The Goodbye Look Read Online Free PDF Page B

the room?”
    “It might be a good idea. While we think of it, Mrs. Delong, what’s his car license number?”
    She looked it up in her file. “KIT 994. It’s an old convertible, tan-colored, with the back window torn out. What’s Harrow wanted for?”
    “I don’t know yet.”
    “Are you sure you’re a detective?”
    I showed her my photostat, and it satisfied her. She made a careful note of my name and address, and handed me the key to Harrow’s room. “It’s number twenty-one on the second floor at the back.”
    I climbed the outside stairs and went along the alley toward the rear. The windows of number twenty-one were closely draped. I unlocked the door and opened it. The room was dim, and sour with old smoke. I opened the drapes and let the light sluice in.
    The bed had apparently not been slept in. The spread was rumpled, though, and several pillows were squashed against the headboard. A half-empty fifth of rye stood on the bedside table on top of a girlie magazine. I was a little surprised that Harrow had left behind a bottle with whisky in it.
    He had also left, in the bathroom cabinet, a toothbrush and a tube of toothpaste, a three-dollar razor, a jar of hair grease,and a spray can of a spicy scent called Swingeroo. It looked as if Harrow had planned to come back, or had left in a great hurry.
    The second possibility seemed more likely when I found an unmatched shoe in the darkest corner of the closet. It was a new pointed black Italian shoe for the left foot. Along with the shoe for the right foot it would have been worth at least twenty-five dollars. But I couldn’t find the right shoe anywhere in the room.
    In the course of looking for it I did find, on the high shelf of the closet under spare blankets, a brown envelope containing a small-size graduation picture. The smiling young man in the picture resembled Irene Chalmers and was probably, I decided, her son Nick.
    My guess was pretty well confirmed when I found the Chalmerses’ address, 2124 Pacific Street, penciled on the back of the envelope. I slid the picture back into the envelope and put it in my inside pocket and took it away with me.
    After reporting the general situation to Mrs. Delong, I crossed the street to the harbor. The boats caught in the maze of floating docks rocked and smacked the water. I felt like getting into one of them and sailing out to sea.
    My brief dip into Sidney Harrow’s life had left a stain on my nerves. Perhaps it reminded me too strongly of my own life. Depression threatened me like a sour smoke drifting in behind my eyes.
    The ocean wind blew it away, as it nearly always could. I walked the length of the harbor and crossed the asphalt desert of the parking lots toward the beach. The waves were collapsing like walls there, and I felt like a man escaping from his life.
    You can’t, of course. An old tan Ford convertible with a torn-out rear window was waiting for me at the end of my short walk. It was parked by itself in a drift of sand at the faredge of the asphalt. I looked in through the rear window and saw the dead man huddled on the back seat with dark blood masking his face.
    I could smell whisky and the spicy odor of Swingeroo. The doors of the convertible weren’t locked, and I could see the keys in the ignition. I was tempted to use them to open the trunk.
    Instead I did the right thing, for prudential reasons. I was outside of Los Angeles County, and the local police had a very strong sense of territory. I found the nearest telephone, in a bait and tackle shop at the foot of the breakwater, and called the police. Then I went back to the convertible to wait for them.
    The wind spat sand in my face and the sea had a shaggy green threatening look. High above it, gulls and terns were wheeling like a complex mobile suspended from the sky. A city police car crossed the parking lot and skidded to a stop beside me.
    Two uniformed officers got out. They looked at me, at the dead man in the car, at me again. They