Day Three
July 23, 1952
Wednesday Afternoon
From the apartment Waverly took the bus downtown, got change for a dollar from a magazine vendor, and headed for the nearest phone booth. There she placed a long-distance call to Chicago.
A familiar voice answered.
“Drew Blackwater, private investigator.”
“Drew, this is Waverly Paige. I only have enough money for a minute of talk so this needs to be quick. Someone recently broke into my apartment and stole some of my files, the one you gave me plus a few others like it. He was a lean strong guy with a scar down his forehead and cheek. He had a tattoo on his forearm, maybe a rose or flower or something like that. Does anyone like that ring a bell with you?”
Silence.
“This is weird but it might,” he said. “For some reason it’s tugging at the back of my brain.”
“Can you do me a favor and dig?”
“You mean check into it?”
“Right.”
“Are we talking about being on the clock?”
“Yes, I’ll pay, don’t worry. You can trust me.”
“I know that.”
“Can you do it right away? This is important.”
“Are you okay?”
“I don’t know.”
“I’ll get right on it.”
“You’re a peach. I don’t have a phone where I can be reached. Can I call you tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, one more thing, have you ever heard of a guy named Tom Bristol? He’s an architect out of San Francisco-”
“Doesn’t sound familiar.”
“Do me a favor,” she said. “See if you can find out if he was in Chicago at the time in question.”
A groan.
“That would be about impossible.”
“Try anyway. Please?”
“Sure, why not? It’s your money.”
“Thanks. You’re a double-peach.”