‘Mr Rico took his car out about twenty minutes ago. I’m trying to find him. Know which way he went?’
‘He turned left and headed towards his apartment,’ the at endant said. ‘I reckon he’s gone home, although he’s never been as early as this before.’
Dallas nodded. He thought that was unlikely.
‘Mr Baird was with him, wasn’t he?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Anyone else?’
The man shook his head.
‘Just the two of them. Mr Baird was driving.’
Dallas started his car.
‘I’ll try his apartment,’ he said, and drove out of the park. Swinging his car to the left, he drove as fast as the traffic would allow him to the intersection. Straight ahead would bring him to Rico’s apartment block, but he couldn’t imagine Rico would take Zoe there: he was too cautious for that.
Dallas swung the car to the kerb, a few yards from the traffic lights. He got out and went across to a man selling newspapers, hunching his shoulders against the drizzling ram.
‘Hey, Joe,’ he said. ‘Have you seen a big Buick with yellow fenders pass this way?’
‘You mean Rico’s car?’ the man asked, and shook his head. ‘I didn’t notice it. The cop on the corner might have seen him. He’s been airing his corns for the past hour right there.’
‘Thanks,’ Dallas said, and went over to the patrolman, who looked as if his feet had taken root on the kerb. He eyed Dallas without interest as he came up. Dallas poked one of his cards at him. ‘Seen Rico’s Buick pass this way within the past twenty minutes?’
The cop read the card, nodded and handed it back. Purvis subscribed heavily to the police fund each year, and most of the cops played ball with the Agency.
‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘I seen the lit le rat.’
‘Which way did he go?’
‘Turned right at the lights, and headed towards the river.’
Dallas felt a little chill run up his spine. He might have guessed that’s the way they’d go.
‘Thanks,’ he said, turned and ran back to his car. He drove rapidly along West Street, turned left at the next intersection, increased his speed along the broad, deserted dock road. A couple of miles of fast driving brought him to the river. Again he pulled to the kerb and got out. He spent ten minutes trying to find someone who had seen Rico’s car before he succeeded.
A red-headed street walker volunteered the information.
‘Sure, it was heading for the old causeway,’ she told Dallas, while she ogled him from under her hat-brim. ‘It’s Rico, isn’t it? I thought I recognised him. Why worry about him, sugar? Let’s you and me have fun.’
‘Some other night,’ Dal as said, scarcely hearing what she said. ‘I’ve got to find this guy.’
‘No accounting for taste,’ the girl said, shrugging her thin shoulders. The rain dripped off her umbrella on to her sandalled feet. ‘Me – I wouldn’t look for Rico if he was the last man on earth.’
Dallas got into his car and headed along the narrow causeway. He was sure now that Baird and Rico had brought Zoe here to murder her. Why else should they come down to the river? He felt responsible for Zoe, and he drove recklessly, refusing to accept what his common sense was telling him: if they were going to murder her, they would have done it by now.
Very soon he got completely lost in the narrow alleys that ran between the derelict warehouses. It became impossible to drive fast and, exasperated, he stopped the car and got out. Rain poured down on him as he swung the beam of his flashlight up at the high buildings. He cursed softly, wondering which way to go, when suddenly he heard the sharp bang of a heavy calibre gun.
The shot sounded close. As far as he could judge it came from a building a little way up the alley.
As he broke into a run, he knew he was too late to save Zoe, and he groped for his .38 police special.
He reached the end of the alley, paused to listen again, but heard nothing. It had been somewhere near here, he thought, looking up at the row of high buildings. Their doors were boarded up, and he guessed there must be an entrance somewhere at the back. He ran down the next alley he came to and reached an intersection that he calculated would bring him to the rear of the buildings he had just passed. Then he heard a car start up. He increased his speed and raced down the alley to another intersection. As he rounded the corner he was in time to see a big car moving swiftly away from him. Its parking lights lit up its bright yellow fenders.
It was moving too fast for him to hope to overtake it. He stopped, raised the .38 and fired. The smash of glass told him he had scored a hit. The car increased speed, and before he could fire again, it had whipped around a bend and had disappeared.
He stood there for a moment, trying to think what to do next. It would be hopeless to try to find Zoe’s body. They were certain to have dumped her into the river, but if he acted fast it might be possible to get the body before the currents took it away.
He raced back to his car, scrambled in, and drove as fast as he dared back along the causeway. There was no sign of the Buick. The delay in getting back to his car, finding his way to the causeway, had given Rico too big a lead to hope to overtake him.
Dallas spotted an all-night cafe at the corner of West and Union. He crammed on his brakes, swung the car to the kerb and ran across the sidewalk into the cafe.
The place was full of steamy moisture, the smell of frying onions and hot, strong Java. A dozen dockers sat
