He leaned against the garage doors while he waited for Duncan to return. This would shake Adams, he thought. It would shake the Commissioner, too.
What a break ! He wouldn’t write a report. He would see the
Commissioner personally and tell him. There was no need to mention Duncan’s contribution. After all, Duncan had years ahead of him to get promotion. No need to tell the Commissioner who cracked the case. If he said nothing the Commissioner would assume he had thought up the angles.
Duncan returned with the tyre lever. They broke the padlock and opened the door. Donovan snapped down a light switch and lit up the garage.
While Duncan examined the back seat of the Lincoln, Donovan looked over the driving seat.
“Here we are,” Duncan said suddenly. “This clinches it.”
He handed Donovan a much-thumbed notebook. It was the car attendant’s missing registration book.
“On the floor behind the driving seat. Must have slipped out of his hip pocket.”
Donovan grinned.
“And it’s got his car number in it, too! Yeah, this clinches ill”
“Let’s go talk to him, sergeant.”
Together the two detectives walked up the path. Donovan stuck his thumb against the bell-push and kept it there. They waited several minutes while the bell rang continuously, then Donovan stepped back with an exclamation of disgust.
“Looks like he’s out,” he said.
Duncan was already walking around the bungalow, peering through the windows. He came back after completing the circuit.
“No sign of him.”
Donovan looked at his watch. It was now getting on for ten o’clock.
“We’d better stick around.”
“Think he’s lost his nerve and skipped?”
“He might have done. I’ll send out a general call for him. Let’s see if we can bust in.”
It didn’t take Duncan long to find a window that wasn’t latched. He climbed through the window, went to the front door and let Donovan in.
“I’ll take a look around while you’re calling headquarters.”
When Donovan had talked to the desk sergeant and had given his orders, he went into the hall to see what Duncan was doing.
Duncan came out of the bedroom, grinning. He carried a grey suit and a pair of shoes.
“Here you are, sarg. Just out of their wrapping, straight from Gaza’s stores. This guy certainly knows how to work his way into the chair, doesn’t he?”
Donovan grunted. He was getting a little fed-up with Duncan’s persistent successes.
They went into the lounge and Duncan went over to the trash basket. He turned it upside down while Donovan watched him, scowling.
“It falls into my lap, doesn’t it?” Duncan said suddenly. “Look at this.”
He put two small pieces of card on the desk.
“We’re home now,” he said. “I knew I was right. Here’s Carson’s telephone number on the back of that guy Parker’s card. I bet Parker recommended Holland to go and call on Carson. Sweet as honey, isn’t it?”
III
Lieutenant Adams eased back his chair, yawned and decided to call it a day. There was nothing he could do now until he got a copy of Donovan’s report and had found out how far he had progressed. He had also to wait
for Darcy to get a line on Johnny Dorman. He couldn’t expect much to happen until the following morning.
He was about to leave the office when the telephone bell rang. Frowning, he returned to his desk and picked up the receiver.
“Desk sergeant here, sir,” a voice barked in his ear. “There’s a guy just come in who wants to talk to the officer in charge of the Carson killing. Sergeant Donovan’s out. Do you want to see him?”
“Yes: send him up,” Adams said, hung his hat on the rack and sat down behind his desk.
After a three- or four-minute wait, a knock came on the door and a cop came in, followed by a tall, dark man whose pale face and haggard looks caught Adams’ interest.
“What can I do for you?” he asked.
“I’m Kenway Holland,” Ken said breathlessly. He waited until the cop had gone, then went on, “I’m the man you’re looking for. I was with Fay Carson last night.”
Adams stiffened, stared, then pushing back his chair he stood up. For a moment he was so surprised that he couldn’t think how to handle this unexpected situation, but he quickly recovered.
He looked steadily at Ken. Yes, the description matched. This guy looked too scared and ill to be a faker.
“Did you tell the desk sergeant who you are?” he asked sharply.
“Why, no,” Ken said, surprised. “He didn’t ask me.”
Adams was now in control of himself. What a break ! he thought. If that fool Donovan had been in I wouldn’t have known about this until it was too late. What the hell am I going to do with this guy? If Donovan gets hold of him before I get hold of Dorman, they’ll pull me off the case, and this guy won’t know what’s hit him until he’s sitting in the chair.
It didn’t take him more than a second or two to make up his mind.
“Why didn’t you come here before?” he asked sharply.
“I — I hoped to get away with it,” Ken said, “but I’ve found it’s not possible. I want you to know I didn’t kill her. I want to tell you exactly what happened.”
“Okay,” Adams said, “but this isn’t the place where we can talk. The telephone rings, people come in and out.” He reached for his hat and put it on. “You come with me.” He had a sudden alarming thought. “Did you bring your car with you?”
Bewildered, Ken stared at him.
“I came in a taxi.”
Adams nodded. Another break ! If he had parked his green Lincoln outside headquarters some smart Alec would have been sure to have had something to say about it.
“Come with me,” Adams said, and set off down the passage.
Ken followed him to the street where Adams’ car was parked.
“Get in,” Adams said.
“But I don’t understand,” Ken said blankly.
“Why should you? Get in!”
Ken got into the car and Adams drove off, heading for his own apartment. He didn’t say anything until he pulled up outside a house in Cranbourne Avenue.
“I live here,” he said as he got out of the car. “You can talk your head off in my apartment without interruption.”
Ken followed him into a ground-floor, comfortably furnished sittingroom.
“Make yourself at home,” Adams said, tossing his hat on to a chair. “Have a drink?”
“I don’t understand what all this is about,” Ken said, facing him. “Why have you brought me here? I want to make a statement to the officer in charge of the murder. Who are you?”
Adams smiled as he fixed two highballs.
“I’m Lieutenant Adams of the Homicide Department. Take it easy. You don’t know it yet, but the last thing you want to do is to make a statement to the officer in charge of the Carson killing. He’s got a one-track mind. Now sit down and stop wasting time. I want your story. I want to know who you are, how you met Fay Carson and what happened last night. Don’t rush it. I want as many details as you can remember. Now start talking.”
Ken made his statement. He told Adams what had happened the previous evening, omitting no details, and as he came to the end of his story there was something about the little Lieutenant’s expression that gave him hope.
“I know I have behaved badly,” he concluded, “and I’m paying for it, but I didn’t kill her. I should have come to you before this, but I funked it. I wasn’t so much thinking of myself, I had to think of my wife. I wanted to keep it from her, but I don’t see how I can now.”