The Ace of Spades - Dell Shannon by Dell Shannon

was sorry for him,
but there it was, it had happened. And maybe it was good luck for her
another way, an exciting way too. Escape.
    Money, always money, there had to be. Oh, he had been
a slow one!
    That night, when he'd said about Mr. Skyros talking:
she'd said to him, after, when they were on the way to the movies,
maybe if he let Mr. Skyros think he heard more, knew all about it,
he'd get some pay to promise not to tell. He'd been shocked— or
scared, she thought contemptuously— he said, not honest: anything
bad the police ought to know!
    Well, she wasn't one to split hairs like that. If
there was some easy money to be had, she'd take any chance at it. And
she'd take care to be smarter than Stevan too— protect herself. She
could say she'd written it all out, what he'd told her— about the
money— and the writing was— it was in the bank, in one of those
boxes rich people kept, where nobody could get at it but her—
they'd never dare harm her then.
    She'd been a fool to come out with it to that
policeman, but she hadn't thought about it clear then— seen the
chance it offered. Money. It might be a lot of money. Could she ask
for a thousand dollars? Even five thousand? Escape: because that
would be the duty money, to leave behind for the old woman— the old
woman off her mind then— she could manage on the little she'd saved
from her salary— go away with a clear conscience then, the old
woman provided for— and start her new life, a long way off.
    "You are very silent, Katya," said the old
woman.
    "I am thinking of Stevan, as you say I should,"
said the girl, and held back a smile.
 

    EIGHT
    The two letters from Athens proved to be from casual
friends, apparently; there was nothing in them of any significance—
references to other friends, to politics, to a church festival of
some kind, the weather, questions about Domokous' new life in
America.
    Nothing else interesting turned up from the more
complete examination of the body, or from Dr. Erwin's patient
scrutiny of the clothes.
    "I suppose I'm a fool to say it," said
Hackett, "because a lot of times when I say you're barking up a
tree with no cat in it, all of a sudden something shows up to prove
your crystal ball gave you the right message. And don't complain
about mixed metaphors, I'm just a plain cop. But I think it's a dead
end. Everything doesn't always dovetail so nice and neat as a
detective story, you know."
    "Unfortunately, no," said Mendoza. "Ragged
edges. No hunch, Arturo— or not much of one. Just— " he
swiveled around and looked thoughtfully out the window of his office,
"just the little funny feeling you get, on discard and draw—
better hold onto this worthless-looking low card, next time round it
might be worth something .... Damn. I wish I had four times as many
men as I had, to keep an eye on everybody. What it comes down to, I
don't know much of anything about it at all, I just have the definite
conviction there's something to know. I'm not really justified in
keeping so many men on it, but— Damn." He got up abruptly.
"I'll be up in Callaghan's office if anybody wants me."
    And that was on Thursday morning; he missed Alison's
call by five minutes.
    He found Callaghan in a temper. Having gone to some
trouble to secure enough evidence to charge a certain pusher,
Callaghan had wasted yesterday in court only to hear the bench
dismiss it as inadmissible by the letter of the law. "So, my God
in heaven, there's got to be law— but what the hell do they expect
of us when they tie one hand behind our backs and give us a toy cap
pistol and say, Now, boys, you go out and protect the public from the
big bad men! Jesus and Mary, next thing they'll be saying to us,
Boys, it isn't legal evidence unless you collect it on the northeast
corner of a one-way street during an eclipse of the moon! They— "
    "Very annoying," agreed Mendoza, sitting
down in the desk chair to be out of Callaghan's way as he paced.
Callaghan was even bigger than Hackett,