Ted Allbeury - The Twentieth Day of January

“Did he say why it had to be done?”

Siwecki looked at him with a twisted smile. “They didn’t need to tell me, comrade. It was put up for Powell.”

“D’you think Powell knew?”

“I don’t think he did at the beginning. He didn’t talk like he did. But in the end I think he knew, but he didn’t say anything.”

“Was Dempsey the top man?”

Siwecki looked towards the door as if he feared another intrusion. Then he looked back at Nolan.

“Are you FBI?”

“No. D’you want to talk?”

“Not to a mystery man.”

Nolan pulled out his CIA ID card and showed it to Siwecki who leaned forward and read it carefully, scrutinizing the words and the photograph. He looked up at Nolan.

“Can you give me a deal if I tell you more?”

“Are you a Party member, Siwecki?”

“Yeah.”

“Is Dempsey?”

“Yeah.”

“Oakes?”

“No, but they got something on him. He fixes things they want, for money.”

“Will you testify to this?”

“Jesus. They’d kill me.”

“You’ll get protection from the FBI and my people.”

“Mister. They got people everywhere. I’d wanna go somewhere else outside this country.”

“We’ll see what we can do, but you’ll testify, yes?”

“OK.”

“Will you swear a deposition tonight?”

Siwecki shrugged. “If you want.”

Nolan walked into the hallway and opened the telephone directory to look up Gary Baker’s number. With his finger against Baker’s name he dialled. There was no answer. He hesitated and then checked the number against Angelo M. He dialled and a soft voice answered immediately.

“Yes.”

“Are you alone, Maria?”

“Sure I’m alone.”

“It’s Nolan. I’m trying to contact Gary urgently. There’s no answer from his home number. Have you any idea where he’ll be?”

There was silence at the other end. Then she said, “He could be at the office but he wouldn’t answer the phone.”

“Thanks, Maria. See you.”

“Tonight?”

“Maybe. We’ll see. I’m still working.”

He hung up and went back to Siwecki who was talking to his wife.

“Mr. Siwecki. I’m going downtown to the DA’s office and one of his men will come back here to take your statement. He’ll identify himself properly. You stay here quietly with your wife and wait for him. He’ll be here within the hour. When he’s finished I shall come back for you both and take you to a guarded house just outside of town, OK?”

Siwecki shrugged helplessly. “OK, mister.”

The swing doors crashed behind Nolan as he hurried up the corridor. There was a light on in the last office in the DA’s section and Nolan walked in.

Gary Baker was dictating to a middle-aged woman and he turned, still speaking, to see who had come in.

“…and police officer Hagerty confirms that the accused was dead… Nolan. What’s going on?”

“Gary, I need you to take a deposition from a guy named Siwecki. It’s more than just important, and it’s more than urgent.”

“Is he outside?”

“No. It’ll have to be done at his home.”

“Why not here?”

“I don’t want a defence to be that he was harassed or pressured late at night in circumstances that could frighten him or influence him.”

Baker stood up and lifted his jacket from the back of the chair.

“Miss O’Toole, I’ll fix a car from the pool to take you home. Pete, what’s this guy’s address?”

Nolan reached for a pad and wrote out the address and handed it to Baker.

“Could I ask Miss O’Toole to do something for me, Gary?”

“Sure. Miss O’Toole, this is Pete Nolan, he’s in the business.” And he flung himself through the open door.

“Miss O’Toole, is there a flower shop open at this time of night?”

“There’s one at the Mayfair Hotel, sir.”

Nolan peeled off three ten-dollar bills.

“I want some flowers to go to Miss Maria Angelo and pay them extra so they get there tonight, please.”

“Of course, Mr. Nolan. Any particular flowers for Maria?”

He opened his mouth, hesitated and then grinned. “Yes. Make it red roses, if they’ve got them.”

“Yes, they’ll have those because of corsages for the ladies. Do you need a car?”

“No, thanks. Mine’s outside. Goodnight, and thanks for seeing to the flowers.”

Siwecki answered the door. As he peered out from the dimly lit hallway at the two men he opened his mouth to speak. One of them pushed the door aside as the other shoved him back against the wall. He saw the pistol in the man’s hand and, trembling, he walked into the sitting-room as they pushed him ahead of them.

His wife was watching the TV news-bulletin showing a pile-up on Highway 84. Without turning her head she said in Polish, “Close the door, Tad.” And when there was no answer she turned, the look of irritation melting from her face as she saw her husband and the two men. And the gun. She reached forward to switch off the TV, the gun made a noise like a tyre blow-out and her eyes grew big with fear as her hand touched her chest. She looked down to where her hand came away bright red with blood and opened her mouth to scream. The second slug smashed into her skull above the right eye, and slowly her body collapsed, hung for a moment, then slid from the sofa to the ground.

Siwecki stood as if frozen, and then, his eyes blazing as he cursed in Polish, he turned on the two men, his arms flailing wildly. When the hard edge of a hand crashed against his mouth he staggered against one of the chairs and as their hands shoved him backwards, he clutched for support as his legs buckled.

One of the men gripped the front of his shirt and pushed him into the chair. The man with the gun was pointing it at his head as the other man spoke in Polish with a heavy Russian accent.

“What did he want to know, Siwecki?”

“Nothing. I tell him nothing. I swear.”

The man’s boot slammed at Siwecki’s kneecap and he screamed.

“What did he want to know?”

“Oh Jesus. What is all this? He asked about the strike at Haig’s.”

“And you told him?”

Siwecki spread his arms, his eyes pleading.

“We send first for doctor for my wife, yes?”

“She’s dead, Siwecki. You know that. Just talk.”

“They ask about Powell. They investigate. I tell them very little.”

“You bastard.” And as the silencer jerked and spat, the man cursed in Russian when he saw that the slug had torn open the base of Siwecki’s throat. He fired once more and then put the gun against Siwecki’s head as he fired a final round.

They switched off the lights on the ground-floor before they left.

It seemed a long journey back to the house by the airfield and as he turned into the drive a 727 was coming in to land with its lights winking and its belly light pointing forward.

He signalled to the desk clerk to walk with him up the broad staircase to his room.

“Anything vitally important before I hit the sack?”

“Nothing that can’t wait. A few reports from New York and some microfiche from Langley. I don’t think it needs processing until tomorrow, sir.”

“Right. Wake me if you need to.”

Nolan undressed slowly and got into the small divan bed. For a few moments he thought of Maria Angelo and the excitement of her body. Maybe if he was down here for a time… and he slept. Not, perhaps, the sleep of the just but at least the sleep that sends you down a hundred feet into the darkness.

In what seemed like minutes, but was in reality two hours, the duty orderly was shaking Nolan awake.

“There’s a message from Washington says for you to contact the DA’s office—Mr. Gary Baker. He’s waiting for your call.”