If things went through without a hitch now, she’d handle it herself. If she struck a snag over the telephone, her next call would be to Detective Nelson.
At length a masculine voice, wary, uncordial, said, “Yeah?”
“Is Bill Everett there?”
“Who wants him?”
“A girl.”
The man laughed and said, “You could have fooled me.”
She heard his voice raised in a call. “Bill in there? Some dame wants him on the phone.”
A moment later she heard steps approaching the phone; another voice, cold, guarded but curious, said, “Yes? Hello.”
“Bill?”
“Who is it?”
“I’m a friend of Fran’s. It’s about a butterfly.”
The voice at the other end of the line instantly lost all coldness and reserve.
“Well, it’s about time!” he exclaimed. “Where the hell is Fran? Why didn’t she call me about the insurance interview?”
“She’s where she can’t call.”
“Good Lord, you don’t mean she’s—”
“Now, take it easy,” Peggy said. “I have a message for you.”
“What is it?”
“Don’t be silly. I can’t give it to you over the phone. Where can I meet you?”
“You got a car?”
“Yes.”
“Come on out here.”
“Now, wait a minute,” Peggy said. “There’s a lot of this I didn’t get from Fran. She only gave me the number to call and—”
“Adams and Elmore,” he said. “It’s on the corner. What kind of a car are you driving?”
“Green coupe.”
“How long will it take you?”
“About fifteen minutes.”
“Okay, okay, get out here! Park your bus on Elmore just before you get to Adams — on the right-hand side of the street, headed south. Sit there and wait for me. Got that?”
“Yes.”
“Now, when is Fran going to—”
“Wait until I see you,” Peggy interrupted. “You talk too much over the phone.”
“Damned if I don’t,” Everett said, and she could hear the receiver being slammed into place at the other end.
Peggy then dialed police headquarters, asked for Detective Fred Nelson, and was lucky enough to find him in.
“This is Peggy Castle,” she said.
“Oh, yes, hello.” His voice was more cordial than she had expected.
“I have a lead on the Stella Lynn case.”
“Yeah, I know,” Nelson said. “You have lots of leads. You pulled the trigger on a lot of publicity, didn’t you?”
“Why, what do you mean?”
“Nice and dramatic,” he said. “It worked out a thousand percent. Grief-crazed husband stumbles into the morgue, tearfully claims the body of Stella Lynn, his wife. How the newspapers fell for that one! They just called me from the morgue.”
He stopped talking, and Peggy said nothing.
“You there?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Well, why don’t you say something?”
“You’re doing the talking. I called you up to tell you something. When you get ready to listen let me know.”
He laughed. “All right, I’ll listen, but don’t think I was born yesterday just because you didn’t meet me until today. I’ve been around a while.”
“I’m quite certain you have,” Peggy said. “As I said, I have a lead in the Lynn case.”
“What is it this time?”
Peggy said, “Stella wanted Don Kimberly to meet her at the Royal Pheasant because she wanted to find out if it would be possible to negotiate for the return of the gems on that Garrison job.”
“What!” Nelson exclaimed.
Peggy said, “Bill Everett, Stella’s ex-boy friend, was mixed up in that job. Now he’s got a fortune in gems and can’t fence them. You know what happens at a time like that. He wants to know whether he can make a deal with the insurance company.”
“Who’s this fellow you say pulled the job?”
“Bill Everett. He’s been in trouble before. He was picked up in Cofferville for the robbery of a service station.”
“Uh-huh, go ahead.”
“I have a date with him. He’s going to give me the lowdown. Now, if you wanted to cooperate—”
"I’m sorry, Miss Castle,” Nelson said. “You’re out of bounds. Cooperating with you doesn’t do anything except get your company off the hot stove and leave the Police Department holding the bag. If you have any chestnuts in the fire, just get yourself another cat’s-paw.”
“But don’t you want to recover—”
“I want to recover from a couple of bad blows below the belt,” Nelson said. “You don’t know whether Bushnell was legally married to Stella Lynn or not, but you’ve got the story nicely planted on the front page of every newspaper, together with pictures of the stricken husband. I don’t think I care about being a stalking horse. Where is this Bill Everett?”
“Find out, if you’re so damned smart,” she blazed, and slammed the receiver.
She drove rapidly to Elmore, followed it down toward Adams, eased the car to a stop, and waited.
Sitting there in the dark she experienced a feeling of complete loneliness. The motor of the car made sharp crackling noises as the metal cooled off. Five blocks behind her was a through highway. The sound of traffic, muted by distance, came to her ears.
A man walked by but seemed to take no notice of the car. He moved rapidly, heels pounding the pavement as if he were going somewhere in a hurry.
Peggy waited another five minutes. Suddenly she was conscious of a shadow at the right-rear fender of the car. Then the door on the right-hand side swung open. A man eased into the seat beside her and said, “Okay, wind her up.”
Peggy asked, “Are you—”
“Wind her up, I said,” the man told her. “Get the hell out of here.”
Peggy started the motor and glided away from the curb. The man at her side swung around so he could look through the rear window, and carefully watched the street behind him.
“Turn right on Adams,” he said.
Peggy turned right.
“Left at the next intersection.”
Peggy followed instructions.
“Pick up a little speed,” he told her. “Don’t dawdle along. All right, now give it the gun and turn right at the next intersection... Okay, left again... Okay.”
At length the man eased back into a more comfortable position, ceased watching the road behind them, and fastened his eyes on Peggy.
Peggy was conscious of a distinct feeling of disquiet, a peculiar apprehension. Suppose everything didn’t go right. Suppose...
“It’s your dime,” the man said. “Start talking.”
Peggy knew she had to draw him out. So far she had got by on bluff and surmise. Now she was going to need facts, and the man beside her was the only person from whom she could get those facts.
The man continued, “What’s the pitch? Let’s see who you are first. I’m Bill. Who are you?”
Peggy slipped her hand down the opening of her blouse, brought out the jeweled butterfly, held it so he could see it for a brief instant, then popped it back into her blouse.
“Hey, wait a minute,” he said, “where the hell did you get that?”
“Where do you suppose?”
“Here, pull into this next alley,” Bill said. “We’re going to have a showdown on this.”
She felt something prodding at her side, and, glancing down, saw the glint of light on blued steel.
“Get over there. Turn down that alley.” His shoe crushed her foot against the brake pedal.
With a little cry of pain she jerked her foot away. The car swerved. The gun jabbed hard into her ribs. “Turn down that alley!”
She bit her lip, fighting hack the pain in her foot, and turned down the alley.
Bill reached over and turned off the ignition switch. “Now, baby,” he said, “if you’re trying to pull a fast one, what’s going to happen to you isn’t—”