"He killed my mother," she repeated.
"You said you thought he did." She didn't answer so I asked, "When was this supposed to have happened?"
"A long time ago."
"How long?"
"I... was a baby. Eighteen years ago."
"How do you know he did this?"
She wouldn't look at me. "I just know it, that's all."
"Honey," I said, "you can't accuse a man of murder with a reason like that."
She made a little shrug and worked her fingers together.
I said, "You have something else in your mind. What is it?"
Velda slipped her arm around her shoulders and squeezed. Sue looked at her gratefully and turned back to me again. "I remember Mama talking. Before she died. Whatever she said... is in my mind... but I can't pick out the words. I was terribly frightened. She was dying and she talked to me and told me something and I don't remember what it was!" She sucked her breath in and held it while the tears welled up in her eyes.
When she relaxed I said, "And what makes you think he wants to kill you?"
"I know... the way he looks at me. He... touches me."
"Better, baby. You'll have to do better than that."
"Very well. There was a car. It almost hit me."
"Did you recognize it?"
"No."
"Go on."
"There was a man one night. He followed me home from the theater. He tried to cut me off but I knew the roads and lost him not far from the house."
"Did you recognize him or his car?"
"No."
"Did you report the incidents?"
"No," she said softly.
"Okay, Sue, my turn. Do you know you're an exceptionally pretty girl?" She looked up at me. "Sure you do. Men are going to follow you, so get used to dodging. Nearly everybody has had a close call with a car, so don't put too much store in that. And so far as your stepfather is concerned, he'd look at you like any man would his daughter and touch you the same way. You haven't said anything concrete yet."
"Then what about that man you killed and the other one?"
"Touché," I said. But I couldn't let it lay there. She was waiting and she was scared. I looked at Velda. "Did you tell her where you've been for seven years and what happened?"
"She knows."
"And about me?"
"Everything."
"Then maybe this is an answer... those men were part of an enemy organization who had to destroy Velda before she talked. They moved in to get her, not you. And now it's over. Nobody's going to kill her because now she's said her piece and it's too late. What do you think about that?"
"I'm not going back," she said simply.
"Supposing I go see your stepfather. Suppose I can really find out the truth, even to what your mother told you. Would that help any?"
"Maybe." Her voice was a whisper.
"Okay, kid, I'll play Big Daddy."
Velda looked up with eyes so full of thanks I had to laugh at her. She scooted the kid off to the other end of the room, took my arm, and walked me to the door. "You'll do all you can?"
"You know, you'd think I'd know better by now."
"Mike... don't change."
"No chance, baby."
She opened the door. "Do you... believe that about... those men coming for me?"
After a few seconds I said, "No. Basil Levitt said he wanted both you and the kid so it wasn't anything to do with the last operation. She's in it someplace." I knew I was frowning.
"What are you thinking of?"
"Something he said, damn it." I wiped my face with my hand and grimaced. "I've been away too long. I'm not clicking."
"It will come."
"Sure, honey," I said. I touched her face lightly. "Later?"
"I'll be waiting."
"Put the kid to bed."
She made a face at me, grinned and nodded.
It was like there had never been those seven years at all.
There wasn't much trouble getting background material on Simpson Torrence. He had been making headlines since the '30's, was featured in several of the latest magazines, and was the subject of three editorials in opposition newspapers. I took two hours to go over the bits and pieces and what I came up with made him a likely candidate for governor. In fact, several of his high-ranking constituents were looking past the mansion at Albany to the White House in Washington.
But good points I wasn't looking for. If there was anything to the kid's story at all, then something would have to point to another side of the guy's character. People just don't come all good.
I called Hy Gardner and asked him to meet me at the Blue Ribbon with anything he might have on Torrence. All he said was, "Now what?" But it meant he'd be there.
He showed up with Pete Ladero, who did legwork for a political columnist, and over lunch I picked out all the information on Torrence I could get. Substantially, it was the same as the better magazines had reported. Sim Torrence was a product of New York schools, had graduated magna cum laude and gone into public service immediately afterward. He had a small inheritance that made him independent enough to be able to afford the work and a determination that took, him from an assistant D.A. through the main office into the State Legislature and Senate, and now he was standing at the threshold of the governorship. I said, "What's wrong with the guy?"
"Nothing," Pete told me. "Find out something and I'll peddle it to the opposition for a million bucks."
"Didn't they try?"
"You kidding?"
Hy shoved his glasses up on his forehead. "So what's the business then, Mike? What are you laying into Torrence for?"
"Curiosity right now. His name came up in a little deal a while back."
"This for publication?"
"No. It's strictly for curiosity value."
"I wish to hell you'd say what you're going to say."
"Okay," I agreed. "What about his marriage?"
Pete and Hy looked at each other, shrugged, and Pete said, "His wife died years ago. He never remarried."
"Who was she?"
Pete thought a moment, then: "Her name was Devon, Sally Devon. If I remember right she was a fairly pretty showgirl when it was fashionable to marry showgirls. But hell, she died not long after the war. There was never any scandal connected with his marriage."
"What about the kid?" I asked.
Pete shook his head. "Nothing. I've met her several times. Torrence adopted her when her mother died, sent her to pretty good schools, and she's lived with him since."
"She ran away."
"You don't run away when you're over twenty-one," he reminded me. "Sim probably has given her a checking account that will keep her provided for wherever she goes." He paused a moment. "I don't get the angle there."
"Because I haven't got one," I said. "In my business names and people get dropped into funny places and no matter who they are they get checked out. Hell, it never hurts to prove a clean man clean."
Pete agreed with a nod, finished his coffee, and told us so-long. Hy said, "Satisfied?"
"I'm getting there."
"Do I get a hint at least?"
"Sure. The two dead men the night I found Velda."
Hy frowned and pulled his glasses off, his cigar working across his mouth. "The ones who followed you and tried to nail Velda at the last minute?"
"That's the story the papers got, friend."
He waited, staring at me.
I said, "They had nothing to do with the espionage bit. They were part of another story."
"Brother!" Hy poked the cigar out in the ash tray and reached for his pencil and scratch sheets.
"No story yet, Hy. Hold it back. I'll tell you when."
Reluctantly, he put them back. "Okay, I'll wait."
"Velda had Torrence's kid with her. She took her in like a stray cat. Strictly coincidence, but there we are. The kid said she was hiding out from her old man, but whether she's lying or not, we know one thing: two dead men and a possible third say trouble's there."