“You can forget Holding. Situations change from hour to hour in this city. Come on, we don’t want to keep the Captain waiting.”
We went back to the car.
Rankin said as we got in, “Did you get it?”
“Yeah.” Candy slid my gun to Rankin. “It’s been recently fired.”
“I can explain that,” I said. “You’re not trying to make out I killed those two, are you?”
“I’m not trying to make out anything,” Rankin said in a tired, flat voice. “Just shut up, will you? I’ve been told to bring you in, and I’m bringing you in.”
“What’s this about Holding?”
“You’ll find out.” Rankin settled back in the corner of the car. “Just shut up.”
Nothing further was said during the fast run up to the Crest.
During the run, I did some thinking. Then I suddenly realized I might have the key to the whole case: I couldn’t be absolutely sure, but all of a sudden the bits of the jigsaw that had made no sense, suddenly meant something. It was one of those sudden flashes one gets when one mentally steps back and looks over all the bits and pieces and suddenly sees a connecting link which before hadn’t meant anything.
I hadn’t time to get excited about this discovery because we arrived at the White Chateau.
We got out.
Rankin said to Candy, “Take the car and go back to the bungalow. Take Jackson with you. Search the place. Bring anything you find back here. Get moving.”
Candy looked surprised, but he got back into the car and the driver slid under the driving wheel.
“Think she’ll be gone by now?” Rankin asked as the police car drove off.
“Yeah. What’s happened to Holding?”
“You’re way out on a limb, Brandon. Creedy’s done a fast deal with Judge Harrison. Holding is back with the Administration. There’s no opposition just now.”
That really set me back on my heels.
“Come on,” Rankin said. “We don’t want to keep the Captain waiting. Don’t let’s have any trouble. You were told not to push this thing so you can’t say you weren’t warned.”
“Holding told me to go ahead.”
“Couldn’t you see the kind of rat he is?” Rankin said impatiently. “Come on.”
We walked up the path, across the lawn to the house. All the lights were on. Three uniformed policemen were pacing up and down on the terrace.
We walked through the open french doors into the lounge. A squad of fingerprint men and photographers were at work. None of them bothered to look at me.
Rankin said to one of them, “Captain here?”
“Upstairs, Lieutenant,” the detective said as he peered at a fingerprint he had discovered on the edge of one of the cocktail tables.
We went out into the hall.
Two men in white coats were bringing down a stretcher on which lay a body covered with a sheet. From the size of the body I guessed it was the Filipino’s.
We stood aside and I watched the two men tramp across the hall and out through the french doors.
“Come on,” Rankin said. “You first.”
I climbed the stairs, and at his nod I walked into Thrisby’s bedroom.
Thrisby still lay across the bed. Standing, looking out of the window was the enormous figure of Captain Katchen. Two plainclothes men were going through the various drawers in the room. There was no sign of the Siamese cat. I moved into the room and stopped by the foot of the bed. I didn’t look at Thrisby.
Rankin leaned against the doorpost, his hands in his pockets, his eyes on Katchen’s broad back. Katchen didn’t turn. He continued to stare out of the window. Cigar smoke drifted from his mouth and crawled across the room in a small grey cloud, passing close to me.
It smelt rank and strong.
Nothing happened for two long, unpleasant minutes, then Katchen growled, “Got his gun?” He still remained with his back towards me. The old technique of breaking down nerves and softening-up resistance.
As Rankin left the doorway, one of the other detectives moved over to take his place. It was a hint that they didn’t expect me to make a sudden dive for the stairs.
Rankin put my gun into Katchen’s hand. His hand was so big the gun looked like a toy. He took the gun, sniffed at the barrel, broke open the gun, looked at the barrelling, took out the magazine and then checked the slugs. He lifted his massive shoulders and held the gun in Rankin’s direction.
As Rankin took the gun, Katchen said, “Got the cuffs on him?”
I saw Rankin’s face muscles tighten.
“No, Captain.”
“Why not?” The snarl in his voice would have chilled anyone’s blood. It didn’t warm mine.
“I didn’t think it was necessary.”
“You’re not paid to think! Put ‘em on!”
Rankin produced a pair of handcuffs from his hip pocket and came over to me. His set face was expressionless. I held out my wrists and he snapped the handcuffs on.
“They’re on, Captain,” he said, moving away from me.
Slowly Katchen turned. His big brutal face was dark with congested blood: his small eyes were as restless and as savage as the eyes of a rogue elephant.
“So you imagined you could get away with it, shamus,” he said, glaring at me. “You thought your pal Holding could keep me off your neck. Well, I’m going to show you just how wrong you are.” While he was speaking he moved slowly towards me and I could see little red flecks in his eyes. “I’ve been waiting for another session with you, shamus,” he went on, “but I’ll be damned if I thought I was going to nail you on a double murder charge.”
“You can’t pin that one on me,” I said, watching him. “They’ve been dead five or six hours and you know it.”
For a man of his size he certainly could throw a quick punch. I saw his left coming towards my head and I shifted just in time. I felt his iron knuckles graze my ear, but I hadn’t a chance of blocking his right with my hands handcuffed. His fist slammed into me with the force of a mule’s kick.
I went down and lay with my knees drawn up, trying to get breath into my lungs. For a long minute I held on to myself, trying to get my breath. Then I heard Katchen snarl, “Stand him up!”
One of the detectives got hold of me and dragged me to my feet. I swayed against him, bent double, and he shoved me from him and moved away.
There was a heavy silence while I got hold of myself. After a while I managed to straighten up. I found Katchen facing me, a sneering grin on his face.
“You’re going down to headquarters, shamus,” he said, biting off each word, “and you’re going to be locked in a cell, but you’ll have company. I’ve got three or four boys who like softening beetles. After they’re through with you, you’ll be glad to confess to four murders, let alone two.”
I knew if I said anything he would hit me again and taking one full-blooded punch from him was all I wanted to take. I stood there, looking at him.
“And if I can’t pin a murder rap on you, shamus,” he went on, “we’ll put you away for breaking and entering. You’ll get three months, and every day of those three months one of the boys will bounce you around. I told you to keep your snout out of this, now you’re going to be sorry you didn’t.”
He turned to Rankin.
“Okay, take him down to headquarters and book him on a charge of murdering Thrisby and the Filipino. That’ll hold him until I can look the evidence over. We should be able to nail it on him.”
Rankin, his face expressionless, moved over to me and took hold of my arm.
“Come on,” he said.
Katchen came up to me and dug me in the chest with a finger the size of a banana.
“I’m going to make you wish you were dead, beetle,” he snarled and, drawing his hand back, he clouted me across the face so violently he sent me staggering against Rankin. “Get the punk out of my sight,” he snarled, “and throw him in a cell!”
