“Tell me, Dalloway, who was the second plane ticket for?”
“When I’m going on a long journey I always buy two tickets. It ensures me privacy.”
“Kind of expensive, isn’t it?”
“I am willing to pay for certain small luxuries.”
“All right. Now let’s have the truth.”
Dalloway smiled. “As a matter of fact, the truth doesn’t sound much better.”
“Give it a whirl anyway.”
“Very well. I met a lady last night. In a bar. It was one of those things, mutual attraction and interests and all that. Unfortunately, when she sobered up this morning, the attraction was no longer mutual and she didn’t want to go east because it gets too cold in the wintertime.”
“And the lady’s name?”
“I wouldn’t want to injure her reputation, Captain.”
“You’re still in there pitching, Dalloway, but you’ve lost your control. You’re wild. You might even walk a run in.”
“I don’t understand baseball slang very well, but I gather you don’t believe me.”
“That’s good gathering. Now, try again. Who was the second plane ticket for?”
“It was bought,” Dalloway said, “for a lady who changed her mind.”
“Did you get your money back on the ticket?”
“No, I decided to keep it. For sentimental reasons.”
“I’d like to see it.”
“Sorry.” Dalloway was still smiling but his hand tightened on the briefcase he held in his lap. “Sorry, Captain, I can’t quite recall where I put it.”
“Mind if I look through your briefcase?”
“Certainly I mind. You have no right to search me or my property without a warrant.”
“I can get a warrant. That’s doing it the hard way, Dalloway, hard for you.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“While I’m getting a warrant, I’ll want to know where you are, and in order to know where you are I’ll have to book you. Know what I’d book you for?”
“No.”
“Suspicion of murder.”
“You’re crazy. I didn’t — murder anyone. I didn’t even know anyone was murdered.”
“New evidence has turned up in the case of Rose French.” It was a lie, but Greer told it with utter conviction as if he believed it himself.
“Evidence against whom?”
“You, for one.”
“Anyone else?”
“You don’t seem to be very worried about yourself, Dalloway. Who are you worried about?”
“No one.” Patches of purplish-red spread across Dalloway’s cheeks and the bridge of his nose. “I have no personal concern with this sordid affair. For a time I was curious about Rose’s death, and I suspected that the Goodfields were implicated. As Clyde here can tell you, I hired him to do some checking up in San Francisco. Nothing much came of it. I decided that my efforts were futile and I might just as well return home, since there was nothing further I could do.”
“Your part in this business sounds very noble and innocent. Which surprises me because I don’t figure you for a very noble or innocent man, Dalloway.”
“People with small minds usually get a great many surprises in their lifetime.”
“Okay, Dalloway.” Greer’s voice was tight with rage. “Give me another surprise. Hand me that briefcase.”
“I won’t hand it to you. If you want it, take it by force. Clyde will be a witness.”
“Please leave me out of it,” Frank said uncomfortably.
“You wanted to be in on everything,” Greer snapped. “You’re in. Don’t squawk about it.”
“I don’t like to be a witness to anything illegal.”
“You’re not going to be a witness, Clyde. Take Dalloway’s briefcase and open it.”
“For crying in—”
“Now.”
Frank reached out and took the briefcase from Dalloway’s lap, handling it cautiously as if it was full of snakes.
The big plane was coming down for a landing like a giant bird with tired wings. Dalloway turned and watched it bitterly as if the plane intended to leave without him, to desert him as Rose had, and Lora had. He said, “Open the case, Clyde. It’s not locked. The Captain here wants to be surprised and I think he will be. Tell me, Captain, what do you expect, a shipment of counterfeit money? — a cache of heroin? — smuggled diamonds?”
“I’m not expecting anything,” Greer replied flatly.
“Then you’ll certainly be surprised.”
“Try me.”
Frank opened the briefcase and removed the contents item by item, setting each item carefully on the bench beside him: two current magazines, a Los Angeles Times, a toothbrush and tube of paste in a special travel case, a clean white shirt, a pint of bourbon unopened, and a brown paper bag, the top folded down and sealed with scotch tape. The bag was fairly heavy and there was a sharp clink of metal when Frank put it down on the bench.
“Please accept the paper bag, Captain,” Dalloway said, “with my compliments.”
“What is it, a homemade bomb?”
“A homemade bomb. Yes. Yes, that’s what it is, in a way. I didn’t make it myself. It was handed to me for safekeeping. I was quite wrong, of course, to accept the responsibility, I see that now. But at the time I thought that I could perhaps take the money and send it back to its rightful owners without incriminating myself or anyone else.”
“What money, and whose?”
“I don’t know who it belongs to, but the amount is three thousand dollars and some silver.” Dalloway rubbed one of his cheekbones where the blood vessels had broken, leaving the skin tattooed with tiny purplish crosses. “I am not prepared to say anything more at the present time.”
“So you don’t know who the money belongs to?”
“No. I intended to find out, as I told you. I assumed — I suspected that there might be some — well, some slight illegality as to its source.”
“How slight?” Greer emphasized the word sardonically.
“I don’t know.”
“Then I’ll tell you, Mr. Dalloway. For that three thousand dollars a sick old woman was kidnapped.”
“No. My God, no, I don’t believe — it can’t be, can’t—”
“Drugged and taken out of her bed and held for ransom. The ransom was paid early this morning, but the woman is still missing.”
“This is terrible, a terrible thing.” Dalloway held a handkerchief against his trembling mouth. “Who... who was the woman?”
“For a man who was attempting to skip town with the ransom money, you’re acting very innocent.”
“I am innocent.”
“You didn’t know about the kidnapping, you don’t know who the victim is. I’ll bet you don’t even know how you happened to get hold of that ransom money. Maybe a tall, dark stranger handed it to you on the street. Or maybe you got it from that lady you met in the bar last night?”
Dalloway had regained some of his control. He said quietly, “I’d prefer not to answer any more questions until I see a lawyer.”
“Your preferences don’t weigh very heavy with me. Where’s Mrs. Goodfield?”
“I don’t know.”
“Where’s Ada Murphy?”
“I have no idea. I’m not familiar with the name.”
“Are you familiar with the face?”
“I... well, she might be someone I’ve seen around town somewhere and don’t know by name.”
“I think you know her,” Greer said, “very intimately. I think you helped her with her crazy scheme, took charge of the ransom money and arranged for two seats on flight thirty-seven going east. The second plane ticket was for Murphy.”
“You’re telling me, not asking.”
“I’m not asking because the answer’s so obvious.”
“Not to me. I don’t recall any Ada Murphy among my acquaintances.”