“Well, what did you want to talk to me about then?”
“I knew you were working on the case in Central, and I remembered that you said this girl had been connected with Tom Deery’s suicide. So I called Central City Homicide to find out if you’d come across anything that would tie in with my big-nosed stranger.” Parnell paused a few seconds, regarding Bannion with an odd little smile. “I talked to a Lieutenant Wilks,” he said.
“And what did he have to say?”
“He said you hadn’t turned up anything on the girl’s murder, and that your attempt to connect her with the Deery suicide was just a pipe dream. I don’t think you’re a pipe dreamer, or any other kind of dreamer, Bannion. That’s why I wanted to talk to you.”
“You’re on a good lead,” Bannion said. “Lucy Carroway left her hotel with a man who wore a camel’s hair coat, was dark-skinned and had a big nose. That character’s name is Big Burrows, a Detroit hoodlum, who had been working for Max Stone. He’s left town since Lucy’s murder — and she was murdered, remember, shortly after telling me there might be something queer about Tom Deery’s suicide.”
“Funny he didn’t tell me about this,” Parnell said.
“I think my report has been mislaid by now.”
“What’s wrong with him?”
“They call it human nature,” Bannion said.
“Well, it’s human nature to feel as I do then,” Parnell said, rather grimly. “I’m going to keep plugging away at this one. I don’t like Central City hoodlums using the Thruway as an execution block, and I don’t like the idea of women being tortured and murdered.”
That was the end of their talk. Parnell put on his coat and walked Bannion to his car. The air was cold and the darkness was pushing up from the ground toward the gloomy, purple sky.
“How about having a bite with me?” Parnell said. “Not at my home, because I know you don’t want to meet a lot of strangers. But there’s a lodge down the Thruway where they’ve got charcoal-broiled steaks, and honest drinks. What do you say?”
“I’m afraid not,” Bannion said. “I—”
Parnell put a hand on his arm. “You’ve got to eat, boy. You’ve been driving yourself, haven’t you?”
Bannion hesitated, then glanced at his watch. “Okay, let’s have a steak,” he said.
After dinner Parnell ordered extra coffee and brandy. There was a fire in the main room of the beam-ceilinged lodge, and the warmth of it, and the food and drink, worked some of the tension from Bannion’s body.
“I haven’t said anything about your wife,” Parnell said.
“I appreciate that.”
“Well, let me say this much; I hope you get the sons.”
“I think I will,” Bannion said.
“Is there any way I could help?”
Bannion shook his head slowly. He glanced at his watch. “Can I make a phone call from here?”
“Sure, there’s a phone in the next room.”
Bannion walked into the adjoining room and put in a toll call to Central City. He hadn’t called Marg today, hadn’t said hello to Brigid. It wasn’t fair to saddle them with a worried, anxious child... The operator sang out, “Thirty-five cents, please,” and he dropped in the coins, listening to them clatter ringingly into the box.
Marg’s husband, Al, answered the phone. His voice was high and sharp. “Yes? Who’s this?”
“It’s Dave,” Bannion said. “How’s everything?”
“I’m glad you called. They’ve taken the police detail off the house. Marg — well, she’s kind of worried.”
“When did this happen?”
“There was no replacement after the cop left at six tonight. Marg called the station house, and they told her it was orders. They don’t have the men to spare.”
Bannion swore. He was an hour-and-a-half from their place, perhaps two in the night-time traffic. “There’s nothing to worry about,” he said. “This isn’t Russia.” Bannion knew they were just empty words. He knew trouble could come, to Al, Marg and Brigid. This was a way to hit at him through a four-year-old child.
“Everything’s okay on this end,” Al said. “I’ve—”
Bannion hung up on him and went back to his table. Parnell had already taken the check. “I’ve got to get back to town,” Bannion said. “Can you give me an escort as far as City Line?”
“You’re damn right I can,” Parnell said, rising quickly. “Something wrong, eh?”
“Maybe.”
“You follow’ me. I’ve got a fast car and a loud siren.”
“I’ll follow you,” Bannion said.
Chapter 14
Bannion was on his own as he crossed City Line into Philadelphia. He slowed down to forty with the traffic and tried to keep his imagination and temper in check. They wouldn’t try anything so raw, he kept telling himself; but the knowledge of what they’d done to Lucy Carroway, to Kate, mocked this self-delusion. Why should they stop now? This was their town and they did what they liked with it, and the people in it, whether they happened to be men, women or four-year-old kids.
The traffic thickened as he neared the center of the city. Finally he was through the worst of it, across the river and onto an artery that led out to Marg’s and Al’s home. He opened up then, hammering the horn with a clenched fist, forcing the traffic to give way, slipping through changing lights inches ahead of right-angling cars.
They lived on Filmore Street, a tree-lined avenue of two-story apartment buildings. It was a dark, cloudy night; the street lamps yellow cones barely reached as far as the sidewalks.
There were no lights in the living room of their apartment, Bannion saw, as he went up the stone walk to the entrance. Maybe Al was playing possum. Maybe anything.
He entered the dark vestibule and reached out for the bell of Al’s apartment. Something hard jammed into his back, and a soft but business-like voice said, “Easy Mac! Get your arms away from your body and fast.”
Bannion obeyed slowly, cursing his own carelessness.
“Okay, upstairs,” the soft voice said. “Move nice and easy, big man.” An arm passed around Bannion, the inner door was pulled open. “Up you go.”
Bannion went up the stairs to the first landing. The door opened and Al looked out, a worried frown on his high forehead. “Damn, I’m glad to see you—”
“Shut the door!” Bannion snapped.
“Hold it, relax!”
Bannion spun sideways, slapping downward at the gun in his back. He struck the man’s wrist instead, and heard a yelp of pain. The gun struck the carpeted floor and bounced down the steps.
Al grabbed his arm. “It’s all right, Dave!” he shouted.
The man behind Bannion scuttled down the steps after his gun.
“What’s going on?” Bannion said.
The man picked up the gun and looked up at Bannion with a crestfallen smile. He was slimly built, twenty-eight or thirty, with pleasant, intelligent features. “You’re pretty fast, Mr. Bannion,” he said. “I’m sorry about jumping you, but Al said to stop everybody, and I was just following orders.”
“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Al said. “Get back into the vestibule, Mark.”
Bannion looked from the man with the gun to Al. “What kind of a stunt is this?” he said.
“Come in, come in and I’ll tell you,” Al said.
Bannion shrugged and walked into Al’s apartment. “Well, what is it?” he said.
“He’s a friend of mine,” Al said, closing the door. “After I talked with you I got in touch with some of the guys I soldiered with in the Pacific. They’re good guys. They came on the double.”