'You were there too. Right in the middle.'
'Fresh on the scene. Levitt had been there some time. Days.'
'Waiting for you?'
Let them think it, I figured. I wasn't cutting him in on anything. 'I'm trying to find that out too,' I told him. 'When I do you'll get the word.'
Grebb and Force got up together and headed for the door. Their inspection trip was over. They were satisfied now that I'd make a good target. Grebb looked at me through those cold eyes, still smiling twistedly. 'Be sure to do that,' he said.
When they were gone Pat shook his head. 'You don't make friends easily.'
'Who needs them?'
'Someday you will.'
'I'll wait until then. Look, buddy, you know what the action is in town?'
Pat just nodded.
'Dickerson?'
He spread his hands. 'We're working on it.'
'How can a wheel come in already operating and not be known?'
'It isn't hard. You want to know what we have?'
'Damn right.'
'Hoods are showing up from all over the country. They're all clean, at least clean enough so we can't tumble them. We can roust them when we want to, but they have nothing we can pin on them.'
'How many?'
'Not an army, but let a dozen wrong types hit town at once and it sets a pattern. Something's about to happen.'
'They're not holding a convention.'
'No, they're getting paid somehow. Either there's loot being laid out or they're operating under orders. There are Syndicate men in and sitting by nice and quietly waiting for the word. All we can do is wait too. In the meantime there's a shake-up in the rackets. Somebody's got the power to pull strings long enough to get action out of the Midwest and the coast. There's a power play going on and a big one. I wish I could figure it out.'
He sat there drumming his fingertips on the desk top. 'What do
I gave it to him straight, right down the line, laying the facts face up from the time I walked into the apartment until I reached his office. I watched his mind close around the details and put them into mental cubbyholes to hold there until he had time to assimilate them. But I gave him no opinions, nothing more than facts.
Finally he said, 'There are some strange implications.'
'Too many.'
'I suppose you want something from me now.'
'Yeah. Get a killer off my back.'
His eyes touched mine and narrowed. 'We'll do all we can. He can't get around too long with a bullet in him.'
'Up to now he's been doing great.'
I got up off the desk and put on my hat. 'This Arnold Goodwin...'
'I'll get a team out on it. This is one of the implications I don't like. These are the real potential killers. Whether Torrence likes it or not, I'll see that somebody is staked out around his house. We'll keep it quiet, so what he doesn't know won't hurt him.'
'Good deal. I'll see you later.'
'By the way, Joey Adams called here for you. He wants to see you about something.' He grinned at me. 'Said he got stopped on a traffic violation and flashed his honorary badge with all the little diamonds and just found out from the arresting officer what it was good for.'
'Old joke.'
'Funny though.'
I called Joey from downstairs and had him meet me in the Blue Ribbon. It was between the meal hours and nobody was there, so George and I sipped coffee until he got there.
After he ordered milk and cake I said, 'What's the bit?'
'Look, you had me chasing down Sally Devon's old friends. Well, I'm up in the office when Pauline Coulter comes in to tell me what she forgot. About a week ago she ran into Annette Lee who was with Sally when she died.'
'Man, she was old then.'
'She's older now, but still kicking. Annette Lee used to be a wardrobe mistress in a show Sally worked in and afterwards worked for Sally as sort of personal maid. Now how about that? You think I'll make a cop yet?'
'Not if you keep flashing that police badge.' I grinned. 'Come on!'
'Okay, it was a joke.' I laughed. 'No kidding though... this Lee gal might clean up a few things. It's nice to have friends in important places.'
'Anytime, Mike.' He pulled out a card and scribbled down an address. 'Here's where she is. It's a rooming house across town. She never goes anywhere so you can always find her home.'
I stuck the card in my pocket. 'How about now? You free?'
'Like a bird, man.'
Annette Lee had a front room downstairs in one of the countless brownstones along the street. Her pension money kept her adequately, her cat kept her company, and whatever went on outside her window was enough to keep her busy. She was a small woman, shrunken with age, but in the straight-back rocker, with tiny feet pushing against the floor with tireless rhythm to keep her in motion, she had a funny pixyish quality that was reflected in her faded gray eyes.
There was no telling her accurate age, but it had crept up on her so that her talk wandered into peculiar directions and it was difficult to keep her on one track. But she remembered Sally Devon well. They had been good friends and it was Sally who had taken her in when she was sick and needed an operation, and Sally who cared for her and paid her expenses, so that when Sally needed her, she was glad to go.
She eyed us sharply when I questioned her about Sally's background, but until she was aware that I knew about her past, was reluctant to talk about it. It was Sally's earnings in the seamier side of life that paid her expenses and she was grateful. Little by little she gave it to us. Sally had left show business to take up with men, had gotten, involved with the wrong ones and found herself in trouble.
Yes, she knew Sim Torrence, and although she didn't like him, thought he had done well by Sally. He had taken her in when she needed help, and if it hadn't been for Sally's drinking the marriage might have been successful. What she thought was that Sally's guilt complex for bringing a tarnished background into Sim Torrence's life drove her to alcoholism.
She remembered the night Sally died, too. Outside in the cold. Drunk. It was a shame. She couldn't revive her. I asked her directly if she thought Sim Torrence had anything to do with Sally's death.
Annette Lee gave me a shriveling glance. 'Don't be silly,' she said.
'Just clearing up a point,' I told her.
'Then what's this all about, young man?'
'Sue thinks so.'
'Sally's little baby?'
'That's right.'
'Rubbish. She was only a mite.'
'Maybe,' I said. 'But she's pretty insistent about it. One minute she has the idea Torrence was responsible, the next she says it was a snake.'
Annette's face pulled into a tight expression and for a moment her eyes were less faded-looking. 'Snake? Sally used to talk about that. When she was drunk. She kept mentioning the snake. Funny you should bring it up. Never thought it would make an impression on a child. Yes, she used to talk about the snake all right. But no snake
