Goodbye California

‘Thank you. Thank you both very much.’

Jablonsky and Parker walked together to their cars. Jablonsky said: ‘You know him better than I do, Sergeant. Ryder really cares about his family? He doesn’t seem terribly upset to me.’

‘He cares. Not much of a man for the emotional scene. He’ll probably be just as relaxed when he kills the man who took Susan.’

‘He would do that?’ Jablonsky seemed unhappy.

‘Sure. Wouldn’t be the first time. Not in cold blood, of course — he’d have to have a reason. No reason, he’ll just leave a nice challenging case for the plastic surgeon. And either of those two things could happen to anyone who gets in his way when he’s trying to get next to Morro, or whatever his name is. I’m afraid the kidnappers made a big mistake — they kidnapped the wrong person.’

‘What do you think he’s going to do?’

‘Don’t know. I’m just guessing when I say I know what I’m going to do, something I never thought I would. I’m going right home and say a prayer for the health of our Chief of Police.’

Jeff nodded towards the file Jablonsky had brought. ‘How about your homework? I always had to do it first thing when I came home.’

‘Uninterrupted thought for that one.’

‘I suppose he thinks that’s a gentle hint. Come on, Marge, I’ll take you home. See you when I see you.’

‘Half an hour.’

‘Ha!’ Jeff looked pleased. ‘So you’re not going to sit there all night and do nothing?’

‘No. I’m not going to sit here all night and do nothing.’

For some time after they had left it seemed as if he intended to do just that. After some minutes he put his photograph back in the frame, rose and placed it between two others on the upright piano. The one to the left was that of his wife: the other, that of Peggy, his daughter, a sophomore in arts at San Diego. She was a laughing girl with dancing eyes who had inherited her father’s colouring in eyes and hair but, fortunately, neither his features nor build, both of which belonged strictly to her mother. It was common knowledge that she was the only person who could wrap the formidable Sergeant Ryder round her little finger, a state of affairs of which Ryder was well aware and by which he appeared completely untroubled. He looked at the three photographs for some seconds, shook his head, sighed, removed his own and placed it in a drawer.

He made a call to San Diego, listened for a full half-minute and hung up. The next call he made was to Major Dunne of the FBI. After the first ring Ryder suddenly replaced the receiver. Some thought had evidently occurred to make him change his mind. Instead, he poured himself an unaccustomed Scotch, picked up the file on Carlton, sat and began to leaf through it, making neat, precise notes as he reached the foot of each page. He had just gone through it a second time when Jeff returned. Ryder rose.

‘Let’s go take a little ride in your car.’

‘Sure. Where?’

‘Anywhere.’

‘Anywhere? I can manage that.’ Jeff thought. ‘Donahure might be more persistent than one would give him credit for?’

‘Yes.’

They drove off in Jeff’s Ford. After half a mile Jeff said: ‘I don’t know how you do it. There was a stake-out. We’re being followed.’

‘Make sure.’

Jeff made sure. Another half-mile and he said: ‘I’m sure.’

‘You know what to do.’

Jeff nodded. He turned left at the first intersection, turned right up a poorly-lit lane, passed the entrance of a builder’s yard and came to a stop opposite a second entrance, turning his lights off. Both men got out and walked unhurriedly into the yard.

The car following drew up about fifty yards behind. A lean man of medium height, his face shadowed by a fedora that had become passe in the 1930s, emerged and walked quickly towards the Ford. He had just passed the first entrance when something told him that all was not well. He swung round, reached inside his coat, then lost all interest in what he was doing as a heavy toe-cap caught him just below the knee: in any event it is difficult to reach for a gun when hopping around on one leg and clutching the other with both hands.

‘Stop that noise,’ Ryder said. He reached inside the man’s coat, pulled out an automatic, transferred his grip to the barrel and struck the man squarely in the face with the butt. This time the man screamed. Jeff flashed a torch in his face and said in a voice that could have been steadier: ‘His nose is gone. Some of his top teeth too. They’re gone as well.’

‘So’s my wife.’ The tone of the voice made Jeff flinch and he looked at a man that he’d never seen before. ‘Ridden your luck too far, Raminoff. If I catch you within a mile of my house again you’ll be a month in Belvedere.’ Belvedere was the city hospital. ‘Then after that I’ll go and attend to your boss. Tell him that. Who is your boss, Raminoff?’ He lifted the gun. ‘You have two seconds.’

‘Donahure.’ It was a peculiar gurgling sound and one for which Raminoff could hardly be blamed: blood was pumping steadily from mouth and nose. Ryder watched him for a couple of dispassionate seconds, then turned on his heel.

Back in the Ford Ryder said: ‘Stop at the first phone booth.’ Jeff glanced at him questioningly but Ryder wasn’t looking at him.

Ryder spent three minutes in the booth and made two calls. He returned to the car, lit a Gauloise and said: ‘Drive home.’

‘We’ve got a phone there. Tapped?’

‘Would you put anything beyond Donahure? Two things. I’ve just made a call to John Aaron. Editor of the Examiner. No word yet from the kidnappers. He’ll let me know as soon as anything comes through. I’ve also made a call to Major Dunne of the FBI. I’ll be seeing him shortly. After you’ve dropped me off home I want you to come inside, pick up a gun and something that will serve as a mask and go out to Donahure’s place and find out whether he’s at home or not. Discreetly, of course.’

‘He’s having visitors tonight?’

‘Two. You and me. If he’s there call me at this number.’ He switched on a map light and wrote on a notepad, tearing the page off. ‘The Redox in Bay Street. Know it?’

‘By reputation.’ Jeff sounded severe. ‘A singles bar, full of gays and drug-pushers, not to mention addicts. Hardly your scene, I would have thought.’

‘Why I’m going there. Must say Dunne didn’t sound too happy about it either.’

Jeff hesitated. ‘Going to give Donahure the Raminoff treatment?’

‘It’s a tempting thought, but no. He’d have nothing to tell us. Anyone smart enough to pull off this raid would be smart enough not to establish any direct contact with a clown like Donahure. He would certainly use an intermediary, maybe even two. I would.’

‘Then what would you be looking for?’

‘I wouldn’t know until I have looked.’

Ryder was in disguise — he was wearing a freshly pressed business suit which only his family knew he possessed. Dunne, too, was in disguise: he wore a beret, dark glasses and a pencil moustache, none of which suited him and made him, as he was uncomfortably aware, look slightly ridiculous. But the grey eyes were as intelligent and watchful as ever. He looked in distaste at the oddly attired clientele, mainly teenagers and those in the early twenties, and sniffed the air in nose-wrinkling disgust.

‘Place smells like a damn bordello.’

‘You frequent those places?’

‘Only in the line of duty.’ Dunne smiled. ‘Okay, so no one would look for us here. Certainly I wouldn’t.’ He broke off as a creature in pink pantaloons deposited two drinks on their table and left. Ryder poured both into a convenient potted plant.