Tiger By The Tail Part 22

O'Brien lit his cigar, started the car engine and drove over to the Country Club.

On the first of every month there was a dance at the club, and everyone who was anyone went. O'Brien guessed Commissioner Howard and Police Captain Motley would be there. He wanted the latest news of the murder before finally deciding what he was to do with Johnny.

He could see the crowd of dancers through the big windows as he drove around the circular drive. The dance would go on until the small hours: there would be a lot of drinking and necking, and probably some horseplay by the young members.

O'Brien wasn't interested in this kind of s.h.i.+ndig, but he usually put in an appearance. All the party members went, and it was an opportunity to have a private word without the press wondering what was being said.

He drove into the parking lot, that was packed solid with cars. He got out and glanced up at the dark, swollen clouds. It would rain before long, he thought, as he made his way along the narrow gangway between the cars.

He became aware of a man and woman ahead of him. The woman held a car door open. He thought he recognized her in the half light, and paused to look more intently.

"If you're going to behave like a G.o.dd.a.m.n dummy, I'm going back," the woman said in a shrill, angry voice. She sounded drunk to O'Brien.

"We've got to be sensible, Gloria," the man said anxiously. "Your husband may be coming out. Can't we wait until he's gone?"

"I'm d.a.m.ned if I'm going to wait," the woman said, and got into the back seat of the car. "Are you coming?"

The man got in beside her and shut the car door. O'Brien saw the woman throw her arms around him and pull him to her, and he made a little grimace. Commissioner Howard's young wife and some punk, he thought. Well, the old fool shouldn't have married a girl half his age.

He went on towards the club house.

He found Commissioner Howard and Motley on the verandah.

Motler was saying impatiently, "For the love of Mike, let the girl alone. She's enjoying herself somewhere. If we're going, let's go."

"Leaving already?" O'Brien said, coming out of the darkness.

"h.e.l.lo, there," Motley said, turning. "I have news for you. Donovan's cracked the Carson case!"

O'Brien lifted his eyebrows.

"That's quick work."

"Yeah. I've always said if Donovan was given a case worth a d.a.m.n, he would show what he was made of. In the next hour or so he will make an arrest."

"Who did it, then?"

"Kenway Holland, a young bank clerk. It's an open and shut case. We have enough evidence to put him in the chair three times over."

"But you haven't arrested him yet?"

"My men are at his house now. He may have lost his nerve and skipped, but it's just a matter of time before we get him."

"That's d.a.m.ned good work," O'Brien said without any enthusiasm. He looked over at Howard. "You'll let me have the report and see the evidence?"

"You'll get the papers tomorrow morning," Howard said curtly. He looked worried, and having seen what his wife was up to, O'Brien wasn't surprised. "You'll excuse us. I want to get back to headquarters. Now we have got so far I don't want any slip-up."

"I keep telling you we can leave it to Donovan to handle," Motley said impatiently.

"I'm going back, even if you aren't," Howard snapped, and nodding to O'Brien he went down the steps and towards the parking lot.

"Your sister is amusing herself with a guy in a car," O'Brien said softly. "Watch the Commissioner doesn't spot her."

Motley swore under his breath.

"I'll break that little b.i.t.c.h's neck one of these days," he said. "Why the h.e.l.l can't she wait until Howard has left?" He went off hurriedly after the Commissioner.

O'Brien stroked his jaw thoughtfully. Just like that numbskull Donovan to find the wrong man, he thought. What was the evidence they were talking about? They seemed pretty certain that they had enough on this guy to convict him.

He leaned against the verandah rail while he thought about Johnny. If this Holland guy was caught and convicted, it would let Johnny out, but sooner or later he would get into more trouble. Now he had him under lock and key it would be flying in the face of providence not to be rid of him.

He watched Howard and Motley drive out of the parking lot, then, his mind now made up, he went down the steps towards his car.

II.

Before going to his office, Adams looked into the charge room.

"Anything new?" he asked the desk sergeant, who stiffened to attention at the sight of him.

"The Commissioner and the Captain are on their way over, sir," the sergeant said. "This guy Holland hasn't been picked up yet. We have a couple of men and Detective Duncan waiting for him at his house. Sergeant Donovan has just come in and is waiting for the Commissioner."

Adams grunted.

"I'll be in my office if the Commissioner wants me," he said. "Nothing else?"

"Nothing that'd interest you, sir. Paradise Louie is in trouble. He was picked up ten minutes ago on a vacant lot on West Street. Someone has given him the treatment. O'Sullivan, who found him, reports he isn't likely to live. He's had a beating, and whoever beat him hit him a little too hard."

Adams remembered what Darcy had told him. Paradise Louie had told Johnny where he could find Fay Carson and now he had been beaten up. A coincidence?

"Where is he?" he asked sharply.

"Ward Six, County hospital," the sergeant told him.

"Tell the Commissioner if he wants me I'll be back in an hour," Adams said, and went quickly back to his car.

He got over to the County hospital in five minutes.

"Manchini ?" the house surgeon said when Adams asked him if he could talk to Louie. "Not much hope for him. He has an abnormally thin skull. Someone hit him with a bicycle chain. I doubt if he'll last the night."

"Is he conscious?"

"No, but he might come round at any moment. One of your men is with him. You can go up if you want to. There's nothing more we can do for him."

Paradise Louie lay in bed, his bruised and broken face swathed in bandages. Detective Watson sat glumly at his side. He got up hurriedly when he saw Adams, nearly upsetting his chair.

"Is he conscious?" Adams asked.

"Yes, sir, but he's pretty bad."

Adams bent over the still body.

"Louie ! Wake up!" he barked, and shook Louie's arm.

Louie opened his eyes and stared up at Adams.

"Leave me alone, can't you?" he snarled faintly. "Get the h.e.l.l out of here!"

Adams sat on the edge of the bed.

"Who did it to you?" he said.

Watson automatically opened his notebook and waited expectantly.

"I'm not talking, copper," Louie said. "Leave me alone."

Adams took out a box of matches, struck one and held the flame to Louie's hand while Watson watched, goggle-eyed, Louie s.n.a.t.c.hed his hand away, his lips coming off his teeth.

"Next time I'll hold your wrist," Adams said quietly. "Who did it?"

The thin, ruthless face that hung over him scared Louie.

"Tux and Whitey," he mumbled. "Leave me alone, can't you?"

"Why did they do it?"

"I don't remember," Louie said, but went on hurriedly as Adams struck another match. "Okay, okay, I'll tell you."

He gave Adams a watered down account of his attempt to blackmail Gilda. It took some minutes, but Watson got it down after Adams had made Louie go over it again.

"Did you give Johnny Fay Carson's address?" Adams demanded.

"I told him where he could find her."

"Where was that?"

"I told him she went to the Blue Rose most nights."

"You didn't give him her address?"

"I don't know it."

"What time did you tell him?"

"About eleven, I think it was."

"So Tux works for O'Brien?" Adams said, aware he had made an important discovery.

"Yeah. O'Brien has always been his boss."

Adams looked at Watson.

"Got it all?"

"Yes, sir."

"Louie, you're going to sign this."

He read Louie's statement over to him, held the book while Louie scrawled his signature on each page, then he got Watson also to sign each page.

"I'll take it," he said to Watson, and slipped the notebook into his pocket. "Come on, you don't have to waste any more time with this punk."

Outside in the pa.s.sage, he went on, "Keep your mouth shut about this statement, Watson. There's a political angle to it that could be tricky. Understand?"

"Yes, sir," Watson said blankly. He didn't understand, but he had long ago learned it wasn't safe to ask Adams questions.

"Okay. Come with me. I have a job for you."

Bewildered, Watson followed Adams down the steps and across the sidewalk to his car.

III.

It took Ken forty minutes to reach the waterfront. He was afraid to get on a bus or take a taxi. Adams had said every cop in town was looking for him by now, and he wasn't taking any chances of being recognized.

He kept to the back streets, walking close to the buildings and shops where the shadows were darkest.

From time to time he spotted ahead of him a patrolling cop, and he hastily turned down a side street to avoid pa.s.sing him.

When eventually he arrived at the waterfront, the rain that had been falling began to ease off.

It was dim, damp and smelly by the water. On the street side was a row of cafes, popcorn stalls, shops selling fis.h.i.+ng tackle and nets, a dingy hotel and an amus.e.m.e.nt arcade.

Ken stood on the edge of the wharf and looked across the broad stretch of oily water to the distant estuary. It was too dark to see if any boats were anch.o.r.ed out there, but Darcy had said that was where Willor Point was, and Ken had no reason not to believe him.