of
“In giving you a detailed picture, I am trying to stick to as many facts as we know. The duty tours of the men mentioned expired shortly after the Melouza incident and they were discharged from the Legion. They were said to be well fixed. However, it is possible they had found jewels or money—a great deal of looting goes on in these 'small wars.' The men quickly scattered over the Middle East, Europe, and America. And within two years they had all been killed. Perhaps more than a coincidence.”
“Killed or murdered?” I asked.
Jock gave me a thin-lipped tight smile. “Two were actually killed in bar brawls. Fedor was openly murdered. Sowor was killed by a car, perhaps an accident. The Turk is said to have drunk poison by mistake in Athens, and Subec was knifed by a brothel keeper in London. However it should be obvious all these men were on the run. They were constantly on the move and...”
“On the run from whom?” I cut in.
“Again, I have no proof. Certainly the agents of the FLN wanted to put their hands on them, perhaps other Arab groups. It might also be certain French officials didn't want these men to talk. Mind you, Monsieur Mouse, this is speculation on my part. That is the picture, a horrible crime and the six suspected men on the run— and dead. Some time ago it was rumored Fedor had written a book, an expanded diary. We know now it was a fact and not a rumor. This diary has never been found. The truth about Melouza may very well be in its pages, then again, it can also be pure fiction, or a pack of lies. Or it may have nothing to do with Algeria. It is said Sowor arranged to purchase this diary for $50,000. I have no proof of where or how he was able to raise this sum of money, or what parties he was acting for. The fact is, all this could have been blackmail on the part of Fedor. We are certain Sowor gave Fedor the money and then Fedor somehow doublecrossed him and never handed over the diary. It is assumed this was the reason Fedor was stabbed to death. Now we also know Fedor married a minor American actress. As the situation stands, his wife, the diary, and the money have vanished. For a time we thought she and the diary had vanished into the sea last year, and the search for the diary was given up— only to be revived today.”
“Why?”
“From several indirect sources we have learned various groups have a sudden, renewed interest in the diary. It is rumored Rose Fedor was seen last night, with a beefy man. You could be easily called beefy, Monsieur Mouse.”
“I guess so. And so could about twenty thousand other guys within shouting distance,” I said. “I don't get this bit about the various groups. Why should so many people want this diary?”
“I told you, the diary can prove a bombshell—or a dud. A great many people are interested in finding Rose Fedor—with the hope she will lead them to the diary.”
“Of course I still don't know what this is all about, but—are you one of the people looking for this—! what's her name—Rose?”
“I am.”
“Do you, or they, think she killed her husband?”
“Oh, no. Fedor's death is of no consequence, it is the diary we all seek. Of course, we are not positive she has it, but she must know more about it than anyone else. To get on, Monsieur Mouse, I am certain that this Mary you met was Fedor's wife, Rose. No one else would know about Sowor and Melouza.”
“From what you've said, gangs of people know about them.”
Jock gave me a patient tiny smile. “Perhaps. Let me put it this way: no other American woman would know. Sound better?”
“Maybe,” I said cautiously. Having gone this far I wanted to pump him for all the info I could get. “We were only together for a week and crocked most of the time. But I did have an idea she was jumpy.”
“Did she have money?”
“Hard to say. We didn't live big and I paid the tabs.”
“Did she ever mention what she was 'jumpy' about?”
“She gave me a cock and bull story about the rough time the police and some private dicks were giving her. I didn't pay much attention, figured it was drunken chatter. I mean, the police don't chase you if you haven't broken the law and Mary didn't act like a crook.”
He offered a pack of cigarettes around, then lit one himself, as he said, “I imagine she has been having a rough time of it at the hands of various law agencies.”
“But you just said they don't want her for her husband's murder? This stuff about cops chasing you for the hell of it... well, you know, that really doesn't happen outside a bad movie,” I said, knowing I was doing a good job of playing the jerk.
Jock laughed politely. “Monsieur Mouse, you have the layman's faith and naivete concerning the 'law.' There is such a thing as the unofficial law. A crude example; there isn't any actual law stating a rich man's house shall receive more police protection than a poor man's shack. Yet we all know that without being ordered to, the police will keep an eye on the rich house, perhaps even look in on it several times a day. Another raw example: a policeman would hardly give a traffic ticket to a known politician. Yet I am certain there is actually nothing in any police manual the world over ordering this. Nor would the politician even have to suggest any possible consequences to the police officer. In brief, that is the unofficial law, and in various forms you will find this in all law agencies, no matter at what level. There are unofficial government... eh... moves, which would account for the 'law' harassing Fedor's wife if...”
“Say, while I don't know if Mary is the babe you're talking about, I do recall that when she was gassing about being pushed around, she mentioned a Federal man pulling a gun on her. Of course, that's so much hot air, but—well, it's odd she mentioned it.”
“My dear chap, that may not be hot air—as you quaintly call it—at all, but the unofficial government I am attempting to explain. It works the same way in all countries. I believe Colette has told you I am in the French government, yet at this very second I am acting in a completely unofficial capacity.”
“But a Federal dick?”
Jock held up a hand. “Another simple example: you are a Federal agent and let us assume I am a high official in a friendly foreign embassy. We meet at a cocktail party. In the course of conversation I say my government is much interested in having a talk with a Rose Fedor. That is all. A harmless request. Oh, I might even butter up the request by saying it concerns an internal problem in my country. But you see, no official orders or requests are made, nothing on paper. If you are such a high law or police official, you will pass the word along, pick up Rose Fedor, and your men will do so without having the slightest idea of what it's all about.”
“Look, Mr. Jock, take it easy. Sure, I can see you— or anybody else—buying off some local cop to do a favor. But isn't it a little far-fetched to think of a big Washington official starting a manhunt merely because of some bar conversation?”
“On the contrary, only a national figure could do it, or would be in a position to meet a high foreign official! Nor did I say a manhunt was started. They would merely send out a routine check for the whereabouts of Rose Fedor.”
“Routine? With a gun?”
“I don't believe the gun part,” Jock said, “Unless it would be used to frighten her. Remember, our high embassy man might have become friendly with an ordinary government law agent. He might even tell this policeman there's an under-the- table reward of a few thousand dollars for finding Rose Fedor. Or the law agent will try very hard to find her—on his own time—because he feels a word from an embassy will help his promotion. I assure you the same thing would happen in my country if an American official talked to a French police officer. What you must understand is that the police officer is not necessarily delinquent in his duty. On the contrary, he may feel he is doing the 'right thing.'”
I shook my head, said innocently, “That's hard to swallow.”
“For you, yes. In fact you may be sure the imaginary police official we talk about will feel the same way. Being a layman he—and you—will never question
I was impressed: Jock knew his stuff, was giving me a rundown of what I'd been through. I said, “Geez, this is getting involved. What's an oil company have to do with all this?”
Colette threw back her head and said something in French that could have been a couple of cuss words. Jock motioned for her to be still. “My dear Monsieur Mouse, you do seem to have been living in a hole. Do you never read the papers? In the Sahara desert, oil deposits have been found which may well surpass anything in the Middle East, by-pass Suez. And it fits. Again, let us suppose such a private detective informs the police he is working for one of the large oil companies, do you doubt the local police—without receiving any instructions or orders to do so—will heartily
