Slick thought it over. “I can’t say that I object to the outcome, but the means seem a bit gamey.”
“They might even take the House of Representatives.”
“Another decided improvement.”
“You always did have funny politics, Slick.”
“Just soundly conservative. A few of us are, dear boy.”
“Of course there’s still a certain amount of validity to my theory.”
“In what way?”
“If whoever kidnapped Arch Mix doesn’t let him go, then those strikes are going to take place.”
“Unless—” Slick seemed to lapse into thought without finishing his sentence.
“Unless what?” I said.
“Unless, dear boy, the strikes were all Arch Mix’s idea in the first place.”
We drove into the Safeway parking lot at five minutes until four and parked the Ford about halfway toward the rear of the building. I handed Slick the keys and he opened the glove compartment and took out a plain sheet of 8½ x 11-inch paper. He gave me back the keys and I put them underneath the accelerator.
We got out of the car and Slick put the white sheet of paper underneath the windshield wiper. He looked at me. “Well, shall we take a cab?”
“Let’s wait a few minutes,” I said.
“I don’t think that would be wise, Harvey.”
“Mix didn’t say not to watch who picked up the car. He just said that we shouldn’t waste our time because whoever picks it up won’t know anything. I’m curious.”
Slick looked around. “I still don’t think it’s wise, but if you insist, let’s at least make ourselves a little less obvious.”
“What do you suggest?” I said. “After all, you used to do this for a living.”
“You have some curious ideas about my former calling.”
“Romantic notions, really.”
“I suggest that we go stand with those other people over there by the entrance.”
Some housewives were standing with their loaded shopping carts near the entrance of the store waiting for their husbands to drive up and put the groceries into their cars. Slick and I moved over and joined them.
At one minute past four a Yellow Cab pulled up in the driveway to the parking lot and discharged its passenger. He paid off the driver and started walking down a row of cars, turning his head from side to side. A few moments later he spotted the black Ford. He opened the door and felt underneath the accelerator for the keys. Then he removed the sheet of white paper from underneath the windshield wiper. He didn’t bother to unlock the trunk and open the suitcase and count the money. Instead, he got into the car, started the engine, backed it out, and drove right past us as he headed for the Connecticut Avenue exit.
When he had got out of the cab I had got a good look at him. He was dark brown, slimly built, about six feet tall, and all of eighteen years old.
“They picked him up off the street,” Slick said.
“You think so?”
“They probably paid him his cab fare and twenty dollars to pick up the car. They’ve probably got somebody on him to see if he’s being followed.”
“Then what?”
“He’ll probably stop and make a phone call — to another pay phone. They’ll tell him where to go next. It could go on like that for quite a while until they’re sure that there’s no one on his tail.”
“Clever,” I said.
“Crude, really, but effective.”
“I wonder what their next move will be?”
Slick shook his head. “I have the feeling that we’ve heard the last of them. They’ll probably wait until late tonight before they release Mix.”
“Unless they kill him first.”
“That’s right,” Slick said. “Unless they kill him first.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
They found arch mix at 8:05 the next morning floating face down in the Anacostia River just south of the Frederick Douglass bridge. He had been shot in the back of the head three times. His body was identified by his wife.
I got some of this from a news bulletin that came over the radio at 9:15. The details I got from Slick who called at 9:35.
“Have you told Audrey?” he said.
“She heard it when it came over the radio.”
“How did she take it?”
“Not too badly. She didn’t say anything for a while and then she said she was going for a walk. She’s still gone. Where are you?”
“I’m down at police headquarters with Vullo and Gallops. That’s one of the reasons I’m calling. We’ve told the police of your minimal involvement in the delivery of the ransom and they’d like a statement from you.”
“Today?”
“I don’t think that’ll be necessary. You can come in tomorrow just as well.”
“Okay. I’ll do it tomorrow.”
“The other reason I called, dear boy, is that I’ve been thinking about your remarkable theory. Mix’s death gives it a certain amount of validity, doesn’t it?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I haven’t really thought about it.”
“Well, there are a few bits and pieces that I’ve gathered over the past few weeks that, when put together with your own information, result in a rather startling picture.”
“What’re you getting at, Slick?”
“What I’m saying, Harvey, is that if we put our heads together, we may be able to prove not only your theory, but also prove who engineered the kidnapping of Arch Mix.”
I was silent for a moment. Then I said, “You want to come out here?”
“I think that would be best, don’t you?”
“Probably.”
“What time is lunch?”
“When you get here.”
“I’ll bring some wine.”
“Do that,” I said.
After I hung up I called the Vullo Foundation and asked for Ward Murfin. I reached Ginger, his secretary, who said that Murfin hadn’t come in yet and that she wasn’t sure when to expect him.
I found his home number in our address book and called that. It rang three times before Marjorie answered it. Marjorie wanted to talk about the death of Arch Mix, which she had just heard about. She had some interesting theories about it, most of them involving the Palestine Liberation Organization. After we ran through those, I asked if I could speak to Ward.
“He’s not here,” she said.
“Do you know where he is?”
“He drove in from Baltimore late last night. He didn’t get here till around two. We didn’t get to bed until around three and then he rushed out of here this morning after he got the call.”
“What call?”
“I don’t know what call. All I know is that it woke us up about seven and he was gone by seven fifteen. He rushed out of here without even shaving although I told him he’d better shave before we go to Max’s funeral.”
“What time’s that?”
“Aren’t you going?”
“No, I’m still too broken up.”
“Bullshit.”
“What time’s the funeral, Marjorie?”
“At two.”
“If Ward comes in, ask him to call me.”
“You ought to go to Max’s funeral.”
“I’ll think about it,” I said and then said good-bye.
I found Ruth in her studio which was a big-windowed room on the north side of the house. Honest Tuan was serving as a model. My nephew and niece were at Ruth’s side watching her with fascination. I went over to see what she was doing. She was vising watercolors and it seemed that the beavers who lived upstream were going to Honest Tuan’s birthday party. Ruth had the beavers all dressed up.
She put her brush in a jar of water and looked up at me. She had a smudge of blue paint on the side of her nose, but then she usually did although it wasn’t always blue.
“Slick’s coming for lunch.”
“That’s nice,” she said. “I hope he likes peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.”