warned by Creed, and Fayette was paying, so why should I care?
The cop seemed surprised there was no fuss.
‘Be careful next time.’
‘I’ll buy myself a spirit level and a T-square,’ I said. ‘I’ll see she’s properly lined up next time I leave her.’
He licked the stub of pencil and wrote down my number. His eyes were no warmer than an iceberg. I could see he would look out for me in the future.
I got into the car.
‘Okay for me to move on?’
He gave me a long, hard stare and walked away. He looked from the back like a small mountain that had grown legs. A nudge from him would have shoved in my ribs.
I drove away, aware that I was sweating slightly and not because of the heat. If this kind of thing was going to happen often, I thought, my temper and nerves would almost certainly become frayed.
Lincoln Drive was in the poorer quarter of Tampa City: that is to say the houses were smaller, and didn’t stand in a couple of acres of screened estates as ninety-nine percent of the rest of the houses in Tampa City did. It was a tree lined street tucked away as if ashamed of itself, but a street that I would have been glad to live in.
A big, fat, solid looking man was fussing over a row of sweet peas a professional would have been proud to have grown in the garden of No. 24. I guessed he must be Bradley. He glanced up as I swung the Buick to the kerb.
He looked every inch a cop; but not a bad cop. His fat weather-beaten face had a half humorous expression that went well with a pair of alert blue eyes. A straggling moustache, a sunburned, balding head and an aggressive chin gave him character plus toughness instead of just plain toughness. I got out of the car and he wandered down the garden path to meet me.
‘Captain Bradley?’ I asked, resting my hands on the gate.
‘Sure, come in,’ he said.
‘Will the car be all right? I’ve already been pinched for parking out of line.’
He laughed.
‘The car’s fine. They don’t make pinches outside my house. Come on in.’
I followed him up the path.
‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen sweet peas like those before,’ I said, not to butter the old boy, but because I meant it.
‘They’re pretty good. You a gardener?’
‘Not yet.’
‘Yeah.’ He nodded. ‘Gardening’s for the middle-aged and the old. I’d be lost without a garden now.’
He led me into a neat, comfortably furnished sitting room with casement windows opening out on to the lawn.
‘I didn’t get your name.’
‘Chet Sladen.’
He lifted a bushy eyebrow.
‘You the fella who writes in Crime Facts?’
‘That’s right.’
He beamed.
‘I’m glad to know you. I read all your stuff. Sit down. How about a drink?’
‘Thanks.’
While he was making drinks he said, ‘This is your first visit to Tampa City?’
‘Yes; pretty nice looking town. Looks as if it’s loaded with dough.’
‘It is. Some say there’s more loose money here than in Hollywood. We have thirteen millionaires living here right at this minute. Anyone with less than a five figure income is trash in Tampa City.’ He came over with the drinks and lowered his bulk into an armchair. ‘Well, here’s to you.’
We drank, then I handed him Greed’s letter.
‘This is an introduction, Captain,’ I said. ‘From Captain Creed.’
Bradley’s face lit up.
‘Well, well, I haven’t heard from Tom for years. How is he?’
‘He’s fine. He and I have been working on a case. A lead has turned up here. He thought it might be an idea if I investigated it.’
Bradley looked sharply at me, opened the letter, read it, then returned it to the envelope before saying, ‘Hmm, so you’re thinking of investigating a lead here, are you?’
‘That’s the idea. I understand Doonan doesn’t encourage that kind of thing.’
‘That’s an understatement. If you’ll take the advice of an old man, Mr. Sladen, you’ll get in your car and go back to Welden. The atmosphere in Welden, as far as I remember is a
The cop seemed surprised there was no fuss.
‘Be careful next time.’
‘I’ll buy myself a spirit level and a T-square,’ I said. ‘I’ll see she’s properly lined up next time I leave her.’
He licked the stub of pencil and wrote down my number. His eyes were no warmer than an iceberg. I could see he would look out for me in the future.
I got into the car.
‘Okay for me to move on?’
He gave me a long, hard stare and walked away. He looked from the back like a small mountain that had grown legs. A nudge from him would have shoved in my ribs.
I drove away, aware that I was sweating slightly and not because of the heat. If this kind of thing was going to happen often, I thought, my temper and nerves would almost certainly become frayed.
Lincoln Drive was in the poorer quarter of Tampa City: that is to say the houses were smaller, and didn’t stand in a couple of acres of screened estates as ninety-nine percent of the rest of the houses in Tampa City did. It was a tree lined street tucked away as if ashamed of itself, but a street that I would have been glad to live in.
A big, fat, solid looking man was fussing over a row of sweet peas a professional would have been proud to have grown in the garden of No. 24. I guessed he must be Bradley. He glanced up as I swung the Buick to the kerb.
He looked every inch a cop; but not a bad cop. His fat weather-beaten face had a half humorous expression that went well with a pair of alert blue eyes. A straggling moustache, a sunburned, balding head and an aggressive chin gave him character plus toughness instead of just plain toughness. I got out of the car and he wandered down the garden path to meet me.
‘Captain Bradley?’ I asked, resting my hands on the gate.
‘Sure, come in,’ he said.
‘Will the car be all right? I’ve already been pinched for parking out of line.’
He laughed.
‘The car’s fine. They don’t make pinches outside my house. Come on in.’
I followed him up the path.
‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen sweet peas like those before,’ I said, not to butter the old boy, but because I meant it.
‘They’re pretty good. You a gardener?’
‘Not yet.’
‘Yeah.’ He nodded. ‘Gardening’s for the middle-aged and the old. I’d be lost without a garden now.’
He led me into a neat, comfortably furnished sitting room with casement windows opening out on to the lawn.
‘I didn’t get your name.’
‘Chet Sladen.’
He lifted a bushy eyebrow.
‘You the fella who writes in Crime Facts?’
‘That’s right.’
He beamed.
‘I’m glad to know you. I read all your stuff. Sit down. How about a drink?’
‘Thanks.’
While he was making drinks he said, ‘This is your first visit to Tampa City?’
‘Yes; pretty nice looking town. Looks as if it’s loaded with dough.’
‘It is. Some say there’s more loose money here than in Hollywood. We have thirteen millionaires living here right at this minute. Anyone with less than a five figure income is trash in Tampa City.’ He came over with the drinks and lowered his bulk into an armchair. ‘Well, here’s to you.’
We drank, then I handed him Greed’s letter.
‘This is an introduction, Captain,’ I said. ‘From Captain Creed.’
Bradley’s face lit up.
‘Well, well, I haven’t heard from Tom for years. How is he?’
‘He’s fine. He and I have been working on a case. A lead has turned up here. He thought it might be an idea if I investigated it.’
Bradley looked sharply at me, opened the letter, read it, then returned it to the envelope before saying, ‘Hmm, so you’re thinking of investigating a lead here, are you?’
‘That’s the idea. I understand Doonan doesn’t encourage that kind of thing.’
‘That’s an understatement. If you’ll take the advice of an old man, Mr. Sladen, you’ll get in your car and go back to Welden. The atmosphere in Welden, as far as I remember is a
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