a thing like that, would you?”
Lepski loosened his tie.
“No.”
“Well, I do. It makes my life miserable.”
“You were saying: you saw a man get out of a car parked in the parking lot. Is this what you have to tell me?”
“That’s what the girls told me I must tell you.” She suppressed a nervous giggle. “Honest, I’m sorry. I just knew I would be wasting your time, but the girls . . .”
“No one wastes my time. I’m here to receive information,” Lepski said. He wrote fast on a sheet of paper, then shoved the paper over to the girl. “This says you saw a coloured man get out of a car in the parking lot where Police Officer McNeil was shot. Right?”
She peered shortsightedly at what he had written, then she nodded.
“I guess that’s right, but shouldn’t you say that it’s my car and the battery’s flat and I haven’t used it in weeks?”
Sweat broke out on Lepski’s face. He realised because he was so bored with the people who were offering him worthless information he had been on the verge of missing an important clue.
“Would you say that again?”
Mandy repeated what she had said.
“That’s why the girls told me to come down here, but I said you’d think I was crazy.”
“I don’t think you’re crazy,” Lepski said. “Just tell me exactly what you saw.”
Her eyes opened wide.
“But I’ve already told you.”
“I want to hear it all over again.”
“My goodness! Do you think it’s important?”
“It could be,” Lepski said, mopping his face with his handkerchief. “It could be.”
***
Two hours later, Chief of Police Terrell arrived at Mayor Hedley’s office.
Hedley looking white and strained had just come off the telephone. For the past three hours he had been coping with nonstop and hysterical demands from his rich friends for police protection. Their selfish insistence for personal protection had infuriated him and when he saw Terrell he drew in a breath of relief.
“Goddamn it! Do you realise a lot of people are actually leaving the City . . . like refugees!”
“Should we care about them?” Terrell asked as he sat down. “This is a hell of a thing! What do you mean . . . of course we’ve got to care!”
“We’ve got our first break.”
Hedley stared at him, then leaned forward eagerly.
“Break? What break?”
“We now have a description of the killer. I told you sooner or later if we kept digging something would turn up, but I didn’t expect we’d get this break so fast.”
“Well, for God’s sake! Tell me!”
“The Pelota Club employs six girls as hostesses,” Terrell said, settling himself more comfortably in his chair. “They have rooms on the top floor of the club: rooms that overlook the car park where McNeil was gunned down. One of these girls . . . Mandy Lucas . . . owns a Ford car which she hasn’t used in weeks and it’s left in this parking lot. The noise of the shooting woke her. Looking out of her window she saw the crowd milling around McNeil’s body, then she claims to have seen a man getting out of her car and join the crowd. We now have the car in the police yard. Under the rear seat we’ve found the gun that killed McNeil. This man, Mandy saw, must have hidden in the car to avoid Anders, then when Anders went on and a crowd began to swarm around McNeil’s body, this man hid his gun under the rear seat, left the car and mingled with the crowd. He’s a man with a lot of nerve, but what he didn’t allow for was someone like Mandy Lucas being at a window to see him.”
“Well, for God’s sake!” Hedley sat back. “This woman give you a description?”
“Yes. She’s pretty dumb but she claims she would know him anywhere. A claim like that is always doubtful. Too often we’ve had witnesses who swear they can pick out a man but fail when we set up a parade. But she says the man is an Indian and that jells with Anders’ impression. According to her, he is around twenty-five years of age, thick
Lepski loosened his tie.
“No.”
“Well, I do. It makes my life miserable.”
“You were saying: you saw a man get out of a car parked in the parking lot. Is this what you have to tell me?”
“That’s what the girls told me I must tell you.” She suppressed a nervous giggle. “Honest, I’m sorry. I just knew I would be wasting your time, but the girls . . .”
“No one wastes my time. I’m here to receive information,” Lepski said. He wrote fast on a sheet of paper, then shoved the paper over to the girl. “This says you saw a coloured man get out of a car in the parking lot where Police Officer McNeil was shot. Right?”
She peered shortsightedly at what he had written, then she nodded.
“I guess that’s right, but shouldn’t you say that it’s my car and the battery’s flat and I haven’t used it in weeks?”
Sweat broke out on Lepski’s face. He realised because he was so bored with the people who were offering him worthless information he had been on the verge of missing an important clue.
“Would you say that again?”
Mandy repeated what she had said.
“That’s why the girls told me to come down here, but I said you’d think I was crazy.”
“I don’t think you’re crazy,” Lepski said. “Just tell me exactly what you saw.”
Her eyes opened wide.
“But I’ve already told you.”
“I want to hear it all over again.”
“My goodness! Do you think it’s important?”
“It could be,” Lepski said, mopping his face with his handkerchief. “It could be.”
***
Two hours later, Chief of Police Terrell arrived at Mayor Hedley’s office.
Hedley looking white and strained had just come off the telephone. For the past three hours he had been coping with nonstop and hysterical demands from his rich friends for police protection. Their selfish insistence for personal protection had infuriated him and when he saw Terrell he drew in a breath of relief.
“Goddamn it! Do you realise a lot of people are actually leaving the City . . . like refugees!”
“Should we care about them?” Terrell asked as he sat down. “This is a hell of a thing! What do you mean . . . of course we’ve got to care!”
“We’ve got our first break.”
Hedley stared at him, then leaned forward eagerly.
“Break? What break?”
“We now have a description of the killer. I told you sooner or later if we kept digging something would turn up, but I didn’t expect we’d get this break so fast.”
“Well, for God’s sake! Tell me!”
“The Pelota Club employs six girls as hostesses,” Terrell said, settling himself more comfortably in his chair. “They have rooms on the top floor of the club: rooms that overlook the car park where McNeil was gunned down. One of these girls . . . Mandy Lucas . . . owns a Ford car which she hasn’t used in weeks and it’s left in this parking lot. The noise of the shooting woke her. Looking out of her window she saw the crowd milling around McNeil’s body, then she claims to have seen a man getting out of her car and join the crowd. We now have the car in the police yard. Under the rear seat we’ve found the gun that killed McNeil. This man, Mandy saw, must have hidden in the car to avoid Anders, then when Anders went on and a crowd began to swarm around McNeil’s body, this man hid his gun under the rear seat, left the car and mingled with the crowd. He’s a man with a lot of nerve, but what he didn’t allow for was someone like Mandy Lucas being at a window to see him.”
“Well, for God’s sake!” Hedley sat back. “This woman give you a description?”
“Yes. She’s pretty dumb but she claims she would know him anywhere. A claim like that is always doubtful. Too often we’ve had witnesses who swear they can pick out a man but fail when we set up a parade. But she says the man is an Indian and that jells with Anders’ impression. According to her, he is around twenty-five years of age, thick
Similar Books
