Hit and Run (13 page)
Authors: James Hadley Chase
'I was about to change when Watkins called me,' I said, moving over to where he lay and sitting down in a chair near Hackett's.
'I'm sorry. I told you to get a game in. I meant you to,' Aitken said, running his fingers through his sparse hair, 'but when Hackett turned up, I thought you should meet him.'
I looked politely at Hackett, then back to Aitken again. I had no idea what it was all about, but at least it didn't seem to be trouble.
Aitken looked over at Hackett and grinned his sneering little grin.
'This young fella's been working too hard,' he said. 'I told him to take the weekend off: to play golf and find a pretty woman. You turning up like this has spoilt it for him.'
Hackett laughed.
'Don't you believe it. He may have missed his golf, but he didn't miss out on the other thing.' He turned to me with a wide grin. 'Did you, boy?'
My smile was stiff, but I somehow managed to keep it in place. I didn't say anything.
Aitken looked sharply at me, then at Hackett.
'Oh? What do you know about what he's been up to?' I found my hands were turning into fists and I put them in my trouser pockets.
'Never mind: the guy's got a private life, hasn't he?' Hackett said and winked at me. 'The fact is, Scott, I'm coming in on this New York venture. I'm putting in some of my money. When R.A. told me you were going to handle the office, I wanted to meet and talk to you. That's about it, isn't it, R.A.?'
Aitken scowled. He disliked anyone taking charge of the conversation just as he disliked being side-tracked, but he said in a fairly genial tone: 'Yes, that's it. Well, here he is for you to talk to.' He turned to me. 'Hackett is putting up a hundred thousand dollars, and he naturally wants to make sure you're the man to look after his money.'
'From what R.A. tells me, you must be okay,' Hackett said, leaning back in his chair, 'but there are one or two points I'd like to cover with you. You don't mind answering a few questions, do you?'
'Why, no,' I said, relaxing a little. 'I'd be glad to.'
'They won't touch on your private life,' he said and smiled. 'How a man lives outside the office is no concern of mine, unless, of course, he gets mixed up in some mess or scandal.' The jovial face was still jovial, but the eyes were now a little too steady and searching for me to meet. I took out my cigarettes and hid behind the business of lighting up. 'I don't suppose you aim to mix yourself up in any scandal, do you?' he went on.
Aitken moved impatiently.
'There's nothing like that about Scott,' he growled. 'You don't imagine I employ men who get mixed up in scandals, do you?'
'I'm sure you don't,' Hackett said and, leaning forward, he slapped me on the knee. 'I'm a great little kidder. Don't pay my attention to it. Now, suppose you tell me about your qualifications?'
Maybe he was a great little kidder, but he wasn't kidding me. He knew something or suspected something. I was sure of that. Had he guessed the girl he had seen me with was Lucille?
I told him about my qualifications, and then answered a series of searching questions to do with my career. He also asked me questions about my plans for the New York office, the staff I would need, where the office would be located and so on. Finally, he seemed satisfied and he sat back, nodding his head.
'You'll do. You're a regular R.A. man, and that's good enough for me.' He glanced over at Aitken. 'And he's putting up twenty thousand?'
Aitken nodded.
'And he's to get five per cent on the gross as well as his salary?'
'Yes.'
Hackett brooded for a moment, and I was expecting him to say he didn't agree with the percentage, but he didn't.
'Okay. They're damn good terms, Scott, but I bet you'll earn them. When do you put the money up?'
'Next Thursday,' I told him.
'Okay, R.A. You'll have my cheque at the same time. Okay?'
'Suits me fine. I'll have the whole thing fixed through Webster. You know him, don't you?'
'Yeah – a good man.' Hackett got to his feet. 'Well, we mustn't keep Scott from his golf.' He
offered me his hand, 'I'm;' sure you're going to make a big success of the job. I wish you luck.'
'Thank you.' I shook his hand then turned to Aitken. 'If that's all ...'
I broke off as Aitken stared past me down towards the long twisting drive.
'Now what the devil is this?' Aitken growled.
I looked in the same direction.
A dark blue car with a red flasher and a siren horn on its roof was coming fast up the drive.
I felt myself turn rigid.
There were four men in the car – all cops.
II
A big man, wearing a grey, crumpled suit and a lightweight hat pushed to the back of his head got out of the police car. His fleshy face was hard and sunburned. There was a mass of freckles across his short, flat nose. He looked what he was: a tough-cynical, suspicious cop.
He looked up at Hackett and me as we leaned over the balustrade, then he started up the steps, moving slowly as if he had plenty of time and was in no hurry to reach us.
Two uniformed cops had spilt out of the car and now stood around in the aimless way cops have. The driver remained at the wheel.
The plain-clothes man finally arrived at the top step and came over to us, moving slowly and deliberately.
I watched him came, my heart beating fast, my mouth dry. I wondered, the way all guilty people must wonder at the sight of a cop, if he had come here to arrest me.
He walked across the terrace, his big feet coming down on the hot stonework with a slight slapping sound, and he stopped in front of Aitken.
'Detective-lieutenant West, City police, sir,' he said. The Captain's compliments. We are asking for your co-operation.'
Aitken stared up at him, his expression puzzled.
'What is it? What's the Captain want?'
'It's to do with this hit-and-run case. Maybe you've read about it in this morning's papers.' West's voice was slow and heavy. 'The Captain aims to check every car in the city for damage. If it's okay with you, Mr. Aitken, we'd like to look your cars over.'
Aitken started to get a bloom on his face.
'Look at my cars? Why? You don't imagine I had anything to do with it, do you?'
I looked quickly at Hackett. He was leaning against the balustrade, his heavy face showing his interest.
West tilted his hat a little farther to the back of his head. His forehead was glistening with sweat.
'No, sir, we don't think that. But we're checking every car in town. You have a chauffeur. Maybe he used one of your cars last night. I didn't say he did, but a check would clear him. The Captain said if you objected, I wasn't to bother you.'
Aitken's face took on a deeper hue.
'My chauffeur didn't use any of my cars last night,' he grated. West's face became expressionless.
'Okay, sir, the Captain said not to persist, but if your chauffeur didn't use any of your cars, someone else might have.'
'None of my cars have been out since I broke my leg,' Aitken Said, his voice tight with rage. 'You're wasting your time.'
West lifted his heavy shoulders.
'It's what I get paid for. If you object to me looking at your cars, that's okay with me. I'll leave it and report back to the Captain.'
'Listen to him!' Aitken exploded and turned to Hackett. 'This is a fine example of how these guys waste our money!' Four men to check four cars! I'll write to Sullivan about this! Just because some fool got himself knocked over and kill there's all this uproar.'
'The driver didn't stop,' Hackett said mildly. 'You can blame this officer, R.A. He's only doing his duty.'
Aitken drew in a long breath.
'Okay, go and look at my cars! I don't give a damn! Go ahead and waste the money I pay out in taxes. Go on: but off this terrace!'
'Thank you,' West said, his face expressionless. 'Would you tell me where the garage is?'
Aitken turned to me.
'You know where my garage is?'
I said I did.
'Then take this man and show him, will you? And keep with him. See none of his men kick a panel in. Just watch out there's no evidence manufactured to get my chauffeur into trouble.'
I walked to the head of the steps and West plodded after. We went down the steps to where the uniformed men were waiting. West shook his head at them, and we went past them, leaving them standing motionless in the sun.
When we were out of sight of the terrace, West said quietly: 'Do you work for that guy?'
'That's right.'
'Rather you than me.' He took off his hat and wiped his forehead with the sleeve of his jacket. 'I thought my chief was the world's worst, but I can see he's not even trying compared to this guy Aitken.'
I didn't say anything.
We walked past the Pontiac and the Buick. West paused and stared at the two cars.
'Know who they belong to?'
I had taken the precaution of removing Seabome's licence tag and substituting my own, but I knew if he wanted to he could easily check the licence number against the tag, and then I'd be sunk, but I didn't dare tell him I had borrowed the car. I hesitated only for a split second.
'The Pontiac's mine. The Buick belongs to Mr. Hackett, the guy up on the terrace.'
Moving slowly and deliberately, West walked around the two cars. He stood staring at them for some seconds, then moved back to where I stood, tense, my hands gripped behind my back.
'Well, there's nothing wrong with either of them, is there?' he said in a conversational tone. 'You said yours was the Pontiac?'
'That's right'
'May as well give you a clearance certificate now: save my boys calling on you. What's your name?'
I told him.
He took a pad of printed forms out of his pocket and began to write.
'Address?'
I told him.
He looked over at the car, wrote some more, then ripped the sheet from the pad.
'This is the Captain's idea,' he said. 'Maybe it's not so lousy. This certificate clears your car from this date. If you dent your fender or damage your car in any way, you don't have to bother to report to us. If you get stopped, all you have to do is to show the certificate. This is quite a job; checking every damn car in town.' He pushed the form at me and I took it. 'Don't lose it. It might save you a headache.'
'I won't lose it,' I said and put the paper away in my wallet as if it were a million-dollar bill.
'The Captain's full of bright ideas,' West went on. 'That's why he's a Captain, but then, of course, he doesn't have to do the work. He sticks his fat backside into a chair and keeps it there. Not that I blame him, you understand. I dare say I'd do the same if I were a Captain. Right now he has every man on the force hunting for this hit-and-run joker. Can you imagine? Everyone on the force, calling on houses, turning over garages, setting up road-blocks, going around in circles until they don't know their brass from their oboes, if you will pardon my French.' He was staring sightlessly at me, not seeing me, half taking to himself. 'Know what our Captain is? He's a newspaper cop. He loves publicity. He thrives on it. Did you read the crap he handed out to the press this morning? About O'Brien?' He suddenly got me into focus and his eyes looked into mine. 'Between you and me, O'Brien was the worst man on the force and we have a few choice specimens, believe you me. He was lazy and a no-good and spent most of his time trying to dodge his work. He took bribes and he wasn't above a little blackmail if he thought he could get away with it. He was a punk right through. The Captain knew it. Only last week, he told me he was going to get rid of him. And instead, the punk has to get himself run over, and we have to run ourselves ragged to find the guy who killed him. Know how much sleep I've had since he was killed? Exactly one hour and ten minutes, and that's only because I took a nap in the car, and I'll be lucky if I get any more tonight.'
I stood in the hot sun, listening to this. As I had never hear a police officer talk this way before, I was as bewildered as I was surprised.
West suddenly grinned, showing his big white teeth.
'You don't have to take me too seriously, Mr. Scott,' he said. 'Every now and then I sound off. It does me good. Although I know O'Brien was a no-good punk, and although I know when he died it was good riddance, I intend to find the guy who killed him. It's a bad thing for the force when one of its men gets killed. An effort has to be made, and we're making it, and we'll find him. It'll probably take time, and it won't be easy, but we'll find him, and then I'll be able to relax again.' He dropped his cigarette on the ground and put his foot on it. 'Now let's go and look at your boss's cars, not that they had anything to do with it, but I have to give him a clearance certificate. Just where are they?'
'By the swimming-pool, just around here,' I said.
'A swimming-pool, huh? How the rich live!' West shook his head and started to walk along the drive while I trailed after him. 'You like working for a rich man, Mr. Scott?'
'I can take it or leave it,' I said.
'Yeah, I guess that's the only way. He could be a bastard. There's that look in his eyes the Commissioner has. Money gives a guy an inflated feeling of power. I don't like guys with power. I don't like guys with a lot of money. When they get that way, they have to throw their weight around. I bet Mr. Aitken leans on people pretty heavily every so often.'
I didn't have to think up a suitable remark to this as we turned the corner and came upon the fourcar garage and the swimming-pool.
Standing poised on the high-dive board was Lucille. She was sideways on to us and she didn't see us. She wore a white bikini that just concealed the parts of the body not suitable for public viewing. The rest of her body was a golden brown and her thick chestnut hair lay around her shoulders and reached nearly to her waist. She made a picture standing up there that brought West and me to an abrupt stop as if we had walked into a brick wall.
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