Don't Lie to Me by Donald E Westlake

Author:Donald E Westlake [Westlake, Donald]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 978-1-4804-2896-6
Publisher: MysteriousPress.com/Open Road
Published: 2013-05-08T20:03:00+00:00

10

THE EVENING WAS FULL of phone calls. I got out of bed at seven, still stiff and aching but at least capable of moving around, and Dink called at seven twenty-five, while I was finishing a meal midway between breakfast and dinner. He said, “You want the names over the phone?”

“Definitely.”

“Vigevano threw it,” he said.

“You’re absolutely sure?”

“He’s bragging about it,” Dink said. “He’s the one. And Mort drove the car.”

“That’s Mort Livingston?”

“Yeah.”

“Fred Carver wasn’t there at all,” I said.

“Nowhere near.”

I said, “But he ordered it.”

“Oh, sure. He does all the ordering, everything is up to him.”

“What about the car? You get the model and license plate?”

“No, but it wouldn’t make any difference. They stole it special for the job, and then ditched it.”

I said, “Give me an address for Vigevano.”

He was hesitant, very reluctant. “That’s pushing me kind of far,” he said.

It seemed a strange place to draw the line, and I had little sympathy for it. I said, “Give it to me, Dink.”

“Look,” he said. “He lives with his mother. Marie. They got a phone.”

“Which borough?”

“Manhattan.”

“All right.”

I was about to hang up, but he said, “Listen.”

“What?”

“They didn’t give up, you know.”

“I didn’t think they had.”

“Willie’s glad he got a cop instead,” Dink said. “But he still wants you.”

“I know.”

“I just thought I’d tell you.”

It was a friendly act. It was from such an unexpected source, that’s the only reason I wasn’t giving it a proper reaction. I forced myself, saying, “I appreciate it, Dink. Thanks.”

“Thought you’d like to know,” he said.

“I’m glad you told me.”

We both said so long, and I broke the connection and then called Allied. Grazko wasn’t there, but the night man was on: Dun-worthy. I said, “I had a kind of accident today, I’m sort of banged up. Can you replace me tonight?”

“This is damn short notice.” Dunworthy was an irritable man who loved paperwork, hated people, and took all breaks in routine as a personal insult.

“I was hoping I could go in,” I said, “but I just don’t think I can do it.”

“Well, what happened?”

“I don’t think I ought to talk about it over the phone.”

At least he had that much sense; he didn’t argue the point. “We’ll fill in,” he said.

“Thanks,” I said, and hung up, and went upstairs to dress. I expected Hargerson would be hanging around me, so when I left the house I would first have to find him, and then lose him. I didn’t want him around while I was dealing with Willie Vigevano.

I was sorry to be in such bad physical shape at the moment. That, and not having a gun, were my two main problems after Hargerson.

I had dressed and was on my way downstairs when the phone rang again. Kate took it on the hall phone, and said to me as I reached the foot of the stairs, “It’s for you. A girl.”

“A girl?” I took the phone and said, “Yes?”

“Mr. Tobin?” The girl sounded both young and frail; one of those hesitant about-to-faint voices.

“That’s right.”

“Mr. Mitchell Tobin? The man who was the guard who found the body at the museum?”

“That’s right.

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