LITMIR.BIZ

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could restrain himself no longer; he was visibly trembling with anger. Ryder observed him in mild surprise but said nothing. ‘My mother, Chief. And my father. Dangerous? Arrest-happy? Both of those things – but only to you, Chief, only to you. My father’s trouble is that he goes around arresting all the wrong people – pimps, drug-pushers, crooked politicians, honest, public-spirited members of the Mafia, respected business-men who are no better than scofflaws, even – isn’t it sad? – corrupt cops. Consult his record, Chief. The only time his arrests have failed to secure either a conviction or a probation order was when he came up against Judge Kendrick. You remember Judge Kendrick, don’t you, Chief? Your frequent house-guest who pocketed twenty-five thousand dollars from your buddies in City Hall and finished up with penitentiary. Five years. There were quite a lot of people who were lucky not to join him behind bars, weren’t there, Chief?’

      Donahure made an indeterminate sound as if he were suffering from some constriction of the vocal cords. His fists were clenching and unclenching again and his complexion was still changing colour – only now with the speed and unpredictability of a chameleon crawling over tartan.

      Dunne said: ‘You put him there, Sergeant?’

      ‘Somebody had to. Old Fatso here had all the evidence but wouldn’t use it. Can’t blame a man for not incriminating himself.’ Donahure made the same strangled noise. Ryder took something from his coat pocket and held it hidden, glancing quizzically at his son.

      Jeff was calm now. He said to Donahure: ‘You’ve also slandered my father in front of witnesses.’ He looked at Ryder. ‘Going to raise an action? Or just leave him alone with his conscience?’

      ‘His what?’

      ‘You’ll never make a cop.’ Jeff sounded almost sad. ‘There are all those finer points that you’ve never mastered, like bribery, corruption, kickbacks and having a couple of bank accounts under false names.’ He looked at Donahure. ‘It’s true, isn’t it, Chief? Some people have lots of accounts under false names?’

      ‘You insolent young bastard.’ Donahure had his vocal cords working again, but only just. He tried to smile. ‘Kinda forgotten who you’re talking to, haven’t you?’

      ‘Sorry to deprive you of the pleasure, Chief.’ Jeff laid gun and badge on Mahler’s table and looked at his father in no surprise as Ryder placed a second badge on the table.

      Donahure said hoarsely: ‘Your gun.’

      ‘It’s mine, not police property. Anyway, I’ve others at home. All the licences you want,’ Ryder said.

      ‘I can have those revoked tomorrow, copper.’ The viciousness of his tone matched the expression on his face.

      ‘I’m not a copper.’ Ryder lit a Gauloise and drew on it with obvious satisfaction.

      ‘Put that damned cigarette out!’

      ‘You heard. I’m not a copper. Not any more. I’m just a member of the public. The police are servants of the public. I don’t care to have my servants talk to me that way. Revoke my licences? You do just that and you’ll have a photostat of a private dossier I have, complete with photostat of signed affidavits. Then you’ll revoke the order revoking my licences.’

      ‘What the devil’s that meant to mean?’

      ‘Just that the original of the dossier should make very interesting reading up in Sacramento.’

      ‘You’re bluffing.’ The contempt in Donahure’s voice would have carried more conviction if he hadn’t licked his lips immediately afterwards.

      ‘Could be.’ Ryder contemplated a smoke-ring with a mildly surprised interest.

      ‘I’m warning you, Ryder.’ Donahure’s voice was shaking and it could have been something else other than anger. ‘Get in the way of this investigation and I’ll have you locked up for interfering with the course of justice.’

      ‘It’s just as well you know me, Donahure. I don’t have to threaten you. Besides, it gives me no pleasure to see fat blobs of lard shaking with fear.’

      Donahure dropped his hand to his gun. Ryder slowly unbuttoned his jacket and pushed it back to put a hand on each hip. His .38 was in full view but his hands were clear of it.

      Donahure said to Lieutenant Mahler: ‘Arrest this man.’

      Dunne spoke in cold contempt. ‘Don’t be more of a fool than you can help, Donahure, and don’t put your lieutenant in an impossible position. Arrest him on what grounds, for heaven’s sake?’

      Ryder buttoned his jacket, turned and left the office, Jeff close behind him. They were about to climb into the Peugeot when Dunne caught up with them.

      ‘Was that wise?’

      Ryder shrugged. ‘Inevitable.’

      ‘He’s a dangerous man, Ryder. Not face to face, we all know that. Different when your back’s turned. He has powerful friends.’

      ‘I know his friends. A contemptible bunch, like himself. Half of them should be behind bars.’

      ‘Still doesn’t make them any less dangerous on a moonless night. You’re going ahead with this, of course?’

      ‘My wife, in case you have forgotten. Think we’re going to leave her to that fat slob’s tender care?’

      ‘What happens if he comes up against you?’

      Jeff said: ‘Don’t tempt my father with such pleasant thoughts.’

      ‘Suppose I shouldn’t. I said I’d like you to work with me, Ryder. You, too, if you wish, young man. Offer stands. Always room for enterprising and ambitious young men in the FBI.’

      ‘Thanks. We’ll think it over. If we need help or advice can we contact you?’

      Dunne looked at them consideringly then nodded. ‘Sure. You have my number. Well, you have the option. I don’t. Like it or not I’ve got to work with that fat slob as you so accurately call him. Carries a lot of political clout in the valley.’ He shook hands with the two men. ‘Mind your backs.’

      In the car, Jeff said: ‘Going to consider his offer?’

      ‘Hell, no. That would be leaving the frying-pan for the fire. Not that Sassoon – he’s the Californian head of the FBI – isn’t honest. He is. But he’s too strict, goes by the book all the time and frowns on free enterprise. Wouldn’t want that – would we?’

      Marjory Hohner, a brown-haired girl who looked too young to be married, sat beside her uniformed CHP husband and studied the scraps of paper she had arranged on the table in front of her. Ryder said: ‘Come on, god-daughter. A bright young girl like you –’

      She lifted her head and smiled. ‘Easy. I suppose it will make sense to you. It says: “Look at back of your photograph”.’

      ‘Thank you, Marjory.’ Ryder reached for the phone and made two calls.

      Ryder and his son had just finished the re-heated contents of the casserole Susan had left in the oven when Dr Jablonsky arrived an hour after the departure of the Hohners, briefcase in hand. Without expression or inflection of voice he said: ‘You must be psychic. The word’s out that you’ve been fired. You and Jeff here.’

      ‘Not at all.’ Ryder assumed an aloof dignity. ‘We retired. Voluntarily. But only temporarily, of course.’

      ‘You did say “temporarily”?’

      ‘That’s what I said. For the moment it doesn’t suit me to be a cop. Restricts my spheres of activities.’

      Jeff said: ‘You did say temporarily?’

      ‘Sure. Back to work when this blows over. I’ve a wife to support.’

      ‘But Donahure –’

      ‘Don’t worry about Donahure.

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