It was unlikely that he had any contact with Matthews' men. He might have had some at Lloyd & Wagon's, although after a few seconds Mason pushed that possibility out of his mind. It was more plausible that he had been tailing Andrew Lloyd for a couple of days until he had gone up to his Chinatown office.
Another lead, much easier to believe, was the Sunshine Cab, the company he worked for and where he might still have some friends. Taxi drivers are the ears of the city and Samuel, never more than at that moment, needed to know what was going on.
Unable to track the taxi, he reached his car in front of the Perkins' building. He started the engine and drove into the sparse evening traffic. Unfortunately, the only witness to the incident, the lady with the shopping bags, had not been able to see the driver's face because she was busy collecting her week's salvage. She barely understood what had happened. Mason discovered that he had bruised his shoulder trying to avoid the car. He realised it when he got behind the wheel. It wasn't serious. The pain behind his eyes was nagging at him. The insistent throbbing in his temples, however, was part of the job. It was what kept him moving.
Just inside the agency, the smell of coffee reached him. April had made plenty. He poured himself a cup and walked over to his desk. He let himself down in his chair and lit a cigarette.
She had to go to Sunshine, find out what she could about Sam, his habits, his vices, what might make him a wife killer and a fugitive. He had to get to predict his moves and get ahead of him. There was a small chance that the records would contain the racing data for the last period. He still didn't know if the car was his or the company's. He had to hope for a lucky hand. After that, there were secondary leads to consider, assess their plausibility and avoid dead ends. There was still too much smoke to see clearly. He had to get back to Lloyd, find out who the notary was that the doorman had picked up and what the news was.
He wrote a note to April asking her to make an effort to track down the notary's office, then sank into the back and closed his eyes with a view of the unresting city before him. The cigarette died in the ashtray next to the hot cup of coffee.
On two sides
It was April who woke him up.
Mason had responded to her smile, a mixture of kindness and guilt, with a gruff good morning. It wasn't directed at her but at the fact that he seemed never to have dozed off. Elizabeth Perkins' case had taken over.
April didn't seem to mind his rudeness but handed him his hat, which had fallen from the nape of his neck abandoned to sleep.
Mason Stone crinkled his eyes and sat up, elbows on the desk and eyes interrogating the calendar to find out how long he'd been asleep. April brought a cup of freshly brewed coffee which he instinctively intercepted.
"Can you read what it says?" April had found his note.
"Sure, boss."
"Good thing, sometimes I get in trouble myself."
"It's not so terrible. There was a guy I dated in high school, Paul Russel, he had such terrible handwriting that when he asked me out on a date, I thought he'd scribbled me out."
"What happened to Paul?"
"He was a nice guy and my parents liked him but he wasn't for me," the girl's cheeks lit up as she shrugged.
"You did well, then."
"What do I need to find out about this notary?"
"As much as you can. I know I haven't given you much to work with but I'm sure you'll do a great job. I want to know who he is and what he went to do at the Perkins' on the day Elizabeth died. It's vital, I'm afraid. The problem is, I don't know his name or the name of the firm. Just the rough description of a doorman. If there's anything, it's in the police statements."
"Are you still working on that case? Captain Martelli..."
"Of course. Besides, since I've been forbidden to deal with it, it's all become much more interesting."
"Interesting?"
"How long have you been with me?"
"Three years, seven months and sixteen days."
"And in that time, how many cases have we had?"
"Several dozen, I'd say."
"And how many times did Martelli or a police officer call us to inform us that we were not liked people and that, not only should we disregard but, even, refuse the assignment?"
"I would say none."
"And you don't find that curious?"
"Without a doubt."
"That makes two of us."
"What are you going to do?"
"Nothing for the moment. We'll move on and see what happens. There are priorities to think about before playing cat and mouse with Martelli: I need to find Samuel Perkins, or find out what happened to him. The notary is your business, however. Get on it immediately."
"I'll go. One more perplexity yet, if I may."
"You may."
"What if Martelli had ordered your arrest in case you were discovered?"
"They may come."
"How?"
"Oh, fear not. If the captain arrested me, it would benefit me more than it would him. An arrest means at least a night in the slammer, an interrogation, maybe with Matthews himself, or Martelli if I'm so inclined. I doubt they'd let Peterson have me. They trust him less than they trust me. For someone who can listen and knows what to look for, a string of questions about my investigation might be more fruitful than reading all the case reports."
"But if they just wanted to keep you away they'd just keep you locked up!" April's voice trembled. "You need more than a pretext for an interrogation, don't you? They'd have to have well-founded reasons, like a serious criminal charge, to make them question you about what you know."
"And I'm on my way to get them." Mason rose from his desk and closed the study door behind him, accompanying April, uneasy but increasingly admiring, to her battle station.
Sunshine Cab
The big engine of the black Ford started at the first attempt. Sometimes she needed some encouragement, but who didn't? That car was her second office and third home after her office in Chinatown. It wasn't a king's bed but it served him like one. Without intermediate stops Mason Stone arrived at the Sunshine Cab.
Since the company's yard was bustling with cars, he parked on the opposite side of the street. Sunshine was one of the most important companies and favoured G-Model Checkers, but it was not uncommon for other cars to be converted to the job. Classifying the previous night's episode as a simple accident helped to make it less important. When you find yourself in quicksand, the best thing to do is to try to move as little as possible. At the speed at which the event had unfolded, however, he had managed to make out the taxi company's crest and guess the profile of a Checker. It was one of the cheaper cars, known for its reliability and low maintenance requirements, ideal for the job.
Mason found himself almost hoping that Sam was driving another car. If he didn't, it meant one of two things: either incredible, ostentatious stupidity on the man's part or an attempt to throw him off the scent. If the latter turned out to be true, he would waste a lot of time.
He had to track down the owner, a Julie Darden. He walked across the dusty yard and into the entrance. There was the stench of motor oil and grease stains all over the floor. The Sunshine Cab was nothing more than a huge, dirty, dusty shed with large windows opening up to the mechanics in the repair shop. No one looked up at him as he made his way to the offices. It was as anonymous as dormant the taxi drivers' capacity for wonder, so accustomed to oddities of all kinds.
Leaning against the office door, a driver in a foul mood was reading a no less pitiful newspaper, his beard unkempt and his visor cap lopsided three-quarters of the way up on his head.
"Hello." Mason stopped half a step away from him and the door. The man, distracted by his reading and intent on chewing gum, studied the newcomer for a few moments and then resumed his press review, unperturbed. The taxi driver's shoulder and weight pressed against the door. Mason reached under his arm to hold the newspaper, grabbed the handle and gave a little tug, just to check the man's intentions, who did not move.