The desk had nothing for him but a message to call Linda Wade at Pennypacker 2964.
“When did that come in?” he said.
“It must have been early this morning. Thompson took it and he starts at three.”
“Okay, thanks.”
Mark dialed the Pennypacker number and she answered almost immediately.
“Hello, this is Mark Brewster,” he said. “I just got your message.”
“It’s good of you to call,” she said, rather hesitantly. “I asked the man at the paper for your home telephone, but he told me that was against some regulation or other.”
“Yes, they don’t want Hollywood producers luring us away from the newspaper business,” Mark said. He was trying to be casual because her voice was tight and strained. “What’s up?”
“I’d like to talk to you this afternoon, if I may. I believe it’s important.”
“Certainly, I’ll come right over.”
“Please hurry, Mark.”
She met him at the door of her apartment fifteen minutes later. They sat down and he saw that she seemed tired and nervous.
“Well?” he said.
She met his eyes for a moment, then glanced at the floor. “After the way I acted yesterday, this isn’t too easy for me,” she said.
“Let’s don’t worry about that,” he said. “Obviously, something’s happened to change your mind. What was it?”
“Last night Barny gave me a package to keep for him. He said it was evidence in one of his cases.”
“Oh? What was in it?” Mark said, with only a trace of excitement in his voice.
“I haven’t looked yet. I... I wanted to believe he was telling me the truth, Mark.”
“Well, supposing you get the package and we’ll see if he’s telling the truth or not.”
She hesitated, then said: “It doesn’t seem fair, somehow.”
Mark leaned back in the chair, and lit a cigarette. “What was the idea of calling me? If you’re loyal to him, I’m not the one to talk to.”
“I do feel loyal to him, but, that isn’t it, Mark. I don’t want to be involved in this at all. He may be everything you say he is, but he’s treated me decently, and I don’t want to be the one to sell him out. Can’t you understand that?”
“Frankly, no. You can’t remain loyal to him unless you’ve got a pretty undiscriminating set of loyalties.”
“That’s not fair,” she said, and her eyes met his angrily. “I’m scared and I’m mixed-up, and everything doesn’t fall into neat black-and-white patterns the way it seems to for you.”
“That’s an interesting comment on your personality type, but pretty irrelevant,” Mark said dryly. “Nolan is a murderer, and that’s a fact you can’t reassess by talking about black-and-white patterns.”
“You don’t have the slightest sympathy for him, do you?”
“I’m afraid not, Linda.”
“You’re lucky to be so sure of yourself,” she said. She seemed very vulnerable then, and he felt a tiny, annoying pang of jealousy for Nolan. “This thing might not be totally his fault,” she said. “He hadn’t had the sort of background that develops very strong moral values.”
Mark held up a hand. “Please spare me the sad songs about environmental moulding. The society we live in holds people responsible for what they do, whether they come from South Philadelphia or the Main Line. That may or may not be a just and equitable set-up, but it’s the one we have to work with. So let’s leave determinism to the professors, shall we?”
“You don’t know him at all.”
“Well, I don’t know him as well as you, obviously. I haven’t had your opportunity or, should I say, endowments?”
“That’s a sophomoric comment,” she said angrily.
Mark sighed. “I suggest we stop quibbling about it. Supposing you get the package. That will settle it pretty much one way or the other.”
She left the room and returned a few moments later with the newspaper-wrapped bundle. Mark took it from her and held it in his hands. Then he untied the knots at one end of the package and turned back the paper carefully. He could see the ends of a sheaf of banknotes.
“That’s the money, isn’t it?” Linda said in a low voice; and the words seemed loud in the stillness of the room.
“I imagine so.” Mark pulled one bill out far enough to see its denomination. Then he nodded. “Yes, this looks like the twenty-five thousand dollars that belongs to Mike Espizito. It’s the money Dave Fiest was carrying when Nolan shot him.”
“What are you going to do now?” Linda said, turning away from him and sitting on the sofa. Her face was white, and he saw a tiny pulse beating in her throat. Oddly moved, he sat beside her and took one of her hands; but she pulled it away quickly.
“I don’t want to be comforted,” she said, half-angrily.
“Okay, okay,” he said. He re-wrapped the bundle of money, tied it securely and dropped it into her lap. “You’d better put it away,” he said.
“Aren’t you going to take it to the police?”
“I don’t know what to do,” he admitted. “This money is conclusive evidence as far as I’m concerned, but it wouldn’t be enough for a murder indictment. You see, Nolan could deny having given you the money, for one thing. Secondly, even if we could establish his possession of the money, that wouldn’t establish the fact of murder. He could conceivably wriggle out of it by saying he had taken the money but hadn’t had a chance to report it. That would stink to high heaven, and the Civil Service Commission would grab him, but it still wouldn’t prove he murdered Dave Fiest.”
Linda lit a cigarette with trembling fingers. “I can’t see him again, Mark.”
“You’ll have to, I’m afraid. You can’t let him suspect that anything has happened to change your relationship.”
“I wish you’d stop implying that we’ve been sharing a love nest,” she said irritably.
“Any way you want it,” he said, and shrugged.
They were silent a moment. Then she smiled faintly at him and shook her head. “I’m sorry,” she said.
“Forget it,” he said, but wished she’d stop jolting him off-balance with her reactions. “What did you tell Nolan about my visit here?”
“I lied to him about it, Mark. Something about him frightened me last night. I started to tell him the truth, and then, almost without realizing it, I told him that you had run him down and then asked me for a date.” She colored slightly. “That was all I could think of.”
“Well, that will probably satisfy him,” Mark said. He glanced at his watch and got to his feet. “I really don’t know what the hell to do next. Just sit tight, I guess.”
She came with him to the door. “Won’t I be able to see you again?” she said. “I suspect you think I’ve acted like a fool. But I’ll need someone to talk to, Mark.”
“That wouldn’t be smart,” he said, and, perversely, found himself enjoying her disappointment. Hell, he thought. “Okay, I’ll call you tonight, here, after your last show. We’ll have to be careful about how we get together.”
“Thanks, Mark.”
He patted her shoulder and left.
The District was quiet, Mark learned at the Sixty-fifth. He checked through the accident reports and chatted with Sergeant Brennan a while before going upstairs to the detectives division.
“Hi, ya, Scoop,” Smitty called to him as he walked around the counter. Sergeant Odell nodded at him over his paper. Lindfors and Gianfaldo were arguing about the details of a shooting that had occurred seven years ago, and Nolan was standing at the window, staring down into the street.