«Sorry, Mr. Osterman. Your license and registration, please.»
«Now, look. I had a call at the studio that my wife wasn’t feeling well. I think it’s understandable I’m in a hurry.»
«Not at the expense of pedestrians. Your license and registration.»
Osterman gave them to him and stared straight ahead, controlling his anger. The police officer wrote lethargically on the long rectangular traffic summons and when he finished, he stapled Bernie’s license to it.
At the sound of the snap. Osterman looked up. «Do you have to mutilate the license?»
The policeman sighed wearily, holding onto the summons. «You could have lost it for thirty days, mister. I lessened the speed; send in ten bucks like a parking ticket.» He handed the summons to Bernie. «I hope your wife feels better.»
The officer returned to the police car. He spoke once more through the open window. «Don’t forget to put your license back in your wallet.»
The police car sped off.
Osterman threw down the summons and turned his ignition key. The Karmann Ghia started down the Mulholland slope. Half in disgust, Bernie looked at the summons on the seat next to him.
Then he looked again.
There was something wrong with it. The shape was right, the unreadable print was crowded in the inadequate space as usual, but the paper rang false. It seemed too shiny, too blurred even for a summons from the Motor Vehicle Department of the City of Los Angeles.
Osterman stopped. He picked up the summons and looked at it closely. The violations had been marked carelessly, inaccurately, by the police officer. They hadn’t really been marked at all.
And then Osterman realized that the face of the card was only a thin photostat attached to a thicker sheet of paper.
He turned it over and saw that there was a message written in red pencil, partially covered by his stapled license. He ripped the license off and read:
Word received that Tanner’s neighbors may have cooperated with him. This is a potentially dangerous situation made worse because our information is incomplete. Use extreme caution and find out what you can. It is vital we know—you know—extent of their involvement. Repeat. Use extreme caution.
Zurich
Osterman stared at the red letters and his fear produced a sudden ache at his temples.
The Tremaynes and the Cardones too!
11
Tuesday—4:30 P.M.
Dick Tremayne wasn’t on the four-fifty local to Saddle Valley. Cardone, sitting inside his Cadillac, swore out loud. He had tried to reach Tremayne at his office but was told that the lawyer had gone out for an early lunch. There was no point in having Tremayne call him back. Joe had decided to return to Saddle Valley and meet all the trains from three-thirty on.
Cardone left the station, turned left at the intersection of Saddle Road, and headed west toward the open country. He had thirty-five minutes until the next train was due. Perhaps the drive would help relax him. He couldn’t just wait at the station. If anyone was watching him it would look suspicious.
Tremayne would have some answers. Dick was a damned good lawyer, and he’d know the legal alternatives, if there were any.
On the outskirts of Saddle Valley Joe reached a stretch of road bordered by fields. A Silver Cloud Rolls-Royce passed him on his left, and Cardone noted that the huge automobile was traveling extremely fast, much too fast for the narrow country road. He kept driving for several miles, vaguely aware that he was traveling through open country now. He would probably have to turn around in some farmer’s driveway. But ahead of him was a long winding curve which, he remembered, had wide shoulders. He’d turn around there. It was time to head back to the station.
He reached the curve and slowed down, prepared to swing hard to his right onto the wide shoulder.
He couldn’t.
The Silver Cloud was parked off the road under the trees, blocking him.
Annoyed, Cardone gunned the engine and proceeded several hundred yards ahead where, since there were no other cars in sight, he made the cramped turn.
Back at the station, Cardone looked at his watch. Five-nineteen, almost five-twenty. He could see the entire length of the platform. He’d spot Tremayne if he got off. He hoped the lawyer would be on the five-twenty-five. The waiting was intolerable.
A car pulled up behind his Cadillac, and Cardone looked up.
It was the Silver Cloud. Cardone began to sweat.
A massive man, well over six feet tall, got out of the car and walked slowly toward Cardone’s open window. He was dressed in a chauffeur’s uniform.
«Mr. Cardione?»
«The name’s Cardone.» The man’s hands, which gripped the base of Joe’s window, were immense. Much larger and thicker than his own.
«Okay. Whatever you like…»
«You passed me a little while ago, didn’t you? On Saddle Road.»
«Yes, sir, I did. I haven’t been far from you all day.»
Cardone involuntarily swallowed and shifted his weight. «I find that a remarkable statement. Needless to say, very disturbing.»
«I’m sorry…»
«I’m not interested in apologies. I want to know why. Why are you following me? I don’t know you. I don’t like being followed.»
«No one does. I’m only doing what I’m told to do.»
«What is it? What do you want?»
The chauffeur moved his hands, just slightly, as if to call attention to their size and great strength. «I’ve been instructed to bring you a message, and then I’ll leave. I’ve a long drive. My employer lives in Maryland.»
«What message? Who from?»
«Mr. Da Vinci, sir.»
«Da Vinci?»
«Yes sir. I believe he got in touch with you this morning.»
«I don’t know your Mr. Da Vinci… What message?»
«That you should not confide in Mr. Tremayne.»
«What are you talking about?»
«Only what Mr. Da Vinci told me, Mr. Cardione.»
Cardone stared into the huge man’s eyes. There was intelligence behind the blank façade. «Why did you wait until now? You’ve been following me all day. You could have stopped me hours ago.»
«I wasn’t instructed to. There’s a radio-phone in the car. I was told to make contact just a few minutes ago.»
«Who told you?»
«Mr. Da Vinci, sir …»
«That’s not his name! Now, who is he?» Cardone fought his anger. He took a deep breath before speaking. «You tell me who Da Vinci is.»
«There’s more to the message,» said the chauffeur, disregarding Cardone’s question. «Mr. Da Vinci says you should know that Tremayne may have talked to Mr. Tanner. No one’s sure yet, but that’s what it looks like.»
«He what? Talked to him about what?»
«I don’t know, sir. It’s not my job to know. I’m hired to drive a car and deliver messages.»
«Your message isn’t clear! I don’t understand it! What good is a message if it isn’t clear!» Cardone strained to keep in control.
«Perhaps the last part will help you, sir. Mr. Da Vinci feels it would be a good idea if you tried to find out the extent of Mr. Tremayne’s involvement with Tanner. But you must be careful. Very, very careful. As you must be careful with your friends from California. That’s important.»
The chauffeur backed away from the Cadillac and slapped two fingers against his cap’s visor.
«Wait a minute!» Cardone reached for the door handle, but the huge man in uniform swiftly clamped his hands on the window ledge and held the door shut.
«No, Mr. Cardione. You stay inside there. You shouldn’t call attention to yourself. The train’s coming in.»