Willie King studied him thoughtfully for a minute. “If you mean the kind I think you mean—”
“You read me wrong, Mrs. King. I only want to ask you a few questions.”
“Ask ahead.”
“Do you know Haywood’s mother?”
“Do I not,” Willie King said grimly. “What about her?”
“She had two daughters, didn’t she?”
“Not to hear her tell it. George—Mr. Haywood isn’t even allowed to mention their names, especially Alberta’s.”
“What happened to the other one?”
“Ruth? She ran away and got married to a man her mother didn’t approve of, a fisherman from San Felice named Aguila. That was the end of her as far as the old girl was concerned.”
“Where is Mrs. Aguila now?”
“In San Felice, I guess. Why?”
“Just checking.”
“But why are you checking the Haywood family?” she said sharply. “Why aren’t you talking to the people who knew O’Gorman?”
“Mr. Haywood knew him.”
“Only very briefly, and in the line of business.”
“So did Alberta Haywood.”
“She may have met him, but I’m not even sure of that.”
“George Haywood,” Quinn said, “was very fond of his sister, is that right?”
“Yes, I suppose so.”
“So fond, in fact, that after her embezzlement was discovered George himself had to answer a lot of questions from the police?”
It was only a guess on Quinn’s part, and he was surprised by the vehemence of her reaction. “They were more than questions, I can tell you. They were downright accusations with question marks. Where was the money? How much of it had Alberta lent or given to George? How could George have lived in the same house with her and not have guessed that she was up to something? Didn’t he see the racing forms she brought home every day?”
“Well, didn’t he?”
“No. She didn’t take them home. Not a single copy was found in her room or anywhere else in the house.”
“A careful lady, Alberta. Or else someone took the trouble to clean up after her. Did you know her, Mrs. King?”
“Not very well. Nobody did. I mean, she was one of those background people you see every day but you don’t think of as a person until something happens.”
“‘You don’t think of as a person until something happens,’“ Quinn repeated. “Perhaps that was her main motive, getting some attention.”
“You’re wrong,” Willie King said with a brisk shake of her head, “She suffered horribly, incredibly. I went to the trial. It was terrible, it was like watching an animal that’s been badly injured and can’t tell you where it hurts so you can help.”
“Yet George Haywood turned his back on her?”
“He had to. Oh, it must seem inhuman to you. You weren’t there. I was. The old lady threw a fit every hour on the hour to prevent George from having anything to do with Alberta.”
“Why all the vindictiveness on Mrs. Haywood’s part?”
“It’s in her nature, for one thing. For another, Alberta was always a disappointment to her mother. She was shy and plain, she didn’t have boyfriends, she didn’t get married and produce children, she wasn’t even interesting to live with. Years and years of disappointment to a woman like Mrs. Haywood—well, I got the impression she used the embezzlement as an excuse to do what she’d always wanted to do to Alberta, kick her out and have done with her, forget her.” Willie King looked down at her hands, slim and pale, bare of rings. “Then there was George, of course, the apple of her eye. When his first wife died I think Mrs. Haywood would have danced in the streets if it hadn’t been for the neighbors. It meant George belonged entirely to her again, head, heart and gall bladder. That woman is a monster. But don’t let me go on about that, I could talk for weeks.”
She didn’t have to talk for weeks to make one point clear: the old lady and Willie King were fighting for the same man.
The telephone rang and Mrs. King answered it in a crisp, professional voice: “Haywood Realty Company. Yes... I’m sorry, the house across from Roosevelt Park didn’t meet FHA specifications. We’re going to work on another loan for you... Yes, as soon as possible.” She put down the phone and made a little grimace in Quinn’s direction. “Well, it’s back to work for me. I hate to break this up, I’ve enjoyed talking to you, Mr. Quinn.”
“Maybe you’d like to talk some more, say this evening?”
“I really couldn’t.”
“Why not? Taking a bus to L. A.?”
“Taking my kid sister to a movie.”
“I’m sorry,” Quinn said, rising. “Perhaps next time I come to town?”
“Are you leaving?”
“There’s nothing to keep me here since you have a date with your kid sister.”
“When are you coming back?”
“When do you want me to come back?”
Willie gave him a long, direct stare. “Stop kidding around. I know when a man’s serious about wanting a date with me and when he’s not. You’re not. And I’m not.”
“Then why are you interested in when I’m coming back?”
“I was merely being polite.”
“Thanks,” Quinn said. “And thanks for the information.”
“You’re welcome. Good-bye.”
Quinn walked down the street to his car, drove a block west, made a U-turn and parked in the parking lot of a supermarket. From there he had a view of the Haywood Realty Company and the clock on top of the city hall.
At 1:30 Earl Perkins returned from lunch, looking as if it hadn’t agreed with him. Two minutes later Willie King came out wearing the wide-brimmed straw hat and clutching her handbag. She looked flustered but determined as she climbed into her car and headed south.
Quinn followed her at a distance. Judging from the direct route she took to her destination, Quinn surmised that either she considered herself secure or she was in too much of a hurry to care.
She pulled into the driveway of an old frame house bearing a Haywood Realty “For Sale” sign on a porch pillar, unlocked the front door and went inside. For a minute Quinn thought he’d been mistaken about her after all—she was apparently doing just what she said she was going to do, get back to work. The house faced Roosevelt Park and was without doubt the one she had referred to on the telephone.
He was on the point of leaving when a green Pontiac station wagon stopped in front of the house and a man got out. In spite of the heat he wore a dark gray suit and a matching fedora. He was tall and thin and he walked with slow deliberation as if he’d been told not to hurry. Halfway up the porch steps he was seized by a fit of coughing. He leaned on the railing, holding one hand to his mouth and the other against his chest. When he had finished coughing he let himself into the house, using a key from a large key ring he pulled from his pocket.
Neat, safe and simple, Quinn thought. When George and Willie want to get together without the old lady or anyone else knowing about it, they meet by prearrangement in one of Haywood Realty’s vacant houses. Maybe a different house each time. And Willie’s impassioned plea for me not to go to George and get her fired was just an attempt to prevent me from seeing him and asking questions. Well, it was a good performance, I almost fell for it. In fact, I almost fell for Willie.
Quinn stared at the old frame house as if he were expecting one of the blinds to snap up and reveal some secrets. Nothing happened. It was a dead end and he knew it. Even if he waited and accosted George Haywood, he couldn’t force any information out of him, he had no authority to ask him questions, and no proof that Haywood had been the man who had searched his motel room.
He turned on the ignition and pulled the car away from the curb. It was nearly two o’clock, checking-out time at the motel. By sticking to the mountain roads and by-passing San Felice, he figured he could reach the Tower by five.