Well Now, My Pretty Part 20

"Keep at it," Terrell said. "We're gaining some ground. We now know where he hired the truck and the trucker has a good description of him. When we catch up with him, we have him for sure."

"We haven't caught . . ." Then Beigler paused, stared at the list he was holding and stiffened. "Hey, Chief! Look at this!" He pa.s.sed the sheet to Terrell, his thumbnail underscoring the typewritten line.

Terrell read Franklin Ludovick, Mon Repos, Sandy Lane, Paradise City. Lic. No. P.C. 6678.

"Whose report?"

"Fred O'Toole."

"Get him here!"

Beigler called down to Charlie Tanner.

"We want Fred. Is he at the road block still?"

"Hold it." There was a pause, then Tanner said, "No. He's back home. Clocked off half an hour ago."

"Get him. Send a car, Charlie . . . p.r.o.nto."

"Will do," Tanner said and hung up.

Twenty minutes later, Patrolman Fred O'Toole walked into Terrell's office. He was out of uniform and showed signs of having scrambled into a pair of slacks and an open-neck s.h.i.+rt.

"Come in, Fred," Terrell said, waving to a chair. "Sorry . . . I guess you were putting your feet up."

"That's okay, sir," O'Toole said, stiffly at attention. It was all right for the Chief to be friendly, but Beigler was his boss.

"Sit down," Terrell said. "Don't we have any coffee in this place?"

Beigler grabbed the telephone. He told Tanner to send out for coffee.

"What again?" Tanner said wearily.

"You heard me," Beigler said and hung up. "Relax, Fred."

Uneasily, O'Toole sat on the edge of a chair.

"Fred . . . this Buick coupe. Owner, Franklin Ludovick," Terrell said, pa.s.sing the typewritten sheet across the desk. "What can you tell me about it?"

"It came through the road block as stated, sir. It was driven by Tom Whiteside, the G.M. agent."

"Dr. Whiteside's son?"

"That's correct, sir."

"Go on."

"He said he had broken down and had borrowed the car from a client."

Terrell and Beigler exchanged glances.

"Did you check the car, Fred?"

"Not on the inward trip, sir. We weren't checking incoming cars, but a couple of hours later, he came back. He said he was returning the car. I checked it then. It was clean."

"Was he on his own?"

"His wife was with him."

Terrell thought for a moment, then nodded.

"All right, Fred, you get back home. Have them drive you back."

When O'Toole had gone, Terrell got to his feet. Beigler was already putting his .38 into its holster. He then s.n.a.t.c.hed up the telephone receiver and told Tanner that Jacoby and Lepski were to report to the car pool p.r.o.nto.

"I've got your coffee," Tanner said.

"Drink it for me," Beigler said and hung up.

He followed Terrell down to the car pool. As they got into a police car, Lepski and Jacoby came running down the ramp. They scrambled into the back as Beigler set the car in motion.

Terrell explained the set-up to them.

"You two cover us. Lepski: take care of the back. Watch it! Could be a tricky one. We'll play it by ear."

Ten minutes later, the car pulled up outside the Whitesides' bungalow.

Terrell and Beigler walked up the path and rang on the front-door bell.

chapter nine.

Tom Whiteside had just finished sweeping the soil off the garden path when he saw Detective 2nd Grade Lepski appear in the lane at the bottom of his garden. He recognised him immediately. Lepski was a well-known character in Paradise City. The sight of him made Tom's heart skip a beat. Looking quickly away from the detective, he leaned the broom against the wall and walked into the kitchen.

In the living-room, Maisky saw the police car pull up and Terrell and Beigler start up the path.

"It's the police," he said quietly to Sheila. "Now, don't lose your head. Remember I am Father Latimer from New Orleans. It's going to be all right if you handle it right."

His calm, confident tone quieted Sheila's momentary panic. As the front-door bell rang, Maisky went on, "Let them in. Act naturally and relax."

He sat down in a lounging chair after a brief glance in the mirror over the mantelpiece to make sure his wig was on straight.

Her heart pounding, but her face composed, Sheila went to the door and opened it.

"Mrs. Whiteside?" Terrell said, although he knew her all right. There were few residents of the City who didn't know her by sight.

"Why, yes." She forced a smile. "It's Chief of Police Terrell, isn't it?"

"Yeah . . . Mr. Whiteside in?"

"Yes. He came home early. He isn't very well . . . something he ate, but do come in."

She led him and Beigler into the living-room. Both the police officers were startled to see a small, white-haired clergyman sitting quietly in an armchair. Maisky got to his feet, his smile bright with welcome.

"This is Father Latimer from New Orleans," Sheila said. "He is staying with us. Father, this is Chief of Police Terrell anda" and . . ." She looked at Beigler, flas.h.i.+ng him a smile.

Some chick! Beigler thought as he introduced himself. He had trouble keeping his eyes from those long, slim legs.

"Yes . . . well, do sit down. I'll fetch Tom."

She left the room. Maisky shook hands with Terrell and then Beigler.

"I am happy to know you," he said. "This is my first visit to your beautiful City." His expression became solemn. "I had the unhappy task of laying Sheila's mother to rest."

Terrell moved uneasily and muttered something under his breath. There was a pause, then Torn came into the room with Sheila at his heels. He was white faced and sweating.

"h.e.l.lo, Chief," he said. "Youa"you wanted me?"

"I hear you're not well," Terrell said, eyeing him. His certainly didn't look well.

"Something I ate . . . I'll be okay," Tom said. "Either of you two gentlemen care for a drink?"

"No, thanks . . . Mr. Whiteside, this Buick coupe you were driving . . ."

Maisky had sat down. He pressed his fingertips together and beamed at the others.

"Buick?" Tom said stupidly.

"Oh, Tom . . . we shouldn't have taken it!" Sheila exclaimed. She was now in control of herself. "You know, I said we shouldn't."

Tom gaped at her, then desperately trying to control his jumpy nerves, said hurriedly, "Yeah . . . that's right."

Terrell stared at him, then at Sheila, then back to Tom.

"Mr. Whiteside, we have reason to believe the car belonged to one of the Casino robbers. Suppose you tell me how you came to be driving it?"

Sheila caught her breath dramatically and clapped her hands. Watching her, Maisky hoped she wasn't going to overplay her act.

"So that's why it was hidden!" she exclaimed. "Tom! And we took it! We hadn't an idea!" She turned to Terrell, her big eyes wide. "Of course . . . that explains it, and there we were thinking it belonged to some hunter . . ."

Terrell regarded her.

"Suppose you start this from the beginning," he said.

"Of course. Please sit down." She dropped into an easy chair, letting Beigler get a glimpse of her thighs as she adjusted her skirt. "We were coming back from a camping vacation. It was late. Tom decided to take a short cut from the Miami highway, down the dirt road through the woods, to the Paradise City highway. I'm sure you must know it . . ." She broke off, seeing Terrell was still standing. She was determined to dominate the interview, and smiling, she pointed to a chair. "Do please sit down, Chief. You look so tall, standing like that."

Terrell lowered his bulk into the chair while Beigler, notebook in hand, leaned up against the wall. Tom sat on an upright chair, behind Sheila.

"This is all news to me," Maisky burbled. "I have only just arrived. Has there been a robbery, then?"

"Excuse me," Terrell said curtly. "I want to hear what Mrs. Whiteside has to say."

"I'm sorry . . . of course . . . excuse me." Maisky beamed, settling himself back in his chair. "This is all very interesting."

Well, at least, I have got it away from that numbskull, Sheila was thinking, and I've got to keep away from him.

"Yes," she said, leaning forward and staring with round eyes at Terrell. "So we took this dirt road and then our car broke down. It was the oil pump, wasn't it, Tom?" She looked over her shoulder. "You said it was the oil pump?"

Tom jerked his head.

"That's right."

"Well, there we were . . . right in the middle of the forest . . . stuck, and it was growing dark." She crossed her legs for Beigler's benefit. May as well give this flatfoot something to concentrate on, she thought. Beigler, who never missed anything like that, thought she was sensational . . . and those legs! "We decided to sleep the night there. In the morning as we were getting ready to walk . . ." She paused to make a comic gesture. "Imagine walking five miles! I found this car." She regarded Terrell to see how he was accepting her story. No good flas.h.i.+ng her s.e.x at him. He was one of the square, safely married fossils.

"When you found the car, Mrs. Whiteside, didn't you think you should have reported it to the police?" Terrell said.

She laughed.

"I just didn't think . . . nor did Tom. We were worried about leaving the camping equipment in our car. We had borrowed it and it could have been stolen while we were walking down to the bus stop. I just refused to be left alone in that forest . . . it scared me." She paused and looked at Beigler, inviting his sympathy. He thought: I'd like to have you alone, baby . . . a desert island for preference. She switched her gaze back to Terrell. "So we didn't think. Tom had a master key. We put our things in the car and took off. As soon as we got home, we unpacked, then got a new pump and went back. We left the Buick right where we had found it. Tom fitted the new pump and we drove home."

Terrell scratched the side of his jaw. This sounded like the truth, he thought. O'Toole's report jelled with hers.

"Did you look in the boot?" he asked Tom.

Tom started, hesitated, then shook his head.

"Why, no. Wea"we just threw our stuff on the back seat. No . . . we didn't look in the boot."

Terrell got to his feet.

"I'll have to ask you to show us where you left the Buick . . . right now."

"Of course." Tom got to his feet. "I'll just put on my jacket."

As he left the room, Sheila stood up.

"You really mean, Chief, that we were driving the gangster's car?"

"I guess so," Terrell said, aware that Beigler's eyes were roving over Sheila's body.

"Well!" Sheila spun around to Maisky who was now standing. "I guess we'll be able to eat out on this story for weeks!"

"Quite extraordinary," Maisky said. "But I really don't understand what it is all about." He peered at Terrell. "Why do you imagine the car was hidden, Inspector?"