THE BIG LOSER: The crime classic!

By Elliot Kennedy

When Ben Kavanaugh is robbed and murdered, it seems that Private Eye Cliff Dexter, hired by Kavanaugh to trace Laura Gordon, must mark the file case closed. But Dexter's investigations have already carried him to a psychological point of no return. Piece by piece he builds up a fascinating picture of Laura, no looker, but seductive to a wide variety of men, all of whom she dupes and betrays in her hunger for the good life and a stage for her own rare talents...

 

The Big Loser by Elliot Kennedy (a pseudonym of the bestselling British author Lionel Robert Holcombe Godfrey; * 01. January 1932; † 01. January 1980) was first published in 1972; Apex is publishing a new edition of this classic of crime literature in its ENGLISH CRIME NOVELS series.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookRix
• Release date: Mar 8, 2022
• ISBN: 9783755409328

Book preview

ELLIOT KENNEDY

The Big Loser

A Novel

Apex-Verlag

Content

The Book

THE BIG LOSER

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

The Book

When Ben Kavanaugh is robbed and murdered, it seems that Private Eye Cliff Dexter, hired by Kavanaugh to trace Laura Gordon, must mark the file case closed. But Dexter's investigations have already carried him to a psychological point of no return. Piece by piece he builds up a fascinating picture of Laura, no looker, but seductive to a wide variety of men, all of whom she dupes and betrays in her hunger for the good life and a stage for her own rare talents...

The Big Loser by Elliot Kennedy (a pseudonym of the bestselling British author Lionel Robert Holcombe Godfrey; * 01. January 1932; † 01. January 1980) was first published in 1972; Apex is publishing a new edition of this classic of crime literature in its ENGLISH CRIME NOVELS series.

THE BIG LOSER

Chapter One

The case began quietly – no bodies falling out of closets, no semi-nude beauties beating down my door to demand sanctuary, no hardnosed characters waving guns in my face.

Just an ordinary guy called Ben Kavanagh, who came to my office in the usual way and dumped a commission in my lap that looked like a hundred other commissions.

When I entered the outer office that morning, Pat Hayward stood leaning over her desk, sifting some papers. She was a tall brunette who did things for a simple sweater and skirt. What moved around inside them was a walking anatomy-lesson. On impulse, I crept up silently in back of her and put my hands lightly on her hips.

»Griff Dexter,« she diagnosed, straightening up. »Couldn’t be anyone else.«

»Right,« I admitted. »How the devil did you know?«

»We’ve danced together a few times – remember? Your hands were almost as active as your feet.« She turned around to face me, and I kept my hands on her waist. In a city full of lovely girls, she had beautiful features. The wide mouth, especially, seemed designed to receive a kiss. She inquired coolly, »Is this casual lechery or do you have something more definite in mind?«

»It couldn’t be definite and casual, could it? Not with you.«

»I think not.«

»That’s what I thought.« I frowned. »How come you and I never tangle?«

She smiled. »That’s simple, boss-man. I’m not very good at casual involvement. And you’re rather scared of anything else.«

»Maybe I ought to kiss you.«

»Not if you need to discuss it.«

»Oh, you do wonders for my ego, baby.« I released her. »To hell with sex! Let’s get down to business. What’s happening around here?«

Smoothly, with no observable shifting of gears, she dropped into her office-manner, a sometimes tantalizing amalgam of impersonal efficiency, underpaid thoughtfulness and slightly remote femininity.

One day, I thought, though without urgency, I would have to pick the lock of her reserve.

She said, »That report on Jackson from the Anderson Agency has arrived.«

»About time.«

»Artie Strauss asked you to call. He says he has some information...«

»You call instead. And tell the bum to drop dead.« Artie was a would-be informer and authentic wino. »He’s out for a fast buck, and he doesn’t know a thing that would interest me. Anything else?«

»Yes. You have a ten o’clock appointment to see a Mr. Ben Kavanagh.« She anticipated my next question. »You don’t know him, and I don’t know what it’s about. He wasn’t exactly communicative. In fact, he seemed kind of embarrassed.«

»Embarrassed, huh? You don’t see many of those any more. What sort of guy?«

»Quiet, presentable.« She shrugged. »Probably a nice guy.«

I grinned. »Well, he’ll be the first since 1965.«

I passed the time until Ben Kavanagh’s appointment by studying the report from the Anderson Agency. It was a thorough piece of work that didn’t, unfortunately, help me at all. Exactly on ten, Pat ushered Kavanagh in. His arrival, right on the nose, impressed me, because punctuality was, in my experience, a rare and undervalued habit.

It might also have indicated that Ben Kavanagh was anxious.

He was in his mid-thirties, and he was wearing a conservative business-suit. His smile was somewhere between a reflex action and a symptom of relief. He had regular, unmemorable features, and so far, there seemed nothing remarkable about him – nothing, that was, except perhaps some indefinable gleam in his eyes, a kind of febrile light that I had seen, with varying degrees of intensity, in the eyes of idealists, political fanatics and some criminals.

Maybe you couldn’t see that at all. Maybe, in retrospect, I put it there, because of conclusions I formed later.

I got him sitting down and whisked through the formalities.

»What can I do for you?« I asked.

He said, »I’d like you to trace someone for me. I’m pretty sure she’s living in Los Angeles, but that’s about all I know.«

He sounded a shade nervous and fiddled with his hat. For the first time, I noticed he was sweating slightly.

Noting the gender of his concern, I wondered: Wife? Daughter? Sweetheart? But I was in no hurry. From experience, I knew it would all come out – bit by bit, if not all in a rush.

»What makes you sure she’s living in L.A.?« I asked.

»Because I saw her yesterday.«

»And yet you want me to find her.«

»Let me explain, Mr. Dexter.« He leaned forward eagerly to clear up the apparent contradiction. »It was just for a moment. On Wilshire Boulevard among a crowd of people. I caught sight of Laura there. She – she’s changed a lot, but it was her, all right.«

He looked lost, floundering, as though he was waiting for a cue. Well, I was a reasonable guy, and the suspense was killing me anyway, so I gave him one.

»You mean,« I suggested, »that you found her and lost her again immediately.«

»That’s it. I called to her, but I guess she didn’t hear me. Before I could reach her, she was crossing the street. I followed, but the traffic was heavy. I knew the danger of losing sight of her, but I had to concentrate on survival.«

»Let me guess. When you reached the sidewalk, she had disappeared.«

»Right. There were stores she could have entered – I didn’t know where to start.« He added slightly apologetically and rather irrelevantly. »Besides, this isn’t my town. I’m here on business.«

»Is that so? Where are you from, Mr. Kavanagh?«

»Albany, New York.«

»A long way from home,« I commented.

»Like I said, I’m on business. I work for Zenith Electronics on the sales side, and I’m going to be here for the next four to six weeks.«

I nodded. »Now tell me about Laura.«

His eyes still held that faintly obsessed look. He made me think of someone on the edge of a great discovery, like a guy I once knew who was always on the verge of working out a perfect system for the horses. Such people weren’t the easiest to live with. They might appear to function passably, but their contact with reality wasn’t like yours and mine – they lived in the mythical future. For them, tomorrow was always brave, the bravest word in the language.

But Kavanagh looked embarrassed, too, as though we might be entering sacred areas. To help him out, I offered him a cigarette, but he didn’t smoke, so I lit one myself, realizing that it would probably have the same effect of lowering the tension.

When he spoke, his voice had a reverent tone to it. I soon found out why. He was treading among beautiful, maybe even idealized, memories.

»Laura,« he said, »is Laura Gordon. I met her in Albany in 1969. I was in my present job, and she worked in an office. She said she was twenty-eight, and she certainly looked mature. But I found out later she was only twenty-two. A little young for me, maybe, but we got along fine. Maybe – maybe she didn’t feel quite the same way about me that I felt about her. Sometimes I think nobody could, if you see what I mean.«

I guessed I saw, all right.

He went on, »Well, you understand, we saw a lot of each other.«

»For how long?«

»About a year, I suppose. Yes, almost exactly a year.«

»What sort of girl is she?«

He had come prepared, and he fished in his pocket. »This is a picture, but not a very good one. The only one I had with me.« He smiled apologetically. »In fact, the only one I possess.«

He passed it over, and I inspected the slightly fuzzy likeness of a brunette with large, pretty eyes, a tender mouth and a nose that spoilt the face by being askew.

The photograph was black and white, and Kavanagh commented, »The eyes are green. Laura’s an intelligent girl. Ambitious, too. I don’t know much about her past, because she hated to talk about it.«

»What happened after a year?«

He flushed. »My work sometimes takes me away. Trips like the one I’m on now. That time, I went to Peoria for a week. When I got back, Laura had given up her job and moved out of her apartment without leaving a forwarding address. It came as quite a jolt to me. She’d said nothing, given no indication...« He looked down to inspect the carpet. I hoped he liked what he saw, since it was past its best, which hadn’t been so special to start with. »Well, I have all sorts of hopes, Mr. Dexter, but I’m not a fool. I got the picture. Like I said, she was an ambitious girl, and I’m not so special. She was gone, and I never did try to trace her. I mean, she made things pretty clear, didn’t she?«

He was, it seemed, a modest guy – all heart. I found myself liking him, and I didn’t want to like him. I sensed all sorts of possibilities and overtones in what he said, and I didn’t want my judgement clouded.

I forced myself to do some probing of the kind clients sometimes found offensive or humiliating.

I asked, »You’re sure there was no warning that Laura was going to run out on you?«

»No. None at all.«

»Were you engaged?«

»No – not officially.«

»Just tell me how she looked yesterday, Mr. Kavanagh.«

»Different.« He was looking at me now and not seeing me. He was a rapt audience for some private Technicolor movie he was running. All about how the golden princess turned up in Southern California, which was, for some easterners, where all dreams came true. »Different,« he repeated. »But the same. I don’t know.«

»How – different?« I persisted. »Her clothes? Hair? Make-up?«

He puzzled over that for a moment. »Her hair – yes, it’s blonde now. I think her clothes were good, too. But she always dressed well. There was something else.«

»Such as?«

»Something that changed her greatly.« He sighed. »But I can’t think what it was. I – I guess I was excited.«

»Mr. Kavanagh, why should Laura Gordon turn up here in Los Angeles, three thousand miles from where you last saw her?«

He grew excited at that. »But that’s just it! It makes sense. One thing I do know about her past is that she grew up here.«

I said quietly and pointedly, »Let me put this to you. When Zenith Electronics sent you here, to Laura’s town, it revived memories. The girl once meant a lot to you. Maybe you’re not over her as much as you think you are. So, what happens? You imagine you see her on the street. What could be more natural? It happens all the time. People die, and those who love them run after them in public places. Only it isn’t them. The mind plays tricks...«

»Mr. Dexter,« Kavanagh said unemotionally and with dignity, I know what I saw. That was Laura Gordon yesterday.«

After a pause, I said, »Okay. I’m sorry, but I have to ask these questions.«

»I understand.«

»In that case, perhaps you can tell me why you want to find her. After all this time. I don’t want to offend you, but every so often, you know, somebody hires a P.I. as a preliminary to putting the squeeze on another party.«

He sighed, presumably in exasperation over my cynicism and worldliness.

Sometimes it depressed me, too.