‘Why, yes.’
‘I wonder if I might see the passenger list? There was a fellow aboard I promised to look up, and I’m darned if I haven’t forgotten his name.’
‘I’ll ask the stewardess,’ the man said. ‘By the way, I’m Doctor Burke.’
‘How do you do?’ Davis said. He reached for a cigarette and lighted it. When the stewardess brought the passenger list, he scanned it hurriedly.
There was no MacGregor listed, Charles or otherwise. This fact did not surprise him greatly. He looked down the list to see if there were any names with the initials CM., knowing that when a person assumes an alias, he will usually choose a name with the same initials as his real name. There were no C.M.s on the list, either.
‘Does that help?’ the stewardess asked.
‘Oh, yes. Thank you. I’ll find him now.’
The doctor shook Davis’ hand, and then asked if he’d sign a release stating he had received medical treatment and absolving the airline. Davis felt the back of his head, and then signed the paper.
He walked outside and leaned against the building, puffing idly on his cigarette. The night was a nest of lights. He watched the lights and listened to the hum of aircraft all around him. It wasn’t until he had finished his cigarette that he remembered he was in San Francisco.
He dropped the cigarette to the concrete and ground it out beneath his heel. Quite curiously, he found himself ignoring MacGregor’s warning. He was a little surprised at himself, but he was also pleased. And more curious, he found himself wishing that he and MacGregor would meet again.
He walked briskly to the cyclone fence that hemmed in the runway area. Quickly, he showed the uniformed guard at the gate his credentials and then asked where he could find the hangars belonging to Intercoastal Airways. The guard pointed them out.
Davis walked through the gate and towards the hangars the guard had indicated, stopping at the first one. Two mechanics in greasy coveralls were leaning against a work bench, chatting idly. One was smoking, and the other tilted a Coke bottle to his lips, draining half of it in one pull. Davis walked over to them.
‘I’m looking for the mechanics who serviced the DC-4 that crashed up in Seattle,’ he said.
They looked at him blankly for a few seconds, and then the one with the Coke bottle asked. ‘You from the CAB?’
‘No,’ Davis said. ‘I’m investigating privately.’
The mechanic with the bottle was short, with black hair curling over his forehead, and quick brown eyes that silently appraised Davis now. ‘If you’re thinking about that fire warning,’ he said, ‘it had nothing to do with the crash. There was a bomb aboard.’
‘I know,’ Davis said. ‘Were you one of the mechanics?’
‘I was one of them,’ he said.
‘Good.’ Davis smiled and said, ‘I didn’t catch your name.’
‘Jerry,’ the man said. ‘Mangione.’ His black brows pulled together suspiciously. ‘Who you investigating for?’
‘A private client. The father of the girl who was a passenger.’
‘Oh. Carruthers’ wife, huh?’
‘Yes. Did you know her?’
‘No. I just heard it was his wife. He’s chief pilot down Burbank, ain’t he?’
‘Yes,’ Davis said.
Mangione paused and studied Davis intently. ‘What’d you want to know?’
‘First, was the fire-warning system okay?’
‘Yeah. We checked it out. Just one of those things, you know. False alarm.’
‘Did you go into the plane?’
‘Yeah, sure. I had to check the signal in the cockpit. Why?’
‘I’m just asking.’
‘You don’t think I put that damn bomb on the plane, do you?’
‘Somebody did,’ Davis said.
‘That’s for sure. But not me. There were a lot of people on that plane, mister. Any one of ‘em could’ve done it.’
‘Be a little silly to bring a bomb onto a plane you were going to fly.’
‘I guess so. But don’t drag me into this. I just checked the fire-warning system, that’s all.’
‘Were you around when Mrs. Carruthers boarded the plane?’
‘The redhead? Yeah, I was there.’
‘What’d she look like?’
Mangione shrugged. ‘A broad, just like any other broad. Red hair.’
‘Was she pretty?’
‘The red hair was the only thing gave her any flash. In fact, I was a little surprised.’
‘Surprised? What about?’
‘That Tony would bother, you know.’
‘Who? Who would bother?’
‘Tony. Tony Radner. He brought her out to the plane.’
‘What?’ Davis said.
‘Yeah, Tony. He used to sell tickets inside. He brought her out to the plane and helped her get aboard.’
‘Are you sure about that? Sure you know who the man with her was?’
Mangione made an exasperated gesture with his hairy hands. ‘Hell, ain’t I been working here for three years? Don’t I know Tony when I see him? It was him, all right. He took the broad right to her seat. Listen, it was him, all right. I guess maybe... well, I was surprised, anyway.’
‘Why?’
‘Tony’s a good-looking guy. And this Mrs. Carruthers, well, she wasn’t much. I’m surprised he went out of his way. But I guess maybe she wasn’t feeling so hot. Tony’s a gent that way.’
‘Wasn’t feeling so hot?’
‘Well, I don’t like to talk about anybody’s dead, but she looked like she had a snootful to me. Either that, or she was pretty damn sick.’
‘What makes you say that?’
‘Hell, Tony had to help her up the ladder, and he practically carried her to her seat. Yeah she musta been looped.’
‘You said Radner used to work here. Has he quit?’
‘Yeah, he quit.’
‘Do you know where I can find him?’
Mangione shrugged. ‘Maybe you can get his address from the office in the morning. But, mister, I wouldn’t bother him right now, if I was you.’
‘Why not?’
Mangione smiled. ‘Because he’s on his honeymoon,’ he said.
He slept the night through and when he awoke in the morning, the back of his head hardly hurt at all. He shaved and washed quickly, downed a breakfast of orange juice and coffee, and then went to the San Francisco office of Intercoastal Airways.
Radner, they told him, was no longer with them. But they did have his last address, and they parted with it willingly. He grabbed a cab, and then sat back while the driver fought with the California traffic. When he reached Radner’s address, he paid and tipped the cabbie, and listed the expenditure in his book.
The rooming house was not in a good section of the city. It was red brick, with a brown front stoop. There was an old-fashioned bell pull set in the wide, wooden door jamb. He pulled this and heard the sound inside, and then he waited for footsteps. They came sooner than he expected.
The woman who opened the door couldn’t have been more than fifty. Her face was still greasy with cold cream, and her hair was tied up in rags. ‘Yes?’
‘I’m looking for Tony Radner,’ Davis said. ‘I’m an old friend of his, knew him in the Army. I went out to Intercoastal, but they told me he doesn’t work for them any more. I wonder if you know where I can reach him.’
The landlady regarded him suspiciously for a moment. ‘He doesn’t live here anymore,’ she said.
‘Darn,’ Davis said. He shook his head and assumed a false smile. ‘Isn’t that always the way? I came all the way from New York, and now I can’t locate him.’
‘That’s too bad,’ the landlady agreed.
‘Did he leave any forwarding address?’ Davis asked.
‘No. He left because he was getting married.’
‘Married!’ Davis said. ‘Well, I’ll be darned! Old Tony getting married!’
The landlady continued to watch Davis, her small eyes staring fixedly.