the fact that he owned the Santa Rosa Estate was enough for her. You had to have money to run a place that size and money always got Paula steamed up.

By the time I arrived at the office she had dug up some dope about Cerf, and while I made myself presentable she rattled off the facts from news clippings we keep on all the big shots in Orchid City. Cerf was the President of the Red Star Navigation Company, a gigantic wholesale lumber and shipping business operating along the Pacific Coast. He had been a widower for the past two years — his wife had been killed in a car accident and up to now, his private life had been a lot less exciting than the mummy-room of the Park-Livingstone Museum. Recently he had married a mannequin, and that, Paula thought, was probably why he wanted to see me. When a man of his age and wealth falls for a mannequin, she went on cynically, and is sucker enough to marry her, the writing goes up on the wall.

But if it wasn’t his wife troubling him, she continued — she always liked to have an alternative theory then it was probably his daughter, Natalia, a forbidding piece in her early twenties, crippled in the same car accident that had killed her mother, and who made enemies as easily as her father made dollars.

‘The guy’s made of money,’ she concluded, with that wistful look in her eyes the thought of vast wealth always brings. ‘Don’t let him think we’re anything but expensive, and get over there quick. We don’t want him to change his mind about hiring us.’

‘To hear you talk,’ I said bitterly, moving to the door, ‘anyone would think you owned this joint, not me. Thread a new ribbon in your Remington and leave this to me.’

‘I’ll have you know I’m the only one who does any work around here,’ Paula said heatedly. ‘If it wasn’t for me...’

But by then I was halfway down the stairs.

The Santa Rosa Estate was a hundred-acre paradise that embraced the raced lawns, formal gardens, a swimming pool and fountains. It was a pretty lush spot if you like lush spots: I don’t. Whenever I happen on one of these gold-plated, millionaire’s caravanserais my bank balance pokes up its head and jeers at me.

The drive up to the house was along a winding avenue of trees, and on the way I caught a glimpse of a distant lawn, big enough to play polo on, and flowerbeds that were packed with colour bright enough to hurt your eyes. The avenue opened out on to a vast stretch of tarmac on which were parked five or six cars. The smallest of them was a Rolls-Royce convertible in cream and sky blue. Two Filipino chauffeurs were flicking it over with feather dusters, and sneering to themselves as if what they were doing was against their religion.

To the right of the parking lot was the house, a modest little affair of about twenty-four bedrooms, a front door through which you could drive a ten-ton truck and a terrace of french windows overlooking an esplanade broad enough to use as a runway for a B .25.

On my way to the front door I came upon a concealed loggia before which stood two big tubs of red and yellow begonias. I paused to admire the flowers as an excuse to get my breath back, and found myself gaping at a girl in a wheel chair, sunning herself in the loggia. She showed no surprise at my sudden appearance, and her deep-set eyes regarded me so searchingly I had an uneasy feeling she could read the letters in my wallet and count the small change in my pockets.

She was about twenty-four or five, small and as hard as an uncut diamond. She had that pale, pinched look cripples have, and her thin, neat mouth drooped a little at the corners, hinting at a sneer that might or might not be in her thoughts Her dark, glossy hair was shoulder length and curled inwards at the bottom, and she wore a pair of fawn-coloured slacks and a blue Cashmere sweater which was too loose to show off her figure, if she had a figure, which I doubted.

I took off my hat and gave her a polite grin to show her I was a friendly sort of guy if that was what she was looking for, but apparently she wasn’t. There was no answering smile, no bonhomie, just a plain, straightforward freeze.

‘Are you from Universal Services?’ she asked in a voice you could slice bread on. A book lay in her trousered lap, and one thin finger held down a word as if she was scared it would slip off the page.

‘Lady,’ I said, ‘I am Universal Services.’

‘Then you shouldn’t come to the front entrance,’ she told me. ‘The tradesmen’s entrance is to the right and at the back.’

I thanked her, and then as she lowered her eyes to the book I started off again towards the front door.

‘Where are you going?’ she demanded, looking up sharply and raising her voice. ‘I said the tradesmen’s entrance...’

‘Is to the right and at the back,’ I broke in. ‘I know. I heard you the first time. Between you and me and the begonias Miss Cerf, it could be to the left and in the front. It could be on the roof or under a fountain. I’m not particularly interested. One of these days, when I have time, I’ll have a look at it. Maybe it’s worth seeing. I’ll put it in my duty book for a wet afternoon. Thanks for the suggestion.’

But by now she was bending over her book again, apparently not listening. Her long dark tresses fell forward, hiding her face. A pity. I bet she looked as if she had swallowed a bee.

There seemed no point in staying. So far as she was concerned I just wasn’t there anymore, so I continued the long trek to the front door, a shade hotter under the collar than I had been before I met her, thinking she was definitely not the type of girl you took to a gin palace in the hope she’d snap a garter at you.

The butler who opened the door was a tall, regal-looking person with the face of a retired statesman and the manners of a bishop. When I told him my name he said Mr. Cerf was expecting me. He led me through a hall that was smaller than the Pennsylvania station but not much, along a passage lined on either side with suits of armour and crossed swords, down a flight of stairs, past a billiard room to an elevator that whisked us up two floors. From the elevator I followed his stiff back along another mile of corridor to a room overlooking the front lawn and the distant ocean, and which was obviously the great man’s study.

‘I will tell Mr. Cerf you are here, sir,’ he said with a formal bow. ‘He is unlikely to keep you very long,’ and he went away with no more commotion than a snowflake makes to settle on your hat.

II

Jay Franklin Cerf looked what he was: the President of a six-million dollar Navigation Company. There was an arrogant and authoritative air about him that brooked no non-sense, and it was pretty obvious he had been expensively fed from the time he had got on to solids. He was tall and massive. His complexion was just the right blend of mauve and suntan, and his eyes were as blue as forget-me-nots and as impersonal. He was, at a guess, on the wrong side of fifty, but hard still in mind and body. From the crown of his thinning hair to the welts of his glossy shoes he was a blueprint of the boy who made good.

He came briskly into the room, closed the door and looked me over the way millionaires look over any proposition that might cost them money.

‘Are you Malloy?’ he barked abruptly, and I could imagine anyone who depended on him for a living would buckle at the knees at the sound of that voice.

I said I was and waited, for I have done enough business with millionaires to know if there’s one thing they hate more than being bitten by a dog it’s to listen to any other voice except their own.

‘From the Universal Services?’ he went on, making sure of his facts.

‘That’s right, Mr. Cerf.’

He gave a little grunt and stared doubtfully at me. He began to say something, but changed his mind, and instead went over to the window and peered out for no reason at all so far as I could see unless maybe he had paid for the view and wanted value for money.

Then suddenly he said without turning, ‘About this organization of yours. I have some idea what you do, but I have had it only second-hand. I’d like details.’

‘Sure,’ I said, wishing I had ten dollars for every time I’d run through this spiel. ‘Maybe it’ll interest you to hear how the organization began. Someone once told me millionaires want service: The richer you are the more dependent you are on other people, this guy said, and he was right. When I came out of the army I had no prospects and no money but I remembered what this guy had told me. I decided to give the millionaires a service to end all services. The result is Universal Services that celebrates its third birthday next week. I’m not pretending the idea has turned out to be a ball of fire. It hasn’t, but it’s made me a little money and it’s been a lot of fun.

‘My organization will take on any job any client wants done. It doesn’t matter what the job is so long as it’s legal and ethical: from arranging a divorce to procuring a white elephant. Since we’ve started, I and my staff have handled blackmailers, watched drug addicts, taken a bunch of college kids on a world tour, fanned out illegitimate babies, bagged a grizzly bear for a client who wanted to boast he had shot one, and ironed out a little trouble for a young woman who walked in her sleep once too often. Those are the kind of things we do because they are the kind of things people want done and can’t do themselves. Once I accept a client I protect him. Once the fee is paid, and it’s a big one, there are no other expenses and no other payments. It’s a millionaire’s service, and every job we do carries with it a guarantee of secrecy.’

While I was pausing for breath, he said impatiently, ‘Yes, I heard it was something like that.’ He came away from the window. ‘Sit down. What will you drink?’

I sat down and said I wouldn’t drink anything, but maybe he knew I was kidding because he went over to a well-equipped cocktail cabinet and mixed two highballs with the ease and speed of constant practice. One of these he put within my reach. The other he held in his hand and stared at as if he wasn’t sure what he was to do with it.

‘If there’s anything I can handle for you,’ I said to get him going, ‘I’ll be glad to do it, and you can be sure of a confidential and efficient service.’

He looked up, frowning.

‘I wouldn’t have sent for you if I hadn’t been sure of that,’ he said curtly. ‘I have a job for you. It is nothing out of the way. At least, nothing out of the way to you. It is to me, I’m afraid.’

While he went off into another long, brooding silence, I sampled the highball. It was strong enough to knock over a fair-sized mule.

‘But before I go into details I would like your reactions to an odd discovery I have made,’ he said suddenly. ‘Come with me. I want to show you something.’

He took me into a big airy bedroom, halfway along the corridor: a woman’s room I guessed from the elaborate toilet-set on the dressing table and the various feminine bric-a-brac lying around.

He went to one of the big built-in cupboards, an impressive affair of walnut and bevelled glass, opened the door and dragged out a pigskin suitcase. This he dumped on the floor at my feet and then stood away.

‘Open it,’ he said abruptly, ‘and take a look at the contents.’

I squatted down on my heels, slid back the two catches and opened the case. It was half-full of the oddest collection of articles I have ever seen in one throw. There were cigarette-cases, a number of leather wallets, a couple of diamond rings, three shoes that didn’t match, a collection of spoons with the names of a number of swank restaurants embossed on them, a half a dozen cigarette-lighters, some of them bearing initials, several pairs of silk stockings with the price tags still attached, a pair of scissors, a couple of pocket-knives, one with a gold handle, three fountain-pens and a statuette of a naked woman in jade.

I pawed over this odd collection, and then as Cerf didn’t volunteer any information I put the stuff back and returned the suitcase to the cupboard.

‘That was what I wanted you to see,’ he said in a flat voice. ‘We may as well return to the other room.’ When we were back in the study, and had sat down, he asked, ‘Well, what do you make of it?’

‘If it wasn’t for the odd shoes and the spoons I wouldn’t make anything of it,’ I said. ‘But as it is, it could be a kleptomaniac’s hoard. I don’t say it is, but it could be.’

‘Yes, that’s what it looks like to me,’ he said, and drew in a deep breath.

‘Unless, of course, it’s some kind of joke,’ I suggested.

‘It’s no joke.’ His voice went acid. ‘My wife and I have had numerous invitations to private houses since our marriage. Most of those articles come from people we know. The statuette in jade belongs to Mrs. Sydney Clegg. I remember seeing it in one of her rooms. The gold penknife is the property of Wilbur Rhyskind, the novelist. The spoons come from some of the restaurants we have visited. No, I’m afraid it’s no joke.’

‘Is this what you want me to work on?’

Before replying he took out a cigar, pierced and lit it with a hand that was noticeably unsteady.

‘Yes, I want you to work on it,’ he said at last.

There was a long pause.

‘This is a very unsettling and unpleasant discovery,’ he went on, frowning at his cigar. ‘The fact is I don’t know a great deal about my wife.’ The words came slowly and the harsh voice was deliberate and impersonal. ‘She was a mannequin at Simeon’s in San Francisco. I met her at a dress show.’ He paused to smooth down his already smooth hair. “We were married within three weeks of our meeting, about four months ago. The wedding was a quiet one: secret if you like. The news is only just beginning to leak out.’

‘Why was the wedding secret?’

He sat forward and stubbed out his cigar. It was an expressive movement and told me he was in the mood to crack skulls.

‘My daughter is a highly strung, neurotic sort of girl. Her mother was devoted to her. It was a great shock to Natalie when she died. Anita — that’s my present wife — and I decided for Natalie’s sake to have a quiet wedding.’

I chewed this over.

‘I take it your daughter and Mrs. Cerf don’t exactly get along together?’

‘No, they don’t get along together,’ he returned, and the corners of his mouth turned down. ‘But that’s neither here nor there. What I want to find out is whether my wife is a kleptomaniac.’

‘Have you asked Mrs. Cerf for an explanation?’

It was pretty obvious by the blank way he stared at me the idea hadn’t occurred to him.

‘Certainly not, and I don’t intend to. She’s not a particularly easy person to handle.’

‘This might be an attempt to discredit Mrs. Cerf. I don’t know if you have considered that angle. It would be easy to plant that stuff in her cupboard.’

He sat very still, looking at me.

‘And who do you suggest would do such a thing?’ he asked in a voice like the splintering of ice.

‘You would know that better than I. It’s my job to point out the angles. You and Mrs. Cerf and your daughter didn’t get on. It’s an angle.’

His face took on a deeper hue and an ugly glitter came into his eyes.

‘You’ll leave my daughter out of this!’ he said angrily.

‘I’ll do that, certainly,’ I said. ‘If that’s the way you feel about it.’

I gave him a moment or so to cool down, then asked, ‘What made you go to Mrs. Cerf’s cupboard in the first place? Were you expecting to find that suitcase or did you happen on it by accident?’

‘I believe my wife is being blackmailed,’ he said, steadying his voice with an effort. ‘I went through her things in the hope of finding some sort of proof and I came across the suitcase.’

‘What makes you think she’s being blackmailed?’

‘I give her a monthly allowance,’ he said as if each word stuck in his throat. ‘Far more than she needs. She isn’t used to money, and I took the precaution to arrange with her bank to send me a duplicate of her passbook. I felt I should keep a check on her expenditure, anyway for the first year or so of our married life. She has drawn out three very large sums of money during the past month.’

‘How large?’ I asked, thinking it couldn’t be much fun to be married to a man like this.

‘Five, ten and fifteen thousand dollars.’

‘Made out to anyone in particular?’

He shook his head.

‘Bearer cheques.’

‘And you think someone may have found out that Mrs. Cerf has stolen these articles and is blackmailing her?’

‘I think it’s possible.’ He scowled out of the window. ‘I want you to keep track of Mrs. Cerf when she goes shopping. I don’t want a scandal. If she has a tendency to pilfer I want you to see she isn’t arrested. I want her watched night and day, and her movements reported to me. I want to know who she meets: particularly who she meets.’

‘I can do that all right. I have a girl who’s been trained for just this kind of work. Her name is Dana Lewis. She can be on the job this afternoon. Is that what you want?’

He said it was.

‘You’ll get an estimate for the work we intend to do by tomorrow morning. In the meantime I’ll tell Miss Lewis to report to you at three o’clock this afternoon if that’ll suit you. She had better not come here, had she? Where should she meet you?’

‘At the Athletic Club. Tell her I’ll be in the ladies’ lounge.’

I got up.

‘I’ll do that. There’s just one more thing,’ I said as he pressed the bell-push. ‘I take it you’re anxious that no one, including Mrs. Cerf and your daughter, should know you are hiring me for this work.’

He stared at me.

‘Of course. What do you mean?’

‘When you telephoned my office this morning did you use the phone in this room?’

He nodded, frowning.

‘And there are extensions in other parts of the house?’

‘There are.’

‘I’d be careful what you say on the phone, Mr. Cerf. I ran into your daughter on my way up here. She knew I was from Universal Services.’

A wary look came into his eyes.

‘All right, Malloy. You get on with your job. I’ll look after this end of it,’ he said evenly.

‘Just so long as you know,’ I said and turned to the door as the butler came in.

I made the long trek down to the front door in silence, and when the butler gave me my hat and a bow I said, ‘Is Mrs. Cerf around?’

He looked sharply at me, a frosty expression in his eyes.

‘I believe she is in the swimming pool, sir,’ he said distantly. ‘Did you wish to see her?’

‘No. I was just wondering. Big place for three people to get lost in, isn’t it?’

He didn’t seem to think that called for an answer. He opened the door.

‘Good day, sir,’ he said.

‘So long,’ I said and set off along the esplanade wondering if Natalie Cerf was still sunning herself in the loggia. But she wasn’t. There was no sign of her.

As I was descending the broad flight of stone steps to the parking lot a girl in a bathing wrap came briskly along a path that led away to the back of the house. She was tall and ash-blonde, and there was a sultry, don’t-give-a-damn expression on her face that had too much character to be labelled pretty. At a guess she was twenty-seven or thirty, not more, and she had beautiful, wide-set grey eyes.

I looked at her and she looked at me. A half-smile came to her full red lips, but I wasn’t sure if she were smiling at me or at something she was thinking about: a difficult kind of smile to classify.

As she ran up the steps towards me she let her wrap swing open. She had a shape under that wrap to set a man crazy, and the two emerald-green handkerchiefs that served as a sun-suit were just a shade too small for the job.

She went past me, and I pivoted around on my heels. Half-way along the esplanade she looked back over her shoulder, raised pencilled eyebrows and smiled. There was no mistake about the smile this time.

I was still standing there, pointing like a gun dog, when she turned the corner of the terrace and I lost sight of her.

III

The offices of Universal Services occupied two rooms on the tenth floor of Orchid Buildings, the biggest of all the palatial business blocks in the city. At the back of Orchid Buildings runs a narrow alley that is used primarily as a parking lot for the cars belonging to the executives and their various staffs working in the building, and at the far end of the alley is Finnegan’s Bar.

After I had talked over the Cerf assignment with Paula, I went across to the bar, and as I expected, found Dana Lewis with Ed Benny and Jack Kerman grouped around a table in one of the alcoves.

Dana, Benny, Kerman and I worked as a team. I handled the administrative side of a job while they did the legwork.

‘Hello, Vic,’ Dana said, patting a chair beside her. ‘Come and sit down. Where have you been all the morning?’

She was a nice-looking kid, well put together, and smart.

‘I have a job for you,’ I said, sitting down. ‘Hi, boys!’ I went on to the other two. ‘You’ll be in on this if it works out the way I think it will, so take your brains out of pickle and show some intelligence.’

‘Listen, kiss of death,’ Benny said, helping himself to a slug of Irish, ‘We were working last night so lay off us will you?’

‘One of those jobs Sourpuss Bensinger keeps up her girdle specially for us,’ Kerman said with a grimace. ‘We had to escort a couple of old mares to the Casino. And when I say old, they made Rip Van Winkle’s mother look like Margaret O’Brien. Can you imagine?’

Kerman was tall and dapper; dark, lazy looking and distinctly handsome. He had a broad streak of white in his thick black hair and a Clark Gable moustache. Benny was just the opposite. He was short and thickset, and his red face looked as if it were fashioned out of rubber. He seemed to pride himself on dressing like a scarecrow, and was the most untidy-looking guy I have ever seen.

But they were both good operators, and we got along fine together in spite of a lot of kidding.

‘Never mind these two,’ Dana broke in impatiently. ‘They’re a couple of no-good rats. They wanted to shoot craps for my frillies and the dice was loaded. How’s that for meanness?’

‘Aw, forget it,’ Benny said, giving her a shove that nearly sent her off her chair. ‘I don’t believe you wear frillies anyway.’

‘That’s no way to treat a lady,’ I said severely.

‘I treat her the way I treat my sister,’ Benny said, putting a large hand on top of Dana’s cute little hat and pushing it over her nose. ‘Don’t I, pally?’

Dana promptly kicked his shin, and as he jumped up wrathfully, Kerman grabbed him by the throat and threw him on the floor where they began to wrestle furiously, upsetting the table and smashing the glasses. I just managed to save the whisky and get myself out of range as Dana, with a whoop of excitement, threw herself on Herman’s back and began to tug at his hair.

No one else in the bar room took any notice. These three were always horsing around. After a while they got tired of rolling about on the floor, and giggling breathlessly they came back to the table and sat down.

‘I’ve broken my suspender,’ Dana complained, examining the damage. ‘I wish you two hogs would learn to behave like gentlemen. Every time I come out with you I land up on the floor.’

Kerman ran a comb through his hair while Benny peered under the table.

‘She does wear suspenders!’ he reported excitedly. ‘I thought she kept her socks up with glue.’

‘Will you three pipe down?’ I pleaded. ‘I have business to talk about.’

Dana hit Benny over the head with a rolled newspaper.

‘Keep your eyes to yourself or I’ll slit your guzzle!’ she said fiercely.

‘Miss Lewis!’ Benny said, shocked. ‘What a way to talk!’

I rapped on the table.

‘If you don’t listen to me...’ I began threateningly.

‘All right, darling,’ Dana said. ‘Of course we’ll listen. What’s the job?’

I told her.

‘I want you to go over and meet Cerf at the Athletic Club at three this afternoon. Keep your eyes open. There’s a chance the daughter’s mixed up in this. Anyway, stick close to Mrs. Cerf. If she does lift anything in a shop you’ve got to cover her. I want this job handled nice and smooth.’

‘What’s this Cerf frail like to look at?’ Benny asked, pushing the whisky over to me.

‘Lush,’ I said, and made curves with my hands. ‘All hills and valleys. Very, very lush indeed.’

‘Are we in this?’ Kerman asked with sudden interest. ‘We’d better help Dana, hadn’t we? You know how dumb she can be.’

Dana pushed back her chair and stood up.

‘But not so dumb as you’d like me to be,’ she said pertly.

‘Well, I guess I’ll run along. Don’t let these two degenerates drink too much, Vic,’ and she whisked her tail out of reach as Benny took a slap at it.

‘Degenerates!’ Kerman said indignantly as she left the bar. ‘After all we’ve done for that woman. Hey! Leave some of that whisky for me, you drunken rat!’ he went on excitedly as Benny poured himself another slug. ‘I have a half-share in that bottle I’ll have you know.’

‘You two guys will follow up the blackmail angle,’ I said, grabbing the whisky and putting the cork in. ‘Stick around until Dana gets something to work on. And listen, you’d better sober up. I have a job for you this afternoon. Some old guy wants to catch marlin. It’s an easy job, and besides the old guy has a nice long beard. If you get bored you can always set fire to it.’

‘Old guy, huh?’ Benny said in disgust. ‘Why not a dame? Why not the lush Mrs. Cerf? Here we have the perfect setup for a breakdown miles out at sea, and it has to be an old guy with a beard.’

‘Maybe you’ll catch a mermaid; then you can throw the old guy overboard and have your breakdown after all,’ I said encouragingly.

There was a long, ominous silence.

‘You know what?’ Benny said to Kerman. ‘I love this guy, the way a fly loves Flit.’

IV

On the evening of the second day after my interview with Jay Franklin Cerf I sat on the verandah of my four-room beach cabin, keeping a highball company and reread Dana’s report I had picked up at the office on my way home.

It was a concise job, and contained several points of interest. So far, Dana reported, Anita Cerf had shown no kleptomaniac tendencies. She had gone shopping in the morning, and there had been nothing suspicious in her behaviour. All purchases she had made had either been paid for or charged account. But that meant nothing as kleptomaniacs very often have their impulses in cycles, and it might take a little time to catch her red-handed.

What did mean something was the discovery that Anita was secretly meeting a guy named George Barclay, and had been seen by Dana with him twice in two days. By their attitude to each other they were obviously on an intimate footing, and both of them had taken care not to be seen together on the streets.

They had met at a lobster-bar a couple of miles outside the city’s limits, and again the next day, for lunch at a Greek restaurant away from the swank district where Cerf or Anita’s friends would be unlikely to run into them.

Dana had got Barclay’s name and address from his car’s registration card. He lived on Wiltshire Avenue in a small chalet-style house set in its own grounds. He was the playboy type, looked and dressed like a film star, ran a Chrysler convertible and seemed to have plenty of money. He was lead number one.

Lead number two was Ralph Bannister, the owner of a swank nightclub, L’Etoile, out at Fairview. Anita had gone out there around six o’clock the previous evening and Dana had overheard her asking the commissionaire who guarded the entrance if she could talk to Bannister on urgent business. She had been admitted, and had remained in the club die best part of an hour, then had driven back to the Santa Rosa Estate in time for dinner.

I knew Bannister by reputation, although I had never met him. He was a smart crook who had made a big success of the nightclub, catering for millionaires and running a couple of roulette wheels that must have cost him a lot of money in police protection.

I was deciding to turn Benny and Kerman loose on these two leads when I saw the headlights of a car coming slowly along the beach road. The time was ten-fifteen, and it was a hot night, and quiet. I wasn’t expecting visitors, and I thought the car would go on past, but it didn’t. It pulled up outside the wooden gate and the headlights went out.

It was too dark out there to see much. The car looked as big as a battleship, but I couldn’t see the driver. I slipped Dana’s report into my pocket and waited. I thought someone had got the wrong house.

The latch of the gate clicked up and I could just make out a shadowy figure that looked like a woman. The sitting room light was on and the verandah doors open, but not much light spilled into the garden.

It wasn’t until she was right on top of me that I saw my visitor was Anita Cerf. She came slowly up the three wooden steps that led to the verandah, her full red lips parted in that half-smile that had fooled me before. She was wearing a flame-coloured evening dress, cut low to show plenty of cleavage, and an impressive collar of diamonds encircled her throat like a ribbon of fire. There was something in the way she looked at me that had that thing: it came across like an invisible ray and was strong enough to lean against.

‘Hello,’ she said in a low, husky voice. ‘Where’s everyone, or are you alone?’

I was on my feet now, just a little rattled, as she was the last person I expected to see. I looked past her, wondering if Dana Lewis was out there, watching, and she was quick to read my thoughts.

‘It’s all right,’ she said. ‘I gave Miss Sherlock the slip,’ and before I could stop her she walked into the sitting room and sat in one of the easy chairs. I followed her in, and to be on the safe side, pulled the curtains across the windows.

Up to now I hadn’t opened my mouth. I was too busy trying to make up my mind how to handle this visit to bother to be polite. There would be trouble if Cerf heard about it. She knew that, of course; that was why she had come out here alone, and when she knew I would be alone.

‘What do you want, Mrs. Cerf?’ I asked, walking around her chair and standing before her.

We looked at each other. There was a jeering expression in her wide grey eyes.

‘I don’t like being spied on,’ she said. ‘I want to know why.’

I was surprised she had spotted Dana, who was as near a thing to the invisible woman when on a job as makes no difference. But there’s always the risk when only one operator is put on the job, and I blamed myself for not teaming Benny up with Dana.

‘That’s something you’ll have to ask Mr. Cerf,’ I said, ‘and incidentally, speaking of Mr. Cerf, he wouldn’t approve of you coming here.’

She laughed. She had good, strong, white teeth and wasn’t ashamed of showing them.

‘Oh, there are lots and lots of things Mr. Cerf doesn’t approve of,’ she said lightly. ‘You have no idea how many. One more won’t make any difference. May I have a cigarette, please?’

I gave her a Lucky Strike and my lighter, and while she was tapping the cigarette on her scarlet thumbnail I said, ‘I wasn’t expecting visitors. I’m busy.’

‘Then let’s be quick,’ she said, lighting her cigarette. ‘Why is this woman spying on me?’

‘You’ll still have to ask Mr. Cerf.’

‘You’re not being very polite, are you? I thought you would be pleased to see me. Most men are. Could I have a drink, do you think?’

I went over to the row of bottles that stood on a table against the wall. While I fixed a couple of highballs the silence became thick enough to slice up with a hacksaw.

As I handed her the drink she smiled up at me. Being on the receiving end of that smile was like stepping on a live cable.

‘Thank you,’ she said. Her long spiked eyelashes flickered. ‘There’s no one here, is there?’

‘That’s right. How did you run me to earth?’

‘Oh, that wasn’t very difficult. I saw your car and found it belonged to Universal Services. The butler told me your name. I turned up the telephone book and here I am.’

‘No wonder private detectives go out of business.’

‘Are you a private detective?’

‘No, nothing like that.’

‘What exactly is Universal Services?’

‘An organization that undertakes any conceivable or inconceivable job that happens along, providing it is legal and ethical.’

‘And spying on a woman is ethical?’

‘That depends on the woman, Mrs. Cerf.’

‘And my husband has asked you to spy on me, is that it?’

‘Is it? I don’t remember saying anything like that.’

She drank some of the highball, put down the glass and stared at me. I don’t know if she found my face fascinating or if she were trying to hypnotize me, but she was certainly doing a lot of staring.

‘Why is this woman following me about?’

This seemed to be where we had come in so I give her the same answer.

‘Mr. Cerf will tell you if he wants you to know.’

She lifted her shoulders a little impatiently and looked around the room. It wasn’t anything a millionaire’s wife would get excited about. Tony, my Filipino boy, kept it cleaner than a pigsty, but not much. The furniture was no great shakes, and that went for the paintwork and carpet too. The only pictures on the walls were Vargas’s pinups I had ripped out of Esquire from time to time, but I had to live in the joint and it was all right with me.

‘It can’t be a very paying job, can it?’ she asked.

‘You mean my job?’ I said, turning my glass around in my hand so I could admire the amber liquor from all angles.

‘Yes. You don’t make much money, do you? I was judging by this room.’

I made believe to give the matter serious attention.

‘Well, I don’t know,’ I said at last. ‘It depends on what you call much money. I can’t afford to wear diamonds, but I reckon I make a bit more than a mannequin would make, and I have a lot of fun.’

That hit her where it hurt. Her mouth tightened and a faint flush rose to her face.

‘Meaning you don’t have to marry money to get along, is that it?’ she asked, her eyes snapping.

‘That would be the general idea.’

‘But a thousand dollars would be useful to you, wouldn’t it?’

She was lovely to look at, and too dangerous to be alone with, and I had had all I wanted from the Cerfs for the time being. I stood up.

‘I’m sorry, Mrs. Cerf, but I’m not in the market. I have my job to think of. It may not be much, but oddly enough I like it. I don’t sell my clients out. It wouldn’t do. One of these days you might want me to help you. You wouldn’t like me to sell you out, would you?’

She drew in a deep breath, but after a struggle she managed to switch on the smile again.

‘You’re quite right,’ she said. ‘Putting it that way I suppose I shouldn’t have come here, but no one likes to be followed about as if one were a criminal.’

Before I could think of anything to say to that one, she went on brightly, ‘That was a lovely highball. Could I have another?’

While I was mixing the drink she got up and walked over to what I call my casting couch. It was a big, comfortable settee I had bought at an auction sale, thinking it might come in handy, and over a period of years, it had, from time to time, come in very handy indeed. She sat down and swung up her legs, and in doing so managed to get her long, full skirt caught up. From where I was standing I could see one long, silk-clad leg up to her knee.

I carried the drink over to her.

‘Your skirt’s up around your neck,’ I said and pointed. ‘It’s your affair, of course, but you don’t want to catch cold.’

She flicked her skirt into place. If her eyes had had teeth they would have bitten me.

‘I don’t want to hurry you, Mrs. Cerf,’ I went on, handing her the drink, ‘but I have a lot of work to do before I turn in.’

‘There’s time for work and time for play,’ she said. ‘Don’t you ever play?’

‘Sure, but not with the wives of clients. You may not believe it, but I’m not all that fond of sudden death.’

‘He doesn’t care a fig for me,’ she said, staring into the glass, ‘and I don’t care a fig for him.’ She looked up suddenly, and there it was in her eyes as plain as a poster on a wall. ‘But I like you. Come and sit down,’ and she patted the settee.

I nearly did.

‘Not tonight,’ I said. ‘I have work to do. It’s time you went home.’

She was a trier. I’ll say that for her. The smile was just as inviting as she put the glass down and stood up. She came close and I could smell her perfume.

‘I don’t have to go yet,’ she said, and put her hand lightly on my arm. ‘I could stay a little while if you want me to.’

All I had to do was to step up and take her in my arms. It was the kind of push over you dream about if you have those kind of dreams, and the kind of girl too.

I gave her hand a sympathetic little pat. I was as sorry for her as I was for myself.

‘If you did stay I still wouldn’t tell you what you want to know. Ask Cerf. Maybe he’ll tell you. I’m off duty now, and I like to get away from my clients. Be a nice girl and go home.’

She still smiled, but her eyes had hardened.

‘Change your mind,’ she said, and slipped her arms round my neck. Before I could stop her, and I didn’t try very hard, she was kissing me. Her lips were cool and experienced, and we stood like that maybe for a couple of seconds as a sort of workout. As I saw it, the idea was to push her away at the last moment to show her what a strong-willed, well-controlled guy she had to deal with, only somehow something went wrong: a cog slipped and I forgot to push her away. I found myself kissing her mouth, hard, and bending her back the way they do on the movies, with my hand supporting the small of her back.

She knew how to kiss all right, and her arms felt cool against my neck, and she gave a faint, sighing little moan that got me going the way nothing else would have got me going.

We were down on the couch now and I could feel her breath beating against the back of my throat and her hand inside my shirt, touching my chest. But just before I was going down for the third time I took a look at her and she wasn’t expecting it. The cold, calculated expression in those wide grey eyes was like a smack in the face. I jerked away from her, stood up, and tried to get my breathing under control. We looked at each other for a long minute.

‘We must try that again when your husband has paid me off,’ I said in a voice that sounded like I had run a couple of miles uphill. ‘I’m a lot more enthusiastic when there are no strings tied to it. Let me see you to your car.’

She shifted her eyes from my face to the carpet, the half-smile flickered on, and her hands gripped her evening bag so tightly her knuckles showed white. She sat like that for perhaps ten seconds, then she got up.

‘All right,’ she said suddenly. ‘If he wants a divorce he can have it, but only on my terms, and it’ll cost him plenty. You can tell him it’s no use having me watched. I won’t be caught that easily, and you can tell him I only married him for what I could get out of him, and if I’d known he was going to be such a goddamn awful bore even his money wouldn’t have bought me.’ She didn’t raise her voice, and her anger and disappointment was nicely controlled. ‘You can tell him if he wants to watch someone he’d better start spying on that sour-faced bitch of a daughter of his. He’ll get a surprise.’ She laughed suddenly. ‘And as for you — you should warm up a little. You don’t know what you’re missing,’ and still laughing she went across the room, jerked back die curtains and took herself and her diamonds down the wooden steps into the darkness beyond.

V

The telephone bell, ringing like an hysterical fire alarm brought me out of a heavy sleep with a start that nearly capsized the bed.

I groped for the light switch, turned it on, and as I grabbed at the receiver I looked at my bedside clock. It was four minutes past three.

‘Is that you, Malloy?’ a voice barked in my ear. This is Mifflin, police headquarters. Sorry to wake you, but a guy’s just brought in a handbag that belongs to Dana Lewis. She’s one of your operators, isn’t she?’

‘You didn’t wake me up to tell me that, did you?’ I yelled.

‘Take it easy. We’ve called Miss Lewis but can’t get an answer. Besides, there’s something wrong. There are bloodstains on the sand near where the bag was found. At least that’s what the guy says. I’m going out there right away. I thought maybe you’d want to go with me.’

I woke up then.

‘Where was it found?’

‘On the sand dunes about a mile from your joint. I’ll be over in ten minutes, and I’ll pick you up.’

‘Right,’ I said, slammed down the receiver back on its cradle and scrambled out of bed.

By the time I had dressed I heard a car pull up outside the cabin. I snapped off the lights and ran down to the gate. Mifflin and two cops in uniform were waiting for mc in a big radio car.

Mifflin was a short stocky guy with a fiat, red battered face and a nose like a lump of putty. He was a good, tough cop, and we had worked together off and on for some time. I liked him and he didn’t exactly hate me, and whenever we could we helped each other. He opened the car door, and as soon as I was in, the driver sent the car jolting along the beach road.

‘It may be a false alarm,’ he said as I settled beside him, ‘but I thought you would want to be in on it. Maybe the guy’s talking through the back of his neck about bloodstains, but he seemed pretty definite about it.’

‘What was he doing out there at this hour?’

‘Snooping around. He’s quite a character in these parts. A guy named Owen Leadbetter. He’s a bit queer in the head. One of these nuts who spy on courting couples and makes out he’s bird watching. But he’s harmless enough. We know him well. He wouldn’t hurt a fly.’

I grunted. I wasn’t interested in flies.

‘Was Miss Lewis on a job?’ Mifflin asked.

‘Not to my knowledge,’ I said cautiously.

When I told Cerf I guaranteed secrecy I wasn’t fooling. I had made it a rule, no matter what happened, never to mention a client’s name without his permission.

‘We’re about there,’ the driver said suddenly. ‘He said the first line of sand dunes, didn’t lie?’

‘That’s right. Put on the searchlight, Jack, so we can see what we’re doing.’

The small but powerful beam of the auxiliary spotlight went on and lit up the stretch of sand dunes before us. It was a lonely, forlorn spot. Coarse, scrubby bushes grew out of the sand in big clumps. To our right, and in the distance, we could hear the sea beating on the reef, and there was a chilly wind that whipped up the sand every now and then into scurrying whirls.

We got out of the car.

‘You stick right here, Jack,’ Mifflin said to the driver. ‘If I shout, turn the light on me.’ He handed me a flashlight. ‘We’ll keep together. And you, Harry, you start looking to the right. We’ll go to the left.’

‘Why didn’t you bring Leadbetter with you?’ I asked as we tramped over the loose sand. ‘It would have saved time.’

‘I didn’t want to be bothered with him. You have no idea how that guy talks once he lets his clutch in. He’s marked the spot with a pile of stones. It shouldn’t be hard to find.’

It wasn’t. We found the pile of stones about a couple of hundred yards from the car.

Mifflin shouted to the driver, who focused the searchlight on the spot. We stood a little to one side and examined the ground. The sand had been trampled flat in places, but was too loose to hold footprints. Near the pile of stones was a patch of red. It looked like blood, and the flies seemed to like it and it gave me a hollow feeling. Dana was a fine kid. She and I had been pals for some time.

‘Looks as if someone’s been around,’ Mifflin said, pushing his hat to the back of his head. ‘The stuff’s no good for prints. That’s blood, Vic.’

‘Yeah,’ I said.

The other policeman, Harry, came over.

‘If she’s anywhere around she’ll be in there,’ he said, pointing with his nightstick to a large clump of shrubs. ‘There’s been a trail to that clump, but it’s been smoothed over.’

‘Let’s have a look,’ Mifflin said.

I stayed right where I was while the other two went across the sand and began to search among the shrubs. My mind was a blank as I watched their bright flashlight beams probing among the thick undergrowth.

Both of them suddenly stopped and I saw them bend down. I took out a cigarette, put it between my dry lips but forgot to light it. They remained bending for a minute or so. It seemed like a year to me. Then Mifflin straightened.

‘Hey, Vic,’ he called. His voice was sharp. ‘We’ve found her.’

I threw away the unlighted cigarette and walked stiff-legged across the sand and joined them.

In the hard glare of their flashlights she looked like a doll. She lay on her back, sand in her hair and eyes and mouth. She was as naked as the back of my hand, and the front of her skull was smashed in. Her hands were like claws, stiff in death, held before her face. From the look of her scratched, sand-smeared body she had been dragged along face down by her feet and dumped there the way you would dump a sack of garbage, and with as much feeling.

The stark horror on her face turned me cold.