All Shot Up_ The Classic Crime Thriller - Chester Himes [49]
No one had batted an eye at the outburst.
“Grover Leighton said he told you several days ago that he’d bring it up Saturday night,” the chief inspector had said quietly. “He doesn’t remember the exact day.”
“He doesn’t remember because he didn’t do it,” Casper had raved. “Maybe he thinks he did. But Grover has the whole fifty states to think of; and if you think he can remember every goddam little thing he has done you’re giving him credit for having a mechanical brain.”
They had let it go at that.
Now Casper had a headache the likes of which would have made his professed coma preferable.
A colored trainee nurse had come in to straighten up and remove the saucers filled with cigar butts. She had opened the French windows to clear the air, and sight of the heavy fall of snow added to Casper’s fury.
“Now they’ll send in Canadian trackers,” he muttered.
The little girl glanced at him apprehensively; she didn’t know whether she was supposed to answer or not. She began edging toward the door.
The telephone on the night stand rang. He snatched up the receiver and shouted, “Tell ’em I’m dead!”
The cool, controlled voice of the reception nurse asked, “Do you care to see the press? Our lobby down here is packed with reporters and photographers.”
“Tell ’em I’m still in a coma.”
“They’ve seen the police leave.”
“Then tell ’em to go to hell. Tell ’em I’ve had a relapse. Tell ’em I’ve developed brain fever. No, don’t tell ’em that. Tell them I’m resting now and that I’ll see them at eight o’clock.”
“Yes, sir. And there is a telephone call for you from the Pinkerton Detective Agency. Shall I put it through?”
He hesitated for an instant, waiting for his sixth sense to work; but it lay dead.
“All right, I’ll take it,” he said.
A calm, soothing-type voice said, “Mister Casper Holmes?”
“Speaking,” Casper said.
“I am Herbert Peters from the Pinkerton Detective Agency. Mister Grover Leighton has been in contact with us, and he has engaged us to arrange for an ambulance under guard to transport you from the hospital to your home.”
“Why not a baby carriage?” Casper growled.
Peters chuckled faintly. “If you will give us the approximate time you will be checking out, we’ll make all the necessary arrangements.”
“I’ll arrange for my own transportation when I leave,” Casper said. “But I’m not thinking of leaving for two or three days.”
“Then you think you will be checking out on Tuesday?”
“That’s what I think. But I don’t think I need any of you. If I can’t get from here to my own house, I need to go back to the nursery.”
“That’s not exactly the situation, sir,” Peters said. “It is not a matter of your ability to take care of yourself. One of our men has been killed, and, unfortunately, you are a witness to the murder. As long as you are alive, the murderers are in danger of—”
“You ain’t just saying it,” Casper cut in.
“So Mister Leighton feels it is essential that we give you the protection necessary for a public figure whose life is in danger.”
“Mister Leighton has already made one mistake by going ahead on his own,” Casper said.
“That’s why he doesn’t want to make another,” Peters said. “That’s why we are requesting your co-operation in advance.” He paused for a moment, then added, “We will have to cover you in any event, whether you like it or not; but it would be much better all around if we had your co-operation.”
Casper conceded. “All right. I’ll call you tomorrow and tell you when I’m checking out. Will you be there?”
“If I’m not, someone else will.”
“Okay, give me the number.”
When he had hung up, he waited for a minute, then dialed the number he’d been given.
An unfamiliar voice said, “Pinkerton Detective Agency.”
“Let me speak to Herbert Peters.”
“Who’s calling, please.”
“Casper Holmes.”
A moment later Peters’ calm voice said, “Yes, Mister Holmes?”
“I’m just checking,” Casper said. “Being as I can’t look through