‘Yeah,’ he said softly. ‘Could you identify the guy who took her again?’
‘ Big man,’ said Pop. ‘Tall, bulky, hat and overcoat…’ Chagrin entered the eyes. ‘Now I remember, kept his scarf up around the bottom half of his face, casual like…’
‘Silk scarf? Wool?’
‘Silk.’
Hammett squeezed the old man’s thin upper arm. ‘Okay, Pop, keep safe. He doesn’t know you can’t identify him.’
Late afternoon sunlight slanted through the dusty windows of Hammett’s apartment to lay a cool pale oblong on the rug. Summer fog, rolling silent and gray through the Golden Gate and across the western rim of the city, soon would blot it out.
Jimmy Wright was annihilating a Fatima in Hammett’s ancient Coxwell. His round tough sleepy face was placid, almost stupid with thought.
Hammett was on his feet as usual, prowling from hallway to window, throwing questions and remarks and comments as he did. He hadn’t shaved and his shirt was open to show the top two buttons of his balbriggan undershirt. A lock of hair hung down across his forehead. His eyes were bloodshot. From the kitchen came the plock-plock-plock of his Challenge electric percolator.
‘All right, what have we got on the snatch itself?’
‘Post Street at three in the morning is what we got. Nobody saw him in or them out. Nobody saw any cars at the curb with the motor running. Nobody saw-’
‘The cop on the beat?’
‘Five blocks away rattling doorknobs. He says. More likely drinking coffee in the Pig’n Whistle.’
‘This afternoon I did what I should have done as soon as Pop told me about it. Checked up on her phone call.’
He paused beside the op’s chair to stab his cigarette into the ashtray, then fished for another in his pocket.
‘Jack Manion checked with the girlfriend at the chemist’s shop in Spofford Alley. No phone call from Crystal. He checked with the folks. No phone call. They didn’t even know she’d been found and was in a safe place.’ He gave a sudden angry burst of laughter. ‘Safe place!’
‘But then that means-’
‘That she called a friend we don’t know about, who sold her out to whoever the hell was looking for her. Or that she herself called whoever the hell-’
The doorbell rang.
Hammett poked his head into the hall to yell, ‘It’s unlocked.’ He used the interruption to light the cigarette he’d gotten out.
Goodie came in. She wore a new silk satin Charmeuse frock that looked expensive. Pearl drops glowed at her earlobes, and her golden hair was freshly marceled.
‘There’s a telephone call for you, Mr… um… Wright.’
Hammett waited until the stocky detective had disappeared, then said to Goodie, ‘Long time no see, sweetheart.’
She made an abrupt gesture with one hand.
‘Your coffee’s done.’
He could hear the sounds of her unscrewing the electric cord from the wall socket, the rattle as she got spoons and cups, the grunt of the icebox door as she looked for milk. She called from the kitchen in a voice falsely light and gay.
‘I’ve been busy.’
‘Sure.’ Hammett watched her set the tray with two steaming cups and other paraphernalia on the davenport table next to his typewriter. When she handed one to him and carried the other over to Jimmy Wright’s chair, he added, ‘You’re not having any?’
‘I’ve… got a date…’
The fat little op bustled back into the room. He did not sit down, nor did he take any notice of the coffee.
‘And there’s something else that don’t make sense. Our people finally got hold of the police report on the Pronzini kill. He was gunned down at three A.M.’
‘That’s solid?’ demanded Hammett in a surprised voice.
‘Eyewitnesses, three of them. They didn’t get a description of the killer or a license number on the car, they were too busy trying to fit into the same six feet of gutter. But they’re sure of the time. Three A.M.’
Hammett tugged at his mustache, then caught the look on Goodie’s face and shrugged slightly. She had been turning from one to the other, frowning, not understanding.
‘At three A.M.,’ said Hammett, ‘Crystal was snatched from the Weller Hotel.’
‘Oh, Sam, no! How terrible for her.’
‘If we count out the eastern mobsters, the only suspect we’ve got for the snatch and the Pronzini kill is Dan Laverty, the Chief of Detectives. Since the simplest way is usually the easiest way, we’ve been trying to fit him for both the killing and the kidnapping. But if they happened at exactly the same time…’
Goodie was still quite a way behind him. Her voice was shocked. ‘Sam, a policeman? ’
‘I told you a long time ago that everybody’s for sale in this burg.’ He turned to Jimmy Wright. ‘What’s Laverty been doing since we put the tail on him?’
‘Down at the Hall, doing his job. Hasn’t seen anybody he shouldn’t have. No phone calls when he’s been out and around. Which ain’t saying much, since we can’t tap into his phone at the Hall.’
‘Tell the boys to stick tight.’
‘Will do. If anything develops, you’ll be where?’
‘Here. I’m waiting for a phone call from Lynch. He’s supposed to be working on it from the other end.’
The op nodded and put on his hat and left.
‘You don’t seem terribly worried about that girl, Sam,’ said Goodie.
‘I think she called whoever came and got her. I think she arranged for him to spring her out of the hotel with that phony badge. It’s the only thing that makes sense.’
‘Then she’s not really in danger at all?’
‘Oh, she’s in danger, right enough. She just doesn’t realize how much. She’s playing some sort of game, and she thinks she can handle whoever it is.’
‘I don’t see how you can believe that, Sam!’ she exclaimed. ‘You say you count out the eastern mobsters, but if Al Capone himself is after her for-’
‘Sometime when I’ve got a week, I’ll tell you all the holes in that story.’
Goodie’s eyes softened. She put a hand on his arm.
‘Sam, if you have to stay here for a phone call, I’ll stay and make us something to eat and…’
‘What about your date?’
‘I could break it.’
He almost said yes. But he still hadn’t told her about Josie and the two girls. Tell her now. Let her know how futile it is. Hurt her now so you hurt her less later. Can’t. He said, ‘I wouldn’t want you to do that, kid.’
As if to punctuate the sentence, an auto horn sounded twice in the street below. Color rushed into Goodie’s face. She checked her wristwatch. Hammett hadn’t seen it before. He knew jewelry from his years at Al Samuels’ store: This looked like the Elgin eighteen-karat white-gold bracelet watch that retailed for seventy dollars.
‘Yes!’ exclaimed Goodie. ‘I…’ She flew to the window. She looked out. ‘Yes,’ she said again. She turned to Hammett. ‘Are you sure…’ She stopped, said, ‘That poor girl,’ and put her hands on Hammett’s forearms and went up on tiptoe to kiss him on the mouth. There was yearning and desperation and passion in the kiss. He put his arms around her. He responded. Goodie tore free and ran to the hall doorway and out.
He stood in the middle of the floor for nearly a minute, face set, then moved to the window to stand looking down into the street.
Goodie went across Post to the massive Hispano-Suiza Cabriolet gleaming on the far side. A uniformed chauffeur, very correct in visored cap and gleaming boots and the beige uniform with flared breeches, got out to hold the door of the enclosed rear compartment for her. Hammett had last spoken with the chauffeur about jabbing
