She said, stubbornly, “At least lie down a little while. You’re still shaking from the shock.”
He said: “All right. I’ll lie down if you promise to call me in an hour.”
She hesitated, then nodded. “All right, I promise.”
The sharp sound of the ringing phone roused him. He was off the couch before the girl could answer it, saying into the instrument. “This is Lennox. What do you want?”
A man’s voice said, “What you and Spurck got was just a sample. Keep out of things or you’ll get really hurt. We know you went to that damn’ Fed. Don’t make that mistake a second time.” There was a click, and Lennox hung up slowly.
The girl said, sharply: “What is it? Who was it, Bill?”
His thin lips curved. “That was our friend, the one that sent that Xmas package, just tipping me off that it was only the beginning unless I keep clear.” He picked up the phone, called the hospital, and got Spurck’s secretary. “How’s Sol?”
The secretary said: “They’re just leaving now. He’s chartered a plane and sending Mrs. Spurck East. I tried to get him to go also, but he won’t. He’s going to stay here and fight. There are two men from the D.A.’s office with him, so I guess he’s safe for the time, but I wish he’d go.”
“So do I,” Lennox agreed, and hung up.
Nancy said: “You’d better lie down.”
He shook his head. “I’m going over to that restaurant and see what Maria told her mother when she telephoned last night.”
Nancy rose. “All right, then, I’m going with you.”
Lennox shook his head. “You’re not, and we’re not going to argue about it. You’ll stay here. I’ll take your car to make sure you do. Where are the keys?”
Their eyes locked. She opened her mouth to argue, closed it and tossed him the leather book of keys. He said: “Thanks, Nance. You’re swell,” and went out the door.
The restaurant was long, narrow, with three rows of tables running back towards the kitchen at the rear. Lennox went in, looked around and said to the waiter who came forward, “Where’s Mussaco?”
The waiter hesitated. “He’s not here at present.”
“Where is he?” There was a curt note in Bill’s voice which brought sharp color to the man’s cheeks. His dark eyes were stubborn, but they dropped before Lennox’ stare.
“He’s upstairs.”
Without a word Bill turned, left the restaurant, and went through the door he had defended the night before. The bricks showed fresh scars where the shotgun slugs had marred them. He went up the steps two at a time and pounded on the door at the top. A small man with curly hair and dark eyes opened the door, stared at him, then asked:
“What is it?”
“I want to see Mrs. Mussaco.”
The man did not move. “My wife? She is very sick.”
Lennox’ voice was crisp. “It’s about her daughter, Maria. She’d better see me.”
Fear leaped into the man’s eyes. “Maria! Maria! Where is she? What have you done with her?”
“That’s what I want to talk to your wife about, Mussaco. Come on. We’re wasting time.”
For an instant longer the Italian hesitated, then turned and led the way along a dark hall to a cluttered bedroom.
Mrs. Mussaco was in a chair beside the window, large, shapeless. Her reddened lids bore mute witness that she had been crying. “My baby! Where is she?”
Lennox said: “That’s what I’m trying to find out.” His voice had gained kindness. “She called you last night, told you she was going up to Topanga canyon. Who’d you tell? Who knew where she was?”
The woman said: “I tell no one, no one.” She started to cry. “Such a good girl, Maria. Please, you no hurt her, Mister.”
Lennox said: “I’m trying to help. You must have told someone. Did you tell May, Tom May?”
The woman nodded. “Sure, I tell Tom. He was here, Tom. He like one of my own. I said, Maria, she go with nice lady to Topanga.”
Lennox swore under his breath. “Where can I reach May?”
The father made warning sound in his throat, but the woman paid no attention. “You wrong, Mister, Tom no hurt Maria. Tom like my own bambino.”
Lennox masked his impatience. “I know, but where is he? Where does he live?”
She told him the address without hesitation. “You see Maria, you tell her come home.”
He nodded and went hurriedly to the door, conscious that Mussaco was following. The restaurant-man said: “Please, Mister, we good people. We no want trouble.”
Lennox said, “Sure,” and went down the stairs, his brows twisting. Fear hung above that apartment like a cloud; fear of something. He wondered what. He came through the door and ran directly into Mike Payman.
The reporter stared at him with surprise. “As I live and exhale carbon dioxide, Bill Lennox.”
Lennox said: “Sure. How’d you happen to be in this part of town?”
Payman grinned. “Food. This little joint puts out the best spaghetti in town. Come and have some.”
Bill lied. “I’ve eaten. Be seeing you.”
He moved towards Nancy’s car, conscious that the reporter’s eyes followed him. He watched his rear-view mirror to see if he was followed, but saw no sign. The coupe went across town fast, dodging Sunday traffic, until he parked it before May’s apartment and went in. He climbed to the third floor, knocked on the door, and waited. It came open after a moment, exposing the ex-grip. The man’s hair was mussed, his collar open, and his face flushed with liquor. He tried to shut the door, but Bill’s foot was in the way.
“What the hell do you want?” His words sounded thick.
Bill pushed the door wide, went in, one hand sunk in his coat pocket, gripping the gun. May backed away, his eyes burning. He tried to bluster. “Who the devil do you think you are, crashing in here?”
Lennox snapped. “Save it. You act like a five-year-old with a cap-pistol. Come on. Where’s Maria?”
“How should I know? She went with you last night.”
Lennox’ left hand snaked out and grabbed the man’s shoulder. He shook him, hoping to sober him. “I’m through fooling, May. You told Zimm that she was at Miss Hobb’s mountain cabin. They took her from there. Where is she?”
May wrenched himself free. “Go to hell.” He picked up the bottle from the table and started to raise it to his lips. Lennox grabbed it, tossed it through the half-open door of the bathroom, and heard it smash against the tiles. “Get smart, you fool! Someone tossed a bomb at Spurck’s car. Someone grabbed the girl. Do you know what kidnaping means in this State? You think your big shot has this town by the tail. You’ll find out different before you’re through, and you’ll be the first to get it in the neck unless you play smart.”
May jeered. “I’m crying for Spurck.”
Lennox’ anger almost choked him. “Forget Spurck. He’s okey. You’d better start whining for yourself. You’re going to answer questions for me or talk to the Federals. Maybe you know how they work. Don’t think your big shot can spring you there. They’ll sweat you and sweat you plenty. Make no mistake about that.”
May stared at him, licking dry lips. His bluster was gone, and the liquor was wearing off. He said, suddenly: “Okey, I’ll show you.” He turned, walked towards the desk against the wall, pulled open the drawer, and snatched up a gun. He pivoted, but Lennox had moved up behind him. As he turned, Bill’s fist crashed against his jaw, sending him down, the gun sliding from his fingers to land with a dull sound on the thin rug. Bill stooped, caught it up, and rubbed his bruised knuckles.