Goodbye California by Alistair MacLean Page A

‘Get in the way of this investigation and I’ll have you locked up for interfering with the course of justice.’
    ‘It’s just as well you know me, Donahure. I don’t have to threaten you. Besides, it gives me no pleasure to see fat blobs of lard shaking with fear.’
    Donahure dropped his hand to his gun. Ryder slowly unbuttoned his jacket and pushed it back to put a hand on each hip. His .38 was in full view but his hands were clear of it.
    Donahure said to Lieutenant Mahler: ‘Arrest this man.’
    Dunne spoke in cold contempt. ‘Don’t be more of a fool than you can help, Donahure, and don’t put your lieutenant in an impossible position. Arrest him on what grounds, for heaven’s sake?’
    Ryder buttoned his jacket, turned and left the office, Jeff close behind him. They were about to climb into the Peugeot when Dunne caught up with them.
    ‘Was that wise?’
    Ryder shrugged. ‘Inevitable.’
    ‘He’s a dangerous man, Ryder. Not face to face, we all know that. Different when your back’s turned. He has powerful friends.’
    ‘I know his friends. A contemptible bunch, like himself. Half of them should be behind bars.’
    ‘Still doesn’t make them any less dangerous on a moonless night. You’re going ahead with this, of course?’
    ‘My wife, in case you have forgotten. Think we’re going to leave her to that fat slob’s tender care?’
    ‘What happens if he comes up against you?’
    Jeff said: ‘Don’t tempt my father with such pleasant thoughts.’
    ‘Suppose I shouldn’t. I said I’d like you to work with me, Ryder. You, too, if you wish, young man. Offer stands. Always room for enterprising and ambitious young men in the FBI.’
    ‘Thanks. We’ll think it over. If we need help or advice can we contact you?’
    Dunne looked at them consideringly then nodded. ‘Sure. You have my number. Well, you have the option. I don’t. Like it or not I’ve got to work with that fat slob as you so accurately call him. Carries a lot of political clout in the valley.’ He shook hands with the two men. ‘Mind your backs.’
    In the car, Jeff said: ‘Going to consider his offer?’
    ‘Hell, no. That would be leaving the frying-pan for the fire. Not that Sassoon – he’s the Californian head of the FBI – isn’t honest. He is. But he’s too strict, goes by the book all the time and frowns on free enterprise. Wouldn’t want that – would we?’
    Marjory Hohner, a brown-haired girl who looked too young to be married, sat beside her uniformed CHP husband and studied the scraps of paper she had arranged on the table in front of her. Ryder said: ‘Come on, god-daughter. A bright young girl like you –’
    She lifted her head and smiled. ‘Easy. I suppose it will make sense to you. It says: “Look at back of your photograph”.’
    ‘Thank you, Marjory.’ Ryder reached for the phone and made two calls.
    Ryder and his son had just finished the re-heated contents of the casserole Susan had left in the oven when Dr Jablonsky arrived an hour after the departure of the Hohners, briefcase in hand. Without expression or inflection of voice he said: ‘You must be psychic. The word’s out that you’ve been fired. You and Jeff here.’
    ‘Not at all.’ Ryder assumed an aloof dignity. ‘We retired. Voluntarily. But only temporarily, of course.’
    ‘You did say “temporarily”?’
    ‘That’s what I said. For the moment it doesn’t suit me to be a cop. Restricts my spheres of activities.’
    Jeff said: ‘You
did
say temporarily?’
    ‘Sure. Back to work when this blows over. I’ve a wife to support.’
    ‘But Donahure –’
    ‘Don’t worry about Donahure. Let Donahure worry about himself. Drink, Doctor?’
    ‘Scotch, if you have it.’ Ryder went behind the small wet bar and pulled back a sliding door to reveal an impressive array of different bottles. Jablonsky said: ‘You have it.’
    ‘Beer for me. That’s for my friends. Lasts a long time,’ he added inconsequentially.
    Jablonsky