“I frisked him. Look there on the dresser.”
I tiptoed across to inspect the little heap of articles. Among other things, a driving license for Eugene Davis. A membership card in the New York County Bar Association for Eugene Davis, of Dunwoodie, Prescott & Davis. A pass to the New York World’s Fair 1939, with a picture of him thereon. An accident insurance identification card. Three letters received by Eugene Davis at his business address. Two snapshots of Naomi Karn, one in a bathing suit.
I told Fred, “Go and stay at the hall door and scream if anyone comes. I’m going to browse around.”
I made it snappy but thorough. Davis lay there sucking it in like a bear caught short on Atmosphere common. I covered it all, that bedroom and a smaller one, bathroom, kitchenette, and the big living room, including closets. I would have floated right out of a window if I had found a last will and testament of Noel Hawthorne dated subsequent to March 7th, 1938, but I didn’t. Nor anything else that seemed pertinent to a will or a murder or any phenomenon I was interested in, unless you want to count eight more pictures of Naomi Karn, of various shapes and sizes, three of them inscribed “To Gene,” with dates in 1935 and 1936. Even the refrigerator was empty. I took a parting look at the member of the bar, collected Fred and escorted him out and down to the street and into the roadster, drove around the corner onto Sixth Avenue, drew up at the curb in the morning shadow of the buildings, and demanded:
“How come?”
Fred protested, “We ought to park where we can see—”
“He’ll be there for hours. Tell Papa.”
“Well, I tailed him—”
“Did he and the female subject leave Santoretti’s together?”
“Yeah, at eleven o’clock. They walked west to Lexington, with me on foot and Saul stringing along in his bus. He put her in a taxi and Saul followed it. He stood and watched the taxi, going uptown, until it was out of sight, and then he started walking south as if he’d just remembered something he’d left in Florida. He’s a giraffe. I damn near ran my legs off. The damn fool walked clear to 8th Street!”