Can ladies kill, p.1
Can Ladies Kill?, page 1
Peter Cheyney
Can Ladies Kill?
To The Director,
Bureau of Investigation,
U.S. Department of Justice, Washington.
Dear Sir—After a great deal of thought I have finally decided to write to you. This letter probably sounds mysterious, but at the moment, mystery is necessary.
During the last two or three months I have, by accident, obtained knowledge of certain matters which, I believe, should properly be dealt with by your department. These criminal matters are of a federal nature. I do not wish to say anything more at this moment, because I hope that further disclosure by me may be unnecessary.
I have every hope that I may be able to write you more fully during the next ten days, or it may be that during the period 1st to 9th of this month events will justify my calling you on the long distance and clearing up this matter.
But should you not hear from me by the 9th of this month I think it is imperative that you send a reliable operative from your department to contact me here on the afternoon of the 10th instant. If this becomes necessary I will make a full statement to him.
Faithfully yours . . .
Can Ladies Kill? was originally published in 1938.
‘Peter Cheyney is the Damon Runyon of crime’ The Times
Contents
Cover
Title Page/About the Book
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
About the Author
Titles by Peter Cheyney
Copyright
Chapter One
FREEZE-OUT FOR A DAME
I am standin’ lookin’ at this house and I think that if ever I get any dough I will settle down an’ get myself a dump like this.
Because it has got what they call atmosphere. It is standin’ back off the roadway on the side of a little green slope. There is a white thicket fence separatin’ it from the road an’ there are flower beds and ornamental bits edged out with white stones all over the place. Through the gate there is a flight of wide steps linkin’ a sorta terrace path that runs up to the front door.
Me—I reckon I would like a rest. Travellin’ by airplane is all very well but it sorta gets you tired. But then I’ve found that anythin’ gets me tired. Even “G” men get tired, but maybe they told you about that.
Walkin’ up the path to the porch I get wonderin’ what this Marella Thorensen is goin’ to be like. I’m sorry that we never got any picture of this dame because if I see a picture of a dame I sorta get ideas about her. But as I’ll be seein’ her in a minute maybe the picture don’t matter.
This is a funny sorta job. You’ve seen the letter that this dame wrote to the Director at Washington. She says it’s mysterious. I looked this word up in the dictionary, an’ it says that mysterious means enigmatical, so I look up enigmatical an’ it says that means beyond human comprehension. Well, it ain’t beyond my comprehension.
Work it out for yourself. If this dame writes a letter to the Director of the Federal Bureau and suggests in it that there’s some sorta funny business goin’ on that he oughta know about, well it looks like there is some sorta hey-hey breakin’ around these parts. O.K. Well if that’s so it looks a bit screwy to me that she don’t go an’ tell her husband about it. After all if you’ve been married to a guy for ten years he’s the guy you go to. So what?
But then ladies do funny things. But who am I to tell you that? I reckon you knew that for yourself. Dames are a lot more definite than people think. It’s guys who are the romantic cusses. I’ve known plenty dames who was very practical, like one in Cincinnati. She was a religious dame this baby, an’ she stabbed her second husband with a screwdriver just because he wouldn’t go to church of a Sunday, which shows you that women can get tough too.
These ruminations have brought me to the front porch. There is a pretty ornamental bell-push, and when I work it I hear a musical bell ring somewhere in the house. I stand there waitin’.
It’s four o’clock an’ there is a bit of a breeze blowin’ up. I think maybe there is goin’ to be some rain. Nobody don’t take any notice of the bell so I push it again. Five or six minutes go by. I take a stroll around the side of the house. It’s a swell place, not too big or too small. A path goes around to the right an’ behind the house I can see a well-kept lawn with a little Chinese pagoda stuck in the far corner.
In the centre of the back of the house are two French windows givin’ out on to the lawn, an’ I can see that one of ’em is open. I walk up. When I get to the French window I can see that whoever was comin’ in or goin’ out last time they was in such a hurry that they had to bust the handle off, which is a funny thing to do to a glass window.
I stick my head inside an’ look inta a long low room. It’s full of nice furniture, an’ all sorts of pretty knick-knacks. There ain’t nobody there. I go in an’ do a spot of coughin’ just to let anybody know that I’m around. Nothin’ happens.
On the right of the room in a corner is a door, I walk over to this, open it an’ go out inta a passage. I cough some more but I might be a consumptive for all anybody cares. I walk along the passage an’ come to the hallway behind the front porch. There is a table on the right with a brass tray on it with some mail.
Under the table up against the wall where it has slipped down off the tray I see a telegraph form. I pick it up an’ read it. It is a telegram from the Director to Mrs. Marella Thorensen tellin’ her that Special Agent L. H. Caution will be contactin’ her between four an’ five to-night.
Well, where is she? I turn around an’ I call out Mrs. Thorensen. All I get is the air. I walk back along the passage an’ up to a wide flight of stairs away down on the left. I go up. On the first floor I turn around into another passage with the banister rail on the right where it turns and two or three white door rooms on the left.
Facing me at the end of the passage is a door an’ it is open, an’ lyin’ on the floor is a woman’s silk scarf. I walk along and stick my head in the door. It is a woman’s bedroom an’ it looks very nice to me. It also looks as if some one has been havin’ a spot of hey-hey around here because all the things on the dressin’ table between the two windows that look out towards the front of the house are on the floor. A big lounge chair has been overturned an’ there is a towel lyin’ curled up like a snake right in the middle of the blue carpet. I think that maybe Mrs. Thorensen has been in a bad temper about somethin’.
I go downstairs again, walk along the passage an’ start doin’ a little investigatin’. I go all over the place but I can’t find anybody. When I get into the kitchen I see a note stuck up against a tea canister on the table. This note is addressed to “Nellie” an’ it says:
“Don’t worry about dinner. I shall not be back until nine to-night.”
It looks to me like Nellie has taken time out too.
I go out of the place the way I came in an’ shut the French window. I go back to where I have parked the hired car, get into it an’ light a cigarette. I reckon that if this dame is not goin’ to be back till nine o’clock to-night I might as well go over to San Francisco an’ have a word with O’Halloran. Maybe he can wise me up to something.
I am just goin’ to start the engine when I see a car come around the corner way down the road an’ pull up outside the Villa Rosalito. A dame gets out. She is a slim sorta baby with a nice walk, an’ she is wearin’ a funny little hat an’ has got black hair. I reckon she is goin’ to pay a call on Mrs. Thorensen.
I start the engine an’ drive off, but because I am a curious cuss, as I go past the car outside the villa, I take the number. Way up at the end of the pathway I can see this dame pushin’ the bell-push. I reckon she’ll be disappointed.
I make San Francisco by five-thirty. I put the car in a garage an’ go along to the Sir Francis Drake Hotel which is a dump where I have stayed before. I check in, take a drink an’ a shower an’ do a little quiet thinkin’.
Maybe you are thinkin’ along the same lines as I am, an’ anyhow you gotta agree that it looks durn silly for this dame Marella Thorensen to write letters askin’ for “G” men to be sent along an’ then, when she gets a wire to say that I am comin’, to scram outa the house an’ leave a note for the cook sayin’ that she won’t be back till nine o’clock. At the back of my head there is a big idea that there is somethin’ screwy goin’ on around here.
I get a hunch. I call through to the Hall of Justice, an’ ask if O’Halloran is there. I get right through to him. “Hey, Terry,” I tell him, “listen. Are you doin’ some heavy sleuthin’ or have you got enough time on your hands to come around to the Sir Francis Drake an’ talk to Lemmy Caution?”
He says sure an’ he will come around.
Terence O’Halloran, who is a Police Lieutenant in ’Frisco, has been a buddy of mine since I got him a beat poundin’ job in this man’s city a long whiles ago. This guy can also drink more whisky than any cop I ever knew, an’ in spite of the fact that his face is as homely as a mountain gorge he sometimes has brains. Pretty soon he comes around an’ I order up a bottle of Irish whisky, an’ start workin’ the pump handle on him.
&n bsp; “Looky, Terry,” I tell him, “this is sorta unofficial, see, because right now this business is not a police department job, but maybe you know something about Mrs. Marella Thorensen, an’ if so you can spill it.”
I tell him about the letter this dame has wrote to the Bureau of Investigation, an’ how I came out to contact her.
“I’m goin’ back there to the Rosalito dump at nine o’clock,” I say, “an’ I thought that maybe I could fill in the time gettin’ the low down on this babe an’ her husband.”
“There ain’t much to tell, Lemmy,” he says. “I don’t think I’ve seen the dame in years. She’s easy to look at an’ she only comes into ’Frisco once in a blue moon. But her husband is a fly baby. I reckon this guy Aylmar Thorensen knows his groceries all right, an’ I’ll tell you why.
“Six years ago this palooka is just another attorney. He gets an industrial case here an’ there but he don’t amount to anything much, an’ then all of a sudden he gets himself appointed as attorney for a guy called Lee Sam. Ho Lee Sam is in the money. He’s got a silk business in California an’ four factories on the other side of the slot. But like all Chinks he hasta go on makin’ some more, so he starts musclin’ around in the number rackets, and pin table takes in Chinatown an’ gets himself tied up with a guy called Jack Rocca who come here outa Chicago an’ who has got a record as long as the Golden Gate bridge.
“One way an’ another it looks like these two are goin’ to get themselves in bad with the Hall of Justice, but this guy Thorensen is always there with bells on just when things are lookin’ not so hot. If it wasn’t for him keepin’ Lee Sam’s nose clean I reckon that Chink woulda been in plenty trouble—money or no money.”
I nod. “An’ I suppose Lee Sam pays plenty to keep a legal eye on the proceedin’s?” I ask him.
“Right,” he says. “An’ has Thorensen done himself good. That guy has got himself two cars an’ a swell house out at Burlingame an’ an apartment on Nob Hill. He’s a clever guy that Thorensen, but maybe some of these guys are so clever that in the long run they double-cross themselves.”
He lights himself a cigarette.
“Say, Lemmy,” he says, “what’s this dame Marella Thorensen tryin’ to do to you Federal guys?”
“Search me,” I tell him, “I wouldn’t know, but I reckon I’m goin’ to find out. This dame leaves a note for the cook sayin’ she’ll be back by nine o’clock so I’m bustin’ outa here at about a quarter to nine. When I’ve seen this dame maybe I’ll know what I’m talkin’ about. In the meantime,” I go on, “supposin’ we eat.”
I ring down to the desk an’ I order a dinner, an’ we sit an’ eat an’ talk about old times before prohibition when men was men, an’ women was glad of it.
At half-past eight Terry scrams. He has got to go back to the Hall of Justice on some job, an’ at a quarter to nine I start thinkin’ about gettin’ the car an’ goin’ back to have my little talk with Marella Thorensen.
I am just walkin’ outa the room when the telephone bell rings. It is O’Halloran.
“Hey, Lemmy,” he says, “what do you know about this? You remember I was telling you about this guy Lee Sam. Well, he’s just been through here on the telephone. He says he’s worried. I’ll tell you why. This guy’s daughter has been over in Shanghai, see, on a holiday or something. O.K. Well this afternoon she rings him up. She’s just got in at Alameda across the Bay on the China Clipper from Shanghai. Well Lee Sam is plenty surprised at this because he didn’t know anything about this dame coming back, and he says so what? She tells him that she’s had a letter from Marella Thorensen saying that she’s got to see her and fixing that she’ll be in at the Villa Rosalito this afternoon.
“Lee Sam’s daughter says that she is taking a car right away and going out to the Villa Rosalito at Burlingame, that she reckons to be there in about half an hour and that she ought to be home at the Lee Sam place on Nob Hill at six o’clock.
“O.K. Well, she ain’t appeared and the old boy is getting scared. He is wonderin’ what’s happened to her. He’s gettin’ all the more scared because he’s been ringing the Villa Rosalito on the telephone and he can’t get any reply. It looks like there ain’t anybody there. I thought I’d let you know and if you’re goin’ out like you said maybe you can tell me what’s goin’ on around there. Then I’ll let the Chink know.”
I do a spot of thinkin’.
“O.K. Terry,” I tell him. “But you do somethin’ for me, will you? There ain’t any need to get excited about this Lee Sam girl yet. Maybe I’ve gotta idea about that. Stick around. I reckon I’ll be back here somewhere about eleven o’clock to-night. You blow in. Maybe I’ll have somethin’ to tell you.”
“Right,” he says, “I’ll ring this old palooka an’ tell him we’ll get in touch with him later.” He hangs up.
It looks like this business is gettin’ a bit more mysterious, because it looks to me now that the dame who got outa the car that I saw outside the Villa Rosalito musta been the Lee Sam girl, an’ I wonder where she has got to, because she musta found out pretty good an’ quick that there wasn’t anybody in the place.
I go down an’ around to the garage where I have left the car, an’ I drive good an’ quick out to Burlingame. There is a mist comin’ down—one of them blanket mists that blow down over the San Francisco district from the Sacramento River, an’ I aim to get out there whilst I can see.
I pull up outside the Villa Rosalito, walk up the long terraced path to the front door an’ start playin’ tunes on the bell. Nothing happens. I had an idea it wouldn’t. I walk around the side, round to the back an’ get through the French window like I did before. I notice it is open an’ when I came out I closed it, so maybe the Chinese girl went in this way.
I switch the lights on an’ take a look all round the place. There just ain’t anybody there. Finally I go inta the kitchen. When I get there I see the note that was propped up against the tea canister is gone an’ I wonder if Nellie the cook has been back. If she has, where is this baby?
I go back to the hall an’ I grab the telephone. I ring through to O’Halloran an’ ask this guy if he’s got any news. He says yes, that he has been on to Lee Sam an’ the girl’s cashed in all right. She got in just after nine o’clock. She’s been stickin’ around seein’ friends. I ask him if he has said anythin’ to this Lee Sam about Mrs. Thorensen not bein’ out at the Villa Rosalito, an’ he says he ain’t said a word, that there didn’t seem any call to say anything, but that the daughter would know that anyway.
I then tell him that I’m comin’ straight back to the Sir Francis Drake Hotel, and as it is good an’ foggy I reckon to be back there about eleven o’clock, an’ that maybe he would like to meet me at the dump an’ drink a little more whisky. He says O.K. he will go any place to drink whisky.
I go outside, start the car up an’ drive back. The mist has come down like a blanket an’ there is a thin drizzlin’ rain. It’s a miserable sorta night. It’s not so easy to drive an’ it is quarter after eleven before I get back.
Upstairs in my room I find O’Halloran. He has finished the bottle I ordered when I was there before so I get another one up an’ we have a drink.
“Look, Terry,” I tell him. “I’m gettin’ plenty leg-work on this job. Right now I’m takin’ a run up to this Lee Sam’s place. I wanta have a word with that daughter of his. I reckon I wanta know where Marella Thorensen is.”
He puts his glass down. “Why don’t you call her husband?” he says. “He’s got an apartment up on Nob Hill. Maybe she’s out there.”
“Yeah, an’ maybe she ain’t,” I tell him. “If this dame wanted to talk to her husband about this business that she wants to talk to me about, she’d have done it before. Right now I don’t wanta disturb this guy Aylmar Thorensen. I just wanta talk to this Chinese dame, but if you wanta be a good guy I’ll tell you what you can do. Stick around here an’ go on drinkin’ whisky. Maybe I’ll want you to do somethin’ for me. If I do I’ll call you through from Lee Sam’s place.”
“O.K. Lemmy,” he says. “Me—I’m happy. I’ve got my feet up an’ I’m drinking whisky. What can a guy ask more than that?”
