A Match Made for Murder Iona Whishaw (pride and prejudice read .TXT) 📖

carefully, saving the remains for later, and pulled open a drawer, looking for his notepad. He found it under a pile of papers on the desk. Just as he managed to locate a pencil, he heard someone in the hall, followed by a tentative knock.

“Yes, what is it?”

Hidalgo pushed the door open and hesitated. “She’s left, sir. She got in a cab outside the hotel with two suitcases. I did follow it, like you asked.”

Griffin frowned. “And you followed the cab to where?”

“I lost them.”

“You lost them? Are you a complete imbecile? No one could lose a cab in Tucson!”

“I must have been speeding. I got pulled over. By the time the cop had written the ticket it was gone.”

Galloway leaned against the car with his arms crossed, his dark glasses protecting his eyes from the glare of the sun. The hospital loomed before him. He hadn’t been on the beat for years. This was a job for a rookie. A guy like Bevan. Taking in a deep breath, he made for the back entrance.

The older maintenance man working there looked at his badge expressionlessly. “What can I do for you?”

“I want to know who was on the early shift last Sunday”

“Can I ask why?”

Feigning an affability he did not feel, he said, “We’re pursuing a missing persons case. Last known to be at this hospital.”

The man, who had been the shift supervisor that very day, nodded. “I think you want Smitty. He mentioned seeing someone leaving before it was even light. None of our business what they do up there, but it might be something. He’s not on shift till Thursday, though, if you want to talk to him.”

“I’ll take his address, thanks,” Galloway said. He was feeling the same sense of growing satisfaction he always had when he knew he’d get what he needed. He was like a damn Mountie, he thought. He always got his man.

O’Brien picked up the phone to call upstairs. When Ames answered, O’Brien started to say, “Ames,” but corrected himself—the kid had earned his stripes after all. “Sergeant, I think I may have something here. I went back to the file room with one of the boys because I thought it could use a sweep and a dusting. For good measure I had him make sure all the files were in order, not that anyone goes in there much, especially for the pre-war files. Anyway, he found a ’35 file in the ’33 section. An assault report. The officer had written the name of the alleged assailant, then crossed it out. It apparently didn’t pan out. Someone wrote ‘no foundation’ and signed it off.”

“I’ll be right down,” Ames said.

“I hoped you’d say that,” O’Brien murmured as he hung up the phone and settled his bulk more comfortably on his chair. He adjusted his glasses to see if he could remember whose signature that was. He could hear Ames clattering down the stairs. Oh, to be a young eager beaver, he thought, with no envy whatsoever.

“Let’s see,” Ames said, holding out his hand. There it was. “Tina Van Eyck, aged sixteen, reported assault by local man B. Watts. No parent, no corroboration, no foundation.” “Who is this?” he asked, pointing at the scribble that constituted the signature.

“I was just trying to figure that out. I recognize the signature, but I just can’t remember who it belonged to.”

Ames peered at it closely. “It certainly isn’t Mac anything. Miss Van Eyck thought the name was Scottish. This is just a scribble. And whoever it was didn’t bother printing his name where he was supposed to.”

“I’ll mull it over. It might come to me. I hope not in the middle of the night. I like my sleep.”

Ames smiled briefly. O’Brien liked all the comforts. “I wonder why it was misfiled like that?”

“Well, that anyone could do,” O’Brien pointed out. “It wasn’t the only one. Nothing so bad as two years, but there were a couple that needed re-filing. That room has terrible lighting.”

“Thanks. This is something, anyway.” Ames started back up the stairs when he heard O’Brien exclaim.

“No, hold up.”

When he turned around O’Brien was looking at the signature again.

“That’s Paul. It’s gotta be.”

“Paul?” asked Ames, coming back down.

“Sergeant Galloway. I told you about him. Took Darling under his wing when he came here.”

“What was he like?” Ames asked. He’d certainly ignored a genuine assault report.

“He was okay. He had a thing about not wasting police time. Worked hard. Unmarried, so he had nothing to go home to. He probably annoyed more than one member of the public because, when he got his teeth on the bit, he’d really go at it till he got his man. Good rate of conviction.”

“Why did he leave? When did he leave?”

“He left in ’37. As to why, your guess is as good as mine. Said it was too cold and too small. Knowing him, I’m guessing he didn’t find the women glamorous enough. Ambitious fellow, all the way around.”

“He doesn’t sound like the sort of person Inspector Darling would take to,” Ames said doubtfully.

“That’s true enough. I don’t think Darling picked up too many of his habits. But he was younger and wanted to do a good job, and Sergeant Galloway seemed to really like him. But he was like a pit bull when he thought he had someone.”

“A zealous cop like that could make mistakes,” Ames said. He was thinking of his own recent myopia.

“No, he was pretty solid. Wait. I mistake me. There was an arson conviction that got turned over after he left. I think there was another fire, and Darling in his usual plodding way found the right guy. But the evidence looked good enough. No one would blame Galloway for that mistake.”

Ames sat thoughtfully at his desk, blaming Galloway for his mistake with Tina. He wondered if he should try to reach Darling and ask him about the guy—but he knew that if he did, he’d get an earful