Carmen Trivago would never be the same again.
I used the phone in the lobby again. I buzzed my apartment and the super's wife answered it. I hadn't told her not to do so, she was doing me a favor. I told her it was me, asked if everything was okay and she said it was. Lily was asleep with the door locked but she could hear her breathing and talking in there. Her husband was making doubly sure things stayed quiet by pretending to do some work in the hall outside.
There were three other phone calls. A Captain Chambers had called and wanted to see me right away. I thanked her and hung up.
I turned up the collar of my trench coat and stepped out into the rain. The wind was lashing it up the street in waves now, pounding it against the buildings, and as the cars went by you had a quick look at the drivers as the wipers ripped it aside before the faces muddled into a liquid haze.
The cab didn't wait to be called. He pulled into the curb and I hopped in, gave him the address and stuck a smoke in my mouth.
Someplace Velda was looking at the rain. It wouldn't be a pleasant sound, not this time. She'd be crazy with fear, scared so hard she wouldn't be able to think. They weren't the kind you could stall. She could only wait. And hope.
And someplace the people who had her were thinking too. They were thinking of a long string of kills and two fresh ones propped up against a dead-end sign. They were thinking of the word that went out and before they'd do anything at all they'd think harder still and it wouldn't be until I was dead that they'd feel right to do what they wanted to her.
I wasn't the cops and I wasn't the feds. I was one guy by himself but I was one who could add to the score without giving a damn at all. I was the one guy they were afraid of because the trail of dead men hadn't stopped yet. It was a trail that had to be walked and they were afraid of stepping on it.
Pat was in his office. You had to look twice to make sure he wasn't asleep, then you saw the light glinting off his almost-closed eyes and saw the movement of his mouth as he sucked on the dry pipe.
I threw my hat on the desk and sat down. He didn't say anything. I got out my next-to-last Lucky, held a light to it and let the smoke go. He still didn't say anything. I didn't have the time to trade thoughts. "Okay, chum, what is it?"
The pipe came out of his mouth slowly. "You conned me, Mike."
I started to get warm all over, an angry flush that burned into my chest. "Great. Just like that I gave you the business! You don't say anything... you sit there like a dummy then pull the cork. Say what's eating you or I'll get the hell out of here."
What distrust was in his face turned uncertain. "Mike, this thing is a bombshell. The biggest staff that ever operated on one case is out there working. They're going night and day looking for the answer, then you come up with it ready to trade off for something."
I sat back in the chair. I took a deep, relieved pull on the smoke and grinned. "Thanks for the compliment. I didn't know it would get back so fast. Where'd you pick it up?"
"Every stoolie we know has his ears open. What are you trading for?"
My grin pulled tight at the edges, flattened across my teeth and stayed that way. "Velda. The bastards have Velda. She suckered Al Affia into a trap that didn't work and got caught in one herself. She played it too smart and now they have her."
It was quiet in the room. The clock on the wall hummed over the drone of the rain outside, but that was all.
"You don't look too worked up about it," Pat said. Then he saw my eyes and took it back without saying so out loud.
"They'll want to be sure. They'll want to know if I have it or
not before they cut loose on her. They'll have to be sure. Right in the beginning they thought Berga Torn passed it on to me, went through my apartment. If, it was anybody else they could have taken it easy, but not with me. They knew what was going to happen."
"Let's have it, Mike."
"The answer?" I said. I shook my head. "I don't have it. Not where I can reach out and touch it yet. I need more details."
"So do we. I thought we were sharing this thing."
"I didn't forget. What have you got?"
Pat stared at me a long time, reached out and fanned a few papers across his desk. "Berga didn't escape from the sanitarium. She had it planned for her. She had a guest early that evening, a woman. The name and address were phony and we got no description except that she had brown hair. An attendant stated that she was pretty nervous after the guest left."
I cut in with, "How come you're just finding this stuff out?"
"It's a private sanitarium and they were afraid of ruining their reputation. They held off until we scared them. Anyway, we checked everybody in the place that night and came up with a spot from a couple of female visitors in the next room.
"When the closing bell rang they stood outside in the hall a few minutes talking. They were close to Berga's door and overheard a voice saying... " He glanced down at the sheet and read from it ". . . `they're after you. They were at the house today.' " The rest of it we had to put together and when we had it the dame was telling her something about the main gate, to be as casual as possible, and there would be a car waiting for her at the northwest corner."
Pat stopped and tapped the sheet. He tapped the stem of the pipe against his teeth and said, "On that corner was an F.B.I. wagon so whoever was waiting had to take up another spot. She got scared out of the deal and started hitchhiking when she didn't see the person she was expecting."
I said, "She saw the person, all right. He was in another car. She knew damn well she was being followed."
"There's something wrong," Pat said.
"Yeah. Like murders on the books as accidents."
Pat's jaw worked. "Proof?"
"No, but that's the way it happened." I couldn't see his face, but I knew what he was thinking. In his own way he had covered every detail I had. "The first one was Nicholas Raymond. That's where the answer is, Pat."
His eyes peered out at me. "Nicholas Raymond was a Mafia agent. He ran an import business as an excuse to make frequent overseas trips."
I didn't answer so he said, ". . . he was the guy who ran the stuff into this country that was turned into cash for Mafia operations."
He was watching me so closely that you couldn't see anything but the black pupils of his eyes. His face was all screwed up with the intensity of watching me and it was all I could do to hold still in the chair. I covered by dragging in another lungful of smoke and letting it go toward the ceiling so I could do something with my mouth except feel it try to stretch out of shape.
The picture was perfect now. It was the most beautiful piece of art work I had ever seen. The only trouble was I couldn't make out what it was all about nor who drew it.
I said, "How much would two million in narcotics before the war be worth now, Pat?"
"About double."
I got up and put on my hat. "That's what you're looking for, friend. A couple of shoe boxes that big. If I find them I'll tell you about it."
"Do you know where it is?"
"No. I have a great big fat idea, but if it's stayed buried this long it won't hurt anybody staying buried a while longer. All I want is the person who is after it because that person has Velda. If I have to I'll dig it up and trade for her."
"Where are going now?"
"I think I'm going out and kill somebody, Pat," I said.
Chapter Eleven
The cop at the switchboard told me to go ahead and use the phone. He plugged in an outside line and I dialed the number that got me Michael Friday. I said, "Your line clear? This is Mike."
"Mike! Yes... There's no one here."