Carnival of Death (22 page)

Moving slowly so he wouldn’t startle the girl into shooting, Daly took a small transistor-powered tape recorder from his pocket and turned it on and after several false starts he found the place on the tape he wanted. The five-year-old sounded sleepy.

“
Si
. I was riding on the pink pony all the time and he was way up in the air where I could see everything.”

Then his own voice, “Thank you, Luisa. Now I know that you’re sleepy, honey, and I’m sorry I had to awaken you, but there’s something I want you to tell me. You saw the clown throwing money to the big boys and girls?”

“Si.”

“Did he put any of it into his own pockets?”

“No. He just threw it to the boys and girls.”

“Did he give any of the money to another clown?”

“No.”

“How do you know?”

“I was looking.”

“Do you know how many clowns there were?”

“
Si
. There were three clowns. The bad clown who started the little train and ran away. The bad clown who threw the money, then shot the old man and the
senora
with the baby. And the nice sad clown who stopped the train, then tried to help the old man who was shot. The one with the tears on his cheeks who belongs to the pink
limonada senora
.”

“Now think carefully, Luisa. Did you see any of the clowns with sacks of money in their hands?”

“No.”

“Did you see any of the other clowns go near the truck?”

“No,
Senor
Daly. Only the one clown was by the truck. The one who shot the nice old man. And when he came running past the merry-go-round all he had in his hand was a
pistola
.”

Daly stopped the tape recorder. “So, if neither Tommy Banks or Carver carried any of the money off the lot, and Laredo didn’t go anywhere near the truck, and one hundred and seventy-eight thousand dollars was missing when the police arrived a few minutes later, there’s only one explanation. Despite the fact you were able to show a receipt for it, the bulk of the money never left the garage. The whole thing was an act. There wasn’t any robbery at the shopping center. The money had already been stolen. You used what you needed to balance your books, then hid out the rest to be used at your convenience, possibly in still a fourth identity.”

Her voice barely audible, the girl asked, “The police have heard that recording?”

“Yes.”

It had been a long night. Daly was tired. He added quietly, “Now if you really want to pull the trigger of that gun, go ahead. But I think I ought to warn you that Gene DuBoise and Lieutenant Schaeffer and a police matron are waiting in your living room and have been since shortly after you led me in here.”

The girl looked at the gun in her hand. “No. I don’t want to shoot you. I never really wanted to shoot anyone.” She tossed the gun on the seat of the chair and sat back on the bench and busied herself at the dressing table as DuBoise and Lieutenant Schaeffer and the police matron came into the room.

Schaeffer gripped Daly’s arm. “Thanks, Tom. We almost made a big mistake.”

Daly nodded. There were a number of loose ends to be tied up, but the police would take care of them. All that he could do now was to see that Paquita and Mickey received the reward that had been offered, plus ten percent of any monies recovered. It would at least in part compensate them for the ordeal they’d been through. One person’s loss was always another’s gain. With his rides paid for, a little cash in the bank, and the child who was on its way to inspire him, who knew? Mickey Laredo might well be a big name in the amusement world long after the man who had cost him his leg was dead and forgotten.

Daly started to leave the room with DuBoise and turned back as the police matron said, “Now look here, Miss. You’ll have to put on more than that before I’ll take you downstairs.”

There was reason for her to speak sharply. The onetime meek and modest cashier of the Ramsdale Armored Truck Company was standing in front of her dressing table wearing two round dabs of rouge on her cheeks, a set of long black false eyelashes, a beautifully coiffed and expensive blonde wig and nothing else. As Daly watched, she picked a pair of white opera length gloves and her purse from the dressing table and, grotesque as the whole picture was, her smile was, somehow, almost shy and virginal as she fluttered her long false lashes at an imaginary companion.

“I’m ready whenever you are, Tim. Where you taking me tonight?”

Daly doubted if it would work. It was as good a defense as any. It was also the only one she had. In a cannibalistic world peopled at least in part by male geeks who preyed on susceptible women, the law didn’t take into account the catalystic reactions of, or make exceptions for, plain-faced girls like Grace; girls who, having reached thirty without ever once having found favor in a man’s eyes, wanted desperately for just once in their lives to know what it was like to be a whole woman.

“I’m sorry, Grace,” Daly said.

He was. He’d gone a long way for a story. He had one. But he wasn’t happy about it Nor was he particularly proud of being male.

“Sincerely sorry,” Daly said.

Then without looking back he joined Gene DuBoise and together they walked down the long hall and down the stairs and out into the fresh, clean morning air.