Joslin scowled. “No. I saw Hurlihan Sunday. But it was about a different matter.”
“Was, eh? What name’d Merrill sign under, this last voyage?”
“Now you’ve got me. What difference does it make?”
“Might make a lot.” Koski stacked the volumes, again. “Maybe he used T. Joslin.”
The organizer smiled frostily. “That wouldn’t be any passport with Hurlihan. What the hell’s this got to do with the submarines, anyway?”
“Ovett line seems to have been singled out for attention by the U-boys. Merrill Ovett was sunk in one of them. Knows a lot about Ovett sailings. Ovett yacht has a short-wave sending set that could broadcast dope, if anyone could get to it who was so minded. Yacht had the inside track on Cee-Gee activities, being an auxiliary and all.”
“That doesn’t spatter any mud on me.”
“You work around the docks. You could find out when ships clear, — or somebody might pump you and find out. Your name was on the register for the room where the murder was committed. You talked to Ovett Sunday; that’s the day he disappeared.” Koski threw the billiard cue on the cot. “Let’s go over to the hiring hall, find somebody who can corroborate your oratory.”
Joslin put on his cap without comment, led the way downstairs.
They went along West Street. Under the pillars of the express highway, trucks ground their gears and made obscene bombilations. Along the sidewalks, in doorways of saloons, mission halls, pawnbrokers, flop-houses, — men greeted the organizer; seamen, stevedores, truck drivers, winch-men, gunners, stokers. Men, Koski knew, who loaded the fighting ships that had no armor and made ten knots in a heavy sea, men who sailed them across in spite of mines, bombers, periscopes in the dusk...
Joslin might have been reading his mind. “Lot of these boys have been over and back a dozen times.”
“Yair. Wonder what they’d do to a guy if they found out he was setting them up for the subs to shoot at?”
The organizer only grunted.
Koski made one more attempt. “Understand young Ovett is a bug about radio. You up on that short-wave stuff, too?”
Joslin didn’t look at him. “I don’t know an amplifier from an aerial. If you’re intending to get me to say Merrill does, go spit into the wind. I don’t know any good reason why he shouldn’t, — but don’t try to trap me into giving his answers for him.”
At the door to the hiring hall, Mulcahey was waiting. Beside him was Frankie Salderon.
The Sergeant beamed fondly at his prisoner. “Look what wriggles out from under a rock, skipper. The lad who was up in the deckhouse while you were on the yacht.” He patted the Filipino on the shoulder. “Says he aims to get himself another berth. I figure maybe we could make one up for him over at the hoose-gow. No?”
XVII
Koski said: “Frisko?” Mulcahey produced a red tobacco tin, opened it, shook out half a dozen cigarettes made of light brown paper.
The Lieutenant took one, put it to this nose. “This stuff’ll make you see around corners, Frankie. Also, — ” he ran deft fingers along the back of the Filipino’s coat at the shoulder blades, “sometimes it gives you ideas.” The steward wore no collar scabbard.
“The little roach was getting ready to take a scram, Steve. When he saw me.”
“Whither away?” Koski asked.
“I have a right to go where I please.” Frankie’s black eyes smoldered hate. “I came here to get another job. You can’t stop me.”
Koski put the tin in his pocket. “Maybe we can find something to keep you busy.” He gripped the Filipino’s arm. “Sarge, how’s for changing partners, hah?”
Mulcahey looked at Joslin. “Is he ready to go into his dance?”
“Yair. Waltz Comrade Joslin into the hall, for a checkup. Tells me he was addressing a union crowd here, Sunday afternoon. Then rhumba along with him to the Seamen’s Institute. Find out if he was playing sweet music to the throng, Sunday night, he says.”
“And if so be it, coach?”
“Kiss the boy good-by.” He pulled at the steward’s arm. “You and I will mosey over to the hoosegow, son.”
“You haven’t any reason to arrest me.” Frankie dragged back. “Just because I want to change my job. Leggo!”
Mulcahey cuffed him lightly alongside the ear. “Get along, little dogie.”
“Leave him alone.” Joslin’s face darkened; he caught the Sergeant’s shoulder. “Arrest him if you want to. But don’t muscle a union man around while I’m standing by!”
“Hark to the hard guy, will you.” Mulcahey clubbed a huge fist, swung a half-hearted punch. The organizer mistook the Irishman’s intent, countered with a savage jab that landed flush on Mulcahey’s mouth, rocking him back on his heels, toppling him over a hydrant.
Joslin whirled, darted across the street between a fruit truck and a moving van. Koski dived toward him, but at that moment the Filipino wriggled out of his coat, sprinted away in the opposite direction. The Lieutenant went after Frankie, caught him halfway up the block. “By rights I ought to put the twisters on you, slippery. Try one more break, I’ll fix you so you’ll wake up smelling ether. Climb into your coat.”
Mulcahey was out in the middle of the street, with his gun drawn, “See where the bugger went, Steve?”
“With the wind, Irish. Best thing’s to shoot in an alarm for him. He can’t keep out of sight of eighteen thousand cops for long.”
“I was not looking for any such demonstration on his part.” The Sergeant felt of his front teeth. “Next time I will take good care to beat him to the punch.”
“Beat him to setting up an alibi, — all I ask. After you stick in the alarm, check here at the hall and at the Essie-eyes.”
“He’ll not put anything over on me again. Depend on that.”
“Okay. Tell the Telegraph Bureau his address is Nineteen Swamp.”
“I got it.”
“If you still feel like chewing, pick me up at the Tavern, after you run the boat down to the Basin.” Koski propelled the Filipino toward Fourteenth Street, signaled a cab.
When they were rolling toward Centre Street, Koski growled: “What makes, Frankie? Nice lady give you the bounce?”
“I quit. I have a right to quit.”
“Sure. But all same kind of sudden.” The Filipino made no reply.
“Should think you’d like it better on the yacht now. With Ansel gone. You didn’t buddy up with Ansel? Did you?”
“I didn’t like him. But I didn’t kill him.” Frankie struggled, indignantly.
“Quiet down. Does Captain Cardiff know you’re running out on him?”
The steward looked bored. “He sent me ashore to get supplies. I sent the supplies back. I don’t intend to go back. I’ll have no difficulty in finding a place.”
“We’ll find a place for you, all right. Where’d you push the pots and pans before you went to work on the Seavett?”
“On the Polaris.” Frankie straightened his narrow, black tie, resentfully. “Mister Fross’s ketch. For the past five years.”
“Oh, yair. Friend of Hurlihan’s, isn’t he?”
“He is Mrs. Ovett’s lawyer.”
“Fross recommend you for the job?”
“He lays the Polaris up for the winter, I was free to accept other employment.”
The detective mulled it over. “Did Ansel work for Fross, too? Before he went with Mrs. Ovett?”
“Yes.”
Koski said nothing more until the cab pulled up back of headquarters. “Out and in, Frankie.”
“You can’t arrest me without letting me telephone to my lawyer. The law says so.” The Filipino nursed a patch of surgeon’s tape on the back of his hand.