Miss Callaghan Comes To Grief (16 page)

“What did I tell you?” the sheep−faced man demanded triumphantly. “Killed two guys those girls did. An'

serve 'em right, I say.”

Raven had seen quite enough. It was dangerous to stay here any longer. He broke away from the crowd and walked hurriedly away. His brain was on fire with worry. Maybe Maltz would find out something. It was obviously very unsafe to return to his hotel. He passed a telephone booth, hesitated, and then went in. He rang up the D.A.'s office.

“Hackensfield?” he asked, when a man answered the phone. “This is a friend of Grantham. What's happened? What the hell are you raiding one of our houses' for?”

“Who are you? What's your name?” Hackensfield demanded. He sounded tough.

“Never mind who I am. If you want to stay on our payroll you'd better get those girls off at once,” Raven snarled.

“You're crazy. I can't do it,” Hackensfield said, throwing caution to the wind. “Don't you know what they've done?”

“What have they done?”

“They set about Grantham and Eller. My God! You ought to see those guys. The things they did to them. I tell you we've got to prosecute. The authorities will demand an enquiry. We can't get out of this.”

Raven felt a little sick. “You've got to!” he shouted violently. “If you get those girls to testify the balloon goes up. Once they start openin' their mouths they'll never shut them again. The racket'll go sky−high, an'

you'll go with it. Listen, Hackensfield, you've got to stop them testifying. I don't care how you do it, but you've got to stop them. Do you understand?”

Hackensfield's voice cracked in his panic. “I tell you we can't do it. Two murders have been committed.

The newspapers have got all the details. They'll splash it in every newspaper. The public will demand a trial.

This is the most horrible and sensational crime that's ever been committed in this town. You'll have to get the hell out of here and leave it to me to handle. Can't you see that?”

“If you think I'm goin' to pass up nearly a million dollars of investments just because you're too damned milky to stop it, you're crazy. I'll stop it if I have to break into the gaol and shoot every one of those whores.

Now do you understand that I mean business?”

There was a pause, then Hackensfield said, “It won't work. Think about it. Statements will be taken from the girls as soon as they get to the station. They'll find out that some of the girls have come from other States.

The F.B.I. have already gone down to the station to see if they can horn in on the investigation. We can't keep them out. As soon as they know there are girls from other States they can take charge through the Mann Act.

No, it's all up. Every one of us'll have to save his own hide.”

Raven hung up and stepped out of the phone booth, trembling with suppressed rage. Hackensfield was right. The thing had come too fast for him to act. The F.B.I. would take over and he'd be on the run again.

There wasn't a moment to delay.

He climbed into the taxi and gave Franky's address. He had to pick Maltz up, although by now Franky's wouldn't be safe. During the drive he took out his wallet and counted the amount of money he had on him.

He'd got just over two hundred dollars. When he thought that he could put his hands on nearly a million dollars if he could only get back to the hotel, he shivered with rage and frustration. He'd got to get that money, even if he raided the hotel and took it at the point of a gun.

He paid off the taxi at Franky's and, holding the butt of his gun, walked in.

Maltz, Little Joe and Lefty came across the lobby as soon as they saw him.

“You got a car?” he snapped.

Lefty nodded. “At the back.”

“Then let's get out of here,” Raven said.

They went through Franky's place and got in the car. “Where to, boss?” Lefty asked.

“Drive around. I want to talk,” Raven returned, lighting a cigarette. “Just keep moving.”

The car swung away from the kerb.

“Well, what did you find out?” Raven asked Maltz.

Maltz seemed bewildered. “The cops are in your apartment,” he said. “They took Sadie away. What the hell's happenin'?”

Raven's face twisted. “It's that rat Grantham,” he snarled. “I was crazy to have trusted him. I told him to get rid of Ellinger and he didn't do it. Now Ellinger's finished us.”

Little Joe scratched his head. “What do we do now?” he asked. “Shall we beat it out of town?”

Raven shook his head. “Before we go we've got to have some dough. We're goin' to the St. Louis Hotel an'

collect the dough I've got in my apartment.”

Maltz said patiently, “I told you the cops are in there. They'll have found it by now.”

Raven shook his head. “No guy's goin' to open my safe in a few hours. We've got to get that dough, Maltz.”

Lefty said, “The G−men will be up there too.”

Raven showed his teeth. “Yeah? What of it? We'll go up the back way with Thompsons. They won't have a chance.”

The others looked at each other uneasily. “Those guys can shoot,” Little Joe said nervously.

Raven nodded. “So can we. St. Louis Hotel, Lefty.”

September 8th, 6.5 p.m
.

CAMPBELL, special agent of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, smiled at Sadie reassuringly. He sat behind a large desk in a severely furnished office.

“Before you give me your evidence,” he said, “I'll tell you something about this guy Cruise. For one thing, that's not his name. Fortunately, Mr. Ellinger obtained a perfect set of prints for us. We've had these checked.

They belong to a man whom we know as Raven and who we've been looking for for some time. This Raven had a bad criminal record in Chicago. He made things too hot for himself and pulled out. He pulled out in a stolen car and crossed a State line. That gave us a chance of getting after him. We lost sight of him here, although he was reported to have been seen further south. Never mind that. As far as you're concerned, you're safe from him. We shall give you special protection, and until he's rounded up you'll stay out of town with a special guard. You're very important to us. Not only can you prove that he was the guy who killed Mendetta, but your testimony on his Slave racket will get him on the other counts we are bringing against him.”

Sadie moved restlessly. “Will it take long?” she asked.

Campbell shrugged. “I don't think so. We mustn't underrate this man. He's clever, and he may still give us the slip, but with your help I think we'll get him quickly. Can you tell me anything about his habits? Did he like movies, for instance? You see, what we have to do in a case like this is to find out everything we can about a wanted man. They have their own little peculiarities. Some of them are crazy about racing. Sooner or later they'll appear on a race−track, and we catch them there. You see what I'm getting at?”

Sadie drew a deep breath. “He was crazy about toy trains,” she said.

Campbell lifted his eyebrows. “Now, that's something.” He made a note on a pad. “I was goin' to ask about that. We found a big outfit in his rooms.”

Sadie nodded. “When he wasn't working he used to make me set out the tracks and he'd spend hours playing with the trains.”

“Anything else?”

Sadie shook her head. “No. Just the trains.”

“Did he smoke or drink heavily?”

Again Sadie shook her head. “Just average, I think.”

“You've been through a pretty tough time, Mrs. Perminger,” Campbell said quietly. “I hate to remind you of some things, but every little help you can give us will make our task less difficult.”

Sadie said tonelessly, “I understand.”

Taking from his desk drawer a thick portfolio, Campbell selected a large batch of pictures. “Here are photos of girls who have been reported missing during the last three months. I want to see if you can identify any of them. You were in one of the houses for some time and there is a chance that you saw some of them.”

Sadie took the batch and went through them slowly. Campbell watched her thoughtfully. It seemed incredible to him that she should be so cold and calm after what she had been through.

She handed him back about thirty photos. “All these girls were one time or another in my house,” she said.

“Can you explain how this business was worked?” Campbell asked. “Some of these girls came from Springfield, Cleveland, Denver, and such places. Did they come willingly, or how did he get hold of them?”

Sadie shook her head. “It was all horribly simple. He had special men who were always on the look−out for lonely girlsgirls who weren't happy at home; girls who wanted a good time. They had to be pretty and young. When these men found them they either drugged them and took them by car to Sedalia, which was their clearing−post, or else they invented some story about an accident and got them to come that way. The method differed each time, but it was always a quick, simple plan that was unlikely to arouse suspicions.”

“Sedalia?” Campbell repeated.

Sadie nodded. “Every girl I spoke to had been taken there.”

Campbell reached for his phone and gave some rapid orders. “I'll get that place looked over immediately,”

he said to Sadie. “When they got them to Sedalia, what happened then?”

Sadie flinched. “Must I talk about that?”

“I know just how you feel, but if we're to save other girls from this business we must know all about it.”

“From what I heard, the girls were put in separate rooms and left to sleep off the drugs. When they recovered they found themselves in bed with a coloured man. It was always a coloured man. Sometimes it was a Chink, or a nigger, or even a Phillipine. They relied on the psychological shock to lower the girl's resistance, and in most cases it was successful. Some of the girls refused, of course, and then they would beat them into submission.” Sadie shuddered. “No one knows what that means unless you've actually experienced it. To be beaten every hour of the day until your body is swollen and so tender that the weight of a sheet makes you scream in agony. No one can stand that, Mr. Campbell. I don't care who it is.”

Campbell nodded. “I understand,” he said.

“When Raven took over he had other methods of subduing girls. He poured turpentine over them. That was worse than the beatings.” Sadie put her hand to her eyes. “Mr. Campbell, this man mustn't get away.”

“He won't. I promise you that.” Campbell got to his feet. “I think that'll do for the moment,” he went on.

“I'm sending you out of town to a quiet little place where you can rest. I want to congratulate you on your courage. After the things you've told me, it is remarkable that you've stood up to it so well.”

Sadie stood looking at him, her face cold and hard. “Do you think I can ever forget?” she said. “My life's ruined. I can't go back to my husband. I can't settle to anything. I want revenge, Mr. Campbell. It may be wicked to say that, but I want to see this Raven suffer as I was made to suffer. Thank God those girls killed Grantham and Eller. If I could do the same to Raven I should die happy.”

Under her glance of cold, malicious hatred Campbell turned uneasily away.

September 8th, 6.10 p.m.

LEFTY parked the car just outside the back entrance of the hotel. There was no one about.

Raven got out of the car. His face was very white. “Get the Thompsons out,” he snapped, looking up and down the deserted alley.

Maltz pulled up the back seat and took out three Thompsons. Raven took one and Lefty another.

Little Joe said uneasily, “Shall I stick with the heap?”

Raven shook his head. “We'll want everyone up there,” he said grimly. “Don't forget, boys, there's nearly a million bucks in my safe. We split.”

“As long as there ain't a million G−men, that'll be fine,” Lefty said with a tight smile.

Raven walked quickly into the hotel. The porter, sitting in his little office, gave them a startled look. When he saw the Thompsons his hand went out to the telephone. Raven lifted the long muzzle of the machine−gun.

The porter gave a sickly smile and took his hand away.

Raven said to Lefty, “Fix that bird.”

Lefty took two quick steps and the butt of his gun crashed down on the porter's head. The porter slumped down on the floor of his office.

“Fast, now,” Raven said, stepping into the elevator.

The others crowded in after him. They were all very nervous. The elevator whined up between the floors.

Raven said, as the cage slid to a standstill, “Gettin' out's goin' to be a picnic. Shoot first an' talk after.”

He stepped out of the elevator and began a stiff−legged walk down the corridor.

His suite was round the first bend.

Little Joe took off his hat and wiped his face with his sleeve. This was scaring hell out of him. He clutched his blunt−nose automatic, ready to flop at the first burst of fire.

Raven crept to the bend in the corridor. Every sound was muffled by the heavy carpet. He knew this was sheer madness, but he wasn't going to part with all that dough without a fight. If he got his hands on it he was all right. The thought of once more being on the run, without money, frightened him far more than a hail of lead.

He looked round the bend. Two cops stood in the passage looking towards him. They saw him at the same time as he saw them. He swung up his Thompson and gave them a short burst. The sudden clatter of the gun as it spat lead crashed down the corridor. One of the cops fell forward on his face, but the other darted into Raven's room.

Swearing softly, Raven ran forward, the others following him. The door was open, and Raven paused as he reached it. He had no intention of rushing in. Kneeling down, he swung the muzzle of the gun round the door, spraying lead.

A revolver cracked twice in reply and bullets thudded into the opposite wall. Raven glanced at the wall, saw the angle, which told him the cop was lying down, and lowered the muzzle, firing at the same time.

He heard the cop give a gasp, and he took a chance. He burst into the room, firing wildly. The cop was lying in a pool of blood, the top of his head blown off.

Maltz crowded in and, holding his gun at his hip, ran into the other rooms. There was no one else there.