Fessler, Auguste SS No. 624/4019 Plaza Royale No. 688 Age... 54 Nat. Hungarian (Nat. Cit. 1927) Address: 734 E. 82nd St. Phone: LO 6-2118 Married. No c. Local 901, H&RWs. U. Previously Employed: Murray Hill Hotel, 1924-8 (Henri) Hotel Lafayette, 1928-39 (Gregoire Munck) Remarks: Munck says honest and excellent waiter. Would not have let him go except for fight with meat chef. Investigated by: Sam Kerns Employed: Jan. 7,1940 Terminated...
“I dunno.” Tim shook his head. “That was Sam’s report. Sam’s on vacash.”
“You’re a big help. Ever hear talk about Auguste?” We don’t run one of those back-of-the-house spy setups where each employee is suspicious of every other one, afraid of being reported to the front office. But word does percolate, if a man’s been with the hotel ten years, as Auguste had.
“Now you mention it,” Tim closed one eye, screwed up that side of his face, “seems I recall hearing about his having’ some mix-up with one of our roast chefs, too. Shindig with a cleaver.”
“Look into it.” If Auguste was the quarrelsome type, it wouldn’t do to carry the assumption of his innocence too far. “Get Auguste up here. Hold him till I get back. Those Homicide Harris’s like nothing better than to give him the full treatment.” Put a pair of fallen arches like that through the bright-light routine in the back room, the old guy’d be apt to confess more butcheries than Swift and Amour.
Tim nodded. “Where’ll you be?”
“Steeplechase Room.”
“Hahn, hanh, hanh, hanh,” Tim panted, pinching his throat between thumb and forefinger. “Need any help down there?”
“I can do my own guzzling. Get going.”
I talked to Mona. She sent Morry up. Br’er Musselman is a mild-mannered lad, built like a golf pro, lean and leathered. Like any pro, he knows his way around. He studied the Gowriss photo. “No.”