He hesitated. Reardon waited, his face a mask. Dondero sighed.
“But I’ll tell you this, Jim — and I think you know it: with the case you have right now, together with catching him flagrantly spitting on the sidewalk, we couldn’t hold Crocker for a misdemeanor.”
Reardon looked at him for several seconds and then turned to stare out of the car window, looking down the street, letting his gaze move back to the telephone pole in the middle of the block. His big hands held the steering wheel of the car lightly. He sighed deeply.
“I suppose you’re right,” he said. “In fact, I know you’re right. But I’m right too. That’s the problem.”
He started to put the car into gear. Dondero put out his hand, touching the lieutenant’s arm.
“Jim—”
Reardon turned. “Yes?”
“There’s just one thing—” He hesitated a moment and then went on. “You’ve been living this thing pretty intensely for the past twenty-four hours. I haven’t had it that long, but I’ve had a piece of it. Now, you and me, well, we’re used to it. It’s our job. But with Penny it’s different. Penny—”
“What about Penny?”
Dondero tried to explain. “Well, we’re all going out to dinner to relax. If we kick this thing around all evening, nobody’s going to be very relaxed. Especially Penny. Let’s drop the whole subject of Bob Cooke and Crocker and accidents and murder and everything else that comes under the heading of police work. For tonight, I mean. Let’s try to have fun, or as much fun as we can under the circumstances.”
“Fair enough,” Reardon said quietly and then suddenly grinned. He slid the car into gear and fed her gas, heading toward Mariposa and the nearest entrance to the Skyway. He seemed to be more at ease than he had been all day. “One thing is sure — Jan won’t mind...”
Chapter 12
Thursday — 7:45 A.M.
Lieutenant Jim Reardon lay on his back in bed in the dim room faintly lit through drawn shades, smoking a cigarette. His open eyes were fixed on the shadowy ceiling, his thoughts tracing for the hundredth time the intricate maze of the Crocker-Cooke puzzle, reliving every moment of the past two days, searching for answers or at least signposts. At his side, snuggling against him, warm and soft and extremely feminine, Jan breathed quietly in sleep. Reardon reached over and crushed out his cigarette, trying not to disturb Jan. The movement merely caused her to press herself against him more closely, as if seeking protection, without breaking the even tenor of her breathing. There was a throaty quality to it that reminded him of the purring of Smokey. He glanced down at her gamin face and smiled tenderly. In more than her purring did she remind him of Smokey, that most lovable of animals. Both had claws and could use them when required, but far more important was the major difference between them — their difference in sex.
The sudden ringing of the telephone at his side startled him from his reverie. He reached for it instantly, lifting the receiver, hoping he had stopped it before it wakened the girl at his side. And who in the devil could be calling at what had to be the first crack of dawn? he thought savagely. In your job almost anyone in the world, he answered himself unhappily; that’s who. He spoke into the mouthpiece.
“Hello?” It was practically a whisper.
“Jim? This is Don.” Dondero sounded wide-awake and happy to be alive. “Crummy day out, what?” He sounded pleased about it, and then changed the subject. “Hey, how about doing me a favor? My heap’s in the garage — transmission’s shot. Comes from trying to drive like you. Anyway, how’s about picking me up on the way into the Hall, huh? Not at my place, at Penny’s.” A potential interpretation of this statement suddenly occurred to him and he hurried to correct any possible misunderstanding. “Don’t get me wrong, man. I’m home right this minute, and this is where I slept. It’s just—” His voice took on a note of pride. “Well, I’m going over there for breakfast. How about that, huh?”
“What time is it?”
“Quarter to eight on a lovely, foggy, rainy typical California day. What more do you want? And what’s the matter with your voice? You getting laryngitis?”
“No, it’s just—”
Behind Reardon a throaty voice spoke. There was a smile in it.
“You don’t have to whisper. I’m awake. Who is it?”
He cupped the receiver, smiling over his shoulder. “It’s Don. He wants me to pick him up at Penny’s.” He saw her eyebrows go up mischievously and shook his head with a grin. “I hate to disappoint you sex-starved match-making women, but he’s home and he slept home. He’s just going over there for breakfast.” He turned back to the telephone. “No, I’m all right. Just a frog in my throat. When do you want to be picked up?”
“Yeah, you sound a lot better now,” Dondero conceded. “Pick me up, say, in an hour? There’s a cab stand on the corner — this hour shouldn’t be any problem getting one. I’ll be over at Penny’s in fifteen minutes, tops.”
“And if there aren’t any cabs, you can always trot, eh?”
“The word is jog,” Dondero said and grinned.
Jan was sitting up in bed, twisting to reach up and release the window shade over the bed. It slid up a foot; beyond it the drizzle tapped the glass. The building next door was scarcely visible in the foggy morning. San Francisco, I still love you, she thought and turned to him.
“Go ahead,” she said with a smile. “I’ll catch a cab down to the office.”
She saw his attention drawn to her full, lush breasts and slid back under the covers, making a face at him.
Reardon brought his attention back to the telephone with an effort.
“I’ll tell you what, Don,” he said. “Make that an hour and a half instead of an hour, and you have a ride. I’ll pick you up.”
“Great,” Dondero said happily. “And thanks.” He put the receiver back in its cradle.
“You didn’t have to do that,” Jan said seriously. “I could have caught a cab down to the office. You don’t have to drive me downtown and then come all the way back.”
“Who’s going to drive you downtown?” Reardon asked, sounding amazed at the weird suggestion. He reached up and pulled the shade down again, and then slid under the covers, putting his strong arms around her, drawing her willing body tightly against his, putting his head down to kiss first her breasts, then her throat, and finally locking his mouth on hers in growing need. The kiss finally broke. Jan rubbed herself against him, and then opened her eyes. They twinkled up at him impishly.
“An hour and a half?” she asked. “Mmmmm!”
Thursday — 9:20 A.M.
Lieutenant Reardon parked the Charger on the sharp hill, took the necessary precautions to keep the car in place with the automatic movements of any San Francisco driver, and slipped from the seat with a whistle on his lips. The drizzle had stopped, at least momentarily, replaced by damp fog. He crossed the street and trotted up the many steps of the tall, Victorian-style house, feeling at peace with the world and himself. The usual roller-coaster view of Fort Mason disappeared after less than a block, buried in the whitish mist below. He knew that when Judge Jorgensen opened Municipal Court the following day, he was going to have to do a lot of explaining to a lot of people, but that was the following day. Today was today and had started off wonderfully, despite the weather.