"I thought about it all the way back. Before I left New York I got creamed in the men's room of the airfield. I thought it was for some loot, but that was a cover. Somebody sapped me, took a look at my airline ticket in time to get on the same plane. That was buddy Joe Coon. He was the one I told you about."
"That Mannie Waller deal?"
I nodded.
"Back in New York the word is going out fast. Rhino Massley isn't dead at all. His grave is empty. Ten to one the lad who got away put in a fast phone call to the office."
"So what's the next step?"
I pointed to his desk. "Can I use the phone?"
"Be my guest."
I picked up the receiver, dialed the operator and gave her the number of the Enfield Hotel, person-to-person to Terry. The hotel PBX rang for a full minute, then gave me a DA. Nobody answered. I cancelled the call and put in another to Dan Litvak, at Rooney's.
"Where are you?" he asked.
"Phoenix."
"Oh? What's with Rhino Massley?"
"Rhino's grave was empty. He's not dead."
"It's your deal, kid. Go on."
"Swell! Now do you think you can influence Cal Porter to start some action on this thing?"
"Like how?"
I told him what happened back at Rhino's old place and listened to him let out a long low hiss. I said, "Give it to Porter straight, but don't let him start blowing any whistles. First have him check the State Department and steamship lines for anything on Elena Harris, Rhino's former nurse. The date would be shortly after he supposedly died. Okay. Then see if you can run down the Harris dame wherever she is. The paper ought to foot the phone calls."
"That's it then?"
"Maybe you can lean on Porter a little bit. Make sure he has somebody on Waller from here on in. If there's a political rub, he might want to play it cool."
I hung up. Stack was looking at me with a little grin. "Don't be giving anything away, friend. You're on the staff now, remember?" He handed me a fresh drink across the table and I took it mechanically. Without realizing it I held it in my hand a long minute before raising it to my mouth and when I did it was the full realization that the old compulsion was gone completely.
I said, "Joe, this story has two ends. One in New York and one here. It's an old story and I've been in it since the beginning. I want in on it at the end. The story is big enough for a couple of papers, but I'm not doing it for the sake of a news scoop. I've been a patsy long enough. There are a lot of eyes I'd like to have look my way again. Until now I haven't realized how much I'd like to have my integrity restored and proven."
"I have something to show you." He slid a folder across the desk. "File on Massley. Most of it's local. What was this thing he had about dames?"
"Beats me. He didn't take to anybody except his nurse."
"You're not kidding. You know he had three assault charges brought against him by three different housekeepers?"
"When he was in the lung?"
"On two occasions, when he was out of it for the few minutes necessary, he took the time to belt one woman with an ashtray and hit the other with a bottle of rubbing alcohol. After all the verbal abuse they took from Rhino that finished it. Both of them dropped the charges after an out-of-court settlement."
"Who was the third?"
"A newspaper woman. She was outside his window with a camera and he fired right through the window at her."
"What's your point?"
"It's an old story. He's had charges like these flung at him a dozen times. Anything there?"
I shrugged, took another small pull at the drink and pushed it away from me. It was no trouble to do it at all. "Nothing I can touch at the moment. It's a peculiar facet of his personality I found out about back home. Why this interest?"
"Because on everything else he was clean. Massley apparently went to every extent to keep in the background. He was legal, at least on the surface. He ran a neat, efficient organization and let as little trouble touch him as possible. Then this stuff pops up. He's gone after more dames with his hands or anything available than you can count. Each time he has to go out of his way to clear the deal with a handful of dough."
"So he hates dames."
"Not his nurse."
"There is always the exception," I said. I stood up and pushed the phone at him. "Call the airport and see who you know. I want a flight out."
He made a tight face. "The cops are going to want to talk to you."
"You talk for me."
"You're the one with the story. What can I say?"
"Maybe something about how peculiar it was that the doctor who signed Massley's death certificate and the mortician who embalmed him died in a supposed accident together right after the funeral that was held for a bag of sand. Hell, they ought to be glad they got the two who creamed Lafarge."
"That's one story they'll want everything on."
"Guardian of a buried sandbag," I told him. "As long as nobody dug the coffin up, Rhino was safe someplace. Those hoods who jumped me got the idea real fast and didn't want the information spread around. If you didn't show up, Lafarge and I would have filled that hole and if they handled it right nobody would have been wised up."
The DC8B landed short, slowed up on its brakes and turned into the first taxi strip. As it swung onto the apron I saw them, the unmistakables, men stamped by their jobs. The pair of two-tone patrol cars would not have been the giveaway, if they hadn't backed up the black sedan with the small mid-roof antenna.
Cops. Liaison between Phoenix and New York must have been excellent.
Cal Porter wasn't taking any chances on me running off with a hatful of information that could make him governor. At least I should have expected it. You don't keep murder quiet. At least not too inexpensively.
The cop met me at the foot of the ramp, took my arm, and tried to steer me. I said, "Lay off."
For a second it looked like he was going to have fun, then Cal Porter was there, smiling pleasantly just in case, another plainclothesman behind him. "Phoenix called, Rocca."
"It's what I expected, Porter."
The cop nudged me. "Say mister."
I gave him the old two words and turned to the D.A. "Lay off me, Porter. Treat me like a slob and it's going to look like you fell through the crapper. I'm past being pushed, especially by you. From now on you stay on the safe side, not me. You pulled the cork eight years ago, but it won't happen now." I looked around at the nice assemblage, well-trained and efficient, all there to do it the way the book said, no matter what it cost anybody else.
I said, "You got one stinking chance to play it smart, Porter. I won't give you two at all. If you spoke to Phoenix, you know there's a press working on my side this time without a publisher like Gates who let his men get thrown to the dogs."
"Maybe you know that I got time working for me and, if I don't talk, then you'll look like the most stupid idiot that ever faced a court and, brother, will I call the names out. In fact, come to think of it, you haven't got a damn thing to say at all. Not a god damn thing. So toss me in the slammer and I'll wait it out. I'll wait until it's over with, then shove it into you and break it off."
The plainclothesman said, "Want me to calm him down, Mr. Porter?"
Cal was white. His nostrils were pinched and turning green from pressure, but he shook his head. He waved his hand absently at the cops. "You men go back. Mr. Rocca here will go with me." He let the rage seep out of his face slowly. "That all right with you, Mr. Rocca?"
