Cowley’s face turned stern and he pointed a finger at me as thick as a twenty-five-cent cigar. “If you’re aiding and abetting a fugitive, Mr. Heller, you can’t hide behind the cloak of your profession. You’re not a lawyer. Just a private operator. You’ll go to jail.”
“Inspector Cowley,” I said, with what I hoped was a peacemaking smile, “I’m not harboring a fugitive. My client is not John Dillinger. He happens to be a traveling salesman and a law-’biding citizen. Whose girlfriend happens to be seeing another man, on the sly.”
Cowley nodded thoughtfully. “The man who may be Dillinger.”
I pointed at him this time. “That’s a good way to put it. A man who
Cowley lifted his shoulders and eased them back down. It was about as demonstrative as he got. “Why not clear it up by leading us to this man? We can talk with him, find out who he is, clear this all up.”
I shook my head and kept shaking it. “My client’s girlfriend has been at this man’s side day and night for at least a week. If I lead you to him, how can I be assured your overeager associate won’t lay down a tommy-gun welcome for this ‘man who might be Dillinger’—a welcome Nervous Purvis is likely to extend to my client’s girl, as well?”
He didn’t blink at my rather arch brand of sarcasm. He just said, “Maybe you can best prevent that by being involved yourself.”
“I don’t see it that way.”
“Are you still shadowing this man?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I’ve ascertained what I need to, where my client’s concerned. I’ve fulfilled my responsibilities. And besides, maybe you’ve actually got somebody in that officeful of college boys who might succeed in shadowing
Cowley looked at me blankly; then the corners of his mouth turned up, barely perceptibly, and he said, “I doubt it, too.”
An El train rushed by and we just sat and listened to it.
Then Cowley said, “We’ve had contact from someone else who has a line on Dillinger.”
“That’s interesting.”
“Someone who’s seen him on the North Side.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. Someone with a police agency. An out-of-state agency.”
“Really.”
“East Chicago, Indiana, as a matter of fact.”
“No kidding.”
“A Sergeant Martin Zarkovich and his captain, a man named…it escapes me…”
“O’Neill,” I said.
Cowley, feigning surprise, said, “You know of them?”
“I know Zarkovich. I don’t believe I’ve met O’Neill, but I’ve heard of him.”
“Do you have an opinion of, uh, the East Chicago police?”
“Generally, or specifically?”
“Either. Both.”
“Generally, corrupt. Specifically, Zarkovich.”
He smiled a little and leaned forward in his seat. He held the hat in one hand, now, and seemed to be offering it to me.
He said, “Then you know why we can use a corroborating source. As a matter of fact, if I could handle this through you entirely, I’d feel more comfortable. So would Chief Purvis.”
That surprised me. “Really?” I asked. “What makes me such a sterling character?”
“Being compared to Zarkovich,” Cowley said, deadpan.
That made me smile. “You’re going to have to go with Zarkovich. He’s a cop. Why don’t you bring Stege in, while you’re at it?”
Cowley didn’t answer at first. “There’s little love lost between our office and the Chicago police. Precious little mutual respect or cooperation.”
“I take it this state of affairs predates your coming aboard.”
“I haven’t been here long, Mr. Heller. You know that. Just since April. But it doesn’t take very long to realize the Chicago police are lacking in certain respects.”
“So instead you deal with East Chicago? Look, there
Cowley rose. He wasn’t leaving: he was just restless. Quietly so. He went over to one of the windows and looked out at the El. Without looking at me, he said, “I hear you’re an honest man, Mr. Heller.”
“More or less,” I said.
He smiled, again without looking at me. “That’s high marks in Chicago. We, uh…have a mutual friend, you know.”
“I know.”
Eliot Ness.
“So,” Cowley continued, “if I say some things off the record, you’ll keep them there.”
“I’m not a reporter.”
“If a reporter asked you.” He looked over at me sharply. “Or even a judge.”
I nodded.
He walked back and stood by the chair. Said, “Zarkovich and O’Neill have made some conditions. One of them is that Stege and the Chicago police not be involved in Dillinger’s…capture.”
“Why do you pause before the word ‘capture’?”
He hesitated. “It has to do with another of their conditions.”
“I see. Have you agreed to these various conditions?”
“Not yet. That’s where you come in, Mr. Heller. Why not help the federal government avoid having to rub up against something as dirty as the East Chicago police? Why not tell us what you know, and keep us from having to deal with the likes of Zarkovich and O’Neill?”
I didn’t say anything.
