Goodbye California - Alistair [77]
‘No. Why?’
‘When we got home he said he was going to bed. He didn’t. He left after two or three minutes. I followed him, don’t know why, I had the feeling he was going to meet someone, that he was stepping into danger. Lost him at the lights.’
‘Worry about the other guy.’ Dunne hesitated. ‘Some news for you and your father, not all that good. Both shot FBI men were under heavy sedation during the night, but one’s clear now. He says that the first person shot last night was neither him nor his partner but Peggy. She got it through the left shoulder.’
‘No!’
‘I’m afraid so, boy. I know this agent well. He doesn’t make mistakes.’
‘But – but – if she’s wounded, I mean medical attention, hospital, she must have –’
‘Sorry, Jeff. That’s all we know. The kidnappers took her away, remember.’
Jeff made to speak, turned and ran from the office. He went to Delmino’s, the station officers’ favourite hang-out. Yes, Sergeants Ryder and Parker had been there. No, the barman didn’t know where they had gone.
Jeff drove the short distance to the station house. Parker was there along with Sergeant Dickson. Jeff said: ‘Seen my father?’
‘Yes, why?’
‘You know where he is?’
‘Yes. Again why?’
‘Just tell me!’
‘I’m not rightly sure I should.’ He looked at Jeff, saw the urgency and intensity and was not to know it was because of the news Jeff had just heard. He said reluctantly: ‘He’s at Chief Donahure’s. But I’m not sure –’ He stopped. Jeff had already gone. Parker looked at Dickson and shrugged.
Ryder said, almost conversationally: ‘Heard that my daughter has been kidnapped?’
‘No. I swear to God –’
‘All right. Any idea how anyone might have got hold of her address in San Diego?’
Donahure shook his head – but his eyes had flickered, just once. Ryder broke open the revolver: the hammer was lined up against an empty cylinder, one of two. He closed the gun, shoved the stubby finger of Donahure’s right hand through the trigger guard, held the Colt by barrel and butt and said: ‘On the count of three I twist both hands. One –’
‘I did, I did.’
‘How did you get it?’
‘Week or two ago. You were out for lunch and –’
‘And I’d left my address book in my drawer so you kind of naturally wrote down a few names and addresses. I really should break your finger for this. But you can’t sign a statement if I break your writing forefinger, can you?’
‘A statement?’
‘A statement?’
‘I’m not a law officer any more. It’s a citizen’s arrest. Just as legal. I arrest you, Donahure, for larceny, corruption, bribery, the acceptance of bribes – and for murder in the first degree.’
Donahure said nothing. His face, greyer than ever, had slumped between his sagging shoulders. Ryder sniffed the muzzle. ‘Fired recently.’ He broke open the gun. ‘Two bullets gone. We only carry five in a cylinder, so one’s been fired recently.’ He eased out one cartridge and scraped the tip with a nail. ‘And soft-nosed, just like the one that took off Sheriff Hartman’s head. A perfect match for this barrel, I’ll be bound.’ He knew that a match-up was impossible, but Donahure either didn’t know or was too far gone to think. ‘And you left your fingerprints on the door handle, which was a very careless thing to do.’
Donahure said dully: ‘It was the man on the phone –’
‘Save it for the judge.’
‘Freeze,’ a high-pitched voice behind Ryder said. Ryder had survived to his present age by knowing exactly the right thing to do at the right time and at the moment the right thing appeared to be to do what he was told. He froze.
‘Drop that gun.’
Ryder obediently dropped the gun, a decision which was made all the easier for him by the fact that he was holding the gun by the barrel anyway and the cylinder was hinged out.
‘Now turn round nice and slow.’ Brought up on a strict diet of B movies, Ryder reflected, but that didn’t make him any less dangerous. He turned round – nice and slow. The visitor had a black handkerchief tied below his eyes, wore a dark suit, dark shirt, white tie and, of all things, a black fedora. B movies,