The Black Hearts Murder by Ellery Queen Page A

you.”
    â€œSame here.”
    Cordes trotted down the marble steps, waving. McCall stepped back into the building. The trio was still at the booking desk; Rawlings was emptying the contents of his pockets.
    McCall went the other way, to the information desk. He asked where he might find a pay phone, and the officer told him that there was “a whole raft of them” outside the press room.
    McCall found the booths, but before phoning Maggie Kirkpatrick he glanced into the press room. It was empty.
    He looked up the number of the Banbury Post-Telegram and dialed it. It took him seven minutes by his watch before he heard her voice.
    â€œYou have a wonderful paging system, Maggie. I could have reached de Gaulle in less time.”
    â€œI was in what we girls euphemistically call the powder room. One of the guys had to beat on the door. What’s up?”
    â€œI’ll give you a tip in return for a favor.”
    â€œShoot, Mike,” Maggie said promptly.
    â€œLeRoy Rawlings is being booked right now on the charge of aiding a fugitive felon to evade arrest. About ten minutes ago Benjamin Cordes, station manager of BOKO, positively identified Rawlings as the messenger who delivered the tape and letter.”
    â€œYou’re a doll!” Maggie said.
    â€œWait, there’s more. Volper had Harlan James’s sister, Mrs. Isobel Franks, brought in for questioning about her brother’s whereabouts. So far he hasn’t come up with anything either from her or Rawlings but a few insults from Rawlings.”
    Maggie was apparently taking notes. “Is that it, Mike?”
    â€œThat’s it. Now for the quid pro quo.”
    â€œWhat can I do for you? And keep it clean.”
    â€œI want you to phone Prentiss Wade and pass on to him what I just told you. Don’t give him your source of information.”
    â€œVolper hasn’t let Rawlings use the phone?”
    â€œNor Mrs. Franks. Will you phone Wade right away?”
    â€œBefore I file the story, Mike. Thanks!”
    When McCall got back to the lobby, the three men were no longer at the booking counter. McCall glanced toward the elevators just in time to see the door of one close behind Lieutenant Cox and Sergeant Fenner. Rawlings was not with them. Presumably he had been deposited in a detention cell.
    McCall found himself heading back toward the city hall and wondered why. He had no reason to seek out Mayor Potter again so soon … Laurel Tate. That auburn hair will do it every time, he upbraided himself as he turned right on Grand Avenue, and he drove to his hotel. He was seeing her in the evening, anyway.
    The thought made him think of Beth McKenna, Chief Condon’s girl Friday; and thinking of her blonde hair made him think of Maggie Kirkpatrick, who was nobody’s girl Friday and had black hair besides.
    The trouble with you, McCall, McCall told his alter ego in the bathroom mirror, you get hungry too often.
    With an effort he shut the girls out and phoned Governor Holland, using the governor’s private line. He reported the events of the day in detail.
    â€œLooks as if old Heywood Potter was dead right,” Sam Holland said. “The opposition’s really trying to stir up race trouble to win support on their law-and-order issue.”
    â€œI’m sure that’s District Attorney Volper’s motive, Governor. Whether or not Gerald Horton is in on the play I can’t say yet, although it would make sense that he is. I haven’t met either mayoralty candidate yet.”
    â€œWell, you stick with it, Mike. You have my backing for anything you have to do to prevent a confrontation there, even if it hurts us politically. Your first consideration is to preserve peace. At any cost.”
    It was such orders, not his substantial salary, that had long since won Mike McCall’s total loyalty. McCall could not have worked for most politicians; his personal code, fashioned out of the