Curiosity Didn't Kill the Cat (18 page)

Travers made a few choice comments.

“I’ll never understand,” he concluded, “how Harvey Rose made chief in Holliday Beach. He’s been kicked off, or asked to resign, from every force he’s been on.”

Conan puffed at his cigarette, his eyes narrowing.

“So I’ve heard. Steve, you just don’t understand the local political situation. Some people feel more secure with a man like Harvey around.”

“Sure. Anyway, I did some legwork for you—at the taxpayers’ expense, you understand, which doesn’t endear me to the powers that be around here.”

“If you get any complaints, refer them to my tax returns. I’m definitely a taxpayer, and I’m entitled. Did you find that Chevrolet?”

Travers gave a short laugh. “You’re going to love this. It’d already been picked up when I put out the APB—by the Holliday Beach Police Department, no less. They found it down on Front Street a couple of blocks from the bookshop. Deserted, they say.”

“Damn. You can count on that car being clean as a whistle at this point.”

“Conan, you don’t have the proper respect for the local minions of the law.”

“Oh, I have respect—of a sort. Did you get any information at all on the car?”

“It’s registered to an agency of the federal government, and I’m not at liberty yet to say what agency.”

“Oh, for God’s sake, Steve, can’t I get it through anyone’s head—” He sighed and forced himself to relax. “All right, so I’m still a suspect—for crimes unknown. Has there been any sign of the Major’s body?”

“No, but then nobody’s been looking yet, as far as I know. I…uh, asked some questions about this Major.”

“And?”

“Well, like I said, I’m not free to talk yet. But off the record, I got the impression he was working on something on his own. It didn’t have anything to do with his assignment, and his boss wasn’t too happy about it.”

“Was his boss sure it had nothing to do with his assignment? Steve, this isn’t Berlin. How many undercover operations do you think we’d have going in Holliday Beach?”

Travers sighed. “I don’t know, and I’m just guessing, really. They haven’t been exactly talkative around me, either. Maybe my good name’s been tarnished by association with you.”

“Well, I’m sorry about that. I’d like to know how
my
good name got so tarnished.”

“Don’t ask me. But I picked up a hint that this Major saw somebody he recognized in the bookshop a few days ago. I don’t know if that was you or not.”

Conan sent out a stream of smoke and tapped his cigarette impatiently against the ashtray.

“That still doesn’t explain why I’m suddenly so untrustworthy. Did you tell them…about Mills?”

“You mean that he’s dead? Yes, I told them.”

“Do they believe it?”

“Well, last night, no. But this morning, after checking with his—I mean, finding out he hadn’t shown up for his usual shift, they’re beginning to worry.”

“
Beginning
to worry? It’s about time. And I know he had a partner here, so you don’t need to pussyfoot around that. Steve, they should have someone down here checking, not sitting over there
worrying
.”

“Checking
what
, Conan? They told me the Major had a habit of taking off on tangents of his own; they lost track of him for three days once. They also told me there’s been no hint of trouble on his assignment. And they have nothing but your word for it that he’s dead. Did anybody else see the body?”

“Yes.”

“Who, for God’s sake? Duncan said—”

“The man who killed him.”

Travers loosed an exasperated sigh.

“Sure. That’s a big help.”

“It’s certainly more than my word for it that someone put a bullet in me last night.”

“I know. That’s on the records as an attempted burglary. It’s also on the records that the only witness to said burglary—namely you—suffered an attack of acute amnesia.”

Conan’s cheeks darkened, and the anger-generated tension sent a spasm of pain across his shoulder.

“If someone other than Harvey Rose was willing to listen to me, I might recover from that amnesia.”

“Look, Conan, I’m doing my best, and, like I said, they aren’t saying much to me, either.”

Conan subsided, the tension sagging from his taut muscles.

“I know, Steve. It isn’t your fault.”

“Anyway, they’ll probably have somebody down there to check things out soon, if they haven’t already. But it seems they’re a little shorthanded at the moment. There’s kind of a delicate matter pending in Portland; something to do with about a million bucks’ worth of heroin and the Cosa Nostra. That’s pure scuttlebutt, by the way.”

Conan’s eyes narrowed. “Cosa Nostra. That probably means FBI, then.”

“I told you it was scuttlebutt.”

“It doesn’t help right now, anyway. Did you get any results on those names Charlie gave you?”

Travers hesitated. “Well, it’s funny, but I couldn’t come up with anything on either one of them. I checked all the regular channels and scored a big fat zero. Immigration didn’t even have anything on that Dominic. As far as official records go, those people just don’t exist.”

“That’s…quite interesting.”

“I’m glad you think so. I’ll keep at it, but I doubt I’ll turn up with anything.”

“The lack of information is informative in its own way. Anyway, thanks for the help, and try to get through to that federal agency, or I may get desperate and try on my own. I doubt they’d like that. I might inadvertently foul up some of their best laid plans in the process.”

“Now, look, Conan,” Travers began hotly; then he sighed. “All right, I’ll keep trying, but just hold off for a while. Please.”

“I will, Steve. As long as I can. Anyway, I’ll keep you posted.”

“Sure. Thanks for the reassurance. And…good luck.”

*

Conan cradled the receiver and, for a moment, let his hand rest there, his fingers tapping against the plastic, his eyes fixed blindly on one of the jade prayer wheels in the case behind the bar.

“Well, what’s the word?”

Duncan was putting two steaming cups on the table between the Barcelonas. Conan rose and crossed to the chairs, drawn by the welcome aroma of the coffee.

“The word is mixed; a little good and a lot bad.” He eased himself carefully into one of the chairs. “Thanks for the coffee.”

Duncan nodded as he seated himself.

“What’d Steve have to say?”

Conan gave him the gist of the conversation, then waited silently for him to digest it. Charlie glowered into his cup for a while, then looked up at him.

“So they’re not even admitting the Major’s dead?”

“Consider the source—from their point of view.” He paused to light a cigarette, another small task made difficult by the injury. “Apparently, they haven’t much faith in my word. I assume they’ll take me more seriously in time—when Mills doesn’t show up at all.”

“In time,” he repeated glumly. “What the hell do you suppose his assignment was, anyway? You think Steve knows?”

“Probably, but I doubt he’s been told very much.”

“Well, Steve didn’t help us much. He’s too hogtied.”

Conan raised his cup, savoring the coffee.

“He turned up one rather important item.”

“What do you mean?”

“Dominic. I can understand the lack of information on Mrs. Leen, but Anton Dominic doesn’t exist officially, either, and that’s quite informative.”

“You figure he’s in this with Mrs. Leen?”

“I don’t know. But before, I couldn’t be sure Mills was tailing him; it might have been coincidence that they showed up in the shop at the same time twice in a row. It still might be coincidence, but the odds have dropped to nothing on that. Dominic isn’t what he pretends to be.”

“Maybe he’s the hired man you keep talking about.”

Conan’s eyes were briefly opaque; stone black.

“No. He wouldn’t be a match physically for Jeffries, much less the Major. And the Major put up a fight before he died.”

Duncan shrugged. “Okay. How would he work out as the courier?”

“Not very well. He hasn’t a car, for one thing.”

“He might have access to one.”

“Yes. But I know he wasn’t in the shop Friday. He was ill, and Saturday was the first time he’d been in for two weeks. The book was undoubtedly delivered Friday. That’s when Jeffries found it, and I can’t imagine their leaving it on the shelf for any length of time.”

“So where does Dominic fit in?”

“I don’t know.” He shook his head, feeling a vague sadness; regret. “I wish I didn’t have to fit him in at all.”

“Why not?”

“He’s…a gentle man, Charlie. A man who lives on ideas; who can get enthusiastic about Mu mesons and negative atomic particles and Einsteinian limits.”

“So does that eliminate him as an enemy agent?”

“No.”

“It’s just that you happen to like the old guy, is that it?” Then at Conan’s affirmative nod, “Yeah. Well, just don’t put any blinders on. The way things are going around here, you better keep your eyes wide open.”

Conan smiled faintly. “Sage advice, Charlie. I’ll keep it in mind.”

“You’d better. Anyway, I don’t think Dominic’s our main concern, if he’s eliminated as the hired man. That’s the one I’m worried about. He’s leaving quite a trail of bodies behind him.”

“He’s a little heavy-handed. But at least I know who he is.”

Duncan stared at him, then put his cup down with an impact that should have cracked it, and succeeded in dousing the table with coffee.

“Oh, hell.” He pulled out a handkerchief and mopped up the coffee, scowling angrily. “All right, Chief, let’s have that again. Slow.”

Conan rose and went to the bar, then returned with a towel to help with Duncan’s inept mopping.

“I said I know who the hired man is, but unfortunately I can’t prove a damned thing. Here—that’s good enough.”

Duncan surrendered his sodden handkerchief to him, watching him balefully as he took it and the towel back to the bar.

“Conan, I’m not a jury. So who the hell is it? And when did you come up with this brainstorm of yours?”

Conan returned to his chair and picked up his cigarette. “Harvey Rose. And the brainstorm hit last night.”

“I should’ve known. I figured you were holding out on me. Look, if all you wanted was a legman, you could’ve hired somebody else and saved yourself some money.”

Conan shook his head. “Charlie, I wasn’t up to explaining it last night; I hadn’t even thought it out. I wanted some time to think, and I’d already given you plenty to do. I…didn’t want you distracted!”

“Distracted? What do you mean?” He eyed Conan suspiciously, then finally nodded. “You figured Rose might come back to finish the job on you?”

“It was a possibility, but rather a remote one. His chances of getting caught were too high there, and I think he was partially convinced, at least, by the amnesia line.”

“So, you didn’t want me wasting time making sure he didn’t come back to visit you—with malice aforethought?” He sagged back into his chair with a long sigh. “If I took time to comment on that, we’d be here all day. So, I’ll let it pass. Now, if you don’t think I’d be too distracted, maybe you’d care to tell me why the hell you homed in on Rose.”

Conan hesitated, aware that his reasons might seem flimsy to Charlie; as flimsy as Nel Jeffries’ reasons for believing her husband’s death wasn’t accidental.

“First, he’s left-handed,” he began. “I wasn’t aware of that until last night. Jeffries was probably hit by a southpaw before he was drowned; the bruise was on the right side of the jaw. Secondly, Rose’s face and the knuckles of his left hand were somewhat the worse for wear last night, and Mills put up a fight before he was shot.”

“Maybe that wasn’t the only fight in town last night.”

“Probably not. I suppose what made me wonder, to begin with, was his remarkable attention to duty. Not only did he show up at the scene of a crime without being called, but he went to the trouble of going to the hospital at midnight to question me about it. Getting that kind of action from Rose is mind-boggling. Usually, if he gets a call after hours, he either sends one of his rookies, or tells the caller to drop by the police station in the morning.”

Duncan lit a cigarette, his brow lined with a thoughtful and still skeptical frown.

“Rose isn’t exactly unique. I’ve run into plenty of his kind. The man in the big brass uniform with a tendency to blind spots when it pays. So his efficiency last night was a little odd. Is that all you’re going on?”

Conan bit back an irritable rejoinder and nodded.

“In essence. The man was acting out of character—or so it would seem. But in fact, he wasn’t; it’s just that the reasons for his behavior weren’t apparent. And it occurred to me that Rose would be a perfect candidate for the job of hired man and errand boy. He can be had, and he isn’t bothered with trivia like ethics or conscience. He’s in a position of authority and an excellent source of information on the activities of various law-enforcement agencies. Not only that, it would be easy to set up a communication system with him using radios; no one would think twice at seeing a policeman using a car radio, for instance. And another thing—Berg saw Rose drive past only a few minutes before the Major’s car showed up. Any time after 5:00 P.M., you can usually find Harvey in one of the local bars, not cruising around in his car.”

Duncan’s initial skepticism was fading, but it wasn’t entirely gone yet.

“Well, you may be on to something, but it’s all just a little…vague.”

“I know, and it doesn’t get any less vague.” He rose and went to the window, gazing up at the porcelain shadings of the sky. “I had another thought about Harvey Rose in relation to Captain Jeffries. Remember, I said no one would have any reason to assume Jeffries knew what was in that book unless he
told
someone. Well, who would he tell? Is it unreasonable that he’d tell a duly appointed officer of the law? Rose isn’t held in the highest respect around here, but very few people know exactly how little respect he deserves.” He paused, giving Duncan an oblique smile. “Brace yourself, Charlie, for another theory.”

Duncan shrugged. “I’m braced.”

“All right. It goes like this. Rose had been ordered to watch Jeffries and get the book from him; he saw him walking down Front Street with the book. Rose was ostensibly out cruising the neighborhood, and he stopped to question him; after all, it was unusual for the Captain to be walking the streets alone at night. And this took place within less than a block of the beach access; Mrs. Crane said Jeffries was alone as far as Beach Street. So the ocean was all too handy. Rose probably asked if anything was wrong, and Jeffries, not looking past the uniform, told him everything. At least, enough to convince Rose that it was necessary to silence him. Someone else might have handled the situation with more finesse, and I doubt Mrs. Leen was too happy with Rose’s solution. But he isn’t known for his subtlety.”