“Drink up.”
“It’s not important that I finish. I’m really not that much of a drinker.” She saw his eyes go to the crowded card table. “Oh. That was Bob. He didn’t drink much, either, but he liked to have liquor on hand, in case anyone dropped in. And it’s so cheap on the boats.” She took in her breath, staring at the carpet, her face a mask, and then looked up with a sigh. “What a terrible waste of a person!”
Reardon merely nodded. He couldn’t think of anything else to do or say, but the policeman in him heard her words and automatically tried to fit them into the pattern. Could Bob Cooke have taken one drink too many before leaving the ship that night? A few quick ones to celebrate being in port with all assignments completed and a wonderful date in store? And supposing he did? Then, even less reason for putting the technical gang off the Buick until tomorrow and getting Merkel to ask for a continuance. And making Crocker rent a car, because if he couldn’t afford taxis he wasn’t going to find renting cars very cheap. The poor schnook looked like he could use every nickel. Who rode 1940 Buicks unless they couldn’t afford something more modern, or unless they were so loaded they did it for kicks? And the ones who were loaded and did it for kicks certainly didn’t live at the Martinique Apartments, unless they also had a thing for roaches. He sighed, amazed at his own confusion. So next time don’t get involved in the problems of Traffic, he thought. Sometimes they can be more deadly than Homicide. The thought made him smile.
“Let’s go, Penny. I think I’m getting hungry.”
“All right,” she said obediently.
She led the way to the hall, locking her door behind her with a key, and walked down the steep steps at Reardon’s side, not quite avoiding the offer of his hand on her arm, but not requesting it either. Quite a girl, he thought approvingly, and smiled down at her. She answered his smile with a sudden seriousness.
“You could have picked me up after lunch to go the Municipal Court,” she said, looking at him. “Or I could have taken a cab. I’m afraid I’m not going to be very good company at lunch.” She was very nearly his height, he realized; Jan had been right. But then, Jan had to bend her neck to look up at him.
“You’re fine. And you’ll continue to be fine.”
She paused. “If you say so.”
“I say so.” He held the car door open for her, closed it behind her once she was seated, and walked around the back, climbing in at his side and fitting the key into the ignition. It suddenly occurred to him that it had been a long time since he had shown Jan the courtesy of opening a car door. And don’t try to defend yourself with the weak excuse that Penny had recently suffered a loss, he told himself sternly. Gallantry is gallantry, and Jan has earned it if anyone ever has.
“What?” Penny asked, looking at him.
“I must have been talking to myself,” he said, a bit red-faced, and twisted the key in the ignition.
Wednesday — 12:55 P.M.
Freddy’s was crowded as usual, but as usual Timmy Boyle — and nobody in the world looked less like a maître d’ than Timmy Boyle — lifted the velvet rope with a hand like a ham hock à la Freddy’s and led Reardon and his companion to an excellent table along the railing. He attempted to appear diffident but there was obviously something on his mind, and it was bothering him. He clutched the menus in his huge hands as if they were life jackets and the restaurant was sinking into the waters of Beach Street. The look with which he favored Penny neatly combined nervousness with an admiration impossible to conceal.
“Hi, Lieutenant. Say—”
“Hello, Timmy. Two very dry martinis, standing up. Bombay gin, lemon peel twist.”
“Just one,” Penny said, opening her menu. “I’ve had my ration of alcohol for today.”
Reardon studied her a moment and then nodded. “Just one, Timmy. Dry.”
“Sure, Lieutenant. But—”
Reardon conceded graciously. “But what?”
Timmy swallowed, searching for words. “A friend of yours—”
He tilted his head backward with the subtlety of an elephant avoiding a falling tree or a swarm of mice. My Lord! Reardon thought; if you hadn’t been able to duck left hooks any better when you were in the ring, no wonder your face looks like it does. Like ham hock à la Freddy’s, for example. He took pity on Timmy and rescued him.
“Who is it? Jan?”
Timmy was relieved that Reardon had guessed. “Yeah, Lieutenant.”
“Good,” Reardon said with satisfaction and looked at Penny with apology. “Would you pardon me for a minute?”
“Of course.”
He came to his feet, moving across the crowded restaurant floor. Jan watched him approach with expressionless eyes. Her small knuckles whitened as she gripped the stem of her martini glass more tightly, but other than this she did not betray her feelings at all. Reardon smiled down at her as if nothing had happened between them.
“Hello, Jan.”
“Hello, Lieutenant. Fancy meeting you here.” Her eyes came down; she glanced across the room to Reardon’s table companion. “I must say, you certainly work fast. Just like. New Year’s Eve — out with the old, in with the new. All in a matter of minutes.” She looked again; despite herself a slight frown crossed her face. Curiosity showed in her voice. “Isn’t that the girl we were watching on the ship?”
“It is. May I sit down?”
“No.” Jan’s hazel eyes studied his face impersonally. “What did you do to meet her? Subpoena the entire crew?”
“Not quite.” He started to pull a chair back from the table, but her hand abandoned the martini in favor of instantly pushing palm outward in negation. Her slightly lumpy little chin began to tremble faintly and then hardened with resolve.
“Pardon me if I sound inhospitable, Lieutenant, but it’s only because I happen to feel that way at the moment. I have this thing, a phobia about crowds. I’d rather sit alone right now, if you don’t mind. Besides, won’t you look a little ridiculous dashing from one table to another between courses? So if you don’t mind—”
“I happen to mind.” He sat down, leaning forward, speaking seriously. “Jan, yesterday you said something jokingly about my having competition when you were watching Penny—” He tipped his head toward his table, but barely. Timmy Boyle could have taken a lesson from it. “—that’s her — through the binoculars. What did he look like?”
Jan considered him with false sweetness.
“Jealous, already?” She shook her head chidingly. “My, my, Lieutenant! You should have more faith in your charm. It’s quite effective, you know. I speak, you realize, from considerable experience.”
Reardon paid no attention to her sardonic mood.
“Just answer me. Was he a good-looking guy about my size and weight? Maybe a little taller? In his late twenties? With dark hair and a thick, dark mustache?”
“Why? Tell me, Lieutenant, are you afraid he’ll follow you here and cause a scene?” She shook her close-cropped head in an effort to appear disdainful. “I doubt it. That whole scene-in-a-public-place is out of date. Look at me, for example. Do you notice how calmly I’m taking the whole thing?”
“Damn it, Jan! I’m serious!” His voice was low, but none the less tense. For several moments Jan stared at him as if judging his motives; then her long experience with Jim Reardon both as a man and as a police officer made her answer with equal seriousness.
“He was wearing an officer’s cap, peaked,” she said, “so I couldn’t see his hair, but the rest was right. And he had a thick mustache. Why?”
“What else can you tell me about him?”
“Nothing. They looked like they were holding hands a few moments, and then he went back inside. He was wearing a uniform, a standard officer’s uniform, blue, with brass buttons. I can’t think of anything particular, or anything else. Why?”