The Spiked Heel

“In Shipping, we’ve got ten people. Only two women there.”

“That narrows it down to ten possible suspects, doesn’t it?” McQuade said.

“You mean—” Manelli started. He stopped short and rephrased his question. “Are you going to try to find out who stole those shoes, Mac?”

“Well, of course!” McQuade said. “How the hell else are we going to put a stop to it?”

“Well…” Manelli said uncertainly, glancing at Griff.

“You don’t condone stealing, do you, Joe?”

“No, no, certainly not,” Manelli said, righteously indignant. “But isn’t production a little more important at the moment? We’re trying to work out a scheme whereby we’ll increase our production by perhaps a thousand pairs a month. When you stack that up against the loss of a twelve-dollar shoe, well, Mac, if you’ll pardon my saying so, I think we’re making a mountain out of a molehill.”

“You’re pardoned, Joe, but we’re not making a mountain out of a molehill. We’ve simply found a molehill, and now we’re trying to dig out the mole. Clear?”

“I see,” Manelli said.

“What other information have you got on the stolen shoes?” McQuade asked.

“If they were stolen,” Griff said.

“Oh, what else?” McQuade said happily. “What have you got, Joe?”

“Size, style number, case—”

“Size?” McQuade almost shouted. “Size! Well, for Christ’s sake, Joe, that narrows it down to almost nothing! We’ve got our crook where the hair is short!”

“It’s a 7A,” Manelli said unhappily. “That’s a belly size. We’ll probably find a lot of those.”

“In ten women? So even if five of them wear a 7A, which is highly unlikely, we’ve still got five to work with, rather than ten. Joe, this is going to be duck soup. Now here’s what I’d like you to do, if you will. Phone the supervisors in both Packing and Shipping. Tell them, oh… tell them Titanic is thinking of giving bonuses… yes, bonuses in the form of shoes to the women in those departments which show the most increase in production during the next month. Ask the supervisors to pass this on to the women in their departments and then to get the shoe size of each woman. This way, you see, the crook will have no reason for lying. Follow?”

“Yes,” Manelli said tiredly.

“Have the supervisors send up a list of the women’s names together with their shoe sizes. We want those immediately, Joe, and please don’t sound anxious on the phone, whatever you do. We don’t want the thief hiding that shoe size for fear of exposure. We want her to think she’s going to get another pair of shoes on the house. And is she going to be mistaken!”

There were three women with a shoe size of 7A in Packing and Shipping. McQuade phoned down for a pair of the Flare pattern, and then he asked the supervisors to send the women up to Manelli’s office. He asked Griff and Manelli to please stay, an invitation Griff received with some discomfort. He had watched McQuade’s preparations with baleful eye, a little leery of what was coming. He knew that the shoe size of every woman in the factory was listed on her permanent employment record — a system which facilitated the acquisition of a model whenever one was needed — but he had not volunteered the information to McQuade, unwilling to become any sort of an accomplice. McQuade seemed very happy now, as if he were ready to embark on the West Junctionville Chowder and Marching Society Picnic. McQuade was the man in charge of pickles, relishes, mustards, and catsups. He was happy as hell, and his happiness bred a contagion which gave the lie to the solemnity of the occasion.

When the three women were seated outside, he asked Cara to send the first one in. Griff and Manelli sat on the couch to the right of Manelli’s desk. McQuade sat behind the desk, the picnic smile on his face until the door opened.

The instant it did, something happened to McQuade. It was as if he suddenly dropped a mask, or perhaps put one on. His entire physical appearance changed. He had been sitting in the chair idly before that door opened, his long legs stretched out under Manelli’s desk, the preoccupied happy smile on his face. The moment the knob began to turn, he pulled in his feet and sat upright in Manelli’s padded chair. His shoulders snapped to attention, his head jerked erect, his blond brows pulled down over his eyes at the same instant his mouth pulled taut into a tight line. A pair of hoods seemed to descend over his gray eyes, giving them a curiously opaque appearance. He looked rather frightening, even a bit maniacal, and Griff felt an involuntary shiver move up his spine.

The woman stood just inside the doorway. She was close to fifty, Griff surmised, a small blond woman with a gold tooth in the front of her mouth. She was obviously frightened, but she tried a timid smile which turned pasty on her mouth. She did not move from the doorway.

“Come in,” McQuade snapped.

The woman moved into the room. If she had been a man, she’d undoubtedly have come to attention at the sound of McQuade’s voice. Being a woman, she fussed nervously with her hands and shifted from one foot to the other.