Rankin leaned against the doorpost, his hands in his pockets, his eyes on Katchen’s broad back.
Katchen didn’t turn. He continued to stare out of the window. Cigar smoke drifted from his mouth and crawled across the room in a small grey cloud, passing close to me. It smelt rank and strong.
Nothing happened for two long, unpleasant minutes, then Katchen growled, “Got his gun?” He still remained with his back towards me. The old technique of breaking down nerves and softening-up resistance.
As Rankin left the doorway, one of the other detectives moved over to take his place. It was a hint that they didn’t expect me to make a sudden dive for the stairs.
Rankin put my gun into Katchen’s hand. His hand was so big the gun looked like a toy. He took the gun, sniffed at the barrel, broke open the gun, looked at the barrelling, took out the magazine and then checked the slugs. He lifted his massive shoulders and held the gun in Rankin’s direction.
As Rankin took the gun, Katchen said, “Got the cuffs on him?”
I saw Rankin’s face muscles tighten.
“No, Captain.”
“Why not?” The snarl in his voice would have chilled anyone’s blood. It didn’t warm mine.
“I didn’t think it was necessary.”
“You’re not paid to think! Put ’em on!”
Rankin produced a pair of handcuffs from his hip pocket and came over to me. His set face was expressionless. I held out my wrists and he snapped the handcuffs on.
“They’re on, Captain,” he said, moving away from me.
Slowly Katchen turned. His big brutal face was dark with congested blood: his small eyes were as restless and as savage as the eyes of a rogue elephant.
“So you imagined you could get away with it, shamus,” he said, glaring at me. “You thought your pal Holding could keep me off your neck. Well, I’m going to show you just how wrong you are.” While he was speaking he moved slowly towards me and I could see little red flecks in his eyes. “I’ve been waiting for another session with you, shamus,” he went on, “but I’ll be damned if I thought I was going to nail you on a double murder charge.”
“You can’t pin that one on me,” I said, watching him. “They’ve been dead five or six hours and you know it.”
For a man of his size he certainly could throw a quick punch. I saw his left coming towards my head and I shifted just in time. I felt his iron knuckles graze my ear, but I hadn’t a chance of blocking his right with my hands handcuffed. His fist slammed into me with the force of a mule’s kick.
I went down and lay with my knees drawn up, trying to get breath into my lungs. For a long minute I held on to myself, trying to get my breath. Then I heard Katchen snarl, “Stand him up!”
One of the detectives got hold of me and dragged me to my feet. I swayed against him, bent double, and he shoved me from him and moved away.
There was a heavy silence while I got hold of myself. After a while I managed to straighten up. I found Katchen facing me, a sneering grin on his face.
“You’re going down to headquarters, shamus,” he said, biting off each word, “and you’re going to be locked in a cell, but you’ll have company. I’ve got three or four boys who like softening beetles. After they’re through with you, you’ll be glad to confess to four murders, let alone two.”
I knew if I said anything he would hit me again and, taking one full-blooded punch from him was all I wanted to take. I stood there, looking at him.
“And if I can’t pin a murder rap on you, shamus,” he went on, “we’ll put you away for breaking and entering. You’ll get three months, and every day of those three months one of the boys will bounce you around. I told you to keep your snout out of this, now you’re going to be sorry you didn’t.”
He turned to Rankin.
“Okay, take him down to headquarters and book him on a charge of murdering Thrisby and the Filipino. That’ll hold him until I can look the evidence over. We should be able to nail it on him.”
Rankin, his face expressionless, moved over to me and took hold of my arm.
“Come on,” he said.
Katchen came up to me and dug me in the chest with a finger the size of a banana.
“I’m going to make you wish you were dead, beetle,” he snarled and, drawing his hand back, he clouted me across the face so violently he sent me staggering against Rankin. “Get the punk out of my sight,” he snarled, “and throw him in a cell!”
Rankin grabbed hold of my arm and jerked me out of the room. We went down the stairs together, out on to the terrace, down the path to where three police cars were parked. Neither of us said anything. As we moved beyond the gate, the police car that had collected me from the bungalow came down the road and pulled up.
Candy got out and came over to us.
“Find anything?” Rankin asked.
“Another gun: recently fired with four slugs out of the magazine: a .38,” Candy said, and took Bridgette’s gun out of his pocket.
“Where did you find it?” I said.
He looked at me.
“Under your bed... where you put it.”
I shook my head.
“I didn’t put it there, but I don’t expect you to believe me.”
Rankin was frowning at me.
“I’m taking him to headquarters,” he said to Candy. “I’ll get the gun checked. There was nothing else?”
“No.”
“Take one of the other cars and get off home,” Rankin said. “The Captain’s got all the men he wants here.”
“Okay. You taking Brandon in on your own?”
“Yeah.”
They looked at each other. I thought Candy’s left eyelid flickered, but I could have been mistaken. He went off into the darkness.
Rankin waved me to one of the police cars.
“You drive.”
“Come again?” I said, surprised.
“You drive.”
“In handcuffs?”
He took his key out and took the handcuffs off.
I got in under the driving wheel and started the engine. He slid in beside me, took out his pack of cigarettes and lit one.
“Go ahead,” he said.
As I drove up to the mountain road, I said, “You’ll be careful what you do with that gun, Lieutenant.” I slowed, looked to right and left, then got on to the highway. “It belongs to Mrs. Creedy.”
“I’ll be careful.”
“What’s the idea of taking me in this way?” I asked. “This must be the first time on record a prisoner has driven himself to jail with a cop smoking at his side.”
“I’m not taking you to jail,” Rankin said. “This is Katchen’s idea of acting smart. He thinks by now you’ve had such a scare thrown into you, you’ll get out of town and stay out. I’m supposed to give you a chance to escape.” I was so surprised I didn’t say anything for the next two hundred yards, then I began to think again and I suddenly laughed.
“Well, he certainly threw a scare into me,” I said, “but not big enough to make me run away. Were you supposed to tell me this?”
“I was supposed to look the other way while you ran for it,” Rankin said, his voice bored. “It occurred to me you might not run.”
“I wouldn’t have. I’m not risking a bullet in the back. This is Creedy’s idea, of course. Having tried to buy me off with a hundred and fifty thousand bucks, now he’s trying to frighten me off.” I blew out my cheeks. “How did you know I had been to Thrisby’s place?”
“Creedy’s got one of his stooges watching the place,” Rankin said. “The stooge called him, told him he’d seen you go in and Creedy called Katchen and told him to slap a breaking and entering charge on you. He told him to scare you silly, give you the treatment and then run you out of town. We just missed you and found Thrisby. Katchen decided to scare you with a murder charge.”