Night Extra

“There wasn’t time for an omelette,” she said, when he came into the kitchen. “I fried two straight up. Is that all right?”

“Just fine.” She was wearing his robe belted tightly about her waist, and one of his bow ties as a hair ribbon. Terrell felt oddly shy with her. He wanted to kiss her, but for some reason he felt the gesture would be wrong. There was a moment of constraint between them as he sat down at the table.

“The coffee smells just wonderful,” he said.

She put a cup before him and a plate which she had warmed in the oven. “When will you be back?” she said.

“Early this afternoon, cocktail hour at the latest. Will you have cocktails with me?”

“Yes, I’d like to.” She sat down and said simply, “I want to help you. I want to tell you what happened that night at Eden’s.”

Terrell said, “You’re not afraid any more?”

“It isn’t that. I’m still scared.”

“But you want to join the crusade?”

“I just want to be on your side, that’s all.” She seemed puzzled by him. “That’s why people join crusades.”

He was silent a moment, watching her. Then he said, “Does anybody know you came here last night?”

“I don’t think so. Why?”

“Listen to me: if I let you help, will you promise me not to stick your nose out of this apartment? And to keep that door locked until I get back? And promise not to let anyone in, up to and including the Angel Gabriel?”

“Yes, I promise.” She was smiling and the awkwardness between them was suddenly gone. He cared about her, and that made what had already happened much more important. “You’re on the team,” he said, patting her hand.

“Ike Cellars came to the apartment that night,” she said. “He wanted Eden to do a job for him.”

“And that job was?”

“To help frame Mr. Caldwell.”

“Are you sure of this?”

“I was in the bedroom. I heard it.”

Terrell looked down at her firm little hand. “That delicate pinkie is going to knock this city for a loop. Now tell me everything from the start. Just as you heard it. I’ll pour the coffee.”

16

It was nine o’clock when Terrell pulled into the parking area reserved for police and press at the Beach City courthouse. The day was brilliant with sun, but the wind off the ocean cut through him like a knife as he went up the broad stone steps to the marble lobby. He had already relayed Connie’s story to Karsh, and the presses were ready to run. He needed Tim Moran’s story, but he had everything else; the why and how of the frame around Caldwell, the Parking Authority mess, everything. And it was Connie’s eye-witness account that tied it all together.

Terrell went up to Moran’s office on the second floor and found the detective at his desk with a littered ashtray beside him and a rank of empty coffee cartons at his elbow. Moran was in his shirtsleeves, his tie loose, his collar open, and he looked gray with exhaustion. But his eyes were narrow and sharp with a hunter’s excitement.

“Well, you made pretty good time,” he said. He stretched his arms above his head, then slumped back comfortably in the chair. “Tired as hell. Sit down, Sam. I’ll tell you what I’ve got. Then I think you can tell me something. Is that fair enough?”

“Sure,” Terrell said.

Moran picked up a glossy print from his desk and handed it to Terrell. “There’s the mug who shot Paddy Coglan. Know him?”

Terrell studied the dark face, the low, scarred forehead, the bold, angry eyes. He shook his head slowly. “I don’t know him. Where did you get the picture?”

“You know something about him though, Sam. I saw your expression.”

“This could be the guy Coglan saw leaving Caldwell’s.” At Moran’s puzzled frown he said, “I’ll sketch it in for you, don’t worry. But tell me the rest of your story. Where did you get this picture?”

“It’s a weird thing, Sam. As odd as I ever ran into in this business. We wrote Coglan off as suicide, you know. Well, two days after his death I got a call here in my office. It was from a guy who’d been registered at the hotel at the same time as Coglan. He was on the same floor, just a room away, and he heard the shot. He looked out into the corridor and saw a man closing Coglan’s door. He saw only the man’s back. But he was able to describe his overcoat, his hat and the color of his hair and general build.”

“Why did he wait two days to speak up?”