knew what happened to guys who tried to set themselves up against Harry Callen. They usually disappeared off the face of the earth with no trouble and no fuss, only turning up sometime later when they were dredged out of the river. I didn’t want to be one of those guys, but if I was to get anywhere, this was one of the risks I had to take.
‘Talk, Tony,’ I said swiftly. ‘I don’t want to have to rough you up any more than I have to, but believe me, I will if you don’t tell me what I want to know.’
He rubbed his throat, a crafty gleam in his eyes. I didn’t trust him as far as I could throw him with one hand tied behind my back, but I wanted to know what he had been so anxious to sell.
‘I know who killed Caroline Lomer.’
‘Go on.’
‘Sure you won’t help me with Grenville, Johnny?’ There was a pleading note in his voice now. A big man whining because he wanted out. A frightened man, wanted for murder ten times over, and trying to find a way around it.
‘Keep talking.’
He shrugged his shoulders. ‘O.K. Johnny. I knew this dame was going to be knocked off. Callen gave the order. Don’t ask me why he wanted her out of the way. Maybe she was getting in his hair. Maybe she knew something and was going to squeal to the cops. All I know is that the order went out a couple of days ago. They tried then, but somehow, it came unstuck. They only managed to get her last night.’
‘Who did the job?’
‘A guy named Torrens, Sid Torrens.’
‘Where can I find him now?’
Vitelli rubbed his chin where I had slammed him hard. He eyed me narrowly. ‘You going to get this guy yourself, Johnny? If you’ve got that idea, be careful. You’ll need that gun of yours and more besides. He’s a killer.’
I believed him, but I didn’t say anything. I waited for him to go on. I knew Tony Vitelli. A hardened killer, but with a flair for talking if you could only get him started and give him the encouragement he needed.
‘He’s hiding out a few blocks from here. I’ll take you there if you like.’
‘No go, Tony.’ I shook my head, smiling tightly. I knew the kind of man this hoodlum was. If he thought there was one chance in a million of taking me unawares, he would jump at it. I could see by the glint in his eyes that he wasn’t quite as scared as he wanted me to believe.
‘Suit yourself. I’ll give you the address if you want it that way.’ He looked sullen as if everything was not going the way he had planned it. There were little beads of sweat popping out on his forehead. He scribbled quickly on a piece of paper, then handed it to me. He looked uncomfortable.
‘Callen will kill me if he finds out about this,’ he said harshly.
‘That’s your trouble.’ I motioned him back over against the wall, turning round with his face to it. Then I hit him expertly behind the left ear with the heel of my right hand and he slumped forward at my feet without a murmur. I didn’t want him running to Callen with the news of my destination until I was ready for them. If possible, I wanted a little while with this guy Torrens before anybody butted in.
I reached my car in a hurry, slipped behind the wheel, and took off. Maybe the bartender wouldn’t bother to take a look in the corridor for a little while, maybe he’d go right away. Whatever he did, time was running short.
I found the address ten minutes later. It looked small but well-kept. Not the kind of place I would have expected a killer like Torrens to own. Maybe that ought to have warned me right away, but it didn’t. I stopped the car, got out and knocked on the door. There was no answer. I had expected none. Without waiting, I pushed the door, found it unlocked, and stepped inside, easing the Luger into my right hand, the safety catch off. It was time to face up to the trouble which I felt lay in store for me today. Sid Torrens. Exposed killer. For all I knew, he might be lying in wait for me in one of the rooms, crouched behind a door, a gun in his hands.
I opened one of the doors swiftly, peered inside. The room was empty, the furniture neat and tidy. A little warning bell was ringing at the back of my brain, but I failed to realise what it meant or what it was warning me against. I knew the ruthless edge of cruelty that was in
Tony Vitelli. He had seemed just a little too free with his information, even with a gun on him. I had expected him to put up more of a fight than that, but he had backed down unexpectedly.
Something moved behind one of the other doors as I walked noiselessly over the carpet. Cautiously, I pushed it open, then kicked it hard so that it slammed back against the wall inside. Going inside, I jerked the gun around to cover the guy who sat on the bed, in the act of pushing himself up onto his elbows.
He was a weedy-looking character, not the killer type, but you could never be sure. I watched him carefully as I eased my way around the end of the bed. If he guessed why I was there, he might try anything.
‘Sid Torrens?’
‘Yes.’ There was fear and astonishment on his face. He looked like a man trying to figure out things which were beyond his comprehension. He leaned forward with a jerk, his face twisting, his mouth working.
‘Tell me what happened last night.’
‘Last night.’ His glance wavered to the gun in my hand, and the muscles of his face were working overtime. I could see that he was getting scared. I steadied the gun and applied a little pressure. The sweat popped out on his face again and he brushed it away with the back of his hand. ‘I don’t know what you mean. Who sent you here?’
‘That isn’t important. Somebody killed Caroline Lomer last night. Pumped half a dozen slugs into her from close range. I had it figured that it might have been a mob killing, and you’re the trigger guy according to the information I’ve been given.’
‘That’s a lie! In God’s name, I don’t know anything about a murder.’
His glaze kept flickering from my face to the gun in my hand and then back again.
‘The finger has been put on you, Torrens,’ I said, half-believing him. I seemed to have drawn a rotten break, but I had to make sure. ‘Stand up!’
He swung his legs to the floor and stood up. Carefully, I checked for weapons, found nothing. He was still scared and I wanted to know why. If he’d made any attempt to go for a gun, I would have slugged him, probably killed him; and he knew it.
‘O.K., you’re clean. But you’re scared. Going to tell me why?’ My words sound as if they had been made of glass, brittle, ready to shatter in his face.
‘I don’t know who told you I was the murderer.’ His words tumbled out in a torrent from shaking lips. This guy was plain scared, I thought, scared spitless, and not only because of the gun on him. There was something more to it than that. Something I didn’t understand just then, but which I knew I would have to understand before things went much further.
‘I knew Caroline Lomer slightly, I’ll admit that. But I hadn’t seen her for almost ten years. I swear it.’
‘But you knew that somebody wanted her dead.’
‘No.’ There was the same taut, frightened insistence.
