said. "I swear to God I did. But just the same I didn't go near Terry nor Tommy T. for a couple days. Then on Sunday, me and my partner, Jamey, was walking down by the Terminal, and we saw that car sitting there with all them cops 'round it. And I knew it had to be so." He shook his head sadly. "Just had to be."
"So you called the police?"
"No, I never. But Jamey . . . well, I told him about it, and he went on down to a pay phone at the Hi-Lo and called it in. Jamey's father's a preacher, and then he never liked Terry none, anyway."
"Why didn't Jamey tell the cops about Tommy T.?"
Kent ducked his head. "Scared of him, I reckon."
I glanced at the clock on my desk and thought of Len Trumaine looking up at the big iron clock on the Union Terminal facade. It was 4 P.m.
"Where could I find Tommy T.?" I asked the kid.
"Sometimes he's over to the Underground on Fourth. Sometimes he's down there at the Ramrod on Walnut. That is, if he ain't with no john."
"You gonna look into it, then?" Naomi Trimble asked.
I stared at her a moment and said, "I'll think about it."
17
Before Naomi Trimble left I asked her outright if she believed Kent Holliday's story. The boy snorted with outrage, but the woman understood where I was coming from.
"I guess I must," she said, "or I wouldn't be here."
She gave me a thoughtful look. "I didn't want to believe it, no more'n you do. Terry's a bad seed. I know it and I know he's gonna stay that way as long as he lives. He coulda kilt somebody easy. In fact, I was sure he did till I talked to Kent. But when you add what Kent says to the story that girl, Kitty, tells ... well, I guess there's room to doubt. And I can't make myself think it's right Terry should die without somebody finding out for absolute sure. I'll tell you something else, too, something I've been thinking on. That man Lessing, he wasn't a god like the newspapers make him out. He couldn'a been. I ain't saying he was Terry's sugar daddy, like Kitty claims. I can't believe he was. But I do believe there must've been something 'tween him and Terry. Or how else do you explain it?"
She shrugged as if the answer was beyond her, as if it was enough that she'd posed the question. She took Kent by the arm and walked out, leaving the finding of answers to me.
For a few seconds I just stared at the desk, wondering why I'd put myself back in the case. It would have been easy enough to dismiss Naomi and the boy before they'd had a chance to tell their stories. But I hadn't done that. Even though they'd come to me by mistake, I hadn't done that. And now it wasn't easy anymore.
It wasn't that I felt sympathy for Carnova. I didn't. I knew as well as Naomi Trimble did that Terry was guilty enough -whether he actually did the murder or not. Only there was a difference between guilty enough and guilty before the law. The woman had faced that fact. Now it was my turn. What if Carnova bad been an accomplice? I asked myself. He was still an accessory to murder. Finding the truth of it wouldn't change that. It wouldn't change the terrible thing that had befallen Ira Lessing, either. What if I let it slide?
I stared at the desk again. The woman had written down her address on State Street in lower Price Hill and left the tag of paper on my blotter. She didn't leave a phone number -presumably, she didn't have a phone.
I picked up the slip with her address and stuck it in my pocket. Then I picked up the phone and called my friend George DeVries, an investigator at the D.A.'s office.
"I need a favor, George," I said.
"Like what?"
"Run a name through CID for me. Tom Chard, a.k.a. Tommy T. He's a West End juvie. See if you can dig up a mug shot and an address."
"An address won't mean much for a kid like that."
"See if you can get one anyway. I'll come by in about an hour or so with an envelope with your name on it."
He laughed. "Just make sure there's a President's name inside."
Once I'd finished with George I took the elevator to
"So you called the police?"
"No, I never. But Jamey . . . well, I told him about it, and he went on down to a pay phone at the Hi-Lo and called it in. Jamey's father's a preacher, and then he never liked Terry none, anyway."
"Why didn't Jamey tell the cops about Tommy T.?"
Kent ducked his head. "Scared of him, I reckon."
I glanced at the clock on my desk and thought of Len Trumaine looking up at the big iron clock on the Union Terminal facade. It was 4 P.m.
"Where could I find Tommy T.?" I asked the kid.
"Sometimes he's over to the Underground on Fourth. Sometimes he's down there at the Ramrod on Walnut. That is, if he ain't with no john."
"You gonna look into it, then?" Naomi Trimble asked.
I stared at her a moment and said, "I'll think about it."
17
Before Naomi Trimble left I asked her outright if she believed Kent Holliday's story. The boy snorted with outrage, but the woman understood where I was coming from.
"I guess I must," she said, "or I wouldn't be here."
She gave me a thoughtful look. "I didn't want to believe it, no more'n you do. Terry's a bad seed. I know it and I know he's gonna stay that way as long as he lives. He coulda kilt somebody easy. In fact, I was sure he did till I talked to Kent. But when you add what Kent says to the story that girl, Kitty, tells ... well, I guess there's room to doubt. And I can't make myself think it's right Terry should die without somebody finding out for absolute sure. I'll tell you something else, too, something I've been thinking on. That man Lessing, he wasn't a god like the newspapers make him out. He couldn'a been. I ain't saying he was Terry's sugar daddy, like Kitty claims. I can't believe he was. But I do believe there must've been something 'tween him and Terry. Or how else do you explain it?"
She shrugged as if the answer was beyond her, as if it was enough that she'd posed the question. She took Kent by the arm and walked out, leaving the finding of answers to me.
For a few seconds I just stared at the desk, wondering why I'd put myself back in the case. It would have been easy enough to dismiss Naomi and the boy before they'd had a chance to tell their stories. But I hadn't done that. Even though they'd come to me by mistake, I hadn't done that. And now it wasn't easy anymore.
It wasn't that I felt sympathy for Carnova. I didn't. I knew as well as Naomi Trimble did that Terry was guilty enough -whether he actually did the murder or not. Only there was a difference between guilty enough and guilty before the law. The woman had faced that fact. Now it was my turn. What if Carnova bad been an accomplice? I asked myself. He was still an accessory to murder. Finding the truth of it wouldn't change that. It wouldn't change the terrible thing that had befallen Ira Lessing, either. What if I let it slide?
I stared at the desk again. The woman had written down her address on State Street in lower Price Hill and left the tag of paper on my blotter. She didn't leave a phone number -presumably, she didn't have a phone.
I picked up the slip with her address and stuck it in my pocket. Then I picked up the phone and called my friend George DeVries, an investigator at the D.A.'s office.
"I need a favor, George," I said.
"Like what?"
"Run a name through CID for me. Tom Chard, a.k.a. Tommy T. He's a West End juvie. See if you can dig up a mug shot and an address."
"An address won't mean much for a kid like that."
"See if you can get one anyway. I'll come by in about an hour or so with an envelope with your name on it."
He laughed. "Just make sure there's a President's name inside."
Once I'd finished with George I took the elevator to
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