He drew on the cigarette holder. “I’d like you to talk to Purvis again—or Cowley. I’d like you to arrange for one or both of them to meet with Anna.”
“Why doesn’t Anna approach them herself?”
“With her criminal record, she could use an intermediary.”
“Why don’t you do it?”
He made a sweeping, magnanimous hand gesture. “I could. In fact, I was going to suggest we go together. You could report what you’ve observed; and I would say Mrs. Sage, an old friend from East Chicago, contacted me about Dillinger, and put us in touch.”
“Why don’t you just leave me out of it?”
He shrugged. “Just trying to be fair. Can’t see the point in working against each other. There’s plenty of money in this for all concerned, Heller. At least twenty grand, to split four ways.”
“Four?”
“Besides you and I, and Anna, there’s my immediate superior, Captain O’Neill. He’s in town today, too.”
“He always accompany you to pick up collection money from madams?”
“Heller, we were in town following up leads on the Dillinger case. We had a tip our man was in Chicago, on the North Side.”
“From Anna?”
“No. From a gambler I know, a Croatian. But never mind that. When I talked to Anna yesterday—not long after she’d talked to you—I realized our man was within our grasp. We have a vested interest in Mr. Dillinger in Indiana, you know.”
“Besides the twenty-thousand-dollar reward money, you mean.”
“Of course. Dillinger’s an embarrassment to Indiana—a native son gone wrong.”
“Is Leach in on this?”
Captain Matt Leach was the Indiana state cop who had devoted his entire career, of late, to tracking down Dillinger. A publicity seeker who made Purvis and Ness seem modest by comparison, Leach was hated by a lot of cops, but he was known to be a tireless, even obsessive pursuer of Dillinger.
“No,” Zarkovich said tersely. “He’s not involved. This is East Chicago business.”
“A minute ago you said Dillinger was Indiana business.”
“Specifically, East Chicago.”
“Why?”
“He killed a cop there.”
“Oh. That’s the one killing they have him for.”
“That’s right. He killed a cop on his way out the door of the First National Bank, killed him with a machine gun. And there were plenty of witnesses.”
“And you knew this man, this cop Dillinger killed.”
“Yes—a fine man, who left a widow and children.”
“So you’d like to get Dillinger.”
“Yes.”
“You want to be in on the kill.”
“You might say that.”
“As opposed to the capture.”
“Heller, do you really think Dillinger could be taken alive?”
“Why not? He’s been caught plenty of times before.”
“But he knows this time he won’t get away; there wouldn’t be any repeat of the Crown Point disaster—no female sheriffs or shoe-polish guns.”
“Maybe you’re right. I don’t know. In any case I don’t think I’m interested.”
“Suit yourself. You’re not planning to talk to Cowley, then? Or Purvis, again?”
“No. But if you want revenge for that East Chicago cop, then Purvis is the man to see. He’ll shoot first and ask questions later, all right.”
Zarkovich stood and put his hat on, smiled wryly, cigarette holder still in his mouth. “I’ve dealt with Purvis before. A very excitable boy. He’s just too young for the job.”
“His ‘men’ are even younger.”
“I know. The boy’s bungled every job he was ever sent on; he should never have been put in charge of things. It’s a good thing…never mind.”
“It’s a good thing the East Chicago police are around this time to help him out?”
“Yes,” Zarkovich smiled. “Exactly.”
