‘Thank you.’ I shook his hand then turned to Aitken. ‘If that’s all…’
I broke off as Aitken stared past me down towards the long twisting drive.
‘Now what the devil is this?’ Aitken growled.
I looked in the same direction.
A dark blue car with a red flasher and a siren horn on its roof was coming fast up the drive.
I felt myself turn rigid.
There were four men in the car—all cops.
II
A big man, wearing a grey, crumpled suit and a lightweight hat pushed to the back of his head got out of the police car. His fleshy face was hard and sunburned. There was a mass of freckles across his short, flat nose. He looked what he was: a tough-cynical, suspicious cop.
He looked up at Hackett and me as we leaned over the balustrade, then he started up the steps, moving slowly as if he had plenty of time and was in no hurry to reach us.
Two uniformed cops had spilt out of the car and now stood around in the aimless way cops have. The driver remained at the wheel.
The plain-clothes man finally arrived at the top step and came over to us, moving slowly and deliberately.
I watched him came, my heart beating fast, my mouth dry. I wondered, the way all guilty people must wonder at the sight of a cop, if he had come here to arrest me.
He walked across the terrace, his big feet coming down on the hot stonework with a slight slapping sound, and he stopped in front of Aitken.
‘Detective-lieutenant West, City police, sir,’ he said. The Captain’s compliments. We are asking for your co- operation.’
Aitken stared up at him, his expression puzzled.
‘What is it? What’s the Captain want?’
‘It’s to do with this hit-and-run case. Maybe you’ve read about it in this morning’s papers.’ West’s voice was slow and heavy. ‘The Captain aims to check every car in the city for damage. If it’s okay with you, Mr. Aitken, we’d like to look your cars over.’
Aitken started to get a bloom on his face.
‘Look at my cars? Why? You don’t imagine I had anything to do with it, do you?’
I looked quickly at Hackett. He was leaning against the balustrade, his heavy face showing his interest.
West tilted his hat a little farther to the back of his head. His forehead was glistening with sweat.
‘No, sir, we don’t think that. But we’re checking every car in town. You have a chauffeur. Maybe he used one of your cars last night. I didn’t say he did, but a check would clear him. The Captain said if you objected, I wasn’t to bother you.’
Aitken’s face took on a deeper hue.
‘My chauffeur didn’t use any of my cars last night,’ he grated. West’s face became expressionless.
‘Okay, sir, the Captain said not to persist, but if your chauffeur didn’t use any of your cars, someone else might have.’
‘None of my cars have been out since I broke my leg,’ Aitken Said, his voice tight with rage. ‘You’re wasting your time.’
West lifted his heavy shoulders.
‘It’s what I get paid for. If you object to me looking at your cars, that’s okay with me. I’ll leave it and report back to the Captain.’
‘Listen to him!’ Aitken exploded and turned to Hackett. ‘This is a fine example of how these guys waste our money!’ Four men to check four cars! I’ll write to Sullivan about this! Just because some fool got himself knocked over and kill there’s all this uproar.’
‘The driver didn’t stop,’ Hackett said mildly. ‘You can blame this officer, R.A. He’s only doing his duty.’
Aitken drew in a long breath.
‘Okay, go and look at my cars! I don’t give a damn! Go ahead and waste the money I pay out in taxes. Go on: but off this terrace!’
‘Thank you,’ West said, his face expressionless. ‘Would you tell me where the garage is?’
Aitken turned to me.
‘You know where my garage is?’
I said I did.
‘Then take this man and show him, will you? And keep with him. See none of his men kick a panel in. Just watch out there’s no evidence manufactured to get my chauffeur into trouble.’
I walked to the head of the steps and West plodded after. We went down the steps to where the uniformed men were waiting. West shook his head at them, and we went past them, leaving them standing motionless in the sun.
When we were out of sight of the terrace, West said quietly: ‘Do you work for that guy?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Rather you than me.’ He took off his hat and wiped his forehead with the sleeve of his jacket. ‘I thought my chief was the world’s worst, but I can see he’s not even trying compared to this guy Aitken.’
I didn’t say anything.
We walked past the Pontiac and the Buick. West paused and stared at the two cars.
‘Know who they belong to?’
I had taken the precaution of removing Seabome’s licence tag and substituting my own, but I knew if he wanted to he could easily check the licence number against the tag, and then I’d be sunk, but I didn’t dare tell him I had borrowed the car. I hesitated only for a split second.
‘The Pontiac’s mine. The Buick belongs to Mr. Hackett, the guy up on the terrace.’
Moving slowly and deliberately, West walked around the two cars. He stood staring at them for some seconds, then moved back to where I stood, tense, my hands gripped behind my back.
‘Well, there’s nothing wrong with either of them, is there?’ he said in a conversational tone. ‘You said yours was the Pontiac?’
‘That’s right’
‘May as well give you a clearance certificate now: save my boys calling on you. What’s your name?’
I told him.
He took a pad of printed forms out of his pocket and began to write.
‘Address?’
I told him.
He looked over at the car, wrote some more, then ripped the sheet from the pad.
‘This is the Captain’s idea,’ he said. ‘Maybe it’s not so lousy. This certificate clears your car from this date. If you dent your fender or damage your car in any way, you don’t have to bother to report to us. If you get stopped, all you have to do is to show the certificate. This is quite a job; checking every damn car in town.’ He pushed the form at me and I took it. ‘Don’t lose it. It might save you a headache.’
‘I won’t lose it,’ I said and put the paper away in my wallet as if it were a million-dollar bill.
‘The Captain’s full of bright ideas,’ West went on. ‘That’s why he’s a Captain, but then, of course, he doesn’t have to do the work. He sticks his fat backside into a chair and keeps it there. Not that I blame him, you understand. I dare say I’d do the same if I were a Captain. Right now he has every man on the force hunting for this hit-and-run joker. Can you imagine? Everyone on the force, calling on houses, turning over garages, setting up road-blocks, going around in circles until they don’t know their brass from their oboes, if you will pardon my French.’ He was staring sightlessly at me, not seeing me, half taking to himself. ‘Know what our Captain is? He’s a newspaper cop. He loves publicity. He thrives on it. Did you read the crap he handed out to the press this morning? About O’Brien?’ He suddenly got me into focus and his eyes looked into mine. ‘Between you and me, O’Brien was
