pronto.
'I've got your coffee,' Tanner said.
'Drink it for me,' Beigler said and hung up.
He followed Terrell down to the car pool. As they got into a police car, Lepski and Jacoby came running down the ramp. They scrambled into the back as Beigler set the car in motion.
Terrell explained the set-up to them.
'You two cover us. Lepski: take care of the back. Watch it! Could be a tricky one. We'll play it by ear.'
Ten minutes later, the car pulled up outside the Whitesides' bungalow.
Terrell and Beigler walked up the path and rang on the front- door bell.
Nine
TOM WHITESIDE had just finished sweeping the soil off the garden path when he saw Detective 2nd Grade Lepski appear in the lane at the bottom of his garden. He recognised him immediately. Lepski was a wellknown character in Paradise City. The sight of him made Tom's heart skip a beat. Looking quickly away from the detective, he leaned the broom against the wall and walked into the kitchen.
In the living-room, Maisky saw the police car pull up and Terrell and Beigler start up the path.
'It's the police,' he said quietly to Sheila. 'Now, don't lose your head. Remember I am Father Latimer from New Orleans. It's going to be all right if you handle it right.'
His calm, confident tone quietened Sheila's momentary panic. As the front-door bell rang, Maisky went on, 'Let them in. Act naturally and relax.'
He sat down in a lounging chair after a brief glance in the mirror over the mantelpiece to make sure his wig was on straight.
Her heart pounding, but her face composed, Sheila went to the door and opened it.
'Mrs. Whiteside?' Terrell said, although he knew her all right. There were few residents of the City who didn't know her by sight.
'Why, yes.' She forced a smile. 'It's Chief of Police Terrell, isn't it?'
'Yeah . . . Mr. Whiteside in?'
'Yes. He came home early. He isn't very well . . . something he ate, but do come in.'
She led him and Beigler into the living-room. Both the police officers were startled to see a small, white- haired clergyman sitting quietly in an armchair. Maisky got to his feet, his smile bright with welcome.
'This is Father Latimer from New Orleans,' Sheila said. 'He is staying with us. Father, this is Chief of Police Terrell and— and . . .' She looked at Beigler, flashing him a smile.
Some chick! Beigler thought as he introduced himself. He had trouble keeping his eyes from those long, slim legs.
'Yes . . . well, do sit down. I'll fetch Tom.'
She left the room. Maisky shook hands with Terrell and then Beigler.
'I am happy to know you,' he said. 'This is my first visit to your beautiful City.' His expression became solemn. 'I had the unhappy task of laying Sheila's mother to rest.'
Terrell moved uneasily and muttered something under his breath. There was a pause, then Torn came into the room with Sheila at his heels. He was white faced and sweating.
'Hello, Chief,' he said. 'You—you wanted me?'
'I hear you're not well,' Terrell said, eyeing him. His certainly didn't look well.
'Something I ate . . . I'll be okay,' Tom said. 'Either of you two gentlemen care for a drink?'
'No, thanks . . . Mr. Whiteside, this Buick coupe you were driving . . .'
Maisky had sat down. He pressed his finger tips together and beamed at the others.
'Buick?' Tom said stupidly.
'Oh, Tom . . . we shouldn't have taken it!' Sheila exclaimed. She was now in control of herself. 'You know, I said we shouldn't.'
Tom gaped at her, then desperately trying to control his jumpy nerves, said hurriedly, 'Yeah . . . that's right.'
Terrell stared at him, then at Sheila, then back to Tom.
'Mr. Whiteside, we have reason to believe the car belonged to one of the Casino robbers. Suppose you tell me how you came to be driving it?'
Sheila caught her breath dramatically and clapped her hands. Watching her, Maisky hoped she wasn't going to overplay her act.
'So that's why it was hidden!' she exclaimed. 'Tom! And we took it! We hadn't an idea!' She turned to Terrell, her big eyes wide. 'Of course . . . that explains it, and there we were thinking it belonged to some hunter . . .'
Terrell regarded her.
