“I will.” He left the apartment and went down to his car.
Murphy was waiting for him at the north entrance of the Hall, his hat pushed back on his big round head, a fresh cigar in his mouth. He looked sleepy and comfortable, as if he’d just finished dinner; but behind those drowsing eyes was a mind like an immense and orderly warehouse. “Hi, Mike,” he said, taking the cigar from his mouth.
“Let’s walk,” Carmody said. “What I’ve got is very private.”
“Okay.”
They strolled across the avenue that wound around the Hall, and started down Market Street, walking leisurely through the crowds that were pouring out of shops and office buildings.
Without looking at Murphy, Carmody said, “I’ve got the start of the biggest story you ever saw. But I need help. When I get the whole thing, it’s all yours. How about it?”
“Let’s hear the start of it,” Murphy said, putting the cigar in his mouth and clasping his hands behind him.
“Ackerman is afraid of a man named Dobbs,” Carmody said. “Dobbs lives in New Jersey. That’s all I know. I want you to help me find him.”
“It doesn’t sound right,” Murphy said, after walking along a few feet in silence. “Ackerman’s not afraid of anybody. He’s got rid of anybody who could hurt him, and don’t bet against that.”
“My tip is straight,” Carmody said. “If we can find Dobbs, and spade up what he’s got on Ackerman, then you’ve got a story.”
Murphy took the cigar from his mouth and looked at it as they waited for a light. “The story I’ll get is your obituary, Mike. You can’t buck Ackerman now. Six months from now, maybe. But the city isn’t ready yet.”
“I’m ready,” Carmody said. “To hell with the city.”
“You couldn’t keep them from killing your brother,” Murphy said thoughtfully. “What makes you think you can stay healthy?”
“We’re different types,” Carmody said.
“I guess you are,” Murphy said cryptically. Then he shrugged his big soft shoulders. “Let’s walk over to the office. Maybe we can find this Dobbs in the library. But I don’t see much hope for it.”
They spent the next three hours in the Express morgue, studying items on those Dobbses whose fame or notoriety had rated interment in this mausoleum of newsprint. There were obits, news and sports stories, announcements of promotions, luncheons, engagements, divorces, weddings. Murphy pawed through the yellowing clips with patient efficiency, occasionally embellishing the stories with scraps from the warehouse of his memory. Finally, he weeded out all but five clippings. “I’ll check these,” he said. “Each one of these guys knew Ackerman in the old days. And that’s where the dirt is, I’ll bet. Here we got Micky Dobbs, the fight promoter. And Judge Dobbs who worked for Ackerman before he retired. And Max Dobbs, the bondsman. Tim Dobbs, the fire chief.” Murphy grinned crookedly. “He used to condemn joints that didn’t cooperate with Ackerman. And last is Murray Payne Dobbs, who was a big trucker before Ackerman ran him out of the state.” He made a pile of the clips and then got up from the table and rubbed the top of his head. “You want me to handle this? I can do it through the paper without causing too much talk.”
“Okay. Call me when you learn something.”
“Where’ll you be? At the hotel?”
“No. I’m staying at the old man’s.”
Murphy glanced at him queerly. “I thought you hated that place.”
“It’s quieter out there,” Carmody said.
At ten-thirty that night a slim, dark-haired man stepped into a telephone booth, fished in the return slot out of habit then dropped a coin and dialed a number. When a voice answered, he said, “Sammy Ingersoll. I got a message for Mr. Ackerman.”
“Just a minute.”
“What’s the word?” Ackerman said, a few seconds later.
“Carmody’s bedded down for the night. At his brother’s home in the Northeast. He’s been huddling most of the evening with a guy from the Express. Murphy.”
“What about the girl?”
“Only got a guess so far. But it’s a good one, I think. She’s stashed away in the apartment of that dame who saw the shooting. Karen something-or-other.”
“You don’t get paid for guessing,” Ackerman said angrily.
“I know, Mr. Ackerman. But Carmody took some dame there. I got that from a neighbor who was up early with an earache. This neighbor saw Carmody and the girl go in about four in the morning. I can’t check it because they got police guards there. In the lobby and up at her apartment.”
“All right,” Ackerman said, after a short pause. “We’ll handle the police detail. You’ve earned a vacation. Take a couple of weeks in Miami and send us the bill. And keep what you told me to yourself.”
Sammy made a small circle with his lips. His sharp little face was completely blank. “Mr. Beaumonte asked me to let him know if I learned anything.”
“I said to keep it to yourself. You’d better not misunderstand me.”
“No chance of that. I’m on my way.”
When he left the booth, Sammy wiped his damp forehead with a handkerchief. There was no future in getting in the middle between Bill Ackerman and Dan Beaumonte. Miami seemed like a beautiful idea to him, not just for two or three weeks but maybe two or three years.
11
Carmody slept that night in his old room. In the morning he discovered that someone had taken care of the things he had left here years ago. His suits hung in plastic bags, and his bureau drawers were full of clean linen. Carmody looked at them for a moment, remembering his father’s finicky concern over his and Eddie’s things. Neatness wasn’t his strong point, but he had worked hard at being father and mother to them, repainting their wagons, trimming their hair, getting after them about muddy shoes and dirty fingernails. “Cleanliness is next to godliness,” he had usually intoned while herding them to the bathroom. I suppose he always expected me to come back, Carmody thought.
He had finished a breakfast of orange juice and coffee when the phone rang. It was Murphy.
“Can I pick you up in about twenty minutes?” he said. “We got some work to do.”
“What did you find out?”
“Something damned interesting. I’ll be out as soon as I can.”
Carmody lit a cigarette and walked into the living room. The early sun slanted through the windows, brightening the somber tones of the furniture and pictures. For some reason the room didn’t depress him this morning. He thought about it as he smoked and looked at his father’s piano. Ever since he had started trying to save Eddie his thoughts had been returning restlessly to the old man. He should have no time for anyone but Ackerman. His thoughts should be on what Murphy had dug up, but instead they swerved irrelevantly into the past. Back to unimportant details. Like his clothes hanging neatly and cleanly in the closet upstairs. And an image of the old man at the piano booming out something for the Offertory. Redemptor Mundi Deus. Even now the somehow frightening Latin words could send a shiver down his spine. But why? They were just words, weren’t they?
A footstep sounded on the porch and Carmody went quickly to the door. Father Ahearn smiled at him through the screen. “I just thought I’d see if you were home,” he said.
Carmody let him in and the old man sat down gratefully.
“It will be hot today.” He sighed and looked up at Carmody. “You asked for understanding from me yesterday but I left you. That wasn’t the way for a priest to behave. I’m sorry.”
“That’s okay.”
“I wish I could help you. You know, Eddie gave me his will the last time I spoke with him. He wanted you to have this house. Did he tell you that?”