End of the Line (Black Gat Books Book 17) by Bert & Dolores Hitchens

Author:Bert & Dolores Hitchens [Hitchens, Bert and Dolores]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Thriller & Suspense, Hard-Boiled, Mystery & Detective
ISBN: 9781944520571
Publisher: Stark House Press
Published: 2019-01-27T11:00:00+00:00

13.

The two L.A.P.D. detectives came in, greeted Farrel, and one of them said to the girl, “Are you Peg Parmenter?”

She nodded, her eyes like saucers. The two city detectives offered their identifications and she looked at them dazedly. To Saunders the room seemed suddenly crowded, the girl hemmed in by men. She must have felt something of this, too; she retreated to a corner and sat down as if trying to make herself small.

One of the L.A.P.D. detectives, a tall gray-haired man named Scoville, said to Farrel, “You in on this?”

“In a way,” Farrel said. “We just got back from Sagebloom.”

“Something to do with the railroad?”

“We’re trying to find out. The job we went up there on is the Lobo Tunnel wreck—if you remember that.”

“I remember it. My wife’s aunt was on that train.” He nodded over at the girl. “Go ahead.”

The L.A.P.D. men were willing to wait for Farrel because co-operation between city police and private agencies worked both ways. There would be times when the railroad cops would be called on in L.A.P.D. matters. It was the network of all law-enforcement agencies working together which made them so much more effective than if they had worked alone.

Farrel lit a cigarette. Saunders knew that he was disappointed because he didn’t have the girl to himself. She was much more frightened now, and more on guard. He couldn’t promise or cajole—what happened next depended on the L.A.P.D. men.

But Farrel was going to give it a try. He went over to Peg Parmenter’s corner and sat down near her, and said, “We know you and your father were together in Union Depot today, and that at this time you bought a ticket to Sagebloom.”

She clenched her hands. “I didn’t use it! I didn’t go!”

“You got off the train at Sagebloom a little before eight o’clock tonight,” Farrel went on calmly. “The station agent saw you go across the street and walk up and down there, swinging your purse, as if you were waiting for someone. Who were you waiting for?”

She ducked her chin, her gaze dropping. “It was ... a wild-goose chase. I didn’t meet anyone.” The tone had a touch of panic. Defiance, too.

“Whose idea was it for you to go to Sagebloom? Your father’s?”

Her glance flashed up at him. “He hasn’t done anything wrong!”

“Why did he send you to Sagebloom?”

“A friend of his was going to be there and I was to give this friend a message.”

“Like what?”

“I didn’t read the message,” she said quickly.

“You have it here?”

“No. I ... I lost it on the way home.”

Farrel inspected the cigarette, decided to crush it out, took a minute over it. “How did you get back to Los Angeles?”

“In a truck. I asked the driver if he minded my riding and he said he didn’t. He was just pulling out when I got the idea of leaving. I just decided ... all at once ... that Dad’s friend wasn’t coming and that I’d better go.”

“What was the driver’s name?” He found her gaze blank and puzzled and repeated, “The truck driver.

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