“Search me. It just amuses me; but it don’t mean anythin’ yet. What did you get out of Miss Daley?”
Paula shook her head. “She just wasn’t talkin’. I asked her the usual line for our records, but she said she would only talk to you.”
Fenner finished his Scotch and stubbed out his cigarette. “Investigation seems about to peter out,” he said. “We’re six grand to the good an’ no work to do for it.”
“But you won’t sit around doin’ nothing?”
“Why not? She paid me the dough, didn’t she? Then when I fix it so she can talk in comfort, she blows. Why should I worry? When she wants more advice, she’ll contact me.”
An elderly man with a lean face, all nose and chin, came into the lounge and sat down a few tables from them. Paula looked at him curiously. She thought by the look of his eyes he’d been weeping. She wondered why. Fenner broke into her thoughts. “What did you think of this Daley dame?” he said abruptly.
Paula knew what he wanted. “She was educated. Her clothes were class and cost plenty. She was scared about something. I could guess at her age, but I’d most likely make a mistake. I’d say twenty-four. I might be six years out either way. If she was anything but a good girl, she was a good actress. Her make-up was mild and she’d been living in the sun a lot. She was modest—”
Fenner nodded his head. “I was waiting for that. Sure, she was the modest type. Then why should she take off her clothes to show me that someone had thrashed her?”
Paula put her glass down and stared at him. “This is a new one,” she said.
“Oh, I’ll get round to everythin’ in time.” Fenner waved his glass at the waiter. “You don’t know about the guy who phoned me while I was talkin’ to her an’ told me she was nuts. That’s when she went into the strip-tease. That’s what’s gettin’ me. It don’t line up with her type. She just took off her coat and blouse and stood around the office in her brassiere. It don’t add up.”