Without remorse - Tom Clancy [291]
'How well do you know Mrs O'Toole?' Ryan asked.
'Her husband's dead,' the neighbor said. 'He went to Vietnam right after they bought the house, and then he was killed. Such a nice young man, too. She's not in any trouble, is she?'
The detective shook his head. 'No, not at all. I've only heard good things about her.'
'It's been awful busy over there,' the elderly lady went on. She was the perfect person to talk to, about sixty-five, a widow with nothing to do who compensated for the empty space in her life by keeping track of everyone else's. With a little reassurance that she wasn't hurting anyone, she'd relate everything she knew.
'What do you mean?'
'I think she had a houseguest a while back. She sure was shopping a lot more than usual. She's such a nice, pretty girl. It's so sad about her husband. She really ought to start dating again. I'd like to tell her, but I don't want her to think I'm nosy. Anyway, she was shopping a lot, and somebody else came almost every day, stayed overnight a lot, even.'
'Who was that?' Ryan asked, sipping his iced tea.
'A woman, short like me, but heavier, messy hair. She drove a big car, a red Buick, I think, and it had a sticker-thing on the windshield. Oh! That's right!'
'What's that?' Ryan asked.
'I was out with my roses when the girl came out, that's when I saw the sticker-thing.'
'Girl?' Ryan asked innocently.
'That's who she was shopping for!' the elderly lady said, pleased with herself for the sudden discovery. 'She bought clothes for her, I bet. I remember the Hecht Company bags.'
'Can you tell me what the girl looked like?'
'Young, like nineteen or twenty, dark hair. Kinda pale, like she was sick. They drove away, when was that ... ? Oh, I remember. It's the day my new roses came from the nursery. The eleventh. The truck came very early because I don't like the heat, and I was out there working when they came out. I waved at Sandy. She's such a nice girl. I don't talk to her very much, but when I do she always has a kind word. She's a nurse, you know, she works at Johns Hopkins, and -'
Ryan finished off his tea without letting his satisfaction show. Doris Brown had returned home to Pittsburgh on the afternoon of the eleventh. Sarah Rosen drove a Buick, and it undoubtedly had a parking sticker in the window.
Sam Rosen, Sarah Rosen, Sandra O'Toole. They had treated Miss Brown. Two of them had also treated Miss Madden. They had also treated Mr Kelly. After months of frustration, Lieutenant Emmet Ryan had a case.
'There she is now,' the lady said, startling him out of his private thoughts. Ryan turned and looked to see an attractive young lady, on the tall side, carrying a bag of groceries.
'I wonder who that man was?'
'What man?'
'He was there - last night. Maybe she has a boyfriend after all. Tall, like you, dark hair - big.'
'How do you mean?'
'Like a football player, you know, big. He must be nice, though. I saw her hug him. That was just last night.'
Thank God, Ryan thought, for people who don't watch TV.
For his long gun, Kelly had selected a bolt-action .22, a Savage Model 54, the lightweight version of that company's Anschutz match weapon. It was expensive enough at a hundred fifty dollars with tax. Almost as costly were the Leupold scope and mounts. The rifle was almost too good for its purpose, which was the hunting of small game, and had a particularly fine walnut stock. It was a shame that he'd have to scar it up. It would have been more of a shame to waste the lesson from that chief machinist's mate, however.
The one bad thing about the demise of Eddie Morello was that sweetening the deal had required the loss of a large quantity of pure, uncut heroin, a six-kilogram donation to the police evidence locker. That had to be made up. Philadelphia was hungry for more, and his New York connections were showing increasing interest now that they'd had their first taste. He'd do one last batch on the