Installment 9

3

Tom Powell tapped on his watch and looked at it once more. He wound it a couple of times and dropped it into his pocket. He got up from the soft green chair and began to examine the signed photographs of film stars, musicians, singers on the wall of the small room.

The door behind him opened and he turned to face Paul Waverly. “I understand you want to see me,” said Waverly as he entered.

“I’m Detective Tom Powell with the New York police.”

“I’m Paul Waverly and I’ve got to be on stage in,” he looked up, “six minutes.”

“Four more than I need today,” said Powell, sitting down opposite Waverly who had thrown himself down on a big green couch. “Any idea why I’m here?”

“Yeah, I just heard about Mabel a little while ago. What’s the word?”

Powell swung his hat forward and back by the brim between his knees. “You tell me. As far as we know, you were the last to see the girl.”

Paul touched a finger of his cigarette hand to his tongue to remove a tobacco grain. “Well, she spent the night in my hotel room, if that’s what you want to know. At least she was there when I fell asleep. She was gone with the wind when I woke.”

Powell’s brow arched. “Gone with the wind?”

“Half the boy’s are reading the book. The one’s that can read, that is.”

“Book? Right.” Powell pulled out a pad and flipped the cover forward. “How well did you know Miss Herrmann? Was she a frequent...companion?”

Paul smiled. “I haven’t been back in town long enough to have frequent companions. I just came out of retirement.” Paul glanced at the clock, stood up and began adjusting his clothes.

Powell looked up. “Retirement. At your age?”

“Christ. You are one hell of a detective. ” Waverly glanced at the clock. “I met her that night at El Morocco. She made a scene, we left in a hurry. We ate. We tangoed. I fell asleep. She was gone.” Powell stood, looked at his hat, pinching the crown. “I gotta say I liked it. I’m sorry I won’t be playing that song again. She seemed like a good kid.”

Powell studied Waverly’s face. Paul met his gaze for a few seconds and questioningly raised his eyebrows. “Thanks,” said Powell finally and put his notebook away. “I’ll try and catch you when you’ve got a little more time.”

“Sure. You’ll excuse me. My public awaits.”

Powell looked absently at the empty doorway for a moment. Tilting his head down, he put on his hat and left the room.