The bus got underway again. I felt slightly dazed that so tenuous a thread might be leading to something.
“And the kids?” I prompted. “How many? What age?”
“Two older, fourteen or fifteen, and one a good bit younger, maybe nine or ten. The first few times they weren’t a nuisance, except for the trash. Oh, they whispered a little like kids do when they’re in church or somewhere you’ve warned them to behave. My wife says it’s because they’re nervous on account of they don’t know quite how to act in a grownup world.”
“What do they do now?”
Between what Lulu had told me about the new problem of kids roaming and what had happened to Heebs, I felt my interest sharpening, though I couldn’t say why.
“They sit in that back seat there and snicker, is what they do. Snicker at passengers and whisper about them, only they don’t quite whisper. They want you to overhear them, if you know what I mean. Say things to each other and then start laughing, acting rowdy. Last time, one of them said a bad word.”
It didn’t exactly sound like serious crime, but I could see it was a disruption. I could see boys like he was describing being cheeky enough to hide under a tarp if they risked being caught somewhere they shouldn’t be.
It was full dark now. The bus moved steadily northward, past businesses closed for the day, away from the city and toward less traveled streets. The driver warmed to his topic.
“I’d just about had it then. I told them if they didn’t settle down, I’d put them off the bus. Not sure I’d have the heart to do that, though. Who’s going to put kids out on their own that time of night? It might do them good, having to wait at a bus stop and wondering whether the bus going back would stop for them.”
“I need to talk to them. It’s important. Are they on here every night?”
“Naw, just Tuesdays usually. A couple of times they’ve ridden another night too.”
Side sweeps to bus stops punctuated our conversation.
“Where do they get on?”
“Same stop you did.”
Meaning it was an easy walk from two other lines. No telling where they came from initially.
“Any particular time?”
He squinted in thought.
“Must be about half past nine. I’m due there at nine thirty-two.”
“And where do they get off?”
“Now that varies. Sometimes not til the end of the line. Sometimes one or two stops before.”
***
Come the following morning, I was walking back and forth a block from Market House in front of the United Brethren Building where Lulu Sollers had her office. It was still twenty minutes before she was due to come in, but catching her as she arrived was the best way I could think of to guarantee I didn’t miss her. I’d been there all of five minutes before she marched into view.
“Well, Maggie, you look like a woman with something on her mind,” she said in greeting.
“Morning, Lulu. I need to talk to you about those kids with the candy wrappers.”
It took her half a second to sift through what must be scores of problems and situations she kept track of.
“The bus driver. Collins. He had something useful for you then?”
“Yes. It sounds like the kids I’m hunting.” She’d shown no inclination to pause while we chatted. I matched her brisk pace. “Collins says they usually ride on Tuesdays, so I’m going to be on the bus tonight. I want to talk to them. I think maybe you or one of your women ought to be there when I do.”
She shot me a look.
“I’ve never questioned kids before. I thought I might need to be extra careful, what with them being minors and all.”
“You’re right, but if you get their names and addresses—”
“They might lie. And Lulu, they may have witnessed a murder.”
She halted in mid-step, staring at me in horror.
“Dear God!”
THIRTY-FOUR
I got some breakfast and went to the office. Heebs was poring over the lists Cecilia had typed up ten days ago, the ones with neat columns of information on all projects Rachel had bid on in the last five years.
“What is this stuff you keep under your typewriter?” he asked frowning at the sheets spread before him.
“What I keep under there is what I don’t want someone to find if they break in and go through my files.” I hung the robin’s egg blue fascinator I was fond of this time of year on the hat rack. “How’d you manage to get those? That Remington’s heavy.”
He shrugged. “Not that heavy. I stand around holding bags of newspapers all day, sis. They start out heavy. Anyways, I’m not a kid any more.”
For the first time in a while, I took a good look at him. He was taller, but not by a lot. Still skinny. No danger of his needing to shave for a couple more years. Blue and yellow bruises still decorated his face, but they were fading quickly and there was no swelling. His lip still had a crack I knew must be painful, but eating and talking made split lips slow to heal. His week’s rent at the place I’d found him ran out today. I’d give him enough for two more nights.
“I already guessed the papers were under there so no one would find them.” His tone was aggrieved as I gathered the pages together and stacked them. “What I meant, was what are all those names and numbers? I know it has to do with money, and people and square feet, which I know has to do with size. But other than that, I couldn’t make heads or tails. I didn’t think you’d mind me looking at them since I’m working for you. Anyways, you’ve put them under there right in front of me.”
His reproach at my dismissive answer made me feel like a heel. I needed to pass a lot of slow-crawling hours before I got on Pat Collins’ bus tonight.
“Pull your chair over,” I said, his cue to vacate mine.
Heebs complied, and with him at my side, I skimmed my finger over the top sheet as I went through the basics.
“These all have to do with construction projects, office buildings and apartments and that. Here’s a project, see? What the guy with the money wants built, how big, the kind of materials they have to use. These are the companies that bid on the work.”
“And that’s how much each one wanted to build it,” he said catching on.
“Right. That one there is the one that got it.”
“The one that bid lowest?”
“Right. I thought maybe I could find something useful in it. Person A always coming in second to Person B, for example. But I didn’t. Look at them all you want. Maybe you’ll have better luck.”
Admitting that I’d been stymied by the information spread before us mollified him. His enthusiasm was dwindling too.
“Lots of finicky studying.”
“Yep. That’s what lots of this kind of work amounts to. Finicky. Now scoot your chair around. I didn’t finish reading the paper. Then I’ve got phone calls to make.”
Late in the morning, I called Joel Minsky’s office, intending to leave a message. To my surprise he was in.
“Do you have something?” His tenseness crackled down the line.
“No, but there’s a small chance I may have. I won’t know until tonight, but I might have found a witness.”
His breath sucked in.
“Thank God.”
“Don’t get your hopes up. I said ‘might.’”
“Any hope sounds good at this point. Even the prospect of a witness could help. I’m going to Cincinnati this afternoon to talk to that man I mentioned. I won’t be back until late.”
“Me either.”
“I’ll be in court on a different case in the morning. Leave a message with my secretary, one way or another. Just ‘yes’ or ‘no’ so she can send a messenger. If this goes to trial, my job is going to be much harder.”
And, I thought, harder on Rachel’s reputation, in business and otherwise.
***
Not more than a few minutes past noon I got a call from one of Gloria’s former co-workers.
“
I thought you’d want to know that Gloria called,” she said in a rush. “She wanted to know if anyone had been asking about her. I said yes and tried to give her your number, but she hung up on me.”
I’d been leaning back in my chair. I straightened.
“Did she say where she was? Is she back in town?”
“She didn’t say, but she sounded muffled.”
“Muffled how?”
“You know... muffled. Like she was far away or had her hand around her mouth so she wouldn’t be overheard. Like that.”
Not wanting to be overheard would fit with the hanging up part.
“Hey, I’ve got to go,” said the girl I was talking to. “I’m on my lunch hour.”
“Sure, and thanks. Have you told the police?”
“No. ‘Bye.”
For several seconds I sat listening to the dial tone.
“Good news?” Heebs asked when I hung up.
“I’m not sure.”
I also wasn’t sure if I should tell Freeze. I called the superintendent at Gloria’s apartment building.
“No, we haven’t heard from her since last time you asked,” he snapped. “Now stop pestering.”
I called Freeze.
“Foster’s girlfriend might be back in town, or on her way.” I recounted my conversation with the girl where she’d worked, and Gloria’s call to the apartment building a few days earlier.
“Maybe you have time to waste on ‘might.’ We don’t.” His old sourness was back in full.
“She took off because she was scared, Freeze. It sounds like she still is.”
“Doesn’t mean she knows anything.”
He had me there.
“Look, you’ve had some good ideas,” he said diplomatically. “Especially that one with the bank sheets. But unless you can give me another suspect—”
“Lamont.”
“What you’ve got there is a nice theory. Nothing else. I had one of the uniforms who’s good at that sort of thing sniff around. Lamont’s a Boy Scout, and his business isn’t making money hand over fist, but it’s not in the red, either.”
“He claims that fifty dollar check was for a fishing trip.”
“So?”
“For one thing, the check was never cashed, remember? For another thing, it was in the middle of winter.”
That slowed him down. I heard the scrape of a match.
“It wasn’t the middle of winter. November, if I recall. People fish through the ice.”
***
I spent the next few hours in a very bad mood. Gloria danced up like a harem girl from Aladdin’s lamp and then disappeared again. Bossy with the apartment superintendent’s wife, rushed and maybe scared with her former co-worker. Had something happened in between? Would she ever appear in the flesh? If she did, would she know anything helpful to Rachel?
I kicked my wastebasket. Heebs looked up from the Charlie Chan book I’d picked up for him at the library. I glowered back. The logical part of me knew Freeze was right to dismiss Gloria and even Lamont as not worth his efforts. Since he worked in behalf of taxpayers, his efforts had to be rational, hardheaded, efficient. Since I worked for a client, and in this case a friend, I had the freedom to follow any thread, no matter how slender. And time was running out for Rachel.
Midway through the afternoon I got down my hat and started out to get the early edition. When the phone rang, I paused with the door open in case Heebs motioned me back.
“Just a minute,” he said. “Let me see if I can catch her.”
He pressed the mouthpiece tightly to his chest so even his strained whisper wouldn’t be heard.
“It’s somebody named Gloria.”
THIRTY-FIVE
The voice at the other end was bold but nervous.
“You the one going around asking questions, trying to find me?”
“If you were Gabriel Foster’s girlfriend, then yes.”
“Well, cut it out. You wanna get us both killed?”
“Gloria, what’s going on? Where are you?”
“In town, but not for any longer than I have to be. So if you want to know anything about Foster and me or those men who showed up, it’s gonna cost you forty bucks. Cash.”
“Forty bucks is a lot of money.”
“Yeah? Well, train tickets don’t come cheap.”
“What about the refund check on your apartment?”
“The... You don’t get it, do you? I have to leave tonight!”
“Okay. Where do we meet?”
“Deeds Point. Know where that is?”
“Yes.”
“Nine-fifteen, and don’t be late. I’ve got a train to catch, and some things to pick up on the way.”
“At your apartment?”
“None of your business. And listen. Come by yourself, understand? No cops. Nobody else. I’ll be able to watch, and if I see anyone with you, I’m gone. Same if you don’t have the money.”
Nine-fifteen. That meant missing my chance to nab the kids on the bus. They rode every week though, and talking to Gloria promised a much bigger payoff.
“Nine-fifteen,” I confirmed. “What if I need to reach—?”
She’d hung up.
***
Deeds Point was a narrow snout of land directly across the river from downtown. You could see it from the grassy embankment where I sat sometimes to eat my lunch. On the south bank of the point, the Mad River flowed in from the east. On the western bank, the Great Miami rushed down from the north. At the tip of the point, the larger Miami met and absorbed the Mad River, growing in size and strength as it swirled on west through the city. In 1913 that convergence of the rivers, swollen by too much rain, had caused a catastrophic flood.
The point had a picnic table or two, and an outdoor privy. In the summer part of it got mowed for playing ball. Mostly it was roughly three blocks of thin grass punctuated here and there by scrubby bushes.
The landscape didn’t change after dark, but like any other place in a city, the feel of it did. Everything changed after dark: sounds, rhythms, what you could see. It was what you couldn’t see that you had to watch for.
I’d changed into a rougher skirt and cotton stockings for my rendezvous with Gloria. The Smith & Wesson nestled in its holster at the small of my back, rubbing as it always did but not as hot as it would be come summer. My windows were down as I drove up Main past darkened businesses.
Gloria’s words and manner on the phone had made her sound scared. I took extra care to make sure I wasn’t followed. I’d tried to think of someone who could wait a block behind me, just to be prudent. There was no one. Rachel’s bail was contingent on her staying under the wing of a family member. Pearlie was gone. Connelly was on night rotation and couldn’t just skip over and keep an eye out because I asked him to. Freeze’s attitude yesterday took him off the candidates list.
Four blocks north of where the two rivers met, a small bridge spanned the Great Miami. As soon as I crossed it, I doused the lights on the DeSoto. With luck, if anyone was tracking them, they would assume I’d turned into one of the narrow streets just north of where I was headed. Those streets led to an industrial area, mostly small shops but with a scatter of houses. At least a few vehicles would be coming and going there this time of night.
Spring peepers provided uneven music as I used the feel of the tires to find an area of hard packed earth at the foot of the bridge. The shape of the car would be hidden by bridge shadow. I’d be close to the road for fast takeoff, too. I switched off my engine.
I’d seen no hint of anyone following me. Now I sat while my eyes adjusted to what seemed utter darkness. Normally the lights of downtown Dayton would be twinkling across the river. Now, with concern about air raids, most places doused their lights, or all but the dimmest. My ears hunted sounds, but the roar of the river masked everything.
Once my night vision developed sufficiently, I scanned the area ahead of me for the woman I was to meet. More importantly, I watched for anyone who might b
e following her, or lying in wait.
The waning moon still cast decent light. Down near the tip of the point I saw a shape that didn’t resemble the occasional bushes struggling up near the river. The shape didn’t move. It was getting close to the time for me to meet Gloria. Making sure my dome light was switched off; I eased out of the car, closed the door without latching it and started forward.
The shape I was watching shifted. Moonlight glinted off a pale patch on the shape. Blonde hair. Gloria was a blonde. The weight of the .38 at the small of my back reassured me. I walked slowly. When I was able to see that the shape ahead of me was a woman, my steps quickened.
Gloria had started to pace. She hugged herself protectively. She hadn’t seen me yet. A dozen steps more and I was within hailing distance.
“Gloria! It’s Maggie.”
She turned. She took one tentative step, then two. Her progress halted. Was she having second thoughts?
“I brought what you asked for,” I called in reassurance. “And I have a car. I’ll give you a lift.”
She took another step. As she passed the privy a few yards to her right, a figure shot from its shadows and headed toward her.
“Gloria, look out!”
Skirting a patch of scrub and breaking into a run, I reached for my Smith & Wesson. The corner of my eye caught a blur of motion close to my shoulder. Before I could react, a blow to the side of my head made me stagger. Half dazed, I tried to get at my gun. But my arms were pinned. I felt myself jerked off my feet like a rag doll. A callused hand as unyielding as steel clamped over my mouth.
In the moment my mind cleared enough to know what was happening, my assailant carried my kicking body half a dozen steps and hurled me out, out, out from the embankment. Terror hit me as cold, swirling waters sucked me under.
THIRTY-SIX
Sheer instinct made me try to kick my way to the surface. I got my head up just long enough to gasp half a breath and get a noseful of water before I went under again. I tried to swim and couldn’t.
My shoes. I had to get rid of the weight of my shoes.
I pushed them off, one foot freeing the other, while my arms stroked hard enough to bring me up for a bigger gulp of air. I was swimming now, but making no headway. The current was too strong, and kept twisting me onto my back.
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