I had no pity for him. He had tried to involve me in murder. He had hired a thug to kill me. He had brutally shot Herman’s wife, but to me what was unforgivable, he had been responsible without knowing it for Leila’s death. He had plotted and planned with cold, ferocious greed and he had betrayed a friend even though the friend had been as worthless as himself.
“What do you think?” I said. “You’ll have to tell your sordid tale to the police.”
I picked up the telephone receiver. As I began to dial, he slid out of his chair and started to walk unsteadily towards the door. I suppose I could have stopped him by shooting him in the leg, but I couldn’t be bothered. He wouldn’t get far. My job was to stay here and make sure the heroin remained where it was until Retnick arrived.
As I was telling the desk sergeant at police headquarters to alert Retnick and get a squad car down to me fast, I heard Wayde take the elevator to the ground floor. The squad car only just missed him, but they picked him up half an hour later. They found him in his car at the far end of Beach Drive. He had taken a cyanide capsule: one of the advantages of being an industrial chemist. He had taken the quick, easy way out.
Retnick listened to my story, a sour expression on his face.
“I was well off the beam,” I concluded. “I would have bet a dollar Jefferson’s secretary was the one. It was by the purest chance I got onto Wayde. If he hadn’t made the mistake of keeping the airport recording on his machine and if his girl hadn’t been curious, I don’t think I would have got onto him.”
Retnick offered me a cigar.
“Look, Ryan,” he said. “I’ve got to have the credit for cracking this case. I’ve got a reputation to look after: you haven’t. If you want my co-operation in the future, you’ll keep in the shade. I’ll handle all the publicity.”
“You remember me . . . I’ll remember you,” I said. “We must think up some music to go with that one, but watch your step, Lieutenant. Old man Jefferson will want this kept quiet. He won’t let it be known his son was a drug peddler if he can help it. If you want him to remember you in a nice way, you’ll go awfully slow on any publicity. You’re lucky Wayde is dead.”
I left him staring moodily down at the floor. The only person of the whole sorry lot I felt sorry about was the little Chinese, Leila.
I was still thinking about her as I walked across to Sparrow’s quick snack bar for another lonely supper.
The End
1962 - A Coffin From Hong Kong Page 18