Goodbye California. Alistair MacLean

      ‘Maybe in a hurry. Maybe just the impatient type. At least he gave warning. His words were: “Stand well to one side, Mrs Ryder, I’m going to blast open that door”.’

      ‘Well, that seems to prove two things. The first is that they’re not wanton killers. But I said “seem”. A dead hostage isn’t much good as a bargaining counter or as a lever to make reluctant physicists bend to their task. Second, they knew enough to be able to identify individual members of the staff.’

      ‘That they did.’

      ‘They seem to have been very well informed.’ Jeff tried to speak calmly, to emulate the monolithic calm of his father, but a rapidly beating pulse in his neck gave him away.

      Ryder indicated the table-top strewn with scraps of torn paper. ‘Man of your age should be beyond jigsaws.’

      ‘You know me: thorough, painstaking, the conscientious detective who leaves no stone unturned.’

      ‘You’ve got all the pieces the right way up, I’ll say that for you. Make anything of it?’

      ‘No. You?’

      ‘No. Contents of Susan’s waste-paper basket, I take it?’

      ‘Yes.’ Parker looked at the tiny scraps in irritation. ‘I know secretaries and typists automatically tear up bits of papers destined for the waste-paper basket. But did she have to be so damned thorough about it?’

      ‘You know Susan. Never does things by halves. Or quarters. Or eighths.’ He pushed some of the scraps around – remnants of letters, carbons, some pieces of shorthand. ‘Sixteenths, yes. Not halves.’ He turned away. ‘Any other clues you haven’t come up with?’

      ‘Nothing on her desk, nothing in her desk. She took her handbag and umbrella with her.’

      ‘How do you know she had an umbrella?’

      ‘I asked,’ Parker said patiently. ‘Nothing but this left.’ He picked up a framed and unflattering picture of Ryder, replaced it on the desk and said à propos of nothing: ‘Some people can function efficiently under any circumstances. And that’s it, I’m afraid.’

      Dr Jablonsky escorted them to the battered Peugeot. ‘If there’s anything I can do, Sergeant –’

      ‘Two things, as a matter of fact. Without letting Ferguson know, can you get hold of the dossier on Carlton? You know, the details of his past career, references, that sort of thing.’

      ‘Jesus, man, he’s number two in security.’

      ‘I know.’

      ‘Any reason to suspect him?’

      ‘None. I’m just curious why they took him as hostage. A senior security man is supposed to be tough and resourceful. Not the kind of man I’d have around. His record may show some reason why. Second thing, I’m still a pilgrim lost in this nuclear desert. If I need any more information can I contact you?’

      ‘You know where my office is.’

      ‘I may have to ask you to come to my place. Head office can put a stop order against my coming here.’

      ‘A cop?’

      ‘A cop, no. An ex-cop, yes.’

      Jablonsky looked at him consideringly. ‘Expecting to be fired? God knows, it’s been threatened often enough.’

      ‘It’s an unjust world.’

      On the way back to the station Jeff said: ‘Three questions. Why Carlton?’

      ‘Bad choice of hostage, like I said. Secondly, if the villains could identify your mother they could probably identify anyone in the plant. No reason why they should be especially interested in our family. The best sources of names and working locations of the staff is in the security files. Only Ferguson and Carlton – and, of course, Dr Jablonsky – have access to them.’

      ‘Why kidnap him?’

      ‘To make it look good? I don’t know. Maybe he wasn’t kidnapped. You heard what Ferguson said about the government not paying highly for unskilled jobs. Maybe greener fields were beckoning.’

      ‘Sergeant Ryder, you have an unpleasantly suspicious imagination. What’s more, you’re no better than a common thief.’ Ryder drew placidly on his cigarette and remained unmoved. ‘You told Jablonsky you never tampered with evidence. I saw you palm pieces of paper from the table where Sergeant Parker was trying to sort them out.’

      ‘Suspicious minds would seem to run in this family,’ Ryder said mildly. ‘I didn’t tamper with evidence. I took it. If it is evidence, that is.’

      ‘Why did you take it if you don’t know?’

      ‘You saw what I took?’

      ‘Didn’t look much to me. Squiggles, doodles.’

      ‘Shorthand, you clown. Notice anything about the cut of Jablonsky’s coat?’

      ‘First thing any cop would notice. He should have his coat cut looser to conceal the bulge of his gun.’

      ‘It’s not a gun. It’s a cassette recorder. Jablonsky dictates all his letters and memos into that, wherever he is in the plant, as usually as not when he’s walking around.’

      ‘So?’ Jeff thought for a bit then looked properly chagrined. ‘Guess I’ll just stick to my trusty two-wheeler and handing out tickets to traffic violators. That way my lack of a towering intelligence doesn’t show up so much. No shorthand required, is that it?’

      ‘I would have thought so.’

      ‘But why tear it up into little bits –’

      ‘Just goes to show that you can’t believe half the experts who say that intelligence is hereditary.’ Ryder puffed on his cigarette with just a hint of complacency. ‘Think I would have married someone who panicked and lacked resource?’

      ‘Like she runs from a room when she sees a spider? A message?’

      ‘I would think. Know anyone who knows shorthand?’

      ‘Sure. Marge?’

      ‘Who’s Marge?’

      ‘God damnit, Dad, your god-daughter. Ted’s wife.’

      ‘Ah. Your fellow easy rider on the lonely trails of the freeways? Marjory, you mean? Ask them around for a drink when we get home.’

      ‘What did you mean back there by saying to Jablonsky that you expected to be fired?’

      ‘He said it, not me. Let’s say I sense premature retirement coming up. I have a feeling that Chief Donahure and I aren’t going to be seeing very much eye to eye in a few minutes’ time.’ Even the newest rookie in the police force knew of the Chief of Police’s enmity towards Ryder, a feeling exceeded only by the massive contempt in which Ryder held his superior.

      Jeff said: ‘He doesn’t much like me either.’

      ‘That’s a fact.’ Ryder smiled reminiscently. Some time before her divorce from the Chief of Police, Jeff had handed out a speeding ticket to Mrs Donahure, although he had known perfectly well who she was. Donahure had first of all asked Jeff, then demanded of him that he tear up the booking. Jeff had refused, as Donahure must have known he would in advance. The Californian Highway Patrol had the reputation, of which it was justifiably proud, of being perhaps the only police force in the Union that was wholly above corruption. Not too long ago a patrolman had handed out a speeding ticket to the Governor. The Governor had written a letter of commendation to police headquarters – but he still had to pay up.

      Sergeant Dickson was still behind his desk. He said:

      ‘Where have you two been?’

      ‘Detecting,’ Ryder said. ‘Why?’

      ‘The