Bloody River Blues

immediately. He sounded prissy and obnoxious—like the bald, spineless CIA director Tony Sloan had cast as the villain in his first movie. The cops looked at each other, then back to him. They seemed to be rolling their eyes, although their pupils didn’t move from his face.
    The G cop said, “That’s only if you’re the defendant.”
    “If I’m not a defendant then what am I doing here?”
    “Not very much,” the G detective said bitterly. “Not very much at all.”
    Pellam slammed his open palm on the desktop. It hit with a sound that surprised even him. The cops blinked but neither of them moved. “Are you going to arrest me for standing nearby a motor vehicle and having a sip of beer or not? If you can’t find the killer . . .” Pellam felt his heart sprinting. “ You can’t find any leads, so you’re blaming me .”
    “Hey—”
    Through clenched teeth Pellam said, “You go to your boss and you say, ‘It’d be open and shut, except there’s this witness who hasn’t got the balls to help us. He’s a GFY.’ Whatever the hell that is.”
    Hagedorn said, “Is somebody paying you off?”
    The Italian cop said, “That’s a crime, sir. A serious crime. And you’ll do hard time for that.”
    Pellam knew about good cop, bad cop from some films he’d worked on. This was a variation: bad cop, really bad cop.
    Another officer, a young uniform, stuck his head in the door. “Can’t find that Breathalyzer anywhere. Sorry. And MHP don’t have one to spare.”
    “Well, this is your lucky day, Pellam.”
    “I’ve spent three hours in this hellhole. That’s not lucky.”
    “Well, sir, you could’ve been in our lockup all these three hours, which is a lot less pleasant than here.”
    Pellam walked past them into the main room. He asked the desk officer, “Was there a guy here? Tall, blond hair, mustache?”
    “Yeah, but he left. Sorry.”
    “He left sorry,” Pellam’s voice rang out in a singsong.
    “We had a little mix-up. My fault. I heard them boys talking about the Highway Patrol and, not seeing you, I thought they’d taken you there. I sent your friend to the troop HQ. It’s over on I-70 a good piece. Forty, fifty miles or so.” The voice added unemotionally, “Sorry about that.”
    Pellam closed his eyes and rubbed them. “Could you give me a ride back to my camper?”
    “Afraid not, sir. Since you’re not a suspect or a witness or anything that’d be against regulations.”
    “Well, could you call me a cab, at least?”
    “Cab?” the officer laughed. He was joined by chuckles from other cops in the room. “The last time Maddox had a cab company was in, what was it, Larry?”
    “Oh, I’d guess it must’ve been—”
    “That’s okay,” Pellam said, “I’ll walk.”
    “To your camper?” one cop called. “Say, that’s a long walk.”
    Another said, “Couple miles, easy.”

Chapter 10
    HE FOUND A pay phone outside a closed deli and finally got the front desk.
    Yessir, Mr. Weller had waited in the lobby until nine, then left with another gentleman. They were going to dinner. Would this be Mr. Pellam by any chance?
    “Yes. Did he leave a message for me?”
    Weller had. Pellam was to meet him at the Templeton Steak House at nine-thirty.
    An hour and a half ago.
    “Where is that?”
    According to the young man’s blithe directions, it was a half hour from Maddox.
    “I’m calling from a pay phone. You wouldn’t happen to have their number, would you?”
    “Well, I do. Were you thinking of having the steak?”
    “What?”
    “I was wondering if you were going to eat there or if you were going to meet Mr. Weller. Because if you were going to meet Mr. Weller, he was leaving the restaurant at ten-thirty. He had an eleven o’clock flight out of Lambert Field.”
    “He’s checked out?”
    “That’s right. Believe he mentioned a trip to London.”
    Pellam sighed. “And the other gentleman? Mr. Telorian.”
    “I believe he was flying to Los Angeles tonight. I should say, sir, Mr. Weller was pretty anxious to see you. He asked a number of times at the desk if you’d called.”
    Pellam was staring at the number pad on the phone.
    “Hello?” the pleasant desk clerk asked.
    “Still here.”
    “Don’t be too fast to pass up Templeton’s. For my money, best T-bone in the county. You still want that number?”
    Pellam declined.
    He dug another quarter out of his pocket, made a call and sat down on the curb.
    A half hour later the headlights of Stile’s