Or at least with me.
“I understand you spoke with Chief Purvis yesterday,” he said. He had slipped the coat on the back of the chair. I’d misjudged him and the sun: the sweat circles on his shirt, under his arms, were like moons. They complemented his round face.
“I spoke with Chief Purvis,” I confirmed.
“He informs me you feel you may have seen John Dillinger.”
“That’s right.”
He moved his hat around in his hands, fingers on the brim like he was drying a plate. “We could use any information you might care to give us.”
“I’ve... reconsidered.”
“How so?”
I chose my words carefully. “I now feel I was hasty. I’ve had second thoughts about the likelihood that the man I saw was John Dillinger.”
Cowley made a small shrugging gesture with his head. “There have been some misidentifications. I can understand your caution.”
“Your associate Mr. Purvis — Chief Purvis — strikes me as a little too hot to trot, where Dillinger’s concerned. I’m afraid he’d shoot Aunt Jemima if you pointed at her and said, ‘There’s Johnny.’”
I thought I saw the faintest trace of a smile appear on Cowley’s lips, but he buried it. Said, “Chief Purvis is not alone on this investigation.”
“I know. Your boss Hoover sent you in to be a steadying influence. I read the papers.”
Cowley stirred in his chair. “That — that wasn’t in the papers, not in that manner.”
“I can read between the lines. Your boss seems real public-relations conscious to me. He couldn’t fire Purvis after Little Bohemia without making the division look bad; so he sent for you.”
Cowley waved a big deliberate paw in the air, said, “Be that as it may — I can assure you, any information you relay to our office — to me — will not be treated lightly, will not be acted upon rashly.”
He was choosing his words carefully, too. I leaned back in my chair; studied him. I instinctively liked this man. He was a big, shy bear who could be trusted. He struck me as competent, as well. But I was still afraid that his competence would only be canceled out by Purvis’ incompetence.
“I’m looking after a client’s interests,” I said. “And I don’t think my client’s interests would be best served by my getting further involved in this matter.”
Cowley’s face turned stern and he pointed a finger at me as thick as a twenty-five-cent cigar. “If you’re aiding and abetting a fugitive, Mr. Heller, you can’t hide behind the cloak of your profession. You’re not a lawyer. Just a private operator. You’ll go to jail.”
“Inspector Cowley,” I said, with what I hoped was a peacemaking smile, “I’m not harboring a fugitive. My client is not John Dillinger. He happens to be a traveling salesman and a law-’biding citizen. Whose girlfriend happens to be seeing another man, on the sly.”
Cowley nodded thoughtfully. “The man who may be Dillinger.”
I pointed at him this time. “That’s a good way to put it. A man who may be Dillinger. And to be frank, if I had to bet on it, I’m not so sure I wouldn’t bet against.”
Cowley lifted his shoulders and eased them back down. It was about as demonstrative as he got. “Why not clear it up by leading us to this man? We can talk with him, find out who he is, clear this all up.”
I shook my head and kept shaking it. “My client’s girlfriend has been at this man’s side day and night for at least a week. If I lead you to him, how can I be assured your overeager associate won’t lay down a tommy-gun welcome for this ‘man who might be Dillinger’ — a welcome Nervous Purvis is likely to extend to my client’s girl, as well?”
He didn’t blink at my rather arch brand of sarcasm. He just said, “Maybe you can best prevent that by being involved yourself.”
“I don’t see it that way.”
“Are you still shadowing this man?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I’ve ascertained what I need to, where my client’s concerned. I’ve fulfilled my responsibilities. And besides, maybe you’ve actually got somebody in that officeful of college boys who might succeed in shadowing me. Though I sincerely doubt it.”
Cowley looked at me blankly; then the corners of his mouth turned up, barely perceptibly, and he said, “I doubt it, too.”
An El train rushed by and we just sat and listened to it.
Then Cowley said, “We’ve had contact from someone else who has a line on Dillinger.”
“That’s interesting.”
“Someone who’s seen him on the North Side.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. Someone with a police agency. An out-of-state agency.”
“Really.”
“East Chicago, Indiana, as a matter of fact.”
“No kidding.”
“A Sergeant Martin Zarkovich and his captain, a man named... it escapes me...”
“O’Neill,” I said.
Cowley, feigning surprise, said, “You know of them?”
“I know Zarkovich. I don’t believe I’ve met O’Neill, but I’ve heard of him.”
“Do you have an opinion of, uh, the East Chicago police?”
“Generally, or specifically?”
“Either. Both.”
“Generally, corrupt. Specifically, Zarkovich.”
He smiled a little and leaned forward in his seat. He held the hat in one hand, now, and seemed to be offering it to me.
He said, “Then you know why we can use a corroborating source. As a matter of fact, if I could handle this through you entirely, I’d feel more comfortable. So would Chief Purvis.”
That surprised me. “Really?” I asked. “What makes me such a sterling character?”
“Being compared to Zarkovich,” Cowley said, deadpan.
That made me smile. “You’re going to have to go with Zarkovich. He’s a cop. Why don’t you bring Stege in, while you’re at it?”
Cowley didn’t answer at first. “There’s little love lost between our office and the Chicago police. Precious little mutual respect or cooperation.”
“I take it this state of affairs predates your coming aboard.”
“I haven’t been here long, Mr. Heller. You know that. Just since April. But it doesn’t take very long to realize the Chicago police are lacking in certain respects.”
“So instead you deal with East Chicago? Look, there are a few good Chicago cops around — and Stege is one of ’em. I know, I know — you’ve heard he doesn’t think much of me. Granted. But you could do with him in your corner, on this one, believe me.”
Cowley rose. He wasn’t leaving: he was just restless. Quietly so. He went over to one of the windows and looked out at the El. Without looking at me, he said, “I hear you’re an honest man, Mr. Heller.”
“More or less,” I said.
He smiled, again without looking at me. “That’s high marks in Chicago. We, uh... have a mutual friend, you know.”
“I know.”
Eliot Ness.
“So,” Cowley continued, “if I say some things off the record, you’ll keep them there.”
“I’m not a reporter.”
“If a reporter asked you.” He looked over at me sharply. “Or even a judge.”
I nodded.
He walked back and stood by the chair. Said, “Zarkovich and O’Neill have made some conditions. One of them is that Stege and the Chicago police not be involved in Dillinger’s... capture.”
“Why do you pause before the word ‘capture’?”
He hesitated. “It has to do with another of their conditions.”
“I see. Have you agreed to these various conditions?”
“Not yet. That’s where you come in, Mr. Heller. Why not help the federal government avoid having to rub up against something as dirty as the East Chicago police? Why not tell us what you know, and keep us from having to deal with the likes of Zarkovich and O’Neill?”