Two down - By Nero Blanc Page 0,72

out of control.’ The guy you see over there must have been walking along the opposite shoulder. Dead on contact, according to the EMS . . .”

Lever straightened and approached Rosco and Belle; his lips were tight. “ID states he was William Vauriens—Genie Pepper’s half brother.”

26

“Who is this?” Rosco grumbled into the receiver of his bedside telephone. “What time is it?” He said this half to himself and half as an annoyed accusation to the early-morning caller whose raspy voice he hadn’t recognized. Rosco fumbled with his clock radio, turning the dial toward the window in an attempt to attract predawn illumination.

“I couldn’t sleep,” the person said as if the answer would suffice as apology for calling at such a heinous hour.

“What time is it?” Rosco repeated.

“I don’t know . . . five . . . five-thirty . . . Maybe earlier.” The words slurred over themselves, fading in and out. “Hell, you used to be a cop. You must have worked night shift. Able-bodied seamen can tell the time by the stars.”

“Who is this?” Rosco demanded again, then suddenly remembered Belle’s menacing phone call. “Unless you identify yourself, I’m hanging up.”

“Fogram . . .” Rosco finally heard. “Vic Fogram . . . the Red Admiral . . .”

Rosco fumbled with the alarm clock. “You don’t sound like the Vic I met,” he said.

“Fogram . . . Vic Fogram.” Again, the words had a muzzy sound. “You came up to my place yesterday . . .”

Rosco finally succeeded in illuminating the clock’s face. It was five-ten A.M. “The Red Admiral. . .” he heard repeated. “I had me too many shots and beers last night. Too many smokes. I can’t sleep . . .” The conversation had spun full circle; Rosco decided to shake it loose. He pulled himself upright in the bed. “How’s Doris?” he asked.

The response was a ferocious expletive.

Rosco smiled to himself, then remembered the welt above his eye. “Okay. I guess you’re who you say you are.”

“You leave Doris out of this, Polycrates. She’s got nothing to do with you. Nothing to say, neither. I thought she made that clear already.”

Rosco finally found the switch on the table lamp and glanced at his caller-ID box. He didn’t recognize the number, and the prefix wasn’t the downtown exchange of Fogram’s tavern. Again, he was second-guessing himself as to who the caller truly was. “Hold on a sec, there, Vic . . . This phone’s a piece of junk. I’m having trouble hearing you . . . Let me call you back on a different line.”

“You can’t do that . . . I’m not home.”

Rosco jotted the number on a pad of paper. “Well, why don’t we let this conversation ride till you get there,” he said.

“This can’t wait till later. We gotta talk now. I’m in danger here, Polycrates. One man’s dead already.”

Rosco felt the skin at the back of his neck prickle. What did this man know? “Who would that be?”

“Vauriens. Pepper’s brother-in-law. Last night.” The voice contained scarcely concealed panic.

“So I heard. Traffic accident . . .”

“Don’t count on that ‘accident’ stuff, pal. Vauriens had the inside dope. I got money says he was set up. I say the body was dumped there.”

“There’s a witness.”

“An old lady. She doesn’t know what she saw.”

Again, Rosco found himself questioning the caller’s identity. The tone and phrasing had elements of Vic’s clipped Massachusetts accent—but not enough. “Okay, Vic, what’s your theory?”

“Why do you think Pepper kept sending Vauriens checks?”

“Maybe you’d better tell me.”

“To keep him quiet, that’s why.”

“Quiet about what?”

“That’s what we need to talk about.”

Rosco faked a lazy, disinterested yawn. “Okay by me. I can be at the Admiral in half an hour.”

“No way, Polycrates. I’m not showing my face until this mess is cleared up. The Admiral’s closed. You don’t believe me? Drive by tonight. I’m telling you Vauriens was killed, and I don’t want to be the next in line. I know as much as he did, more maybe. You want to meet me or not?”

Rosco considered his options. If the caller wasn’t Fogram, then whoever it was had zeroed in on the tavern; Vic’s life might be in genuine danger. Moe Quick, Rosco thought again; maybe it was Quick. Maybe that was the cause of the explosive reaction over Doris. “I’ve got to get this straight, Vic. You’re saying Pepper was responsible for the hit-and-run?”

A nervous groan ricocheted through the phone line. “Come on, Polycrates; use your head. Who do you think Genie’s life-insurance