When he finally left, nobody tailed Ballard to his motel.
When Heslip left Fontana’s, somebody tailed him back to Fleur’s place. At least he thought maybe somebody did. “You know anyone drives a white Monte Carlo Landau Coupe? I keep seeing the same car behind us.”
“Somebody jealous, you mean?” He nodded. “Jealous of a topless dancer?” She gave a great burst of laughter.
“Don’t sell yourself short,” said Heslip. He stopped at the curb and started to get out to go around and open her door.
“Yeah, I saw the way you couldn’t wait to get at me in that bed last night.” She grabbed his arm. “Don’t get out, you’ll miss your plane.” Her eyes were momentarily serious. “I’ll remember this day jus’ fine the way it is.” She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “That’s a lucky woman out there in San Francisco, Bart Heslip.”
She was out of the car and up the stairs with a wave of the hand. Quite a girl. He waved also, though she was already gone, then pulled out into traffic. And back to work, keeping an eye out for that Monte Carlo. It was dark, so he wasn’t sure until thirty minutes later, when he left I-10 at Williams Boulevard and could get a look at the car again under the streetlights.
Yeah. But why? Verna? Then who? And where and when and how had the men picked him up? Last night? This morning when they’d still been asleep at Fleur’s? Might explain the car locked when they’d come out. When and where. But how in the hell...
He went by the row of dilapidated taxis parked on the shoulder of Airport Highway waiting for radioed pickup calls from the terminal, checked in his rental car, and went up the escalator from ground level with the two men from the Monte Carlo so tight behind he was afraid they might try to stand on his step with him.
White, tough, not bright but dogged. How, for Chrissake, had they even known he was in New Orleans? What could Verna have that they wanted? Were they bird-dogging him to her, or trying to beat him to her? And how to shake them, notify Kearny of the tail, call Corinne to say he loved her...
Then he got a break. He noted, without seeming to, that his Boston flight would depart half an hour late. Gave him time to shake them. First, to the National Airlines desk on the second floor of the bright new modern building, for a one-way ticket to Miami on a flight leaving in three hours. Next, to an arcade restaurant with a second entrance from the corridor through the men’s room. Then, a table by the window to order a steak, pie, and coffee, with a three-minute discussion about the wine he would order.
While waiting for his supper, he went to the men’s room. The door, as he swung it open, reflected the images of his two tough-faced tails just settling down at the counter with coffee and pecan pie.
No, not bright. Not bright at all.
At Eastern he picked up the ticket he’d ordered that afternoon by phone, and made it through the airport security and onto the Boston-bound plane with a full sixty seconds before departure time. He slept most of the way to big, empty, echoing Logan International, where he found a pay phone from which to call Corinne. He gave a jaw-creaking yawn as he waited: at least he’d hit Boston clean.
“This is your handsome charming prince checking in,” he said.
“Bart!” Her voice became elaborately casual. “I thought I’d hear from you last night.”
“I’m sorry honey, it’s been a couple of hectic days.”
“Hectic days with Fleur?” She couldn’t keep the sudden venom out of her voice. Heslip’s mind raced against frightening thoughts.
“How in hell did you hear about Fleur?”
“So you did sleep with her!” she cried in despairing triumph. And hung up. And wouldn’t answer repeated rings. Damn, damn.
Twenty-Three
“I have to assume Heslip isn’t going to come up with Verna Rounds,” Tranquillini told them before the Thursday morning session. “Until Simson, the State had no direct evidence to prove or support their charges. Just hearsay. Now they have a witness whose testimony expands the State’s case at every point. There is only one way to keep that letter he swears Kathy signed from being admitted into evidence — which would mean your license would be taken away.”
“What’s that?” asked Kearny levelly.
“I have to prove he’s a perjurer.”
When Corinne Jones let herself into the office, her phone was ringing. She picked up.
“Good morning, Far Flung Travel.”
“Listen, baby, now don’t hang up on me—”
She hung up on him. And burst into tears.
Jeffrey L. Simson did not look ready to burst into tears. He looked cool and calm and collected — and well briefed. Tranquillini hoped he’d been briefed against delaying tactics, not a try for the jugular.
“Now, Mr. Simson, you testified yesterday that you were a collector at Kearny Associates. What were your duties?”
“To call the debtors on the phone and pressure them into paying the money that they owed.”
“And you worked there for how long?”
Today, Simson was ready for it. “I started work at the DKA Oakland office on October eleventh, last year, and quit on February thirteenth this year.”
“Quit?”
He looked quickly at Delaney. “Was... um... terminated.”
“That was approximately four months. How many people would you say you called up during the average working day?”
“Mmmm... I would think about twenty-five.”
“It is a pleasure to interrogate a well-schooled witness.” Before an objection could be made, Tranquillini went on, “Now tell me, on the first day you worked for Kearny Associates, that would be October eleventh, what was the name of the first person you called?”
Delaney was on his feet. “Mr. Hearing Officer, the name of the first person he called has no relevancy to this case.”
“If Your Honor please, I am testing the man’s recollection.”
“The witness doesn’t have to attest to his memory, for God sake!” exclaimed Delaney. “He doesn’t remember, how could he? You’re just harassing him for no reason.”
Tranquillini did his Al Capone jaw-thrust number for the first time during the hearing.
“I will decide what I shall ask him, and the Hearing Officer will decide whether or not I have the right to ask it. He talks to twenty-five people a day, and then claims he can’t...”
“The objection is overruled,” said the Hearing Officer.
Tranquillini went after him. “Mr. Simson, what was the name of the party to whom you made your first phone call on October eleventh?”
“I... do not recall.”
“Do you recall the name of any person that you telephoned during the entire month of October, your first in DKA’s employ?”
“Ah... no sir.”
“You were terminated for cause on February thirteenth of this year. What was the name of the last person you telephoned while in the employ of Daniel Kearny Associates...”
Toni put her hand over the mouthpiece and caught Corinne’s eyes. “Bart Heslip.”
Corinne shook her head violently. “Hang up on him.”
Toni would have loved nothing better, but there’d been an extraordinary note of desperation in Heslip’s voice. And she could see that Corinne was really hurting, too.
“He says it’s really, really important.”
“I... oh, damn him, I’ll take it.” She snatched up her phone. Her heart was beating so wildly she was afraid it was going to jump right up in her throat. “I told you I didn’t want to talk to you.”