The Girl in 304 by Harold R. Daniels

Author:Harold R. Daniels [Daniels, Harold R.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Mystery & Detective, Hard-Boiled, Thriller & Suspense
ISBN: 9798886010015
Publisher: Stark House Press
Published: 2022-10-04T11:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER EIGHT

It had been comparatively easy to make a fool of Trowbridge—a fool to begin with. There had been the strong weapon of publicity: a black mark against the Department. There had been the open charge, a charge that was effective for no longer than it took a prisoner to reach a lawyer. George Cox, walking from the detention cells to the parking lot behind the police station, did not make the mistake of assuming that Ed Masters was a fool. He got into his car, an old black sedan and the biggest model that its maker produced. Too big, really. A car designed for the care of a chauffeur. Now it was shabby and poorly kept.

There was that Parks woman. He had to get to her before Masters found out that he had been released and came after him. It had to be her who had talked to the sheriff. There were dozens like her down on Water Street, but he knew Masters had talked to her and he was sure it had been her. He stepped on the starter. The battery ground sluggishly before the motor caught in a ragged spasm of coughing. Yes, it had been Evelyn Parks and if an object lesson was made of her, Masters would play hell trying to find another witness. He had made a mistake on the Carter business and he knew it now. Water over the dam, but he should not have denied knowing her. It would have made no difference. Benny. He would have to call him, too, and tell him to keep his mouth shut. He knew Benny Zurich. Like the other wolves. If he started to trip and go down, they would all turn on him.

The rain was coming down harder. This would be a real gully-washer, and already the windshield wipers, trying to steal compression vacuum from the worn cylinders, were swamped. He felt the need of a drink. He had to think and these days thinking came hard.

He steered between the two stone pillars that flanked the driveway leading up to the big house that had been his father’s and his father’s father’s. In the weak glare of the headlights it loomed before him like some monstrous ark, brooding and ugly. He stopped the car under the overhang of the porte-cochere and walked up the sagging steps. In his own memory the two carriage lamps that hung on either side of the door would have been lit by sundown. There would have been a servant to open the door that he now unlocked and pushed back himself. He did not turn on the hall light; instead he pushed on through to the library that had been his father’s and turned on the rococo wrought-iron chandelier that held four naked bulbs. He could not wait here too long. Masters would be coming.

Cox stripped off his damp suitcoat and walked to the study table. There was a gallon jug half full of clear liquor on the table, stoppered with a twist of waxed paper.

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