“Because,” Reardon said flatly, “right at this moment, while we’re all having lunch in a nice air-conditioned place like Freddy’s, he’s also in an air-conditioned place: a stainless-steel box in the morgue down at the Hall of Justice.” He made no attempt to hide or even disguise the brutality of his statement. Even his voice was unnecessarily harsh. “And after lunch I’m taking Penny down to the Municipal Court to see if she recognizes the man who killed him.”
Jan’s face whitened. She dropped all pretense of indifference or any lightness. “How terrible!”
“Yes. Especially for the girl, for Penny.” Reardon paused a moment before continuing; when he did his voice had lost its roughness, his eyes were steady on hers. “His name was Bob Cooke, the one who was killed, and, well — they had something going for themselves. Like we have.” He contemplated her evenly. “Or should I say, ‘Like we had’?”
“Have,” she said, and her hand went out to his on the table, covering it. “Have, Jimmy.”
“Good,” Reardon said quietly. He slid his hand from beneath hers, took her hand in his and turned it over, feeling warm at just touching her, admiring her stubby, talented fingers, the evenly trimmed and unpainted fingernails. He squeezed her hand gently. “And as for that assignment last night—”
“I know about that,” Jan said, and gave him her gamin grin. “You thought getting out of the meeting on any excuse would get you back to the Little Tokyo sooner. Sergeant Dondero made quite an impassioned plea for you a while ago.”
“He did, did he?”
“He did, indeed. I tried to call you but you’d already left for lunch. We’ve eaten here so often I thought you might come here, but when I saw you walk in with another woman — and a beautiful one at that—” She shrugged lightly, apologetically, but her voice was quite serious. “I’m sorry. I’m the jealous type. Do you mind?”
“I’d mind if you weren’t.” He gave her hand a final squeeze and then freed it a bit reluctantly, coming to his feet. He reached over, lifting her partially emptied martini. “Come over and eat with us and meet her. I have a feeling your type conversation is more what she needs right now than mine. With a policeman it’s difficult not to get back on the same subject, and this isn’t the time or the place for any more of it.”
“Of course,” Jan said sympathetically. She picked up her purse and obediently followed him across the room. From his vantage point at the velvet barrier to the large room, Timmy Boyle smiled in pleased fashion. Both the red-haired lieutenant and his small but cute girl friend were long-time favorites of his, and under that battered exterior, Timmy was quite a romantic.
Penny watched the other girl as Reardon carefully set the martini down and pulled a chair back for Jan. He waited until she was seated, sat down himself, and turned to Penny.
“Penny — Miss Wilkinson — this is—”
“I know. Jan.”
Jan looked surprised. “How did you know that?”
Penny smiled. “Because Lieutenant Reardon said that his girl, Jan, had hazel-colored eyes.”
“He did, did he?” Jan’s tone attempted to assume indignation, but she was obviously pleased. She picked up her glass, smiling affectionately at Reardon. “And just how did you happen to get onto the subject of the color of my eyes?”
“I was looking at a cat,” Reardon began and then laughed aloud. The expression on Jan’s face was wary, wondering what was coming next. “You see how easy it is for the innocent to get into trouble just by telling the truth?” He reached for the martini which had been delivered during his absence. “What I mean is—”
“You’d better let me tell the story, Lieutenant,” Penny said. It was evident she was trying to maintain a light approach to matters, to keep her mind from Bob Cooke. She turned to Jan. “I have a cat named Smokey who belongs to a neighbor but who practically lives with me when I’m home, and Lieutenant Reardon met Smokey today and was admiring him. He said Smokey’s eyes reminded him of something, and I suggested it might be his girl friend, and he said—”
“I said my girl Jan has hazel eyes,” Reardon said. “Satisfied?”
“Completely.”
Timmy Boyle had come to stand behind them, waiting for a break in their conversation to distribute the menus. When it came he handed one folder to each and stood back politely. Jan opened hers, idly scanned it a moment, and then looked up.
“Incidentally,” she said curiously, “if it wasn’t me, who did the cat’s eyes make you think of?”
Reardon’s smile faded abruptly.
“That’s something that still bothers me,” he said shortly. “That’s something I’d still like to know.” And he picked up his drink almost angrily and finished it.
Chapter 8
Wednesday — 1:55 P.M.
Lieutenant Reardon punched the button on the first-floor elevator bank at the Hall of Justice, well aware that both uniformed and nonuniformed grades he knew were passing in the mottled marbled lobby at the time, and that they, as well as the public who also used the building intensively, were giving the girl with him a complete once-over, obviously with approval. They should pay as much attention to the pictures and descriptions of the Wanteds on the bulletin boards, he thought sourly, and hit the button again. The elevator, apparently startled at this extra attention from people who normally enjoyed being away from their desks, quickly slid a door open for him. He gratefully escaped into the interior, leading the girl ahead of him, when a large hand suddenly appeared from the outside, holding the door. A moment later its owner, Sergeant Dondero, entered, pressed the button to close the door, and turned to face them. Reardon sighed hopelessly; Dondero had a wicked grin on his face that the lieutenant recognized, and he appeared in a happy mood, always a dangerous sign.
He leaned over, speaking in a sotto voce that undoubtedly carried up the elevator shaft to the County Jail on the sixth floor.
“Hi, Lieutenant. Is she dangerous? If you want I could hold her while you handcuff her...”
Reardon paid no attention, pushing the button for the second floor.
“If she’s armed,” Dondero offered, “I could search her...”
“Don, shut up!” He shook his head, beaten. “Oh, all right! Miss Wilkinson, this is Sergeant Dondero.”
“Charmed,” Dondero said and grinned. Penny merely stared at him without expression. The door slid open at the second floor. For a moment the three stood looking at each other; then Reardon put his finger on the button to hold the cab in place.
“Municipal Court is on this floor, Penny,” he said. “Just turn right after you leave the elevators. They’ll have the list of cases — the docket — on the bulletin board outside. His name will be on it; Ralph Crocker. You just walk in and sit down and wait for his case. He should be one of the first; it won’t last long. We’re asking the court for a continuance. We haven’t had a chance to look the car over yet.”
Dondero frowned at him. “What do you mean we haven’t had a chance to look the car over yet? Are you still sticking your nose into this, Jim?”
Reardon disregarded him. “He’s a tall, thin man. Anyway, they’ll announce the case.”
The girl looked at Reardon helplessly. “Aren’t you going to come in with me?”
“No. I have a lot of work to do. Anyway, it isn’t necessary. You’ll be fine.”
“And you just want me to look at him?”
“That’s right. Watch him, study how he moves, what his voice sounds like. I know you said you’d never heard Bob Cooke mention Crocker by name, but I’d like you to really look at him. See if you can remember Bob Cooke ever describing anyone like him, or talking to him anywhere. In a bar, or on the dock, or anywhere at all.”