"Walsh, Thomas - Nightmare In Manhattan" - читать интересную книгу автора (Walsh Thomas)

They had some coffee, and after it they drove down to police headquarters, where Calhoun attempted unsuccessfully to identify the big redhead from the pictures which Mike Frost made available to him. And then at six oТclock on a gray February morning, when the possibilities had been pretty well covered, he went home and slept for several hours.

His phone woke him about noontime.

УHere it is,Ф Donnelly said, no greeting at all, no lengthy explanation, expecting Calhoun, who had just wakened unrefreshed and disheartened, to be as ready for this as he was. УThey got the locker key up in North Rhinehill this morning, and a note with it. Could you guess where they want to get in touch with Murchison? At the information booth in your main concourse at six tonight. Hello! Are you here?Ф

Calhoun nodded foolishly; he was trying to gather himself together. The main concourse! he thought. But why? What was Ч

УAt six,Ф he said, repeating the words because he wanted to be very sure of them. УAt the information booth. Yeah, IТm on here. Go ahead.Ф

УGet your lunch,Ф Donnelly ordered. УI doubt if youТll have a chance presently. IТll be looking for you in Captain RousseauТs office at half past one. At half past one, Calhoun. WeТll have things to do.Ф

He rang off; but Calhoun replaced the phone with one hand, and then kept the hand on it for a full minute. Manhattan Depot, Calhoun was thinking, with that peculiar clarity of mind occasionally associated with sudden awakening; of course! Where was a better place for the kidnapers to make their contact? Last night everyone had assumed that the big fellow had used a locker on the cab platform not out of deliberate forethought, but from sudden inspiration as to how he could get the boyТs clothes back to Murchison safely and anonymously. But was that true?

It was quite possible to fit together another explanation, and one which would suppose that the big redhead had been figuring on using Manhattan Depot all the time, very shrewdly and carefully. WasnТt it perfect for what he wanted to do? At rush hour last night he was, or he should have been, the invisible man in there, so that at no other place, and through no other method, could he have identified himself to Murchison with less risk.

And of course, Calhoun realized, the terminal must seem just as perfect now for what the kidnapers had to do. The big redhead could have no idea that he had been identified last night, not unless he had noticed Eddie Mather following him; and Eddie Mather had been very positive that he had been eluded up in the Bronx accidentally, and not through intent. Which meant Ч

Something blazed up in Calhoun, so that he clenched one of his big fists, half raised it Ч and then unclenched it because there was nothing to do with it. What did this mean? It meant that they had the big fellow. And why? Because he must be positive that no one had any idea of his physical description, and positive, therefore, that he could walk into Manhattan Depot at six oТclock tonight, mingle in with thousands of innocent people, watch Murchison and what Murchison did, and walk out again if any detail appeared at all suspicious to him.

Got him, Calhoun decided exultantly Ч got him! Because of course he must have decided that, even if the police were working on it, even if the police had been called in by Murchison, there would be no way for them to pick him out from all the other people who would be in Manhattan Depot tonight on legitimate business. Yesterday the Murchison chauffeur could have seen, at best, only a big man with a handkerchief over his face; and who else was there to connect him with the kidnaping?

Nobody, at least as he saw it. And now perhaps he intended the depot to be the center and hub of this whole business from now on. Why not? The depot offered him certain unique advantages. It was big, safe, crowded and anonymous for him Ч or so he figured. Then, too, if the police knew he was in a particular street, even in a particular city area, they could block it off; but no one, not even Donnelly, and not even in something like this, could block off Manhattan Depot for any considerable period. Impossible, as the redhead would see it. Let the police know that he was going to be in Manhattan Depot at six tonight. Fine! What could they do about it? How, with no description, could they possibly pick him out from perhaps fifteen or twenty thousand legitimate travelers?

At that thought Calhoun scrambled out of the day-bed. Maybe the police could do a little more about it than he figured, Calhoun advised him grimly, happily. There was one fact which he didnТt seem to suspect yet. A railroad detective named Willie Calhoun knew him; so did the Kennedy girl; so did Conductor Goggins of Train Number 52; and so did Eddie Mather.

So Calhoun shaved now in half a dozen impatient strokes, everything bouncing up in him just as it had been dragging down in him in Manhattan Depot last night. It might be possible, even, that the Murchison boy was still alive. Why couldnТt it be? This big fellow was no panicky amateur, whatever he was; and so the big fellow would want his money before getting rid of his investment. If he had the child, and if something went wrong with the ransom negotiations during the next few days, he could wait and try again just so long as he could prove to Murchison that the child was unharmed. He would protect the child, therefore, not out of consideration for little Tony MurchisonТs welfare, but for himself. The big fellow knew his business. He had to. Anyone who figured out Manhattan Depot for his contact, and probably for his ransom, too Ч the one perfect place in a city of seven or eight million people Ч was working this whole thing with extreme care and shrewdness.

Calhoun decided that much to his own satisfaction while he was flinging his clothes on anyway at all. He forgot lunch because of all that inward excitement, and he almost forgot a necktie; but he was down in Manhattan Depot long before half past one, so that when Donnelly and Nolan appeared he and Captain Rousseau already had started to organize things for six that evening. They had obtained an architectТs plan of Manhattan Depot from the stationmasterТs office, and on this Calhoun was marking and numbering all the ways through which the public was permitted to enter or leave the terminal.

УHereТs a pretty wise guy,Ф Calhoun declared tightly, squaring that bulldog jaw first at Donnelly, and then at Nolan. УThe kind who thought he was just picking his time on it. But thatТs all right, understand; that makes it perfect for us. Look here.Ф He spun the architectТs plan around with one finger, so that it faced Donnelly, and then jammed a thumb down on the information booth.

УIТll tell you something. The more people there are around here at six tonight Ч and IТll tell you right now that thereТs going to be a hell of a lot of them Ч the more men you can use. Of course itТs going to be crowded Ч worse than yesterday, maybe. ItТs a holiday week end. Well, so what? That means you can scatter an army down there, if you want to. WhoТd notice them? WhoТd pay any attention to them?Ф

Arthur Donnelly, who looked as if he had not slept very much last night Ч certainly he had not shaved Ч put his head forward in that slight pushing gesture he had at any time when he was required to make a decision about something.

УI donТt know,Ф Donnelly said. УLetТs think about it. Rousseau. You know this place better than we do. WhatТs your idea? How would you cover it?Ф

Rousseau, a mild, elderly man, glanced at Calhoun; and Calhoun, hands on hips, head back, stared up narrowly at the ceiling over him. He was Willie Calhoun again Ч abrupt, aggressive, decided. He was ready for the big redhead then Ч ready for anyone. The gray eyes glittered.

УTwo men on every subway platform,Ф Calhoun said. УTwo more at every street entrance; two more in each passage; half a dozen up on the balcony watching things; and half a dozen down on the concourse. ThatТll do it Чfor the big guy, anyway. We got four people who can pick him out in here easy. Let each of us take one side of the main concourse. All right. Then heТs done; heТs got to be done. The only one IТm worried about is that driver. Nobody saw him, remember Ч not even the Kennedy girl. Suppose he comes in here? Then-Ф

Donnelly gave him a very grim nod.

УSuppose he does,Ф Donnelly said. УWeТre still all right. Take a look at this, Calhoun.Ф He handed over a snapshot of a plump, blond young man in a sport shirt, who was grinning impudently at the camera. УThereТs our friend. Louie Rothman, the third one in the clique Ч CarlТs brother. We got this picture up in Maple Avenue last night, and we had a neighbor identify it. Tell him about that, Nolan.Ф

He went back to the architectТs plan, leaving Nolan to pass on the ascertained facts about the second Rothman brother, who had worked as a chauffeur-gardener over in North Rhinehill last year. He must have arranged the setup for the other two, Nolan explained; and of course they would have let him drive the car yesterday because he knew the roads in and around North Rhinehill better than either of them.

УA bad egg,Ф Nolan grunted. УNot tough, you understand. Just bad Ч sly, mean, sneaking. He went out to San Francisco last year after some trouble about stripping his bossТs car, and when he came back he had this big redheaded fellow with him. ThereТs a woman, too Ч the redheadТs girl friend. They were all seen up in Dover Village a couple of times. My idea is that the woman is taking care of Tony Murchison for them. IТd say Ч