“It won’t help with anything or anyone,” Roger said. “We’ll have to work on your description.”
Sloan took over, to send the description to ports and airfields in the hope that Gissing would be recognized. Roger, less buoyant, went to Grosvenor Square.
Herb had gone home. Lissa wasn’t there, but her presence seemed to linger. If Marino had been conscious of any telephone brusqueness, he had not let it worry him.
It was nearly seven o’clock.
“Hi, Roger,” Marino said, and waved to a chair. “You’ll have a drink, I know.” There was a tray on his desk, with Scotch whisky, rye, a gleaming cocktail shaker, a bowl of ice, salted almonds, pecan, cachou and peanuts. “What will it be?”
“Whisky and soda, please,” Roger said.
Marino poured the drinks from where he sat, stretching out his long arms, hardly leaning to the right or left; it was almost as if he couldn’t move his body. His big face had an amiable look, here was a man it seemed nothing could really ruffle — yet the kidnapping of Ricky Shawn had ruffled him. The cut of his grey coat was faultless.
He poured rye on to ice, for himself.
“Here’s to Scotland Yard,” he said, and drank. His eyes smiled. “So it hasn’t gone the way you hoped.”
“Not all the way,” Roger said, “but we’ve found the A70 used at Ealing, and other things have developed.” Marino went tense, and Roger told him exactly what he now knew, going on: “Much depends on how far Gissing was responsible for the kidnapping. I think we’ll catch up with him. There’s a chance that he’ll use the house by the river — else why send his light o’ love away. We’re having it watched. If Gissing knows where the boy is, we’ll find a way of making him talk. Perhaps we can use the murder of Ed Scammel as a lever. Know anything about Scammel?”
Marino said: “I called Washington. If they get a line on him, they’ll call back.”
“Good. If Gissing thinks he’ll have to face a murder charge, he’ll probably talk fast enough.”
“Could be, too. How long has Ed Scammel worked for Gissing?”
“At least three months. He has been seen driving the Austin around Barnes and Hammersmith at intervals for that period. We’re trying to find out who else Ed mixed with over here. He’s known to have had lunch once or twice a week with another American in a cafe at Hammersmith. The other man’s name takes some believing. It’s Jaybird.”
Marino smiled. “You’ll put the L in for him.”
“With luck, we’ll have some news about him tonight,” said Roger. “But we can’t hide the fact that we’re looking for an American citizen. The fact that one was murdered hasn’t leaked out yet — officially, the body’s not identified. But there are limits to how much we can keep secret I told you that on the telephone. I don’t think we ought to keep it all from the Press — or try to.”
“I said, use your own judgment,” Marino reminded him. “Keep doing that, and I’ll be happy. The thing I want is to hold the newspapermen off Shawn. That means keeping the kidnapping out of the newspapers. Can you do this?”
Roger said reluctantly: “So far, we have. The neighbour was satisfied without much trouble. Officially, Ricky Shawn has been sent into the country-neighbours won’t be surprised that he doesn’t show up in Wavertree Road. Officially there was a burglary at Number Thirty-one the night before last — nothing much stolen. It will get a paragraph or two in the local newspapers, but nothing in the daily Press.” Roger finished his drink, thought he heard a sound at the door, looked round and was disappointed. “What news have you got for me?”
“Nothing from the States,” Marino said. “Belle Shawn is still under Carl’s sedation. Shawn hasn’t left his house. I asked him to come and see me, but he refused. Don’t tell me about Mahomet and the mountain.” Marino was still urbane, had himself under much stricter control than the previous morning. “Shawn wants to pack up and go home as soon as Belle is fit to travel.”
“No more messages?”
We haven’t intercepted any on the telephone,” said Marino, “but one might have reached him, telling him to go back to the States if he wants to see the boy again.”
“Will you let him?”
“If Shawn goes home, we’ll never get him back — and we need him here.”
“Is that an answer?”
“We don’t want to have to keep him against his will. We want him to co-operate freely. There just isn’t a way of making a man do what he doesn’t wish to do, Roger — not if you want him to put all he’s got into doing it. You suggested the line we should take with him, and maybe we will, but whatever fine we take, it won’t alter basic facts. You’re right in this way: even if we get Ricky back, Shawn will still think of future danger, so to hold him, we have to get the boy back and also convince Shawn there’s nothing waiting for him round the corner.”
Roger said slowly: “I can’t tell you why I don’t like Shawn. I just don’t Perhaps it’s because you’re so concerned with him that you forget the other trifle.”
Marino looked his question.
“A ten-year-old boy, highly strung, used to having life made easy, was last known to be with McMahon, who probably slit Ed Scammel’s throat.”
“That’s right,” Marino said slowly. “First things first. To me, to a lot of other people, that boy isn’t vital because he’s a child having a hell of a time, only because of his influence on his father. So I’m cold-blooded. But does it make any difference? You want to get him back because he’s a boy, I want him back just as badly because he’s the son of his father. I held out on you about the reason for Shawn’s importance, because I had to. But you’re holding out on me for a reason I don’t know.”
