‘Which way did he go?’
‘Turned right at the lights, and headed towards the river.’
Dallas felt a little chill run up his spine. He might have guessed that’s the way they’d go.
‘Thanks,’ he said, turned and ran back to his car. He drove rapidly along West Street, turned left at the next intersection, increased his speed along the broad, deserted dock road. A couple of miles of fast driving brought him to the river. Again he pulled to the kerb and got out. He spent ten minutes trying to find someone who had seen Rico’s car before he succeeded.
A red-headed street walker volunteered the information.
‘Sure, it was heading for the old causeway,’ she told Dallas, while she ogled him from under her hat-brim. ‘It’s Rico, isn’t it? I thought I recognised him. Why worry about him, sugar? Let’s you and me have fun.’
‘Some other night,’ Dal as said, scarcely hearing what she said. ‘I’ve got to find this guy.’
‘No accounting for taste,’ the girl said, shrugging her thin shoulders. The rain dripped off her umbrella on to her sandalled feet. ‘Me — I wouldn’t look for Rico if he was the last man on earth.’
Dallas got into his car and headed along the narrow causeway. He was sure now that Baird and Rico had brought Zoe here to murder her. Why else should they come down to the river? He felt responsible for Zoe, and he drove recklessly, refusing to accept what his common sense was telling him: if they were going to murder her, they would have done it by now.
Very soon he got completely lost in the narrow alleys that ran between the derelict warehouses. It became impossible to drive fast and, exasperated, he stopped the car and got out. Rain poured down on him as he swung the beam of his flashlight up at the high buildings. He cursed softly, wondering which way to go, when suddenly he heard the sharp bang of a heavy calibre gun.