“What do I win?” Mason asked.
“You win on hunches. I’ve done some fast work and located this Carl Packard under another name.”
“What’s the other name?” Mason asked.
“Jason Braun.”
“Brown?” Mason asked.
“No,” Drake said, “it’s B-r-a-u-n, Jason Braun.”
“Okay,” Mason said, “what about Jason Braun?”
“He disappeared about two weeks ago, had an apartment on West Thirty-fifth Street, a bachelor place with maid service, rent paid up in advance, a few friends, a speaking acquaintance with the landlady, subscription to the daily newspaper, a couple of girl friends who occasionally dropped in for a cocktail, and the usual background a young salesman would have.
“Then he vanished from sight. Newspapers piled up in front of the door. The bed hadn’t been slept in. Mail came and laid unclaimed in the box. A suit at the cleaners he’d been most anxious to have ready at a certain time wasn’t called for. One of the girl friends rang up the landlady, said he’d had a date with her and hadn’t kept it. She felt sure something must have happened to him. After talking with her, the landlady notified the police. The police found out that he’d taken his car from the garage, as usual, and disappeared. He’d told the landlady he was a salesman. No one seemed to know exactly what it was he was selling. The police tried to check back on him and came up against a blank wall. He wasn’t registered as a voter. They couldn’t find where he was employed. The theory of the police was that his employer would probably make a report if it was a genuine disappearance. When they didn’t hear anything further, they just let the matter drop. They have a complete file on the case at the Missing Persons Bureau.”
“How do you know that he’s the man we want?” Mason asked.