Goodbye California - Alistair [60]
Jeff said in injured reproach: ‘You might have told me all this.’
‘I thought you understood.’
‘You’d all this figured in advance? Before you moved in on them?’ Dunne said. Ryder nodded. ‘Smarter than the average cop. Might even make the FBI. Any suggestions?’
‘A tap on LeWinter’s phone.’
‘Illegal. Congress is very uptight about tapping these days – chiefly, one supposes, because they’re terrified of having their own phones tapped. It’ll take an hour or two.’
‘You appreciate, of course, that this will be the second tap on his line.’
‘Second?’
‘Why do you think Sheriff Hartman’s dead?’
‘Because he’d talk? A new recruit, still not deeply involved, wanting to get out from under before it was too late?’
‘That, too. But how come he’s dead? Because Morro had LeWinter’s line tapped. I called the night telephone manager from LeWinter’s house to get Hartman’s address – he was unlisted, but that’s probably because he was fairly new to the area. Someone intercepted the call and got to Hartman before Jeff and I did. By the way, there’s no point in recovering the bullet that killed him. It was a dum-dum and would have been distorted out of recognition and further mangled on embedding itself in the brick wall. Ballistic experts are not wizards: you couldn’t hope to match up what’s left of that bullet with any gun barrel.’
‘“Someone”, you said?’
‘Perhaps Donahure – he was showing signs of coming to when we left him – or, just possibly, one of Donahure’s underworld connections. Raminoff wasn’t the only one.’
‘You gave your name over the phone?’
‘Had to – to get the information I wanted.’
‘So now Donahure knows you were in LeWinter’s house. So now LeWinter knows.’
‘No chance. To tell LeWinter that he’d have to tell him that he either had LeWinter’s phone tapped or knew that it was tapped. By the same token if my call to Aaron of the Examiner was tapped Donahure or whoever would still be unable to tell LeWinter. But unlikely that that second call was tapped – our eavesdropping friend would have taken off like a bat after he’d heard mention of Hartman’s name and address.’
Dunne looked at him curiously – it might almost have been with respect. ‘To coin a phrase, you got all the angles figured.’
‘I wish I had. But I haven’t.’
One of the desk-phones rang. Dunne listened in silence and his lips compressed as all trace of expression left his face. He nodded several times, said, ‘Yes, I’ll do that,’ and replaced the receiver. He looked at Ryder in silence.
Without any particular inflection in tone, Ryder said: ‘I told you. I didn’t have all the angles figured. They’ve got Peggy?’
‘Yes.’
Jeff’s chair crashed over backwards. He was on his feet, face almost instantly drained of colour. ‘Peggy! What’s happened to Peggy?’
‘They’ve taken her. As hostage.’
‘Hostage! But you promised us last night – so much for your damned FBI!’
Dunne’s voice was quiet. ‘Two of the damned FBI, as you call them, were gunned down and are in hospital. One is on the critical list. Peggy, at least, is unharmed.’
‘Sit down, Jeff.’ Still no inflection in the voice. He looked at Dunne. ‘I’ve been told to lay off.’
‘Yes. Would you recognize the amethyst she wears on the little finger of her left hand?’ Dunne’s eyes were bitter. ‘Especially, they say, if it’s still attached to her little finger?’
Jeff had just straightened his chair. He was still standing, both hands holding the back bar as if he intended to crush it. His voice was husky. ‘Good God, Dad! Don’t just sit there. It’s not – it’s not human. It’s Peggy! Peggy! We can’t stay here. Let’s leave now. We can be there in no time.’
‘Easy, Jeff, easy. Where in no time?’
‘San Diego.’
Ryder allowed an edge of coolness to creep into his voice. Deliberately, he allowed it. ‘You’ll never make a cop until you learn to think like one. Peggy, San Diego – they’re just tangled up on the outside strand of the spider’s