Penny Wilkinson sat motionless, frozen, her large liquid eyes fixed on Reardon’s politely querying face. Her mouth was pressed tightly closed, her face bloodless, her knuckles white on the empty glass.
“All right,” Reardon said equably. “Let’s go on. When I first told you about the accident I said it happened at Indiana and Eighteenth. You know San Francisco, you live here. You knew it was miles in the wrong direction from Pier 26 where you docked, but you never mentioned that fact. Why not? I’ll tell you why not — because you could see I didn’t know where the ship was docked, and you hoped nobody would ever note the discrepancy. Because if someone did, it would make Crocker’s story look fishy, and that’s the last thing you wanted. Well?”
Penny continued to stare at him as if in a trance.
“All right,” Reardon said. “You don’t have to say a word. In fact, when we take you in, all your rights will be explained to you. But just so you know where you stand, let me tell you what you did, and how easy it will be to prove: You picked the stones up abroad, not Cooke. Where you picked them up won’t be hard to find out, because Interpol have experts on precious stones who will recognize those sapphires if they were stolen or spot where they came from very closely if they weren’t. Even if they weren’t stolen, it won’t affect your responsibility in Cooke’s death, and maybe even for Crocker’s death—”
For the first time Penny made a sound. Her breath was drawn in sharply; she gave a little cry. Her eyes widened more. Reardon stared at her.
“You didn’t know?”
She shook her head wordlessly, tears forming in her eyes, flooding them. Jan spoke up suddenly, filled to the bottom of her soul with an excess of policemanship.
“Jim! Don’t you know when a person is telling the truth? Or isn’t it important to you any more?”
“It’s important, but I also know there are some fine actors in this world, and Penny and Crocker are — or were — among the best. And a man named Bob Cooke is dead as a result. So save your sympathy for him.” He turned back to the girl. “Your boy friend tried to kill a few more people today when he panicked after your call. He tried to club a garage attendant to death, and then tried to run away in a speedboat in this fog. A railroad barge ran him down. He’s down in the morgue where Bob Cooke was. That was the net result of your telephone call after Don and I left your place this morning, if that pleases you.”
Jan’s voice was pleading. “Jim!”
“All right,” Reardon said heavily, still staring at Penny. “Let me finish my story — maybe it’ll help your lawyer plan your defense. Then everybody can be happy — except Bob Cooke, of course. You picked up the stones. The ship’s shop is closed in port by law, and you’re free, while Cooke often had to work. But while there was an advantage in being free in port outside of this country, the opposite was true when you got back here. Customs abroad — or even here — seldom bother passengers taking things out of a country. Many ports don’t even have Customs officials posted for people boarding ships. But bringing things into a country is a different story. Passengers and crew that leave the ship when it first docks, go through Customs rather vigorously, particularly in a port such as San Francisco where a campaign is on against smuggling—”
The thought crossed his mind how proud Captain Tower would be to hear he’d paid some attention to the lecture the other night before escaping. He came back to his story.
“So you needed someone who could carry the stones off for you. When Jan and I were watching you through binoculars when you first came into the bay, Jan thought you were slipping something to a deck officer, or else holding hands. We made a big joke out of it. But you probably were slipping him something — the stones. Because he worked later, and by the time he left the ship most of the Customs people had quit work, if not all of them. Ship’s officers, even dressed in civvies, usually walk off a ship without any trouble; the ones who live aboard during a port stay go back and forth without the slightest inconvenience, especially since they have no luggage. So Bob Cooke was your perfect sucker. He’d probably been after you for a date for a long time; with your looks it wouldn’t be very hard to handle him.”
Penny’s eyes broke from his; she stared down at her shoes. Dondero spoke at last, his eyes on her face, pain in his eyes. He was studying her beauty, but addressing his words to Reardon.
“I’ll take her in, Jim. I’ll take your car. You and Jan can use Jan’s. You go ahead with your date.”
“We’ll both take her—” Reardon stopped abruptly. He nodded. “All right, Don. The charges are smuggling and accessory to murder. You can have her held on an open charge until you get a warrant. You know how to handle it as well as I do.”
“Probably better. I’ve probably put the arm on more people in my time.” Dondero came to his feet, taking Penny by the arm gently, helping her to her feet. She rose like an automaton. “Penny?” She looked at him blindly. “Penny, let’s go.”
They left the room without a backward glance. There was silence for a few moments and then the sound of the street door being opened and closed. Reardon studied Jan’s face a minute. He walked over, bending down, picking the gin bottle up. He poured himself a drink. His eyes came up to Jan’s; she shook her head in misery. He started to put the bottle on the table when she spoke.
“Jim—”
He looked at her. She was holding out her glass, her face still unforgiving for his having had Penny arrested. Reardon sighed and poured her a drink. She took it in two quick gulps and looked at him somberly. The empty glass dangled from her fingers.
“Jim—”
“Yes?”
“I... I don’t want to stay here overnight...”
“All right.”
She bit her lip. “And I don’t think I want to eat at the Little Tokyo tonight, either.”
Reardon kept his voice equally grave. “All right. In fact, I know a better place to eat. If we aren’t too late. I’ll have to make a call though—”
He put down his glass and walked into the bedroom, picking up the telephone.
Chapter 16
Thursday — 10:00 P.M.
“The food was delicious,” Jan said, and set her napkin down beside her plate, smiling at their host.
“I’m glad you liked it.” Harry Thompson beamed. “I told the lieutenant there’s none better anywhere.” He was a tiny man, far different in appearance from the picture Reardon had formed from hearing his deep voice. His face was weather-beaten and crosshatched with tiny wrinkles; his ears stood at right angles from his head, and he had a ready laugh.
Jan glanced about the elegant, but deserted, dining room.
“I can imagine during a cruise, when everyone is in evening dress, and there are flowers on every table, and the lighting is softer, and there is music playing in the background, it must really be beautiful.”
There was an interruption before the chief purser could answer. A tall young uniformed officer came into the dining room, located their table and came over. He bent over the tiny officer, whispering in his ear. Thompson nodded and looked at Reardon.
“Telephone for you, Lieutenant.”
“Thank you.” Reardon came to his feet, putting his napkin aside. With a wink at the smaller man that was unseen by Jan, he smiled faintly. “And while I’m gone, you might tell Jan some of the interesting things you were telling me about the ship, yesterday. And the quality of the passengers, and things about cruises in general. I’m sure she’d enjoy hearing them.”