Read Online 1954 - Safer Dead by James Hadley Chase - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: James Hadley Chase
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list, but then that doesn’t surprise me. The name’s probably a phoney. My men are working on it, but it’ll take some time to check everyone on it.’ He fought back another yawn. ‘We’ve got a line on the charm bracelet. It was hocked three days after Fay Benson disappeared. Tierney’s, the local hockshop, handled it. Hesson sold it to them. The clerk recognized Hesson’s picture. The bracelet was sold again to an actress who is in Hollywood now. We’re contacting her. There’s no doubt that Hesson sold it.’
‘Nothing on Fay Benson yet?’
‘A little: could be something. You saw the pictures we had printed in the national papers? We got a heap of letters and they are still coming in. People claim to know her, but I guess most of them will turn out to be cranks. One guy says he thinks he recognizes her, although she was dark haired when he knew her. He’s not at all sure, and it might be a false lead, but I’m hoping it isn’t. He says she did a job for him once. Guess where.’
‘Tampa City?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Well, that’s not bad for three days’ work. What are you going to do? Will Tampa City police dig further for you?’
‘I doubt it,’ Creed said, scowling. ‘I’ve never known them yet to work with me. They’ll promise the world, but nothing ever gets done.’
‘Suppose I go out there and see what I can dig up?’
Creed nodded.
‘I was going to suggest that. We’d get on quicker. You’ll have to watch your step. Doonan hates private investigators worse than he hates poison. They are a tough bunch of boys, and they might discourage you if they know what you’re up to.’
‘I’ll watch out,’ I said. ‘Know anyone there who could be helpful?’
‘You might do worse than call on Don Bradley. He used to be chief of police at Tampa City before he retired. He’s a good guy; one of the best police officers in the country. He was retired two years before his time. He had trouble with Doonan about some murder case. I never did hear the details, but he would be helpful. I’ll give you a letter to him.’
‘Fine. I’ll get off today.’
‘There may be nothing in this, Sladen. This guy who’s written to us has probably made a mistake. If it wasn’t that Flemming had a return ticket to Tampa City I’d say he had made a mistake.’
‘Who is he?’
‘His name’s Lennox Hartley. He lives at 246, Cannon Avenue, Tampa City.’
I made a note of the name and address. ‘I’ll talk to him.’
A tap sounded on the door and Scaife opened it. A policeman said something to him; Scaife nodded and turned to Creed. ‘There’s a guy outside, captain, who says he knows something about Flemming. Want to see him?’
‘You bet,’ Creed said, pushing back his chair. ‘Shoot him in.’
A minute or so later, a short, fat man came in, uneasily twirling his hat between red, roughened fingers. He was wearing brown corduroy trousers, and an old, stained coat and a cowboy shirt.
‘My name’s Ted Sperry, captain,’ he said, nervously. ‘I saw the picture of the gunman in the paper. He came to see me about a year ago. I thought I’d better come along, but if I’m wasting your time.’
‘Sit down, Mr. Sperry,’ Creed said. ‘What’s your line of business?’
Rather surprisingly, Sperry said he was a market gardener.
‘I have a nursery out on Dalmatian Road, captain. I sell fruit trees and garden equipment. I have a pretty nice little business. Me and the wife run it between us.’
‘You say Flemming called on you? You’re sure it was Flemming?’
‘I’m sure it was the man in the picture, captain. As soon as I saw him I wondered what he wanted. He struck me then he wasn’t any good.’
‘What did he want?’
‘I’ve been working up a new line, and it’s paid off pretty well: growing strawberry plants in barrels. I’ve been selling the equipment, and I’ve advertised widely. This guy said he’d read my advertisement and he was interested. I supply the
‘Nothing on Fay Benson yet?’
‘A little: could be something. You saw the pictures we had printed in the national papers? We got a heap of letters and they are still coming in. People claim to know her, but I guess most of them will turn out to be cranks. One guy says he thinks he recognizes her, although she was dark haired when he knew her. He’s not at all sure, and it might be a false lead, but I’m hoping it isn’t. He says she did a job for him once. Guess where.’
‘Tampa City?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Well, that’s not bad for three days’ work. What are you going to do? Will Tampa City police dig further for you?’
‘I doubt it,’ Creed said, scowling. ‘I’ve never known them yet to work with me. They’ll promise the world, but nothing ever gets done.’
‘Suppose I go out there and see what I can dig up?’
Creed nodded.
‘I was going to suggest that. We’d get on quicker. You’ll have to watch your step. Doonan hates private investigators worse than he hates poison. They are a tough bunch of boys, and they might discourage you if they know what you’re up to.’
‘I’ll watch out,’ I said. ‘Know anyone there who could be helpful?’
‘You might do worse than call on Don Bradley. He used to be chief of police at Tampa City before he retired. He’s a good guy; one of the best police officers in the country. He was retired two years before his time. He had trouble with Doonan about some murder case. I never did hear the details, but he would be helpful. I’ll give you a letter to him.’
‘Fine. I’ll get off today.’
‘There may be nothing in this, Sladen. This guy who’s written to us has probably made a mistake. If it wasn’t that Flemming had a return ticket to Tampa City I’d say he had made a mistake.’
‘Who is he?’
‘His name’s Lennox Hartley. He lives at 246, Cannon Avenue, Tampa City.’
I made a note of the name and address. ‘I’ll talk to him.’
A tap sounded on the door and Scaife opened it. A policeman said something to him; Scaife nodded and turned to Creed. ‘There’s a guy outside, captain, who says he knows something about Flemming. Want to see him?’
‘You bet,’ Creed said, pushing back his chair. ‘Shoot him in.’
A minute or so later, a short, fat man came in, uneasily twirling his hat between red, roughened fingers. He was wearing brown corduroy trousers, and an old, stained coat and a cowboy shirt.
‘My name’s Ted Sperry, captain,’ he said, nervously. ‘I saw the picture of the gunman in the paper. He came to see me about a year ago. I thought I’d better come along, but if I’m wasting your time.’
‘Sit down, Mr. Sperry,’ Creed said. ‘What’s your line of business?’
Rather surprisingly, Sperry said he was a market gardener.
‘I have a nursery out on Dalmatian Road, captain. I sell fruit trees and garden equipment. I have a pretty nice little business. Me and the wife run it between us.’
‘You say Flemming called on you? You’re sure it was Flemming?’
‘I’m sure it was the man in the picture, captain. As soon as I saw him I wondered what he wanted. He struck me then he wasn’t any good.’
‘What did he want?’
‘I’ve been working up a new line, and it’s paid off pretty well: growing strawberry plants in barrels. I’ve been selling the equipment, and I’ve advertised widely. This guy said he’d read my advertisement and he was interested. I supply the
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