James Chase - Well Now, My Pretty…

“Fine.” He appeared to relax. “Now that’s arranged, and we don’t have to worry our heads further about it, perhaps I could go on watching the wrestling. It amuses me.” He got up and turned on the TV set. “A wonderful invention, Mr. Whiteside… a great timepasser.”

Tom got up and walked stiffly into the kitchen.

As the strident, excited voice of the commentator began to fill the room, Maisky dismissed Sheila with a wave of his hand.

“Run along, my pretty,” he said. “I am sure this must bore you.”

She stared at him, then got up and joined Tom in the kitchen.

“Any coffee left, Chief?” Beigler asked, lighting a cigarette from the stub of another. He leaned back in his chair, his heavy frame making the chair creak.

“There’s a drop,” Terrell said and pushed the carton across the desk. “You smoke too much, Joe.”

“Yeah.” Beigler poured coffee into the paper cup. “That’s always been my trouble.” He drank the coffee and then picked up the long typewritten report that had come from the road blocks. It contained a twenty-page list of car numbers and car owners who had passed through the road blocks on their way out of town. “This is getting us nowhere fast.”

“Keep at it,” Terrell said. “We’re gaining some ground. We now know where he hired the truck and the trucker has a good description of him. When we catch up with him, we have him for sure.”

“We haven’t caught…” Then Beigler paused, stared at the list he was holding and stiffened. “Hey, Chief! Look at this!” He passed the sheet to Terrell, his thumbnail underscoring the typewritten line.

Terrell read Frankl in Ludovick, Mon Repos, Sandy Lane, Paradise City. Lic. No. P.C. 6678.

“Whose report?”

“Fred O’Toole.”

“Get him here!”

Beigler called down to Charlie Tanner.

“We want Fred. Is he at the road block still?”

“Hold it.” There was a pause, then Tanner said, “No. He’s back home. Clocked off half an hour ago.”

“Get him. Send a car, Charlie… pronto.”

“Will do,” Tanner said and hung up.

Twenty minutes later, Patrolman Fred O’Toole walked into Terrell’s office. He was out of uniform and showed signs of having scrambled into a pair of slacks and an open-neck shirt.

“Come in, Fred,” Terrell said, waving to a chair. “Sorry… I guess you were putting your feet up.”

“That’s okay, sir,” O’Toole said, stiffly at attention. It was all right for the Chief to be friendly, but Beigler was his boss.

“Sit down,” Terrell said. “Don’t we have any coffee in this place?”

Beigler grabbed the telephone. He told Tanner to send out for coffee.

“What again?” Tanner said wearily.

“You heard me,” Beigler said and hung up. “Relax, Fred.”

Uneasily, O’Toole sat on the edge of a chair.

“Fred… this Buick coupe. Owner, Franklin Ludovick,” Terrell said, passing the typewritten sheet across the desk. “What can you tell me about it?”

“It came through the road block as stated, sir. It was driven by Tom Whiteside, the G.M. agent.”

“Dr. Whiteside’s son?”

“That’s correct, sir.”

“Go on.”

“He said he had broken down and had borrowed the car from a client.”

Terrell and Beigler exchanged glances.

“Did you check the car, Fred?”

“Not on the inward trip, sir. We weren’t checking incoming cars, but a couple of hours later, he came back. He said he was returning the car. I checked it then. It was clean.”

“Was he on his own?”

“His wife was with him.”

Terrell thought for a moment, then nodded.

“All right, Fred, you get back home. Have them drive you back.”

When O’Toole had gone, Terrell got to his feet. Beigler was already putting his .38 into its holster. He then snatched up the telephone receiver and told Tanner that Jacoby and Lepski were to report to the car pool pronto.

“I’ve got your coffee,” Tanner said.

“Drink it for me,” Beigler said and hung up.

He followed Terrell down to the car pool. As they got into a police car, Lepski and Jacoby came running down the ramp. They scrambled into the back as Beigler set the car in motion.

Terrell explained the set-up to them.

“You two cover us. Lepski: take care of the back. Watch it! Could be a tricky one. We’ll play it by ear.”

Ten minutes later, the car pulled up outside the Whitesides’ bungalow.

Terrell and Beigler walked up the path and rang on the front- door bell.

TOM WHITESIDE had just finished sweeping the soil off the garden path when he saw Detective 2nd Grade Lepski appear in the lane at the bottom of his garden. He recognised him immediately. Lepski was a wellknown character in Paradise City. The sight of him made Tom’s heart skip a beat. Looking quickly away from the detective, he leaned the broom against the wall and walked into the kitchen.

In the living-room, Maisky saw the police car pull up and Terrell and Beigler start up the path.

“It’s the police,” he said quietly to Sheila. “Now, don’t lose your head. Remember I am Father Latimer from New Orleans. It’s going to be all right if you handle it right.”

His calm, confident tone quietened Sheila’s momentary panic. As the front-door bell rang, Maisky went on, “Let them in. Act naturally and relax.”

He sat down in a lounging chair after a brief glance in the mirror over the mantelpiece to make sure his wig was on straight.

Her heart pounding, but her face composed, Sheila went to the door and opened it.

“Mrs. Whiteside?” Terrell said, although he knew her all right. There were few residents of the City who didn’t know her by sight.

“Why, yes.” She forced a smile. “It’s Chief of Police Terrell, isn’t it?”

“Yeah… Mr. Whiteside in?”

“Yes. He came home early. He isn’t very well… something he ate, but do come in.”

She led him and Beigler into the living-room. Both the police officers were startled to see a small, white-haired clergyman sitting quietly in an armchair. Maisky got to his feet, his smile bright with welcome.

“This is Father Latimer from New Orleans,” Sheila said. “He is staying with us. Father, this is Chief of Police Terrell and— and…” She looked at Beigler, flashing him a smile.

Some chick! Beigler thought as he introduced himself. He had trouble keeping his eyes from those long, slim legs.

“Yes… well, do sit down. I’ll fetch Tom.”

She left the room. Maisky shook hands with Terrell and then Beigler.

“I am happy to know you,” he said. “This is my first visit to your beautiful City.” His expression became solemn. “I had the unhappy task of laying Sheila’s mother to rest.”

Terrell moved uneasily and muttered something under his breath. There was a pause, then Torn came into the room with Sheila at his heels. He was white faced and sweating.

“Hello, Chief,” he said. “You—you wanted me?”

“I hear you’re not well,” Terrell said, eyeing him. His certainly didn’t look well.

“Something I ate… I’ll be okay,” Tom said. “Either of you two gentlemen care for a drink?”

“No, thanks… Mr. Whiteside, this Buick coupe you were driving…”

Maisky had sat down. He pressed his finger tips together and beamed at the others.

“Buick?” Tom said stupidly.

“Oh, Tom… we shouldn’t have taken it!” Sheila exclaimed. She was now in control of herself. “You know, I said we shouldn’t.”

Tom gaped at her, then desperately trying to control his jumpy nerves, said hurriedly, “Yeah… that’s right.”

Terrell stared at him, then at Sheila, then back to Tom.