Уильям Макгиверн: The Big Heat

Bannion parked and went into the vestibule of Deery’s building and punched the bell. There was a short wait and then the inner door-lock clicked, and he went up the stairs to the first floor landing. Mrs. Deery opened the door. She seemed surprised to see him, but she smiled, and said, “Please come in, Mr. Bannion.”

“I’m sorry to be bothering you again,” he said, following her into the living room.

“I know it’s necessary, so please don’t apologize. I’ve just been to see Tom,” she said, sitting down on the brocaded sofa and crossing her pretty legs. She was as flawlessly turned out as she’d been the day before, Bannion noticed. Her silver-streaked hair was done perfectly, her make-up was fresh and her manner was serene. Again he was impressed by the certainty and control of her manner. “He looks extremely well, I think,” she went on. “And I must say everyone in the Department has been wonderful to me. The Superintendent called twice and there was a car here this morning, from the Mayor’s office, I believe, to take me to the parlor.”

“Well, that’s only as it should be,” Bannion said. He paused to mark a transition, then said: “I’m here on a different sort of business. I hope you’ll realize this is my job, Mrs. Deery, and cooperate with me if possible.”

“Why, certainly, Mr. Bannion.” She wet her lip. “I’ll help you in anyway I can.”

“Thanks. Last night I had a call from a woman named Lucy Carroway. Does that name mean anything to you?”

Mrs. Deery didn’t change expression. She merely raised her delicate eyebrows, but it was enough to relegate Lucy Carroway into the realms of the unpleasant and unnecessary. “Yes, she was a friend of Tom’s. Quite some time ago, I believe.”

“She told me a very strange story,” Bannion said. “She was positive there was nothing wrong with your husband’s health. She saw him last week, she said, and he told her he was feeling fine.”

Mrs. Deery smiled pleasantly. “That woman is a liar, Mr. Bannion. Tom hadn’t seen her for years, and most certainly not last week.”

“Lucy said it was the night you were in Harrisburg,” Bannion said. “Did you go to Harrisburg last week?”

“Yes, I did,” Mrs. Deery said slowly. “I was in Harrisburg last Thursday night. Perhaps they did meet after all. That would be typical of her, of course. The instant my back was turned she—”

“She insisted it was an accidental meeting,” Bannion said.

“Oh, I’m sure of that,” Mrs. Deery said. Her slim hands trembled slightly. “I suppose she told you about her relationship with my husband.”

“She wasn’t very specific about it.”

“What taste she’s developed,” Mrs. Deery said, with a little laugh. “She’s obviously turned into a very fine lady.” Mrs. Deery squared her slim shoulders and sat up a little straighter. “Well, it seems to be my word against hers, doesn’t it?”

“No, of course not,” Bannion said. “You must realize that we check things like this, even though we’re certain in advance that they’re preposterous.”

“Yes, I understand,” Mrs. Deery said, in a more reasonable voice. “I’ll try to help you. I don’t know if this Lucy Carroway and my husband were sleeping together. I presume they were. That’s the chief appeal of women like that, I suppose. At any rate, the whole affair was so disgusting that I simply couldn’t bring myself to care. I offered Tom a divorce, I made plans to divorce him, actually, but he came to his senses. I was younger then, but I decided it was all you could expect from a man. I took him back and it was a wise move, one I’ve never regretted. Tom has always been as loyal and devoted a husband as any woman could expect to find.”

“I’m sure of that,” Bannion said. He noted the discrepancies between Lucy’s and Mrs. Deery’s account of the affair, but on the whole, he thought Mrs. Deery’s was probably closer to the truth. “Lucy said he seemed very happy when she met him last week,” he said. “He had been worried, she said, when she first knew him.”

“Undoubtedly,” Mrs. Deery said. “Lucy’s the sort who causes men to worry. That didn’t occur to her, I imagine.”

“No, I’m sure it wouldn’t,” Bannion said. He decided to nudge Mrs. Deery gently. “I had the impression she had something else on her mind, something she wasn’t telling me. Can you think of any information, or fantasies, she might be holding back?”

Mrs. Deery shook her head slowly. “No, I can’t. Would you mind telling me why you’re interested in her story?”

“Of course not. If she’s lying, and that seems obvious, I’d like to know why. She may be planning something which we can put a stop to if we have an idea what it is. It might occur to her to blackmail you for instance, with the threat of dirtying up your husband’s name. She wouldn’t have a chance, but people get funny ideas sometimes.”

“That would be her type,” Mrs. Deery said.

“Did you know her in Atlantic City, by the way?”

“I met her there just once.”

“Well—” Bannion paused, then smiled. “Thanks again, Mrs. Deery. I’m sorry to bother you under these circumstances. But if Lucy tries to make any trouble for you just let us know. We’ll put a stop to it fast.”

“Thank you, I will.”

They walked together to the front door. “This weather makes Atlantic City seem like a good idea,” Bannion said. “Do you still have your place there?”

“No, we had to sell it years ago,” Mrs. Deery said. “With the prices up, we just couldn’t afford it.”

Bannion nodded sympathetically. He thanked her again, shook her slim, cool hand, and went down the stairs and out to his car. In his opinion, the Lucy Carroway business was over. He rather regretted having forced Mrs. Deery back to what must have been a painful episode in her marriage — but that was his job.

At the office Bannion was caught in a sudden flurry of work. There was a fatal stabbing in the Nineteenth, and the body of a young girl had been found in Fairmont Park. The girl, a high school senior, had been beaten to death. She had been missing from her home since the night before, after breaking a date with her steady boy friend. Bannion sent Burke on the stabbing, which was a routine job, and took Katz with him out to Fairmont Park. Each paper had three or four men on the job, and the Superintendent was making statements and having his picture taken. Bannion went at it carefully and slowly, nodding politely to the Superintendent’s demands for an immediate arrest, and trying to keep the reporters out of his hair. This sort of job, the dirtiest and unhappiest in the book, Bannion thought, had to be broken the first day, even the first few hours, or it might drag on forever. Jerry Furnham, the tough, amiable Express man, finally gave him a worthwhile tip. He tapped Bannion’s arm and said, “The boyfriend, the one she stood up. He’s all broken up, but he looked like he was crying before he got here. I saw him when he showed. Maybe he’s got a crystal ball.”

Bannion glanced casually at the young man, the girl’s boyfriend, a well set-up lad with a crew cut, and college numerals on his pull-over sweater. He was holding the arm of the girl’s father, sobbing hysterically. Bannion rubbed his forehead tiredly. “Thanks, Jerry,” he said.

He didn’t get back to the office until two. The midnight-to-eight shift was on hand; Neely, Burke, and Carmody had gone.

“Long night,” Sergeant Heineman said. “Don’t forget to put in over-time, Dave.”

“I won’t,” Bannion said.

“Tough about the kid in Fairmont Park,” Heineman said. “The boyfriend, eh?”

“Tough is right,” Bannion said. “He fell apart before we got to him. He said he slapped her once, after the usual argument, and then got scared and knocked her around.” Bannion shook his head. “He kept saying he was a clean boy. Well, Katz is still with him out in the District. They’ll keep him there tonight, so you won’t have to worry about him.”