I didn’t say anything.
We walked past the Pontiac and the Buick. West paused and stared at the two cars.
‘Know who they belong to?’
I had taken the precaution of removing Seabome’s licence tag and substituting my own, but I knew if he wanted to he could easily check the licence number against the tag, and then I’d be sunk, but I didn’t dare tell him I had borrowed the car. I hesitated only for a split second.
‘The Pontiac’s mine. The Buick belongs to Mr. Hackett, the guy up on the terrace.’
Moving slowly and deliberately, West walked around the two cars. He stood staring at them for some seconds, then moved back to where I stood, tense, my hands gripped behind my back.
‘Well, there’s nothing wrong with either of them, is there?’ he said in a conversational tone. ‘You said yours was the Pontiac?’
‘That’s right’
‘May as well give you a clearance certificate now: save my boys calling on you. What’s your name?’
I told him.
He took a pad of printed forms out of his pocket and began to write.
‘Address?’
I told him.
He looked over at the car, wrote some more, then ripped the sheet from the pad.
‘This is the Captain’s idea,’ he said. ‘Maybe it’s not so lousy. This certificate clears your car from this date. If you dent your fender or damage your car in any way, you don’t have to bother to report to us. If you get stopped, all you have to do is to show the certificate. This is quite a job; checking every damn car in town.’ He pushed the form at me and I took it. ‘Don’t lose it. It might save you a headache.’
‘I won’t lose it,’ I said and put the paper away in my wallet as if it were a million-dollar bill.
‘The Captain’s full of bright ideas,’ West went on. ‘That’s why he’s a Captain, but then, of course, he doesn’t have to do the work. He sticks his fat backside into a chair and keeps it there. Not that I blame him, you understand. I dare say I’d do the same if I were a Captain. Right now he has every man on the force hunting for this hit-and-run joker. Can you imagine? Everyone on the force, calling on houses, turning over garages, setting up road-blocks, going around in circles until they don’t know their brass from their oboes, if you will pardon my French.’ He was staring sightlessly at me, not seeing me, half taking to himself. ‘Know what our Captain is? He’s a newspaper cop. He loves publicity. He thrives on it. Did you read the crap he handed out to the press this morning? About O’Brien?’ He suddenly got me into focus and his eyes looked into mine. ‘Between you and me, O’Brien was the worst man on the force and we have a few choice specimens, believe you me. He was lazy and a no-good and spent most of his time trying to dodge his work. He took bribes and he wasn’t above a little blackmail if he thought he could get away with it. He was a punk right through. The Captain knew it. Only last week, he told me he was going to get rid of him. And instead, the punk has to get himself run over, and we have to run ourselves ragged to find the guy who killed him. Know how much sleep I’ve had since he was killed? Exactly one hour and ten minutes, and that’s only because I took a nap in the car, and I’ll be lucky if I get any more tonight.’
I stood in the hot sun, listening to this. As I had never hear a police officer talk this way before, I was as bewildered as I was surprised.
West suddenly grinned, showing his big white teeth.
‘You don’t have to take me too seriously, Mr. Scott,’ he said. ‘Every now and then I sound off. It does me good. Although I know O’Brien was a no-good punk, and although I know when he died it was good riddance, I intend to find the guy who killed him. It’s a bad thing for the force when one of its men gets killed. An effort has to be made, and we’re making it, and we’ll find him. It’ll probably take time, and it won’t be easy, but we’ll find him, and then I’ll be able to relax again.’ He dropped his cigarette on the ground and put his foot on it. ‘Now let’s go and look at your boss’s cars, not that they had anything to do with it, but I have to give him a clearance certificate. Just where are they?’
‘By the swimming-pool, just around here,’ I said.
‘A swimming-pool, huh? How the rich live!’ West shook his head and started to walk along the drive while I trailed after him. ‘You like working for a rich man, Mr. Scott?’
‘I can take it or leave it,’ I said.
‘Yeah, I guess that’s the only way. He could be a bastard. There’s that look in his eyes the Commissioner has. Money gives a guy an inflated feeling of power. I don’t like guys with power. I don’t like guys with a lot of money. When they get that way, they have to throw their weight around. I bet Mr. Aitken leans on people pretty heavily every so often.’
I didn’t have to think up a suitable remark to this as we turned the corner and came upon the fourcar garage and the swimming-pool.
Standing poised on the high-dive board was Lucille. She was sideways on to us and she didn’t see us. She wore a white bikini that just concealed the parts of the body not suitable for public viewing. The rest of her body was a golden brown and her thick chestnut hair lay around her shoulders and reached nearly to her waist. She made a picture standing up there that brought West and me to an abrupt stop as if we had walked into a brick wall.
She raised up on her toes, swung her arms wide, then launched herself off the board.
She went down in a graceful, perfect dive and hit the water with scarcely a splash and came up, shaking her hair out of her eyes. She turned on her back with her hair floating out around her and swam slowly towards the steps leading out of the bath.
‘Well,’ West said and drew in a slow breath.
He removed his hat, took out his handkerchief and wiped the sweat band while he watched Lucille climb out of the bath, and then walk along the side of the bath, the water glistening on her brown skin, the white bikini plastered to her body like a second skin.
We stood there like stone men, watching her until she disappeared into one of the cabins.
Then West turned and looked at me. His small grey eyes were sleepy and his thin, hard mouth was curled into a small incredulous smile.
‘That his daughter?’
‘That is Mrs. Aitken.’
‘Mrs. Aitken?’
‘Yes.’
‘You mean she’s that old punk’s wife?’
‘She is Mrs. Aitken.’
He blew a long silent whistle.
‘She doesn’t look more than twenty.’
I was losing patience as well as getting jittery with these remarks.
‘Well, that’s scarcely my fault, is it?’
He stared at me, momentarily surprised, then he nodded. ‘That’s right, it’s not your fault. Well, well, the guy certainly makes use of his money, doesn’t he?’
Leaving me, he strolled over to the garage, swung up the tilt-up doors and went in to examine the cars.
I stood in the sun and waited.
Lucille came out of the cabin. She was now wearing a scarlet halter, white shorts and pair of sandals. She carried the two little pieces of wet rag that made up her bikini and she walked quickly around the bath towards me.
I realized the effect West would have on her unless I warned her before she ran into him, and I went towards her.
She looked up and saw me.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw West come out of the garage. I quickened my pace and reached her as West shut the garage doors.
‘This man is a police officer,’ I said, speaking fast. ‘He’s not looking for you. He’s only checking the cars. There’s nothing to worry about.’
Maybe I shouldn’t have jumped it on her like this, but I hadn’t much time. Anyway, she went as white as a fresh fall of snow, and for one awful moment I thought she was going to faint.