Thomas Cook - Streets of Fire

Breedlove took a single step toward him, his whole body now plainly visible in the hall light. ‘Why is that, Ben? Why are you so interested in that case?’

‘She was a little girl,’ Ben said flatly, ‘I don’t like what happened to her.’

Breedlove smiled. ‘Course, it happens all the time, don’t it?’

‘Too much, yeah.’

‘You always work them this hard?’

‘Always,’ Ben said bluntly.

Breedlove laughed thinly. ‘I admire your dedication,’ he said, suddenly forcing some lightness into his voice. ‘I really do.’ The edge was now entirely gone from his speech. It had been replaced by something else, a strained friendliness. ‘Well, good for you, old buddy,’ he said, his body relaxing visibly. ‘Nothing like a good cop to straighten out the world, ain’t that right?’

‘I guess so,’ Ben replied curtly.

Breedlove scratched the back of his neck casually. ‘Well, I got to get home like everybody else. You coming?’

‘No. I want to check a few things.’

Breedlove’s face clinched slightly, then relaxed again. ‘All right then,’ he said. ‘See you tomorrow.’

Ben stood silently in the corridor until Breedlove had disappeared down the stairs. Then he turned quickly, walked into the Records and Property Room and switched on the light.

Rows of gray metal filing cabinets lined the back wall of the room, and Ben walked over to the group marked ‘Traffic Citations.’ The citations were arranged by the date the summonses had been written, and Ben immediately began flipping through them, edging backward, closer and closer to the Sunday of Doreen Ballinger’s disappearance.

It was a slender stack, held together by a single rubber band, and it did not take long for Ben to find the few summonses that had been issued by either Tod or Teddy Langley. One had been given in the downtown area at around two in the afternoon. A second had been issued to an illegally parked car just inside the borders of Bearmatch. A third had been issued to a speeding car at about three in the afternoon. The fourth had also been issued as a speeding violation. The time was recorded at a quarter after five, and the location was 21st Street and Second Avenue, the southwest corner of the old ballfield. It had been issued to a man named Norman Siegel, whose address was listed as 2347 Williams Street, Mountain Brook.

It was nearly eight at night by the time Ben turned onto Williams Street. He drove slowly, craning his neck to see the addresses as he passed one modest wood-frame house after another. He finally spotted the one he was looking for. It was a light-blue wood-frame house with an enclosed garage, and as Ben pulled into the driveway, he noticed the large assortment of toys which dotted the recently mowed lawn.

The door opened after the second knock, and Ben could see a short, middle-aged woman through the silvery screen mesh.

‘Is this the Siegel residence?’ he asked.

The woman nodded. ‘Yes.’

‘Does Norman Siegel live here?’

‘Yes, he does,’ the woman said.

Ben took out his police identification. ‘It’s nothing serious, ma’am,’ he said, ‘but I’d like to talk to Mr Siegel if he can spare the time.’

The woman looked at him worriedly. ‘All right,’ she said, her voice somewhat strained. ‘Come in, please.’

The screen door swung open, and Ben stepped into the house.

‘Just have a seat anywhere,’ the woman said as she disappeared into the back of the house.

Ben remained standing. His eyes drifted over the room. It had an exposed brick fireplace, its plain wooden mantel decked with family photographs in pink plastic frames. The carpet was reddish, with white flecks, and it was strewn with toys that looked as if they been scattered about haphazardly and then entirely forgotten. There was a brown naugahyde recliner, and opposite it, a plain tan sofa with bright red cushions.

‘I’m Norman Siegel.’

He was a small man in thick glasses, and he was dressed in khaki trousers and white, open-collared shirt. ‘I was just mowing the back forty,’ he said with a slight smile. ‘Night’s about the only time I have for it.’ He offered Ben his hand. ‘Sarah said you were from the police.’

Ben shook his hand quickly. ‘That’s right.’

Siegel laughed nervously. ‘Gee, I can’t imagine being in any trouble.’ He shifted quickly from one foot to the next. ‘You want to sit down? You want a glass of tea, maybe something stronger?’

‘No, thanks.’

‘Okay,’ Siegel said. He thrust his hands deep into his trouser pockets. ‘So what’s this all about?’

‘You were given a traffic ticket last Sunday, is that right?’ Ben asked.

‘Yeah,’ Siegel said. ‘I’ve already put the check in the mail.’

‘It’s not about the ticket,’ Ben said.

Siegel looked at him, puzzled. ‘What is it then?’

‘Well, not long after you were given the ticket, a little girl was seen walking in the ballfield, and not longer after that, somebody killed her.’

Siegel drew in a long, slow breath. A little girl? Well, that neighborhood’s –’

‘A colored girl,’ Ben said. ‘Twelve years old.’

Siegel’s eyes grew tense. ‘My God, you don’t think I had anything to do with that?’

‘Not at all,’ Ben told him quickly. ‘But I was wondering if you might have seen anything.’

‘When?’

‘While the ticket was being written.’

Siegel thought about it for a moment. ‘I usually keep my eyes right on the road when I go through that part of town,’ he said. ‘Normally, I wouldn’t go through it at all, but I have a toy factory on the other side of that neighborhood, and so if I’m in a hurry I sometimes take a shortcut down Collins Avenue. It ends up taking me through there.’

‘Is that what you were doing on Sunday afternoon?’

‘That’s right.’

‘You were headed for your factory?’

‘Yes,’ Siegel said. ‘I got to it at around five-thirty. Lots of people can vouch for that.’

‘Were you speeding?’

Siegel shrugged. ‘I guess. Lots of people speed m that neighborhood.’

‘Do you know about what time you were pulled over?’

‘It was five-fifteen on the dot,’ Siegel said. ‘I know, because I glanced at my watch as soon as I stopped. I was hoping to get it over with as quickly as possible and then head on over to the factory.’

Ben nodded.

‘And I know exactly when I left, too,’ Siegel said. ‘Because I looked at my watch again.’ He smiled sheepishly. ‘I’m sort of time-conscious, if you know what I mean.’

‘What time did you leave?’

‘Five twenty-two,’ Siegel told him. ‘Which means that the whole thing just took seven minutes.’

‘Did you see a little girl around the ballfield while you were parked?’ Ben asked.

Siegel shook his head. ‘No, I don’t – ’ He stopped himself. ‘Wait a minute, now. Well, yeah, I think I did. Way across the field. In a swing.’

‘How about in the ballfield?’ Ben asked insistently, realizing that the girl in the swing was Ramona Davies. ‘Maybe walking toward the swing?’

‘No, just the girl in the swing,’ Siegel said. That’s the only little girl I saw.’

Ben pulled out the picture of Bluto. ‘How about this man,’ he said as he handed the photograph to Siegel. ‘Does he look familiar?’

Siegel stared at the picture for a moment, then shook his head. ‘No.’

‘He’s a real big guy,’ Ben said. ‘Did you see a real big guy standing off somewhere? Maybe in the distance?’

Siegel handed the picture back to Ben. ‘No.’

‘Just the girl then?’ Ben asked. ‘The one in the swing?’

‘That’s all,’ Siegel said. He smiled. ‘Except for those two cops.’ He laughed lightly. ‘They seemed like two real by-the-book types. One comes around one side of the car, one comes around the other, just like on Highway Patrol .’