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and green eyes that looked like they’d seen more than they ever wanted to. It didn’t seem likely that he could’ve had anything to do with either Ladd’s disappearance or the murder of John Doe. He wasn’t a person anyone would forget and, besides, it would be hard for him to get around. But you never knew, he might be helpful.
    He was wearing a white dress shirt buttoned at the neck, no tie. The rest of him was covered with a maroon blanket that clashed with his hair.
    He said, “Now that you know, do you still want to talk with me?”
    “Sure.”
    “You said on the phone that you wanted to talk about Claire. So what do you have on your mind, Miss Quick?” He took a pack of Old Golds and a lighter from his shirt pocket.
    “Call me Faye.” I went into my pocketbook, empty of my wallet, and took out my cigs. Widmark lit his with a Zippo.
    “Sorry I can’t light yours,” he said. He meant he couldn’t reach me from the chair.
    “I’m doin fine,” I said, and lit up. “I don’t think I said I wanted to talk about Claire. I said she’d given me your number.”
    “So you did. What do you want to talk about then?”
    “Miss Turner told me you two used to be an item.” Oops.
    He smiled. It was crooked and I liked it. “I guess you could say that. We’d been dating for about three months when Ladd came along. You know about him, don’t you?”
    “Know what?”
    “That he stole her from me. Right in front of my eyes.” He blew out a lotta smoke, like a boiling teakettle.
    “You bitter about that?”
    “I was at the time. But now that I’m like this none of it matters.”
    “Meanin?”
    “What girl would want to be stuck with a cripple? Claire would’ve left me by now anyway.”
    In the movies girls always said things like,
I didn’t fall in
love with yer legs, Jim.
But this wasn’t the movies and he was probably right. I wondered again if Claire had been the girl the elevator operator had mentioned.
    “Claire come to see ya much?”
    “No.”
    “Not ever?”
    “Not ever.”
    So she hadn’t been the one.
    “I think she’s too ashamed,” he said. “It’s foolish of her, but that’s the way it is.”
    “Ashamed she left ya?”
    “It was the way she did it.”
    “How was that?”
    “By Western Union.”
    “Really?” That seemed shabby. “What’d she say?”
    “I know it by heart.” He closed his eyes. “Van, please forgive me. Stop. I’ve met the man of my dreams. Stop. I’ll always care for you, but I have to say goodbye. Stop. Love, Claire. Big Stop. Big End.” He opened his eyes.
    “That’s lousy.”
    “Not how I would’ve done it,” he said.
    I couldn’t figure out if she did it that way cause she was naïve or dumb. I guessed she wasn’t trying to be mean, but I didn’t really know her.
    “What d’ya think of Charlie Ladd?” I said, and took a drag on my butt.
    “I don’t know him. I met him at the same time Claire did.”
    “At the Biltmore?”
    “That’s right.”
    “You never saw him again?”
    “No. Why?”
    “He’s disappeared.”
    “From where?”
    I explained.
    “He’s probably out on a binge.”
    “Is he a drunk?”
    “Not that I know of. I didn’t mean that. When soldiers are on leave, they often get soused. Hit all the gin mills they can.”
    “D’ya think Ladd would do that when he was supposed to meet Miss Turner?”
    “I wouldn’t do it. But I don’t know what Ladd would do. I told you, I don’t know him.”
    “Sorry.”
    “How long has he been missing?”
    “A couple a days. But here’s the thing, Mr. Widmark. A dead man was found in his hotel room. There was no identification.”
    “Was he a soldier?”
    “Looks like it.”
    “And he didn’t have his dog tags on?”
    “No.”
    “So how do you know it’s not Ladd?”
    “We don’t. Yet. When I left the scene, the cops were gonna get the hotel personnel to see if anyone knew him, any of them checked him in.”
    “I hope you don’t expect me to identify