sixteen

“Good evening, Detective Hawker.”

Hawker stepped out of the fountain and inspected McGraw’s body. “I never thought I’d be saying this, but I’m damn glad to see you, Lieutenant.”

“Ah, sure, and I’m growing rather fond of you myself.” Flaherty walked around the fountain, touching bodies with the toe of his brown shoes. “The lawyers aren’t going to make a cent off these lads, are they?”

“How did you find me? How did you know where I’d be?”

Flaherty sniffed and blew his nose. He was wearing a gray tweed jacket and baggy pants. He stuffed the handkerchief into his back pocket. “The marvelous recording machine back at your little cottage told me. Interesting conversations those Panthers and Satanás had. They do have the poet’s touch with profanity, don’t they? I cringe to think how my dear Irene would react if she heard such talk.” Flaherty smiled. “When they said they would meet at a neutral park, I immediately knew it would be Hyde Park.” He winked. “I know the territory, you see. And I’ve also come to know you. I suspected you would be here.”

“You broke into my place? You had a warrant, I suppose.”

Flaherty’s face created a mock look of chagrin. “Ummm … I did not. And I’m rather ashamed. Are you going to tell?”

“I don’t think it’d be much of a bargaining tool with the Los Angeles district attorney.”

“What? No, I suppose not—upstanding man that he is. Wouldn’t carry much weight at all, I’m afraid.”

“You decoyed me, Flaherty. You put another man on as my tail. I should have known. He was just a front, wasn’t he?”

“Not at all, not at all—do you think I’m a sneak?” Flaherty looked offended. “I found the files you sent very interesting. It didn’t tell me anything I didn’t already suspect, but it gave me sufficient leverage for a fine and proper arrest warrant. It is, in fact, the very reason I stopped by your cottage. I was going to honor you with an invitation to come along.” He shrugged. “Obviously that was impossible, since you weren’t there. I gave the detective who was supposed to be watching you a regular tongue lashing, I did—then sent him and two other men to make the collar by themselves.”

“Johnny Barberino.”

“Of course.” Flaherty pulled his jacket open and holstered the .45 as he sat on the fountain’s rock ledge. “I actually owe you a great debt, James. I’d been trying to break this ring for the last five months. Of course, I knew most of the particulars, but, as you well know, getting court-worthy evidence is sometimes a difficult matter. You shook things up. You created in them the proper atmosphere of chaos—and chaos begets mistakes. Barberino assigned the poor lad with the red beard, Conor Phelan, to kill you. That was a mistake. McGraw there, rest his evil soul, began liquidating some of his properties—properties with value all out of proportion to his legal income. That was another mistake. And then I got a call from a rather plump blond secretary at World Film Studios—”

“But you’d already been there.”

Flaherty held up one finger in characteristic exclamation. “Yes, but I went to see Johnny Barberino’s file—not Julie Kahl’s. I was as surprised as you may have been to discover that last summer while she was on vacation, she worked as an extra on one of Barberino’s films.” Flaherty meshed his hands together. “It all fit. The street gangs. Julie Kahl’s murder. Sully McGraw. And Barberino.” Flaherty chuckled. “And do you know why the secretary called me? She had failed to get your name. You were just a bit too charming, James. The young lady wanted to see you again.”

“Great,” said Hawker ruefully. He stood. “So now you read me my rights and take me in?”

Flaherty ignored him and held out his hand, palm up. “Ah, it’s a fine, soft night, isn’t it? Maybe just a touch of rain in the air.” He looked at Hawker. “I’m out for my evening stroll, you see. It’s not my night to work.” He considered the sky again. “Yes, indeed, a lovely evening.”

“A cop is always on duty. You’re an agent of the court, even when you’re off duty.”

Flaherty snapped his fingers. “I’ve erred again, blast it! What you say is true, of course. Just like the search warrant business. I really must sit down with all the rules and regulations one afternoon and give them a thorough read. These mistakes will be the end of a struggling career, if I’m not careful.”

His prism eyes lasered into Hawker’s. “But as it stands now, Detective Hawker, you are a free man. I’ve yet to see you kill anyone, and if you’ve been as careful here as you’ve been in the past, you’ve left no prints, no registered weapons that can be traced to you … nothing at all but circumstantial evidence. And frankly, you’ve probably saved a fair number of innocent lives—not to mention suffering and taxpayers’ money—in killing those you did. They will not be missed. Indeed, we are better off without them.”

Hawker studied the little man before him for a time in silence. Finally he nodded. “I’ve met a lot of cops and a lot of detectives in my career, Walter. And if they were all after me at once, you’re the only one I would really be worried about.”

“Ha! Well, that is flattering. And if it’s true, then I suggest you take the morning plane for Chicago. Because tomorrow afternoon I will come after you, Detective Hawker. And, as much as I’d hate it, I’m afraid I’d be forced to take you to prison.”

Flaherty stood and took Hawker’s outstretched hand.

Humming a strange little tune then, he strolled off into the shadows of Hyde Park. Hawker watched until he was gone, then began to collect his gear.