Goodbye California - Alistair [39]
He made a call to San Diego, listened for a full half-minute and hung up. The next call he made was to Major Dunne of the FBI. After the first ring Ryder suddenly replaced the receiver. Some thought had evidently occurred to make him change his mind. Instead, he poured himself an unaccustomed Scotch, picked up the file on Carlton, sat and began to leaf through it, making neat, precise notes as he reached the foot of each page. He had just gone through it a second time when Jeff returned. Ryder rose.
‘Let’s go take a little ride in your car.’
‘Sure. Where?’
‘Anywhere.’
‘Anywhere? I can manage that.’ Jeff thought. ‘Donahure might be more persistent than one would give him credit for?’
‘Yes.’
They drove off in Jeff’s Ford. After half a mile Jeff said: ‘I don’t know how you do it. There was a stake-out. We’re being followed.’
‘Make sure.’
Jeff made sure. Another half-mile and he said: ‘I’m sure.’
‘You know what to do.’
Jeff nodded. He turned left at the first intersection, turned right up a poorly-lit lane, passed the entrance of a builder’s yard and came to a stop opposite a second entrance, turning his lights off. Both men got out and walked unhurriedly into the yard.
The car following drew up about fifty yards behind. A lean man of medium height, his face shadowed by a fedora that had become passé in the 1930s, emerged and walked quickly towards the Ford. He had just passed the first entrance when something told him that all was not well. He swung round, reached inside his coat, then lost all interest in what he was doing as a heavy toe-cap caught him just below the knee: in any event it is difficult to reach for a gun when hopping around on one leg and clutching the other with both hands.
‘Stop that noise,’ Ryder said. He reached inside the man’s coat, pulled out an automatic, transferred his grip to the barrel and struck the man squarely in the face with the butt. This time the man screamed. Jeff flashed a torch in his face and said in a voice that could have been steadier: ‘His nose is gone. Some of his top teeth too. They’re gone as well.’
‘So’s my wife.’ The tone of the voice made Jeff flinch and he looked at a man that he’d never seen before. ‘Ridden your luck too far, Raminoff. If I catch you within a mile of my house again you’ll be a month in Belvedere.’ Belvedere was the city hospital. ‘Then after that I’ll go and attend to your boss. Tell him that. Who is your boss, Raminoff?’ He lifted the gun. ‘You have two seconds.’
‘Donahure.’ It was a peculiar gurgling sound and one for which Raminoff could hardly be blamed: blood was pumping steadily from mouth and nose. Ryder watched him for a couple of dispassionate seconds, then turned on his heel.
Back in the Ford Ryder said: ‘Stop at the first phone booth.’ Jeff glanced at him questioningly but Ryder wasn’t looking at him.
Ryder spent three minutes in the booth and made two calls. He returned to the car, lit a Gauloise and said: ‘Drive home.’
‘We’ve got a phone there. Tapped?’
‘Would you put anything beyond Donahure? Two things. I’ve just made a call to John Aaron. Editor of the Examiner. No word yet from the kidnappers. He’ll let me know as soon as anything comes through. I’ve also made a call to Major Dunne of the FBI. I’ll be seeing him shortly. After you’ve dropped me off home I want you to come inside, pick up a gun and something that will serve as a mask and go out to Donahure’s place and find out whether he’s at home or not. Discreetly, of course.’
‘He’s having visitors tonight?’
‘Two. You and me. If he’s there call me at this number.’ He switched on a map light and wrote on a notepad, tearing the page off. ‘The Redox in Bay Street. Know it?