up.”
“Lucky you! Where are you going?”
“Who wants to go anywhere but here? Look, honey, I need a little help. I want to know when and who to and where Russ Hamel, the author, married.”
“No problem. Sit down.” She waved to a desk. “I’ll bring you what we’ve got.”
That was the big thing about Fanny. She never asked questions.
I sat down, lit a cigarette and waited. She went nimbly through a big card index, then crossed over to one of the folios, dragged it out and dumped it on my desk.
“Have you any photographs of the happy pair?” I asked.
She produced an envelope from one of the steel cabinets and put it on the desk.
“That’s all we have, Bart.”
“Fine, Fan, and thanks.”
She went back to her desk and resumed card indexing.
I looked at the photographs. Russ Hamel turned out to be a square faced, heavily built man handsome with greying hair, and with that arrogant look of a rich man who is sure of his success. I concentrated on Nancy s photographs. In all of them, she wore dark, goggle sunglasses that successfully screened her face. Anyone seeing her on the streets wouldn’t have known her by these photographs through the wedding account Interviewed, Hamel said he had met Nancy in Rome. There had been a whirlwind courtship, and they had married two months after their first meeting. Hamel said Nancy was too shy to comment, and he didn’t want her bothered I paused to check dates, and worked out that Hamel had me her eight months ago. I then remembered Coldwell had said she had begun criminal operations with Pofferi eighteen months ago. It occurred to me with feeling of shock, that she was married to Aldo Pofferi when he had married Hamel! Had she married Hamel to get out of Italy after her arrest and murderous escape? I liked this idea. Who would suspect the wife of Russ Hamel to be a wanted terrorist? Satisfied there was nothing else in the article of any use to me, I carried the folio back. “Thanks Fan. “ I gave her the envelope containing the photographs “That about buttons it up. See you around,” and blowing her a kiss, I left her.
I sat in the Maser and considered my next move.
Tomorrow, at midday, I was to meet Mrs. Hamel at the Country Club. With my usual optimism I thought there was a slim chance of her producing the money but if she didn’t I was now in a very good position to put on the pressure. To tell her I could now prove she was Lucia Pofferi would surely produce the green This new information needed quiet and careful thought. I decided to return home, put my feet up and exercise my brain. I set the car in motion, and on the way, I stopped at a sandwich bar and bought a pack of sandwiches.
As I was turning onto the street, leading to my highrise, a small figure darted out of the shadows, frantically waving.
I stood on the brake pedal and the Maser squealed to a stop.
Joey appeared at my window.
“Don’t go home, Mr. Anderson,” he said urgently. “They are waiting for you.”
Behind me, a car hooted. Joey ran around the Maser, opened the passenger’s door and scrambled in beside me. I eased the car to the kerb.
“Gone to sleep, birdbrain?” the driver in the car behind me bawled, and drove on.
“What is it, Joey?” I asked.
“Diaz and Jones,” Joey said breathlessly. “I followed them. They went to your place. I saw a light flash on and off in your apartment. They are still there.”
I felt a prickly sensation run up my spine. Nancy had blown the whistle on me! She had gone to Diaz and told him I was twisting her arm! I remembered Al Barney’s warning to keep clear of Diaz and Jones. I broke out into a cold sweat.
Joey nudged me.
“I’m looking after you, Mr. Anderson,” he said.
“You can say that again, Joey. Stay still for a moment. I want to think.”
“I’m hungry, Mr. Anderson.”
I saw he had found the pack of sandwiches and was fondling it.
“Go ahead,” I said. “Just relax with the mouth.”
While he was
“Lucky you! Where are you going?”
“Who wants to go anywhere but here? Look, honey, I need a little help. I want to know when and who to and where Russ Hamel, the author, married.”
“No problem. Sit down.” She waved to a desk. “I’ll bring you what we’ve got.”
That was the big thing about Fanny. She never asked questions.
I sat down, lit a cigarette and waited. She went nimbly through a big card index, then crossed over to one of the folios, dragged it out and dumped it on my desk.
“Have you any photographs of the happy pair?” I asked.
She produced an envelope from one of the steel cabinets and put it on the desk.
“That’s all we have, Bart.”
“Fine, Fan, and thanks.”
She went back to her desk and resumed card indexing.
I looked at the photographs. Russ Hamel turned out to be a square faced, heavily built man handsome with greying hair, and with that arrogant look of a rich man who is sure of his success. I concentrated on Nancy s photographs. In all of them, she wore dark, goggle sunglasses that successfully screened her face. Anyone seeing her on the streets wouldn’t have known her by these photographs through the wedding account Interviewed, Hamel said he had met Nancy in Rome. There had been a whirlwind courtship, and they had married two months after their first meeting. Hamel said Nancy was too shy to comment, and he didn’t want her bothered I paused to check dates, and worked out that Hamel had me her eight months ago. I then remembered Coldwell had said she had begun criminal operations with Pofferi eighteen months ago. It occurred to me with feeling of shock, that she was married to Aldo Pofferi when he had married Hamel! Had she married Hamel to get out of Italy after her arrest and murderous escape? I liked this idea. Who would suspect the wife of Russ Hamel to be a wanted terrorist? Satisfied there was nothing else in the article of any use to me, I carried the folio back. “Thanks Fan. “ I gave her the envelope containing the photographs “That about buttons it up. See you around,” and blowing her a kiss, I left her.
I sat in the Maser and considered my next move.
Tomorrow, at midday, I was to meet Mrs. Hamel at the Country Club. With my usual optimism I thought there was a slim chance of her producing the money but if she didn’t I was now in a very good position to put on the pressure. To tell her I could now prove she was Lucia Pofferi would surely produce the green This new information needed quiet and careful thought. I decided to return home, put my feet up and exercise my brain. I set the car in motion, and on the way, I stopped at a sandwich bar and bought a pack of sandwiches.
As I was turning onto the street, leading to my highrise, a small figure darted out of the shadows, frantically waving.
I stood on the brake pedal and the Maser squealed to a stop.
Joey appeared at my window.
“Don’t go home, Mr. Anderson,” he said urgently. “They are waiting for you.”
Behind me, a car hooted. Joey ran around the Maser, opened the passenger’s door and scrambled in beside me. I eased the car to the kerb.
“Gone to sleep, birdbrain?” the driver in the car behind me bawled, and drove on.
“What is it, Joey?” I asked.
“Diaz and Jones,” Joey said breathlessly. “I followed them. They went to your place. I saw a light flash on and off in your apartment. They are still there.”
I felt a prickly sensation run up my spine. Nancy had blown the whistle on me! She had gone to Diaz and told him I was twisting her arm! I remembered Al Barney’s warning to keep clear of Diaz and Jones. I broke out into a cold sweat.
Joey nudged me.
“I’m looking after you, Mr. Anderson,” he said.
“You can say that again, Joey. Stay still for a moment. I want to think.”
“I’m hungry, Mr. Anderson.”
I saw he had found the pack of sandwiches and was fondling it.
“Go ahead,” I said. “Just relax with the mouth.”
While he was
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