'Well, get her out of it. Both of you hop in a car and get out of there. Now... not later, now.'
'But, Mike...'
'Damn it, shut up and do what I say. There's going to be trouble I can't explain.'
'Where can we go? Mike, I don't...'
I gave her my new address and added, 'Go right there and stay there. The super has the key and will let you in. Don't open that door for anybody until you're sure it's me, understand? I can't tell you any more except that your neck and Sue's neck are out a mile. We have another dead man on our hands and we don't need any more. You got that?'
She knew I wasn't kidding. There was too much stark urgency in my voice. She said she'd leave in a few minutes and when she did I could sense the fear that touched her.
I tapped the receiver cradle down, broke the connection, dropped in a dime, and dialed my own number. Velda came on after the first ring with a guarded hello.
I said, 'It's breaking, baby. How do you feel?'
'Not too bad. I can get around.'
'Swell. You go downstairs and tell the super that a Geraldine King and Sue Devon are to be admitted to my apartment. Nobody else. Let him keep the key. Then you get down to Sim Torrence's headquarters and check up on his movements all day yesterday. I want every minute of the day spelled out and make it as specific as you can. He got a phone call yesterday. See if it originated from there. I don't care if he took ten minutes out to go to the can... you find out about it. I'm chiefly interested in any time he took off last night.'
'Got it, Mike. Where can I reach you?'
'At the apartment. When I get through I'll go right there. Shake it up.'
'Chop chop. Love me?'
'What a time to ask.'
'Well?'
'Certainly, you nut.'
She laughed that deep, throaty laugh and hung up on me and I had a quick picture of her sliding out of bed, those beautiful long legs rippling into a body... oh hell.
I put the phone back and went back to Pat.
'Where'd you go?' he said.
'We got a killer, buddy.'
He froze for a second. 'You didn't find anything?'
'No? Then make sense out of this.' I pointed to the picture of Sim Torrence in the window.
'Go ahead.'
'Sim's on the way up. He's getting where he always wanted to be. He's got just one bug in his life and that's the kid, Sue Devon. All her life she's been on his back about something in their past and there was always that chance she might find it.
'One time he defended a hard case and when he needed one he called on the guy. Basil Levitt. He wanted Sue knocked off. Some instinct told Sue what he intended to do and she ran for it and wound up at Velda's. She didn't know it, but it was already too late. Levitt was on her tail all the while, followed her, set up in a place opposite the house, and waited for her to show.
'The trouble was, Velda was in hiding too. She respected the kid's fears and kept her under cover until she was out of trouble herself, then she would have left the place with her. Hell, Pat, Levitt didn't come in there for Velda... he was after the kid. When he saw me he must have figured Torrence sent somebody else because he was taking too long and he wasn't about to lose his contract money. That's why Levitt bust in like that.
'Anyway, when Torrence made the deal he must have met Levitt in this joint here thinking he'd never be recognized. But he forgot that his picture is plastered all over on posters throughout the city. Maybe Kline never gave it a thought if he recognized him then. Maybe Kline only got the full picture when he saw Levitt's photo. But he put the thing together. First he called your department for information and grew suspicious when nobody gave him anything concrete.
'Right here he saw Torrence over a barrel so yesterday he called him and told him to meet him. Sim must have jumped out of his skin. He dummied an excuse and probably even led into a trip to Albany for further cover... this we'll know about when I see Velda. But he got here all right. He saw Kline and that was the last Kline saw of anything.'
'You think too much, Mike.'
'The last guy that said that is dead.' I grinned.
'We'd better get up there then.'
New York, when the traffic is thick, is a maddening place. From high above the streets the cars look like a winding line of ants, but when you are in the convoy it becomes a raucous noise, a composite of horns and engines and voices cursing at other voices. It's a heavy smell of exhaust fumes and unburned hydrocarbons and in the desire to compress time and space the distance between cars is infinitesimal.
The running lights designed to keep traffic moving at a steady pace seem to break down then. They all become red. Always, there is a bus or truck ahead, or an out-of-town driver searching for street signs. There are pedestrians who take their time, sometimes deliberately blocking the lights in the never-ceasing battle against the enemy, those who are mounted.
In the city the average speed of a fire truck breaks down to eighteen miles an hour with all its warning devices going, so imagine what happens to time and distance when the end-of-day rush is on. Add to that the rain that fogged the windshields and made every sudden stop hazardous.
Ordinarily from Brooklyn the Torrence place would have been an hour away. But not this night. No, this was a special night of delay and frustration, and if Pat hadn't been able to swing around two barriers with his badge held out the window it would have been an hour longer still.
It was a quarter to eight when we turned in the street Sim Torrence lived on. Behind the wall and the shrubbery I could see lights on in the house and outside that there was no activity at all. From the end of the street, walking toward us, was, the patrolman assigned to the beat on special duty, and when we stopped his pace quickened so that he was there when we got out.
Pat held his badge out again, but the cop recognized me. Pat said, 'Everything all right here?'
'Yes, sir. Miss King and the girl left some time ago and Torrence arrived, but there has been no trouble. Anything I can help with?'
'No, just routine. We have to see Torrence.'
'Sure. He left the gate open.'
We left the car on the street and walked in, staying on the grass. I had the .45 in my hand and Pat had his Police Positive out and ready. Sim Torrence's Cadillac was parked in front of the door and when I felt it the hood was still warm.
Both of us knew what to do. We checked the windows and the back, met again around the front, then I went up to the door while Pat stood by in the shadows.
I touched the buzzer and heard the chime from inside.
Nobody answered so I did it again.
I didn't bother for a third try. I reached out, leaned against the door latch, and it swung in quietly. I went in first, Pat right behind me covering the blind spots. First I motioned him to be quiet, then to follow me since I knew the layout.
There was a deathly stillness about the house that didn't belong there. With all the lights that were going there should have been some sort of sound. But there was nothing.
We checked through the downstairs room, opening closets and probing behind the furniture. Pat looked across the room at me, shook his head, and I pointed toward the stairs.
The master bedroom was the first door on the right. The door was partly open and there was a light on there too. We took that one first.
And that was where we found Sim Torrence. He wasn't winning any more.
He lay face down on the floor with a bullet through his head and a puddle of blood running away from him like juice from a stepped-on tomato. We didn't stop there. We went into every room in the house looking for a killer
