“I’ll need to look at the notes you got — if you still got them.”
“I do. I saved them to give to the police.” She crossed the room to a desk and pulled out two pieces of paper. I looked them over. “When did you receive these?”
Emily sat back down on the bed. Last week, maybe two nights after Thomas disappeared, and then the night before last. They were slipped under my door.”
“Has anything else happened, other than the notes?”
“No, not I can think of.” I slipped the notes into the pocket of my overcoat. “Incidentally, what is your full name?”
“Emily Sue Patterson.”
“Listen, Emily, like I told you, I’m looking for Thomas Malloy. If I can find out who’s hassling you and get them to stop, will you tell me everything you know about him?”
She thought about it for a moment. “I guess so. I think I can trust you… why are you looking for him?”
“An old friend of his hired me to find him. He might be in danger.”
“I’ll do what I can. I didn’t know him that well, but he was very good to me. The last time I saw him…”
The door burst open. Leach looked from me to Emily and back to me. He seemed almost disappointed that he hadn’t caught us in a compromising position. He pointed a cigar sized finger at me. “You! Get the hell outta here! Emily, you’re on in five minutes!”
I tipped my hat to the young lady and walked out the door. Leach followed me, slamming the door behind him. He whispered menacingly at me as he followed me down the stairs.
“Leave her alone, Murphy. Take her away from me, and I’ll kill you. Don’t you ever forget that. I’ll kill you.”
Discretion being the better part of valour, I didn’t reply. Leach followed me to the bottom of the stairs, grabbed me by the arm, and pushed me toward a side door.
“You go out here. And don’t bother coming back. I don’t like nosy people hanging around my place.”
The door slammed behind me. I was back in the alley between the Flamingo and the Ritz. At least I’d learned a lot since the last time Leach had booted me out of his club.
Chapter Five
I set the needle down carefully. A few seconds a crackling, then Nat King Cole’s voice began to fill the office. I walked around the desk and dropped into my chair. The desktop was covered: a partially filled glass, a bottle of JD behind it, he smouldering ashtray, a fingerprint testing kit, a magnifying glass, and other investigative paraphernalia. In the centre of this mess were the two notes Emily had given me. Three hours’ worth of analysis, and I was no better off than when I’d started.
One note read: I’m watching you. I take pictures. Be afraid. It was written on a plane 8 1/2 by 11 inch sheet in block letters with a standard No. 2 pencil. At the bottom of the sheet was a symbol shaped like an arrow. It seemed familiar to me, though I couldn’t think of where I’d seen it before. The second note was identical, except for the content. It read: It won’t be long now. You and I will be together.
Whoever had sent the notes was one sick, creepy bastard, but he was also very careful. There were only two sets of prints on the sheets: mine and Emily’s. No stains, no marks of any kind. Everything he’d used to create the notes was standard, easy to get, and untraceable. There was one unique thing about the notes: the arrow symbol. It wasn’t much, but it was my only angle.
“Certainly has been a long time, Tex.” Patty Baker’s full, rosy cheeks glistened under false eyelashes and peroxide-friendly hair.
“Yeah, well, you know how it is for me, Patty. Work, work, work.”
It was a slight exaggeration, but Patty required excuses. She and I had gotten chummy a couple of years ago. It had been an unintentional foray into the world of one-night stands, but the resulting ungentlemanly obligation that came with it would make me uncomfortable every time I paid a visit to the San Francisco PD Main Precinct. One night had been enough to convince me that she must be someone else’s type.
Patty pursed her lips and pouted in a somewhat revolting fashion. “I’ll bet you could squeeze me into a busy shadow for an evening or two.”
“I’ll have to take a rain check, sweetheart. I’ve got a big case going — could keep me busy for months… years, even. As a matter of fact, that’s why I’m here. I need to bend Mac’s ear for a bit.”
Patty gave me a coy, girlish look and ogled me in a way that was supposed to leave me wanting more. She leaned forward, reaching for the Vid-phone control panel. A deep, raspy voice jumped out of the speaker behind the front desk. “What?!”
Patty pressed down a button and looked up at me, seductively. Nothing about her look made me change my mind.
“Mr Tex Murphy to see you, sir.”
“God… all right! Send him back!”
Patty punched the door release, and I step through the security scanner.
“Thanks, Patty.” As I passed her, a paw cupped my backside. I jumped slightly and quickened my pace to Mac Malden’s office. I felt violated.
I only saw Mac when I needed a favour from the police department. It was a friendship of convenience, at least for me. I unintentionally helped him solve a couple of cases in the past, including the murder of Marshal Alexander. Mick Flemm’s robbery spree, and the mysterious death of Rusty the Clown. Mac was old school and knew when he owed someone, even if he bitched every time I asked for anything.
The crusty cop was sprawled in a high-backed swivel chair, a bent smoke sticking up from under his moustache and a police report in his hands. His desk was piled with papers, plastic freezer bags full of various items, at least a dozen Styrofoam cups, and a handful of petrified doughnut chunks. Mac set the police report on the desk, took a deep drag, and leaned back. He always tried to look like he was busy doing important work whenever I came by.
“Make it quick, Murphy. I’ve got about a million things to do, and wasting my time on you isn’t one of them.”
“Geez, Mac. I don’t see you that often. I worry about you… you don’t look too good.”
“Yeah?! Well, neither do you! You look like crap!”
“Oh, I’ll admit, I’m not twenty-eight any more, but, you know, I feel great. I’ve got one of those juicers, and it really works! I think you could do with the nice cabbage and carrot juice blend.”
“What’d you do? Quit the PI business and sign up with Robco? I don’t wanna buy a damn juicer — and I don’t like wise guys coming in my office and annoying me! So get out!”
“Ok. Calm down, Mac I’m just kidding you. I actually have a reason for stopping by. I want you to look at something.”
I pulled the notes from my coat pocket, unfolded them, and set them in front of Mac. He lit another smoke and looked them over carefully. Then he motioned for me to close his office door.
“Where did you get these?” his tone of voice was startlingly unfamiliar. He was looking directly at me, without a hint of the usual acid gruffness or antagonisms.
“A client gave them to me.”
Mac handed the notes back to me, then pulled a sheet of paper and pen and out of a desk drawer. Mac scribbled on the paper as he spoke. “They’re meaningless. I wouldn’t worry about it.” he held the sheet of paper in front of me. I can’t talk. Someone might be listening.
I mouthed “Who?” then spoke aloud as Mac wrote some more. “Yeah, that’s what I figured, but I thought I’d check it out.”
Mac held up the paper. NSA. Hot damn. The National Security Agency only got involved in big stuff. Apparently I’d stumbled into something a helluva lot bigger than I’d bargained for. I took the paper from Mac and picked up pencil from the desk. What do you know about these notes?
Mac took the sheet of paper. “Did you see the Giants game last night?” He scribbled.