“I got on very well,” Ken said, trying to sound casual. “I spent the evening weeding and went to bed early.”
Parker gave a hoot of laughter.
“Tell that to your grandma,” he said with a leer. “Have you seen your face this morning? Boy! Do you look washed out! Did you visit my little friend?”
“What little friend?” Ken asked, staring fixedly through the windshield at the line of traffic ahead.
“Come on, Holland, don’t be cagey with me. You know you can trust me to keep my mouth shut. How did you like her?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Ken said curtly.
“Well damn it! I gave you her telephone number. You called her, didn’t you?”
“I’ve told you already; I stayed at home last night and weeded the rose bed.”
Parker lifted his eyebrows.
“Well, okay, if that’s your story, I guess you’re stuck with it, but you don’t kid me. But since I gave you the introduction you might at least admit she’s a damn fine girl.”
“I wish you’d shut up!” Ken snapped. “I stayed home last night. Can’t you get that bit of information into your thick skull and stop all this nonsense?”
“I was only pulling your leg,” Parker said, a little startled by the anger in Ken’s voice. “I was doing you a good turn. If you’re such a mug not to take advantage of my introduction, that’s your funeral. Fay’s sensational. When Hemingway put me on to her, he saved my life. I admit I took a chance, but I’m damned glad now.”
“I wish you would get off this subject,” Ken said. “Can’t you talk about something else?”
“What else is there to talk about?’ Parker said, and sniggered. “Well, okay, if that’s the way you feeclass="underline" tell me, what have you got in those two parcels?”
Ken had been expecting Parker to ask that question, and he was ready for it.
“Just some things Ann asked me to take to the cleaners.”
“I don’t know why it is but wives always find some errands for us guys to run. Maisie has given me a shopping list as long as my arm. I guess I’ll have to get one of the girls in the office to handle it for me.” Parker drove a couple of blocks without speaking: his plump red face thoughtful. “You know, I think I’ll drive over to Fay’s place in my lunch hour. It doesn’t look as if I’ll see much of her while my ma-in-law’s with us. She’s a regular old ferret, and if I stayed out late, she’d start putting a flea in Maisie’s ear.”
Ken felt a chill crawl up his spine.
“This afternoon? Is she likely to see you so early?”
“That’s not early,” Parker returned and laughed. “I once called on her at eight o’clock in the morning.”
The thought of Parker going to that top-floor apartment and walking into the police turned Ken cold.
“You’ll telephone her first?”
“Oh, sure. She might have someone there. But lunch-time is usually a good time to catch her in.”
Ken began to breathe again.
“I should have thought it was damned risky to go to a place like that in daylight.”
“Nothing to worry about at all. There’s a parking lot not far from the house, and the street is screened by trees,” Parker said airily. “You should try it one day, if you haven’t tried it already, you sly dog.”
“Keep your mind on your driving,” Ken said, his voice sharp. “You nearly hit that truck.”
II
Soon after half-past ten, when the first rush of business over, Parker closed his till, and giving Ken a wink, said he was going to call Fay.
“Shan’t be five minutes. Keep an eye on things for me.”
Ken watched him cross the hall of the bank to a pay booth installed for the customers’ convenience.
Ken’s heart beat violently as he watched Parker shut himself in the booth. He waited while minutes dragged by, then the booth door opened and Parker came out.
Parker had lost his cocky, leering expression. He looked white and flustered, and he hurried across the hall as if anxious to gain sanctuary behind the grill protecting his till.
Ken pretended he hadn’t noticed Parker’s agitation. He was entering a pile of cheques into a ledger, and having difficulty, as his band was unsteady. He said as casually as he could: “Did you get fixed up?”
“My God!” Parker gasped, wiping his face with his handkerchief. “The cops are in her place.”
Ken stiffened and dropped his pen.
“The cops?”
“Yes. Must be a raid. Suppose I had gone around there without calling her first?”
“How do you know it was the police?” Ken asked, groping on the floor for his pen.
“The guy who answered the phone said he was Lieutenant Adams of the City Police. He wanted to know who I was.”
“You didn’t tell him?”
“Of course not! I hung up on him while he was talking. Phew! What the hell does it mean? I’ve never known the police raid a call-girl’s place before. They might have arrived when I was there.”
“Lucky you called first.”
“I’ll say.” Parker continued to mop his face. “You don’t think they’ll trace my call, do you?”
“Why should they?” Ken asked, and he suddenly saw the danger he was in. The police were likely to trace the call. If they came here with a description of him from Sweeting, they would catch him red-handed with the blood-stained suit still in his possession!
“Maybe she’s been robbed or assaulted,” Parker said nervously. “Maybe that’s why they are there. Maybe someone’s murdered her.”
Ken felt a trickle of cold sweat run down the side of his face. He didn’t trust his voice to say anything.
“These girls run a hell of a risk,” Parker went on. “They don’t know who they are taking on. She could have been murdered.”
Before he could develop his theme a depositor came in, and then another followed. For some minutes both Ken and Parker were kept busy.
Ken was thinking of the blood-stained suit in his locker downstairs.
Damn Parker! If the police traced that call and came down here…! He looked anxiously at his wrist-watch. He had another hour before he went to lunch. The police might be on their way over now. But before he could make up his mind what to do, a steady flow of customers began, and for the next half-hour he was too rushed to think of himself. Then there was a pause again.
Parker said sharply, “There’s a guy just come in who looks like a cop.”
Ken’s heart stopped, then raced.
“Where?”
He looked around the big hall. Standing, half-concealed by one of the pillars, was a tall, heavily built man in a brown suit and a brown slouch hat.
He did look like a cop. His big fleshy face was brick-red and his small, green eyes had a still, intent quality about them that alarmed Ken.
“He must be a cop,” Parker said, lowering his voice.
Ken didn’t say anything. He watched the big man cross the hall to the pay booth.
“Do you think anyone saw me use the telephone?” Parker muttered.
“I don’t know. It’s out of sight of the door.”
“If he asks me I’ll tell him I called my wife, but I couldn’t get an answer.”
“He may not ask you.”
“I hope to hell he doesn’t.”
They watched the big man come out of the pay booth and go over to speak to the messenger at the door.
The messenger looked startled as Ken saw the big man show him something he carried in his hand. They talked for some minutes, then the big man turned and stared directly at Ken.
Ken felt himself turn hot, then cold. He forced himself to continue to write in his ledger.
“He’s coming over,” Parker said softly.