Sand on the Gumshoe: a century of Australian crime writing

‘Yeah,’ he liked his lips nervously, ‘where does she live again?’

I raised my eyebrows. ‘You must have a short memory!’

‘I’ve got things on my mind,’ he said. ‘Give me the address.’

I put my hand into the inside pocket of my jacket. The gun jerked up quickly. ‘It’s okay,’ I told him. ‘Relax! I’ve got it written down and the piece of paper is in my wallet.’

‘Just don’t make any mistake about it!’ he said.

I took the wallet out slowly and opened. ‘Here it is,’ I said. ‘She lives at…’

The noise of the shot reverberated around the room. I looked up and saw Joh

I came to life at last. I grabbed the.32 out of my shoulder holster and ran out into the corridor. There was no sign of anyone there. I could hear the faint whine of the elevator going down. I walked slowly back into the apartment, closing the door behind me. I knelt down beside him and felt for heartbeats – there weren’t any. Joh

I poured myself another drink and the glass shook as I lifted it to my mouth. I started to function again. I knelt down beside him again and went through his pockets systematically. His wallet contained seven hundred bucks in cash and a driver’s licence. The only other thing was a torn page from a desk diary with a date ringed in heavy pencil – the twenty-seventh, five days away. Underneath was written – Cielli.

I got to my feet, lit a cigarette and wondered what I was going to do with him. I didn’t want to report it to the cops – I’d have a hard time explaining how I didn’t even see who killed him. I’d also have to tell them the story about the carnival ground – the story that the district attorney didn’t believe, in any case.

I looked at my watch – an hour and a half to daylight. I just might get away with it – I thought it was worth the chance. I picked him up off the floor and put him over my shoulder in a fireman’s lift. I almost buckled at the knees under his weight.

Down on the ground floor, I got him as far as the outside door and left him huddled in the corner while I went outside. There wasn’t anyone on the street. I brought the car along and parked it right outside the door. Then I went back for Brent. I dragged him to his feet and put one of his arms around my shoulders. I put one arm around him and staggered towards the door.

Just as I got to it, it opened. A guy in a tuxedo, with a bottle in one hand and a cigar in the other, stood there weaving slightly. ‘Morning,’ he said brightly.

‘Good morning,’ I said politely.

‘Had a lovely party,’ he said in a blurred voice. ‘Looks like you did, too!’ He peered at Brent, then he chuckled. ‘Too much for him, eh?’

‘Sure,’ I said, ‘I’m just taking him home.’

‘Ah!’ the drunk said. He leaned forward until his face was only a couple of inches from Brent’s. ‘Wake up, old chap!’ he said in a loud voice. ‘You’re going home!’

‘I don’t think he’ll wake up,’ I said,’ ‘but if you’ll excuse me, I’ll get him into the car.’

‘Course,’ he said gravely, ‘give you a hand.’

‘I can manage,’ I said desperately.

‘Nonsense!’ he said violently. ‘Help a fellow man in distress – only decent thing to do!’ He grabbed hold of Brent’s other arm and together we staggered across the sidewalk to the car and somehow got Joh

The drunk dusted his hands proudly. ‘There you are,’ he said, ‘he’s all set now!’

‘Thanks,’ I told him.

I drove down to the carnival ground. There were no lights on and I didn’t see anyone around. I stopped the car outside the Harem Girl’s Hall and switched off the engine and the lights. I sat there for five long minutes in the darkness with Joh

I got out of the car, walked around the other side, opened the door and dragged Brent out. I left him propped up against the barker’s box in front of the tent, then went back to the car. I drove home slowly, had a final drink and went to bed.

I didn’t wake until midday. Maybe I wouldn’t have woken then, except for the phone jangling in my ear. I answered it.

‘Good morning,’ a husky voice said in my ear. ‘How’s my man this morning?’

‘Suffering from a hangover,’ I said. ‘How are you?’

‘I’m wonderful,’ she told me. ‘I’ve been missing you ever since you left.’

‘That’s nice to hear,’ I said. I tried to stop my head throbbing.

‘If you recover from your hangover in time,’ she said, ‘how about coming to the club again tonight?’

‘Is this the way you get paying customers?’ I asked her.

She laughed. ‘No, darling. You can pick me up at the club at midnight. I’ll see you in the foyer.’

I wondered if they found Brent’s body yet. If they had, it would be in the afternoon’s papers. I thought about Mrs Brent. How the hell could I tell her that her husband was dead?

I went to the office and sat there for half an hour, thinking about it. Then I finally decided that whether or not I was sticking my neck out, I’d have to tell her. I rang her number and listened to the phone ringing monotonously. Finally, I hung up.

I waited half an hour and rang again. There was still no answer. I thought I’d go around to her apartment and wait until she came home. The block where she lived was shabbier than I’d expected. I walked up the stairs to the third floor and pressed the buzzer. No one answered the door. I pressed it again just to make sure, then lit a cigarette and settled down to wait.

An old dame came up the stairs slowly and looked at me curiously. She hesitated for a moment, then said, ‘You waiting for somebody?’

‘I’m waiting for Mrs Brent to come home,’ I told her.

She shook her head slowly. ‘You’ve got the wrong address, mister. There’s nobody living in that apartment. It has been empty for a couple of days.’

‘It can’t have been,’ I said. I pulled out the piece of paper with Mrs Brent’s address on it. ‘I’ve got it here,’ I said and showed it to her.

She peered short-sightedly at it. ‘That’s the right phone number,’ she said. ‘There was someone in there until a couple of days ago, but like I told you, it has been empty since then.’

‘Who was in there then?’ I asked her.

‘A girl,’ she said, ‘a Miss Jones.’

‘What did she look like?’

‘Pretty. Blonde with her hair cut short. Always wore pearl ear-rings. She only stayed one day, though.’

‘Thanks,’ I muttered, ‘I must have the wrong address.’

I walked down the stairs slowly, wondering whether I was crazy or Mrs Brent was crazy. The old dame’s description of the Miss Jones who’d had the apartment sounded awfully like Mrs Brent.

I drove back to the office. There was no mention in the paper of any corpse being found in the carnival ground. I read through it from front page to back page. Whoever had found Brent’s body was keeping the fact very quiet. I gave up.