Thomas Cook - Streets of Fire

Ben nodded silently. ‘Well, that’s just following regulations.’

‘Oh, yeah,’ Siegel said. ‘Then why’d they just do it to me?’

‘What?’

‘Yeah. The next guy they pulled over, they didn’t do any of that stuff.’

‘Next guy?’

‘Right after me.’

‘They pulled over someone else?’

‘Oh, yeah,’ Siegel said loudly. ‘Right as I pulled away, they went after another car. I was still putting all my papers back in my wallet and they were after another one.’

‘You saw this?’ Ben asked.

‘I wasn’t more than a few yards away,’ Siegel said. ‘It was just at the other end of that old ballfield.’

‘What’d you see?’

‘I saw them pull this big car over, and the two of them get out,’ Siegel said. ‘I was going real slow, sort of feeling burned, you know, and I was just heading on toward the factory, and these same two guys had pulled over another car.’

‘What were they doing?’

‘They were going up to it,’ Siegel said. ‘To the driver, I mean. Only it was different this time. I guess they decided to forget the by-the-book stuff.’

Ben nodded.

‘Anyway, they were both heading toward the driver’s side of the car, and when the tall one got to it, he just leaned right in.’

‘He leaned in?’

Siegel chuckled. ‘He couldn’t have leaned in any further if he’d been a guy trying to kiss a girl.’

‘The driver – did you see him?’

‘No, he was turned toward the cop,’ Siegel said. ‘I could just see the back of his head. All I can say is that he had gray hair.’

‘What about the car?’

‘Oh, it was a nice one,’ Siegel said. ‘A Lincoln. Dark blue. A real slick deal. It didn’t look like it belonged in that neighborhood.’

‘Did you see the car drive away?’ Ben asked.

‘No.’

‘Did you see anyone else in the car?’

‘No.’

‘Did you see anybody get out?’

‘No, not a soul,’ Siegel told him. He wiped his forehead. ‘You sure you don’t want something to drink?’

‘No, thanks,’ Ben said.

‘This car, the Lincoln,’ Ben said. ‘Did you see a little girl in it?’

‘No.’

‘She would have been in the backseat.’

Siegel thought for a moment, then shook his head. ‘I didn’t see anybody but the cops.’

‘And the driver,’ Ben reminded him.

‘Well, sort of,’ Siegel replied. ‘But the ones who really got a good look were those two cops. They saw him face to face.’

TWENTY-NINE

The day’s heat felt as if it had dissipated very little during the first few hours of the night, and before walking up the broad semicircular stairs to the Davenport house, Ben took out his handkerchief and wiped his face and neck. He could feel his shirt, wet and sticky, at the back, and as he took off his hat, he noticed that a dark line of perspiration had already risen above the dark band. Not far away, a small pond glimmered motionlessly in the moonlight. A ghostly cloud of steam hung heavily over the water A tired old mallard could be seen drifting through it, its dark beak lifted slightly, as if it were drinking from the air.

A maid opened the door, short and stocky, her body draped in a white apron. ‘Yes, sir?’ she asked.

Ben took out his identification. ‘I spoke to Mr Davenport once before. He said it’d be all right for me to come by if I had any more questions.’

The woman stepped back quickly and flung open the door. ‘Come on in,’ she said.

‘Thank you,’ Ben said as he stepped into the house.

‘Just wait here,’ the maid said. ‘I’ll get Mr Davenport.’

Davenport appeared almost immediately. He looked far less formal than at his office. He wore a plaid sports shirt and large, baggy trousers, pleated at the front. A golf club dangled from his right hand.

‘I was just doing some indoor putting,’ he said as he offered Ben his hand. ‘Would you like some refreshment?’

‘No, thanks,’ Ben said.

‘Well, let’s go talk then,’ Davenport said. ‘Come on in here. We can have some privacy.’

Ben followed him into a small, wood-paneled office. Its walls were covered with fox-hunting scenes and animal heads.

‘The place makes me look like the great white hunter, doesn’t it?’ Davenport asked jokingly.

Ben said nothing.

‘Truth is, I didn’t bring down a one of them,’ Davenport added. ‘Not the bobcat or the leopard, and certainly not that ugly wildebeest.’ He laughed again. ‘They all belonged to my brother-in-law, and when he died, they ended up here. My wife didn’t want to part with them, so this room is the result.’ He strode over to a dark-red leather sofa and sat down. ‘Please have a seat,’ he said, pointing to a matching chair. ‘You must be pretty tired if you’re still up working this late in the day.’

Ben sat down.

‘Have you learned anything about what happened to Doreen?’ Davenport asked immediately.

‘A little,’ Ben said.

‘Well, how can I help you?’

Ben leaned forward slightly. ‘When I talked to you in your office, you said that you drove Doreen all the way to the ballfield.’

‘That’s right,’ Davenport said casually.

‘And that you let her out because she saw another little girl playing, and she wanted to go play with her.’

Davenport nodded.

Ben stared at him intently. ‘Is that the only reason you stopped, Mr Davenport?’

Davenport’s eyes grew taut. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, I’m having a little trouble with that idea.’

‘What idea?’

‘That you only stopped to let her out,’ Ben said flatly.

‘Why else would I stop before I got her back home?’ Davenport asked.

‘Maybe you got pulled over,’ Ben said.

Davenport lifted his head slightly. ‘Go on.’

‘By a police car.’

Davenport drew in a long, slow breath.

Ben looked at him piercingly. ‘We got a couple of guys who work Bearmatch – you ever heard of them?’

Davenport did not answer.

‘They ride around in a prowl car made up to look like a big black cat.’

Davenport remained silent.

‘It’s even got a cat painted on the front,’ Ben went on. ‘Have you ever seen a car like that, Mr Davenport?’

For a moment Davenport seemed to resist the question, draw away from it. ‘Yes,’ he said finally. ‘I’ve seen it. They pulled me over, just like you said. But I had already let Doreen out.’

‘Why did they pull you over?’

‘For speeding,’ Davenport said. ‘At least that’s what they said.’

‘Were you speeding?’

‘I may have been,’ Davenport said. ‘Like I said before, I was in a hurry to get back home. I had a very important meeting.’

‘They didn’t give you a ticket,’ Ben said.

‘How do you know that?’

‘I checked their summonses. They gave one speeding ticket out in Bearmatch that day. But it wasn’t to you.’

‘Then how did you know that they stopped me at all?’ Davenport asked.

‘Someone saw them pull over a dark-blue Lincoln,’ Ben said.

‘And you assumed that it was mine?’

‘Yes.’

‘What else do you know?’ he asked finally.

‘It might be better if it came from you,’ Ben said.

Davenport looked at him almost sadly. ‘It can’t.’

‘It has to,’ Ben told him.

Davenport stared at him mutely, his eyes fixed, stony and yet oddly rocked by agitation, squeezing and un-squeezing like two white fists.

‘A little girl is dead,’ Ben added after a moment, ‘and everybody wants me to get to the bottom of it.’

‘Maybe not everybody,’ Davenport said. ‘There may be people who don’t want you to get to the bottom of it at all.’