Fasciné Expressions was open for part of the
day. I gave Britt’s office a ring.
“
You sound cheerful,” I said when
she answered.
She laughed. “Aside from some sore muscles and
a slight hitch in my girlish gait, I feel wonderful. What took you
so long to call me?”
“
I had to regain my
stamina.”
“
You weakling.”
I didn’t tell Britt about Meredith or about the
envelope she’d been hiding, but I did want her opinion on what
Walter and I had discovered. For now I just said I had something to
show her that I believed was important, and asked if I could come
right over.
Twenty minutes later I was knocking on her
office door.
Britt looked smart in a teal blue office suit
that matched her eyes as well as her high heels. A crisp blouse
went with gray nylons, and her shoes had gold wrap-around ankle
straps that tied in with her hair, watch, and earrings. She was a
living, breathing, color-coordinated work of art. I was waved in
and the door was shut.
“
We’ll need some privacy,” I
said.
She gave me a sly smile, pulled me close to her
face by my lapels and gave me a tender kiss. “More privacy than
this?” she asked.
“
Nice. Very nice. But not what I
meant, I’m afraid. With what I have to show you, it’s best if we
aren’t interrupted and that you brace yourself.”
She gave me a curious look and then motioned
for me to follow her.
“
We’ll use Len’s office. He’s over
on the peninsula for the weekend. He won’t mind.”
We entered Pearson’s office and Britt locked
the door. I walked over to his desk, flicked on the desk lamp and
placed the envelope down on the blotter. I pulled Pearson’s chair
out for her and then slid a chair for me alongside her. I told her
about Meredith.
Britt stared at me and put the back of her hand
against her mouth. Her salmon-colored cheeks turned ashen. I
thought she was going to cry, but she managed to keep it together.
I reached for her hand and she clutched mine.
“
I think Guy de Carter killed her,”
I said.
With my free hand I picked up the
envelope.
“
I apologize for what you’re about
to see, but I think it’s best that you know. I also believe it
explains why Christine and Meredith were murdered.”
Letting go of her hand I took the photos out
and quickly spread them on the desk in front of her. She made a
small noise of surprise and gave me a questioning glance before she
returned solemn eyes to the photos. I put my left palm on her
shoulder and reached for her hand again.
She studied the pictures carefully, lips
compressed, grimace lines between her golden brows.
“
Wha … why?” she said. She
looked at me and asked, “What does it mean, Gunnar? Not
what
they’re doing … I can see that. I mean, what’s the point of
all this? Why photograph it?”
I kept my palm on her shoulder but freed my
right hand from hers so I could collect the pictures. She helped me
stuff them back in the envelope. I kept the news clippings
out.
“
The story that seems to go with
these pictures is that Guy de Carter, Christine, and Meredith were
in cahoots. The girls seduced wealthy customers—men of some
prominence, probably hand-picked by de Carter. The girls took them
to some hideaway where de Carter captured their escapades on film
in order to extort hush money.”
“
Blackmail.” Her voice broke a bit
and the shaking of her head became a small shudder. “How horrible.
How dreadful.” She didn’t cry but her eyes were moist. She started
to become angry. “How dare they use the rest of us? And how dare
they involve the store.”
I nodded. “Do me a favor,” I said. “Don’t tell
anyone about these photos for a while. That includes the police. I
wanted you to know before anyone else. Maybe there’s a way we can
contain the scandal. I hate to suggest it, but another one or two
of your girls could be involved in this racket. Think hard. Try and
recall anything that informed hindsight might now see as
suspicious.”
She shook her head slowly. “Gunnar, I didn’t
even know Christine and Meredith were doing this. I … I would
hope they were the only ones involved.”
“
It
would
make things a lot
simpler.”
“
I just don’t know. This sort of
thing makes me doubt my judgment. It makes me question what I
believed was genuine. Does that make any sense?”
I told her it made perfect sense. What I didn’t
say was that it was the running commentary on my life. I decided to
tell her how I’d met Christine at the movies.
“
The night before she was killed
she’d broke it off with Dirk Engstrom. Her feelings were running
high. She might have had a squabble with Guy de Carter after that.
Whatever the case, de Carter was tailing her in a Packard. Maybe he
was intimidating her. I helped her shake him and drove her home. My
theory is that Christine pressured Guy for more of the take. Maybe
she threatened him. The next day de Carter witnessed Dirk’s angry
outburst in the store. That blowup was tailor-made for him. So, he
met Christine and he killed her. Afterward he made it look like
Dirk did it.”
Britt took in a slow, deep breath and released
it as deliberately. “And so that’s
why
Guy de Carter tried
to kill you … because you made him nervous. You’re a big
threat to him.”
“
That’s how it looks all right. My
guess is that after the dust settled, Meredith figured out that de
Carter killed Christine. She may have tried to squeeze him for more
money—or threatened to expose him just to protect herself. It would
explain why he killed her and tossed her place looking for this
envelope.”
Britt was silent for a moment. Then she leaned
her head on my chest and said, “But, why did he try and kill
Addison Darcy?”
“
I’m still trying to come up with
the answer to that one. I hope to have it before the day is
through.”
I switched off the desk lamp and asked to use
Pearson’s telephone. I hadn’t asked for privacy, but Britt left the
office while I made a call to the home of Detective Sergeant Frank
Milland. His wife said he’d been called in to work.
I gave his station number a ring.
“
Gunnar,” he said with a
light-hearted lilt that sounded alien. “Just the man I wanted to
talk to. Why don’t you hop in that Chevy of yours and drive on down
here to Fourth and Yesler?”
“
Frank, I know who killed the
Johanson girl. I’m pretty sure he also tried to kill me and Addison
Darcy.”
“
Uh-huh. I’d love to have a nice
long talk with you about it, Gunnar.” Milland’s voice was starting
to sound like a brassy rumble. “I’d also like to know when your pal
Lon Chaney started going around in broad daylight.”
“
Lon Chaney
? Who’s that?”
Kirsti asked. It was an understandable interruption.
“
Lon Chaney was a silent movie actor
known for his portrayal of afflicted and grotesque characters. It
was just Milland’s wisecrack way of referring to
Walter.”
I let Milland’s crack slide. At least he hadn’t
called Walter a freak. He obviously knew about Meredith’s murder
and I said as much.
“
Don’t get cute with me, Gunnar. I
hate cute.” His voice was gravelly and he teetered on
furious.
“
I called it in anonymously,
Frank.”
He moaned.
I didn’t say anything. Milland cleared his
throat and tried to ratchet his tone back down to calm. “We’ve got
a gal over at the Ivy Lane Apartments who described that carnival
sideshow friend of yours to a tee. She said the guy he was with was
a real dreamboat. I figure that beauty and beast combination could
be no one else but you and Pangborn. So why not bring your pal in,
too? We three. We’ll have us a fine chat.”
“
Frank, we didn’t mess with the
crime scene.” I felt a little twinge of guilt for lying to Milland,
but it passed as quickly as it came.
“
That’s good,” he said. “Real good.”
He started to lose it again.
“
The man you want is Guy de
Carter.”
I told him about the toothpick.
“
De Carter planted the shoes and the
gun. He lied about Dirk threatening to kill Christine.”
“
Get your butt down here right
now.”
“
I’ll have something more concrete
for you before the day is through. I’ll be in touch.”
“
Gunnar ….”
“
Frank ….”
“
Gunnar?”
“
Frank?”
“
Gunnar!”
I hung up.
The least I could do was cast some suspicion on
de Carter and maybe get him taken off the streets for a while. In
the meantime I had a couple of things I wanted to find out before I
turned the photos over to the police. I had to discover why Addison
Darcy was a liability—why he warranted killing. De Carter had
borrowed that Packard. But
whose
Packard?
Britt returned and locked the door again. She
smiled and came over to me. She took my hand and led me to a
davenport on the far side of the room.
We sat. She tucked her face near the dip at the
base of my throat and leaned on my shoulder. My arm encircled the
pliant curve of her back, my fingers poised against the nape of her
neck. All I could hear was our breathing. All I could smell was the
tantalizing scent of her hair. That went on for one long minute
before we started getting even more comfortable.
With her mouth three inches from mine and her
eyelids starting to droop, I grinned and said, “Are you still sure
Len won’t mind our using his office?”
“
Hush,” she said, fastening tender
lips to mine.
For several minutes she forgot about Fasciné
Expressions and treacherous employees and I blocked from my mind
the police, Guy de Carter, and blackmail. We would have been well
on our way to making the Bard’s beast with two backs, but I killed
the mood by showing I was no longer in it when I said, “By now the
police should have Guy de Carter in custody. Unless he’s keeping
clear of his apartment, that is.”
I’d startled her. Our amour-divan became Len’s
daveno once more.
“
You should have said something,”
she said. “Guy de Carter moved out of his apartment a week ago. I
assumed you knew. He’s staying on a houseboat on Lake Union for the
summer. He gave us the phone number and address in case we needed
to get hold of him. The police won’t know to look for him
there.”
She stood up and said, “Wait here a moment.”
She left the office for two or three minutes. When she returned she
handed me a slip of paper with a Lake Union address written on
it.
“
You’ll call it in to the police,
won’t you? You aren’t planning to go after him by yourself, are
you?” she asked as she arranged her face into a pretty little
grimace of concern.
It might have been her facial expression that
did it. Or, maybe it was
libido
-
interruptus
. Whatever
it was, I suddenly felt a need to act heroic. Plus, I didn’t relish
calling Milland again, and I wasn’t about to pawn off that task on
Britt. So I announced, “I’m going to go get him myself.”
“
Gunnar, is that wise?” she asked,
furrowing her brow.
That made me even more determined. At that
point, I wasn’t about to waver or hesitate even if I’d wanted
to.
Gunnar the Virile had committed
himself.
Britt grabbed a coat and walked me down to my
car.
Before I climbed in the Chevy, Britt gave me a
lingering pat on the hand and a long parting kiss. “Call me later,”
she said, “and please be careful.”
I said that I would. I made a mid-block U-turn
and headed the Chevy in the direction of Lake Union.
I drove away feeling every bit like a Chinese
puzzle: my feelings were inscrutable and contradictory. I was the
strutting rooster leaving the henhouse. I was the lurking satyr,
the despoiler of wood nymphs. I was confident, self-satisfied. I
was sad and felt a tad criminal. I was male.
Wending my way by the lake I tooled along
Fairview Avenue in search of the address Britt gave me.
Then, as now, Seattle had perfect spots to live
if you were a free spirit or a beachcomber at heart. Hundreds of
houseboats clustered along the shores of Seattle’s bays and
lakes—little communities with wooden walkways for streets. At the
time some of these dwellings were actually homelike and cozy.
Others were little better than floating ramshackle cabins. The
east-shore houseboat that Guy de Carter was staying on was
somewhere in between.
It shared a long wooden landing with several
floating residences—some on one side, some on the other. De
Carter’s was the last one on the right, fronting the lake. I parked
in back of a maroon Ford convertible that was snuggled alongside a
late model Packard. Both cars were locked, but I made a visual
search of their interiors. Nothing of interest.