"He's Killeano's stooge. He puts up a front, of course, but Killeano pulls the strings; he jumps. There's nothing to him. He's just another crooked cop."
"He helped in Herrick's killing."
Davis paused in pouring his drink. "The hell he did?"
"Yeah," I said. "About Herrick. Was he married?"
"No. He lived in an apartment with a guy called Giles who looked after him. Give you the address if you want it."
"Where?"
"Macklin Avenue. It lies off Bradshaw Avenue. But you won't get anything out of Giles I talked to him. He doesn't know anything.
"Maybe he'll talk to me." I got up. "I guess I'll pay some calls."
"They're still looking for you," Davis reminded me. "And it's getting on for midnight."
"We'll get 'em out of bed."
"We?"
"Sure, I'm going with you. They won't expect me to be with you."
He produced his comb again and ran it through his hair. "Say, that's not such a hot idea," he said. "I gotta keep in the clear. How'd I look if they spotted you with me?"
I smiled at him. "Come on," I said. "You and I are going on a little trip. First we'll go to Macklin Avenue and then Bradshaw. You got a car?"
He nodded.
"Fine. I'll be tucked up in the back under a rug. That way the cops won't worry us and we'll get places."
"I can always say I didn't know you were there," he said, his face brightening. "Okay, let's go."
3
I lay under the rug on the floor of Davis's battered Ford and sweated. Davis sweated too, at least, he said he was sweating. "Gawd!" he exclaimed, "the place is lousy with cops. Any second now they'll start shooting." "That's okay," I said. "They're not likely to hit me. I'm too well protected down here." "But I'm not," Davis grunted. He braked sharply. "That's torn it. They're signalling to me." 'Keep your shirt on," I said, feeling for my gun. "Maybe they want to ask the time. You know what coppers are."
"Quiet!" he hissed dramatically
I relaxed, waited.
Voices came out of the night. Feet scraped on the road. What the hell are you doing out here?" a voice growled into the car.
"Hello, Macey," Davis said. 'I'm just passing through. How's the battle coming? You caught him yet?"
"We will," the voice said. "Where are you going?"
"Home," Davis said. "Think I'll get through?"
"You might, only don't blame me if one of the boys shoots you. The streets aren't healthy."
"You telling me," Davis said. "I've had twenty heart attacks in so many minutes."
The cop laughed. "Well, don't try any speeding. You'll be okay at the top of the road. We've just been through this district. The punk's as good as the invisible man."
"Thanks," Davis said, and eased in his clutch. "Be seeing you."
The car moved on.
"Phew!" Davis said after a while. "I'm shaking like a jelly."
"That shouldn't be hard for you to do," I said. "What's it I look like?"
"He's signalled me through. There're cops all along the street glaring at me, but that's all they're doing. If there are any of them up at Herrick's place we'd better skip it."
"Have a drink and calm down," I said, sliding the bottle we'd taken from Tim's place over the back of the seat.
Gurgling sounds followed.
"Leave me some," I said sharply.
"You don't need it like I do," Davis said, but he dropped the bottle back. It hit my head.
"Hey!" I said. "Do you want to brain me?"
"I wouldn't mind," Davis replied, accelerating. "You can come out now. The cops are out of sight."
I threw off the rug, sat up, wiping my face. We were in a narrow street lined on each side by neat villas.
"We're just there," Davis said. "Next street."
As I was looking, a big brown Plymouth sedan shot round the corner, and belted down the street towards us. Davis gave ft startled snort and swerved violently to the right. The Plymouth I missed us by a couple of inches, and was gone.
"The crazy loon!" Davis exclaimed. "What's his hurry?"
"Maybe he remembered a heavy date," I said. "Don't let a little thing like that disturb you."
We turned the comer, pulled up outside a small villa.
"This is Herrick's place," Davis said. "Want me to come in?"
I shook my head. "You and me had better not be seen together," I said.
"Yeah," he said, reaching over the back of his seat. He found the bottle and patted it lovingly. "I can keep myself amused."
I left him and walked up the path to the house. No lights showed. I thumbed the bell, waited. Somewhere in the house the bell rang, but no one answered. I rang again, thinking the man, Giles, was asleep. But after five minutes of continuous ringing, I decided no one was home.
Davis stuck his head out of the car window. "Bust down the door," he said. He sounded a little tight.
I went round to peer in a window. There was enough moonlight to see something of the room. I found myself staring at a large desk. The drawers were open, papers were scattered on the floor. I looked closer and saw an arm-chair had been ripped to pieces.
"Hey," I called to Davis. "Come here."
Muttering under his breath, he heaved his bulk out of the car and joined me.
He peered through the window, saw what I had seen, stepped back.
"Looks like someone's been going over the joint," he said, producing his little ivory comb. He combed his hair thoughtfully. "That's good liquor of Tim's," he went on. "I think I'll have another shot. My nerves are kind of unsteady."
I tapped, broke a small section of glass near the window catch, opened the window.
"Hey," Davis said, his eyes round. "What do you think you're doing?"
"I'm going in there to take a look," I said.
"I'll stick around and toot on the horn if any buttons show," Davis said, moving towards the car.
"And leave that bottle alone," I said.
I had a look round the room. Someone had gone over it carefully. There wasn't anything in one piece. Even the stuffing in the chairs and settee had been hauled out and sifted through.
I went over the house. Each room had been treated in the same way.
Upstairs in the front bedroom I came upon a man in white pyjamas. He was lying half across the bed, the back of his head had been smashed in. I touched his hand. He was still warm; but he was dead. It looked as if the killer had surprised him in bed, and had bust him before he could raise the alarm.
I went down the stairs, opened the front door, called Davis.
"Come upstairs," I said.
We went up. Davis looked at the man.
"That's Giles," he said, making a little grimace. "Hell! We'd better get out of here."
"He hasn't been dead more than a few minutes," I said, staring down at the dead man. "Think that Plymouth's anything to do with this?"
"I wouldn't know," Davis said, moving to the head of the stairs. "All I know is if Flaggerty finds us here, we're dead pigeons."