The big man came up to the counter and his hard eyes went from Parker to Ken and back to Parker again.
“City Police. Sergeant Donovan,” he said, his voice a harsh growl. “I’m making enquiries about a guy who used that pay booth about a half-hour ago. Did either of you see him?”
Ken looked at the hard, brick-red face. Donovan wore a close-clipped ginger moustache. A row of freckles ran across the bridge of his thick, short nose.
“No, I didn’t see anyone,” Ken said.
“I used the telephone a little while ago, sergeant,” Parker said smoothly. “I was calling my wife. You don’t mean me, do you?”
Donovan stared at Parker.
“Not if you called your wife. Did you see anyone else use the booth?”
“Well, there was a girl and an elderly man,” Parker lied glibly. “But that would be about an hour ago, I guess. We’ve been busy, and I didn’t notice anyone recently.”
“Not too busy to call your wife,” Donovan said, his hard little eyes boring into Parker.
“Never too busy to call my wife,” Parker returned, and gave the sergeant a bright, false smile.
Donovan took a crumpled cigarette from his pocket, stuck it on his thin, brutal lower lip and set fire to it with a brass lighter.
“Did you see anyone use the phone?” he asked Ken.
“I’ve just told you: I didn’t.”
The green eyes forced Ken to look away.
“You might have changed your mind.”
“I didn’t see anyone.”
Donovan made a grimace of disgust.
“No one ever sees nothing in this town. No one knows nothing, either.”
He gave the two men a long, hard stare, then walked across the hall to the messenger.
“Phew!” Parker said. “Nice guy. I wouldn’t like to be third-degree’d by him, would you?”
“I guess not,” Ken said, his knees weak.
“I handled him rather well, don’t you think?”
“Isn’t it a little early to talk like that?” Ken returned.
They both watched Donovan as he talked to the messenger, then, nodding curtly, Donovan left the bank.
“It’s a bad business,” Parker said soberly. “They wouldn’t have sent that sergeant here so fast unless there was something serious. My God! What an escape I’ve had!”
III
The City hall clock was striking the half-hour after one as Ken left Gaza’s, the big store on the corner of Central and 4th Streets. Under his arm he carried two brown-paper parcels.
He walked rapidly along Central Street towards the bank. His plan to get rid of the blood-stained suit and shoes had worked. The suit now hung alongside the other hundreds of suits on display in Gaza’s outfitting department. He hoped the bloodstained shoes were safely lost among the masses of shoes on the display counter of Gaza’s shoe department.
There had been one nerve-shattering moment. The assistant who had sold him the light-grey suit, a replica of the one he had furtively included among the other suits, had asked him if he hadn’t forgotten the parcel he had brought in with him.
Ken had managed to keep his head, and had said he hadn’t been carrying a parcel. The assistant had looked puzzled, but having asked Ken is he was sure, he lost interest. But it had been an unpleasant moment.
Well, at least he had got rid of the suit and the shoes, and he felt safer.
On the other hand, through Parker’s telephone call, the police had visited the bank, and this hard-faced sergeant had had a good look at him.
Would the sergeant link him with the description the police were bound to get once they began asking questions?
There was nothing in the mid-day papers about Fay, and when Ken got back to his till to relieve Parker, he shook his head at Parker’s eager question.
“Nothing at all?” Parker asked. “Are you sure?”
Ken handed the paper over.
“Nothing: look for yourself.”
“Maybe it isn’t as bad as I thought,” Parker said, glancing at the headlines. “She could have pinched something. These girls are always getting into trouble. Well I’m going to give her a wide berth from now on.”
The afternoon dragged by. Ken kept watching the front entrance of the bank, half expecting to see the big sergeant come in again. The sick tension that had hold of him made him feel ill and tired.
When eventually the bank doors closed and he began to cash up, Parker said, “If that cop asks you questions about me, Holland, you’ll keep your mouth shut, won’t you?”
“Of course,” Ken returned, wondering how Parker would react if he knew the truth. “You have nothing to worry about.”
“I wish that were true,” Parker said uneasily. “If they find out it was me who telephoned, the blasted news hounds will get after me. Can you imagine how old Schwartz would like it if he knew I’d been going to see this girl? That old blue-nose would kick me out like a shot. And then there’s my wife: I’d never live it down.”
“Relax,” Ken said, wishing he could relax himself. “I won’t say a thing.”
“This has taught me a lesson,” Parker said. “Never again. From now on I’m going to keep clear of trouble.” He locked his till. “Well, I’ve got to get off. Time to meet ma-in-law. Sorry I can’t drive you home.”
“That’s okay,” Ken said. “I’ve just got these cheques to enter up and I’m through. So long.”
He took his time finishing his work to make certain Parker had gone, then he went down to the staff room, put on his hat, collected his two parcels from his locker and went up the steps to the rear exit.
He travelled home by bus, paused at the corner of his road to buy an evening paper and walked towards the bungalow; holding his parcels under one arm, he scanned the headlines of the paper.
There it was in the stop press.
He stopped, his heart hammering, to read the heavy print:
ICE-PICK SLAYING IN LOVE NEST EX-DANCER MURDERED BY UNKNOWN ASSAILANT
He couldn’t bring himself to read further, and folding the newspaper, he continued up the road, sweat on his face.
As he reached his gate, Mrs. Fielding, his next-door neighbour, bobbed up from behind the hedge to beam at him.
Mrs. Fielding was always bobbing up from behind the hedge.
Ann had tried to convince Ken that Mrs. Fielding meant well and that she was lonely, but Ken thought she was an old busybody always on the lookout for a gossip or to stick her nose where it wasn’t wanted.
“Just back from town, Mr. Holland?” she asked, her bright little eyes staring curiously at the two parcels he carried under his arm.
“That’s right,” Ken said, opening the gate.
“I hope you haven’t been extravagant now your wife’s away,” she went on, wagging her finger at him. “I know how my dear husband used to behave as soon as I went away.”
I wonder if you do, you silly old fool, Ken thought. I bet he kicked the can around as soon as he got rid of you.
“And you’re keeping such late hours.” She smiled archly at him. “Didn’t I hear you come last night after two?”
Ken’s heart gave a lurch.
“After two?” he said. “Oh, no. Couldn’t have been me. I was in bed by eleven.”
Her bright smile suddenly became fixed. Into her eyes came an inquisitive, searching look that made Ken’s eyes give ground.
“Oh. I looked out of the window, Mr. Holland. I am quite sure it was you.”
“You were mistaken,” Ken said shortly, caught with the lie and having to
make the best of it. “You’ll excuse me. I have to write to Ann.”
“Yes.” Still the bright eyes stared fixedly at him. “Well, be sure to give her my love.”