The man at the Navy Recruiting Office didn’t ask a lot of questions. He just hit the high spots and gave me a questionnaire to fill out. When I had the blanks all filled in, he looked it over, said, “When do you want your physical examination?”
“How soon can I have it?”
“Now if you want it.”
“I want it now.”
I was escorted into a back room and relieved of my clothes. They gave me the works — and passed me.
“How much time do you want to get your business straightened up?”
“Twenty-four hours?” I asked.
“Okay. Be back here at one o’clock Tuesday afternoon, ready to go.”
I told him I’d be there, and drove up to the agency office. Bertha was fuming with impatience.
“Where the hell have you been?” she demanded.
“I was in a couple of times during the morning, but you weren’t here, so I had to go ahead on my own.”
Her eyes were snapping. “What have you been doing now, wrecking the business, I suppose?”
“I hope not.”
She handed me a wire.
Congratulations to your owl. Arriving eight-thirty plane. Meet me airport.
The signature was Emory G. Hale.
“I know,” I said. “I telephoned him,”
“What did you telephone him?”
“That I’d found Roberta Fenn.”
“I thought you said not to tell him.”
“No. It’s all right to tell him that.”
Bertha said, “The afternoon papers have headlines. Solution of New Orleans murder sought here. The paper says police are looking for Roberta Fenn. They’ve dug up the stuff about her being mixed up in the murder of Howard Chandler Craig, the guy who was killed by Rixmann, the petting-party bandit.”
“Uh huh.”
“You don’t seem surprised.”
“No.”
“Trying to pump you for information,” Bertha said angrily, “is a hopeless task. You have to pour in more than you can hope to take out. What I’m trying to tell you is that she’s hot. If you know where she is, or if you’ve hid her out, you’re going to get your fingers burned.”
“How’s the war-construction business coming along?”
Instantly Bertha went on the defensive. Her aggressive manner disappeared. She was suavely polite. “Bertha’s going to have to talk with you about that, lover.”
“What about it?”
“If anyone should ask you any questions, remember that while you aren’t familiar with the details, you’re the big executive. Bertha hasn’t been feeling well lately. I think it’s her heart, and she’s got to rely more and more on you. Bertha signed this contract. There’s some money in it, if we watch things carefully and don’t let those carpenters slip things over on us. But you’ve got to take over most of the management.”
“On account of your heart?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“I didn’t know it was bothering you.”
“I didn’t either until all the strain and excitement caught up with me. I don’t think it’s anything serious, but it bothers me.”
“How?”
“Palpitation after eating.”
“Have you seen a doctor?”
“And I get short of breath sometimes.”
“Did you go to a doctor?”
“When I lie down, I can feel my heart pounding so it shakes the whole bed.”
“But the question is, did you go to a doctor?”
“Hell, no!” Bertha exclaimed angrily. “Why would I want to go to a swivel-eyed sawbones and have him carve me all up at so much a slice?”
“I just thought a doctor might help.”
“Well, he wouldn’t.”
“Sometime you might want to get a physician’s certificate.”
“When I do, I’ll get one all right. Don’t you worry about that.”
“What am I supposed to do about this construction job?”
“Bertha will have to go over it with you, lover. Let’s try and get this case finished first. But if anyone should start asking questions, remember that I haven’t been able to stand the strain, that I’m threatened with a breakdown, and you’re taking over the entire construction.”
“But why should I say that?”
Bertha said angrily, “Dammit, don’t be so contrary. Say it because—” She caught herself, after a moment finished in a more conversational tone of voice: “because you wouldn’t want to let Bertha down, particularly when Bertha had bitten off more than she could chew trying to do something for her country.”
“Patriotism?” I asked.
“We’ve all got to do our part,” Bertha said unctuously.
I said, “All right, do you want to meet Hale with me?”
“Do you think I should?”
“Yes.”
“All right, lover, whatever you say.”
I stretched, yawned. “Well, I have a few odds and ends to do. I’ll meet you here at seven-forty-five on the dot.”
“I’ll be here,” Bertha promised. “I want to wait for the afternoon mail. I’m expecting a package. When it comes, I’ll show you something. You’ll see Bertha’s a smart buyer. Merchandise you can’t get any more, and I’m getting it cheap — real silk hosiery. You’ll be surprised.”
I went to the public library and put in the rest of the afternoon reading an old file of newspapers — the ones that dealt with all the activities of the petting-party stick-up man — and I paid particular attention to the Craig case.
I came out about 5:30 and started for the hotel, but stopped at a shoe-shine place on Fifth Street. I picked up an afternoon paper and settled down to read while my shoes were being shined.
I turned to the personals.
Rob. Am here in Los Angeles. Must talk with you at once. Regardless of what anyone has told you, I have your interests at heart. Telephone Helman 6-9544 and ask for me. Edna C.
The shoe shine was just about finished. I surprised him by jumping down off the stool, flipping him a quarter, and saving, “That’s all we need for now.”
A taxi rushed me to the hotel. I got my key and went up to the room.
The maid had been in. The rooms were made. Roberta wasn’t there. She had evidently gone shopping, because a very thin peach-colored nightgown lay on the bed, together with two pairs of stockings of about the same shade. There was a paper package on the foot of the bed, and a smart compact traveling-bag on a chair. The traveling-bag was empty. The price tag was still on it. A newspaper lay on the floor.
I went back to my room, picked up the receiver, and said to the girl at the switchboard, “My sister telephoned a friend and went out to meet her. She gave me the telephone number and I’ve lost it. Can you look at the records and tell me the last number that was called from this room?”
“Just a moment.”
I waited for about ten seconds; then she gave it to me: “Helman six — nine-five-four-four.”
I said, “That’s the number. Ring it back, will you, please?”
I waited on the line, heard the connection being made; then a voice said, “Palm View Hotel.”
“You have an Edna Cutler of New Orleans registered?” I asked.
“Just a moment.”
Another five seconds, and I had the information. Miss Cutler had checked out about twenty minutes earlier. She had left no forwarding address.
I hung up the telephone, took the elevator down to the lobby, went into a luggage store, bought a suitcase, went back upstairs, threw all of my belongings into the suitcase. I packed the paper parcel on Roberta’s bed without unwrapping it. I also put in her nightgown and stockings. The creams and toilet articles on the dresser I managed to get into the little bag she’d purchased.
I moistened a towel and went over the place for fingerprints, rubbing door handles, mirrors, dresser tops — anything I thought she might have touched. When I had finished I telephoned the office to send up someone for the baggage. I went down and checked out, telling the clerk that my mother had passed away very suddenly, and that my sister and I were going out to stay with another sister who lived in Venice and was completely broken up. We didn’t want to leave her alone.
I took a taxicab to the Union Depot, let it go, checked the baggage, put the checks in a stamped envelope, scribbled my office address on the outside, sealed the envelope, and dropped it into the mailbox. I looked at my watch and saw I had just time to go down to the office, pick up Bertha Cool, and get out to the airport.