‘Brandon will have to be told.’
I shrugged.
‘That’s up to you. There’s nothing he can do about it, unless he moves in and grabs the guy who collects. If he does, he’ll kill Dedrick as if he shot him himself.’
‘It’s my bet, Dedrick’s dead already.’
‘Maybe, but we don’t know for sure.’
‘Well. I’ll have to tell him.’
‘So long as he doesn’t let Mrs. Dedrick know I’ve been here. What will you do—tap the telephone wire?’
‘Could do,’ Mifflin said, closed his eyes and frowned. ‘If that woman doesn’t want us in this, the chances are Brandon won’t do anything. He’s scared to make a wrong move with her. Once the ransom’s paid, our troubles will be over. The Federal Bureau will take charge.’
‘Getting back to Mary Jerome; anything or nothing?’ ‘Brandon’s leaving her alone, but I’ve traced her car. A patrolman spotted her coming from Ocean End and got the number. He’s one of those freaks who remembers car numbers. He shoved in a report when he heard about the kidnapping. She rented the car from the Acme Garage. Maybe you know the joint. It’s run by a guy named Lute Ferris. We’ve had our eye on him off and on for smuggling reefers, but have never pinned anything on him. He was in Los Angeles when I called, but I talked with his wife. She remembers this Jerome dame. She arrived the night before last—the night of the kidnapping—around eight o’clock and asked Lute for a car. She paid fifty dollars deposit and said she needed the car for a couple of days. She gave the Orchid Hotel as her address.’
‘Trusting of Ferris to let her have a car without checking on her first, wasn’t it?’ Why should he care? The car’s insured. Anyway, that’s the story, and we’re stuck with it.’