I bounded up the stairs at Market House and into Freeze’s office. He wasn’t there. Neither was Boike.
“Where are they?” I asked two other detectives who looked up from their desks in a far corner. They’d been there that morning. They knew who I meant.
“Got called out.”
“Where?”
“Don’t know.”
“Come on, you heard them say the street at least.”
“You know we can’t say.” The one talking to me stood up. “Want to leave a message?”
A notepad on the desk beside me caught my eye. I’d seen Freeze jot something on it and rip off the top sheet that morning. It was his scratchpad.
“No, that’s okay,” I said quickly. “Maybe you can help me with something else, though. I think I might have lost an earring in here this morning. Would you have a look around over there and see if it bounced?”
They looked down automatically, nice, helpful fellows. I snatched the pad and held it behind my purse where it wouldn’t be seen.
“No? Well, I kind of figured it was lost for good, but worth a try. Thanks anyway. When Freeze gets back, tell him I need to talk with him. It’s urgent.”
* * *
Stealing police property probably wasn’t the smartest thing I’d ever done. I sat in my car and tried to make out impressions left by Freeze’s pencil. I couldn’t. Chafing at the loss of time, I turned the nose of my own pencil on its side and rubbed the lead lightly over the notepad. Enough of a street name emerged for me to make out what it was, and part of a number as well. Sometimes when your heart is pure and the stakes are high, a little bit of crime does pay.
The street in question was about as far north as you could go and still be within city limits. I tried not to think of a clock ticking down as I drove. Surely what I had now would persuade Freeze to act. Lily Clarke and her diamonds were due to depart day after tomorrow. That meant Perry had only two nights left to nab them.
I slowed for a funeral procession.
When I reached the street I was hunting, I found I’d been wrong on the address. It didn’t matter. Farther up I saw two police cars. One was a cruiser. The other was the unmarked number used by Freeze.
It was a quiet neighborhood. The cops weren’t advertising their presence much. I parked a block away so I couldn’t be accused of interfering and walked toward the cars. When I was three doors away, Boike came out of a handsome stone apartment building. His footsteps picked up as he saw me.
“What’re you doing here?”
“I need to see Freeze. That stiff who drank himself to death in the flophouse — a witness saw one of the guests from The Canterbury taking him two quarts of booze in that rathole the night he died.”
Boike stared. Then his blocky head started to shake.
“He’s not going to listen. There’s a girl in there who bled to death, and it looks like some quack used a coat hanger on her. On top of that, the boss asked a couple of boys in burglary to nose around at that bookshop you mentioned. They didn’t find anything.”
“Freeze sent them there?” My rising voice shattered the afternoon silence. “Damnit, Boike! He acted like he wasn’t interested. Now they’ll be looking over their shoulders!”
I left him standing there and ran for my car.
Boike hadn’t deserved my anger, but here I was with all the pieces falling into place, and Freeze had mucked it up. Instead of using the photos I’d brought him, instead of showing them and talking to the witnesses I’d mentioned — and I’d given him Skip’s name too — instead of doing that and then hauling Nick Perry in while the cops took a good look at his room and his movements, Freeze had sent detectives from a different unit to Rice’s shop to look for stolen merchandise. Out of the sky blue.
It was more than enough to put a pair of crooks on guard. Worse, it would probably make them wonder if someone was onto them. Nick Perry had taken plenty of risks already. He might take another one, changing his pattern somehow to get Lily’s diamonds. It was equally likely he’d skip town. Maybe his girlfriend would too. If they did, three murders would go unpunished.
Getting back to the hotel would take less time than stopping somewhere and finding a phone, then waiting while the desk clerk located one of the Tuckers. I pushed the DeSoto as hard as I dared without risking a stop for speeding.
The Canterbury looked tranquil as ever as I ran past the doorman in his buttons and braid. The lobby was empty. Smith was nowhere in sight. The whole place drowsed in that afternoon interval before guests started drifting down for pre-dinner drinks.
“Where’s Mr. Tucker?” I asked the assistant desk clerk.
The urgency of my manner rattled him.
“I-I don’t know.”
“Mrs. Tucker?”
“I don’t—”
“Never mind. What about Mr. Perry and Miss Shields? Are they still around?”
His shoulders wilted with relief.
“I just saw Miss Shields going into Mr. Tucker’s office. Oh... that must be where he is.”
By the lift of his voice, he probably gave a bright smile. I was already halfway to the office and didn’t see.
At this time of day, the stretch of hall by Tucker’s office was little used. I would have taken out my .38 regardless. I kept it close to my shoulder. If necessary, I’d apologize. I slammed the door open.
Nick Perry stood just out of range of it, casually reading a sheet of paper.
Someone on the other side of me stuck a gun to my head.