O’Brien rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
“So Sam Darcy knows about Johnny and Fay?”
“He knows Johnny beat her up and threatened to kill her.”
“Do you think Johnny went to him last night? Do you think Darcy knows he’s in town?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, all right,” O’Brien said. “I now know the facts. We mustn’t make too much of this. We mustn’t jump to conclusions. Howard tells me they have a description of a man who was seen leaving Fay’s apartment about the time she died. It’s nothing like the description of Johnny.”
“I tell you Johnny didn’t do it!” she said sharply.
“I’m afraid it isn’t very important what you and I think, Gilda,” O’Brien said seriously. “The facts are he threatened to kill her before going into the home. As soon as he comes out, she’s murdered. I only hope they catch this tall, dark guy in the grey suit. If they don’t, someone may remember that Johnny could be a suspect, and because he’s your brother, they may try to make something out of it.”
“Surely the police will find this man,” Gilda said anxiously.
“I hope so.” He gave her a crooked little smile. “Let’s get our minds off this for a moment. Lunch is ready.”
She shook her head.
“I want to go home now, Sean. I have things to do.”
“You are going to have lunch with me,” he said firmly, and took her arm, walking with her down the passage to the dining-room.
An hour later, after she had driven away in her sports coupe, the telephone bell rang.
O’Brien picked up the receiver.
“Tux here,” the hard, rasping voice said. “It’s okay, boss. He was there, and I’ve got him.”
O’Brien’s face hardened.
“Where?”
“On the Willow Point.”
“Fine. I’ll be over in half an hour,” O’Brien said. “Stick close to him, Tux.”
He hung up.
II
Ken Holland closed the front door and walked with shaky legs back to the lounge. He rested his hands on the back of an easy chair and leaned his weight on them. His heart was still pounding. He still felt the suffocating fear that had gripped him at the sight of the two detectives as they had come up the path.
What an escape! he thought. Did they notice how scared I was? I’ve got to pull myself together. If they ever get on to me I’ll give myself away if I behave like that again.
He suddenly thought of Parker.
He must be warned.
He hurried to the telephone, dialled and listened to the ringing tone.
Hurry up! he thought feverishly. They’ll be around to you any moment. Hurry up!
There was a click on the line, and Mrs. Parker’s chilly, pedantic voice asked who was calling.
“This is Kenway Holland. May I speak to Max?”
“Well, he’s in the garden,” Mrs. Parker said dubiously as if her husband
was in China. “I’ll see if I can get him. Hold on a moment.”
Ken waited in an agony of suspense.
“Are you there?” Mrs. Parker asked after a long wait. “I’ll get him to call you back. He’s talking to two men at the moment. I can’t imagine who they are, but I don’t suppose he’ll be long.”
“Thank you,” Ken said, and hung up.
He went over to the liquor cabinet, poured himself a shot of whisky and drank it. He lit a cigarette and sat down. There was nothing he could do now but wait.
What would happen to Parker? Would he be able to bluff Donovan? Would he admit knowing Fay Carson? Would he tell Donovan he had given Ken Fay’s telephone number? Would Parker remember that Ken owned a light-gray suit ?
Unable to sit still while his mind was crawling with alarm, Ken got up and went into the garden. He went down the path to the gate and stared up and down the street. He wanted to walk to the corner to see if the police car was still outside Parker’s house, but he was scared the detectives might see him.
After a long moment of staring up and down the street, he returned to the bungalow.
Then from nowhere a sudden paralysing thought came into his mind.
What had he done with the registration book he had taken from the car attendant’s hut?
He turned hot, then cold when he realized he had no idea what had become of the book. Until this moment he had completely forgotten about it.
He remembered slipping it into his hip pocket while he talked to the car attendant, but after that he had no recollection of what he had done with it.
It hadn’t been in the suit. Before he had taken the suit back to Gaza’s store, he had gone through the pockets most carefully.
Then where was it?
Had he dropped it in the street?
If it were found it would be recognized. The owner of every car entered in the book would be investigated, and his car number was in the book!
He looked around wildly. If he had dropped it somewhere in the bungalow, Carrie might have found it and put it away as she put everything away.
He began a feverish and futile search.
It was growing dark by the time he satisfied himself the book wasn’t in the bungalow. He was in a panic as he stood staring around the now disordered lounge.
Had the book slipped out of his pocket while he had been driving home?
What a fool he was!
Of course that was what must have happened. He should have looked in the car first.
He went to the front door, opened it and started down the path towards the garage when he saw Parker at the gate.
He stopped short, looking at Parker who came up the path in the gathering dusk, his head held low, a stoop to his shoulders.
“I want to talk to you,” he said as he came up to Ken.
“Come in,” Ken said, and led the way into the lounge. He turned on the light. “I’m sorry the place is in such a mess. I lost something, and I’ve been hunting for it.”
Parker went over to an armchair and sank into it. His fat, usually red face looked flabby and pale, and his hands were unsteady as he rested them on the arms of the chair.
“If you’ve got a drink…” he said.
“Sure,” Ken said, and fixed two highballs. “That detective fellow was here. He wanted your address. I tried to call you, but he got around to you too fast.”
Parker stared at him in a disconcerting, searching way. Ken gave him the highball and then moved awkwardly to an armchair and sat down.
“What happened?” he asked after a long pause.
“They didn’t get anything out of me,” Parker said, his voice flat and cold. “I stuck to my story. I damn well had to. The sergeant said I was lying; he said I called Fay. I told him to prove it. He didn’t rattle me, but he had a damn good try. When he saw he was getting nowhere, he said he didn’t think I had killed her — that’s nice, isn’t it? He hoped I might know who her men friends were. I knew I didn’t dare admit I knew her. I swore I hadn’t called her. He said no other call had been made from the pay booth at the time I said I had called Maisie. I guessed by the way he talked no one but you had seen me use the booth, so I said I might have been mistaken about the time. I said it was possible I had called Maisie earlier than ten. So he said he would talk to Maisie.” Parker took a long drink, wiped his face and stared down at his feet. “That was a pretty horrible ten minutes. I don’t think I’ll ever forget waiting in the garden with the other detective while the sergeant talked to Maisie. She was terrific. She must have guessed I had got myself into a mess. She lied her head off. She told the sergeant I had called her just after nine, and not after ten as I had said. The sergeant must have been a first-class fool. He actually told her I had called her at ten. She was so emphatic that he believed her. He even apologized to me.”