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It was turning into another long night. I was already flagging, my reserves drained by the exigencies of the last few days. I was hungry and I could really do with a coffee, but I had to make do with interminable cigarettes while the cops asked their interminable questions. As it turned out, Luncardy learned nothing of substance from the remainder of the interviews, although she certainly spent long enough getting to that point. "Clathy and Drummond have gone, and nobody knows where, at least as far as anyone is saying," she told me despondently, after the last croupier had left, "Somebody must have tipped them off." I shrugged. It was just possible that they made it out of the secret rear entrance before we arrived, perhaps warned by the bouncers on door duty. But the loving couple would have had to move astonishingly quickly and it was more likely that they had already flown the coop long before we arrived. "OK," Luncardy eventually instructed her squad, "We're learning nothing new here. Wrap it up." She turned to face me, pressing her face close to mine. Few females can do that, but she was taller than most. There was a pause as she looked me eye-to-eye. "Thanks for your help," she said steadily, with apparently genuine intent, "There is a case here, I'm sure of it. I'm not going to drop this one." "Do you think Captain Wester will see it that way?" I asked. "Leave Wester to me," she answered with icy determination, "Now, you go home and get some sleep." I went home. The neighbourhood was free from black-garbed stooges and inexplicable stakeouts, as far as I could see. Besides, I was getting to be past caring. The apartment was free from the taint of the dead and the stench of policemen; even the aroma of fingerprint powder had faded. I undressed and took a long, long shower, and toyed with the prospect of tracking down the emergency scotch bottle. In the end, I didn't need it: I was so exhausted that I fell asleep on the top of the bed, not even bothering to draw the covers over me. I should have anticipated that I would be woken in what felt like the middle of the night. The phone rang and rang, and stopped, and rang again, and eventually I surfaced fuzzily, trying to work out the cause of the din. Finally, I reached a level of consciousness that allowed me to coordinate thought and hand, and I managed to pick up the receiver and grunt: "Gask." It was Luncardy, of course, sounding as bright as a button, as if sleep was something that only happened to other people. "Morning, Gask," she breezed, "You awake?" "I will be shortly," I responded, irony being one of my mental functions which kicked in early. "Great," she replied, ignoring my remark, "I got a call from the coroner's office, the results of his post-mortem examination. I want to go through it with you. Be in my office in half an hour." "Forty minutes." There was an exasperated sigh from the other end of the line. "Okay. Soon as you can." There was a click and the line went dead. I was going to need sustenance, not to mention chemical stimulants, before I was ready to face Luncardy in her lair. I dressed quickly and hurried down the street to David's diner on the corner. The patron was at the door when I arrived. Either he always stood there, or he somehow knew when I was approaching. How would I know? I had been sat in my usual booth at the back for all of ten seconds before a large cup of strong black coffee. I reached for it greedily, swallowed half of it, the hot liquid scalding the back of my throat. I was just pulling the ashtray towards me and fumbling in my pockets for cigarettes and matches when David re-appeared, notepad in hand. "You'll want the special this morning," he told me, already jotting on his pad. "I will?" I responded, "What is it, then?" "Herb sausages, eggs, mushrooms and hash browns." I wasn't going to argue with that. And I certainly wasn't going to ask what was in the sausages along with the herbs. "Bring it on," I replied, grinning up at him.
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Part 69