The Dirty Duck Read Online Free PDF Page B

not having some of Bunny Belle’s qualifications.
    â€œThey’re an American family?”
    â€œWho the hell else stays at the Stratford-bloody-Hilton except auto conventions? Inside, you’d think you were in New York. You ever been to New York, Jury?”
    Lasko had been going on about the States ever since Jury had arrived that morning. It was a love-hate relationship. Lasko was dying to go to Miami and the Florida Keys. But he hated some of the brassy Americans he’d run into. Jury said no, he’d never been to the States, and Lasko stuck a toothpick in his mouth and went on. It danced as he talked.
    â€œLike I said, this boy—name’s James Carlton Farraday—likes to go off on his own. When they were in Amsterdam, he wandered off for hours—”
    â€œHours isn’t two days. What were they doing in Amsterdam?”
    â€œTour. They’re with one of these tour groups. In Paris he was gone for over twenty-four hours. Local police found him asleep in a church pew. Weird kid, right?” Lasko shrugged. “The girl, Penny, implied that he wasn’t all that keen on his family.”
    â€œYou mean she thinks maybe he’s run away? That would be bloody silly in a foreign country.”
    â€œThe kid’s independent, like I said. Or they said.”
    â€œWell, what leads do you have?”
    â€œNone.” Lasko looked gloomy, then looked hopefully at Jury. “I just thought maybe you—”
    Jury shook his head, but smiled as he said, “Uh-uh, Sammy. I just came down here for a visit. This is your patch, not mine.”
    â€œBut this guy Farraday is over at the Hilton raving away about Scotland Yard. I told him we could handle it, that it wasn’t Scotland Yard’s sort of thing, and that only made him madder. He’s American, Richard. He’s going to dance right into the bloody embassy and he’s stinking rich and has a lot of influence, so he says.” His tone growing steadily more wheedling, Lasko said, “Look, if it was a murder, I bet you’d do it.” And then he looked around the office, at the tables and chairs and secretary as if he might just scare up a dead body somewhere for Jury.
    â€œIt’s not a murder, though, is it? And your Chief Constable’s not asking for help from us—”
    In a dramatic gesture, Lasko slapped his palms against his chest. “I’m asking—your old buddy, Sam Lasko. Look, all I want you to do is go along and have a talk with this Farraday. That’s all. Just to shut him up.”
    Jury looked at Lasko speculatively and pocketed his cigarettes as he said, “Okay, but that’s all, Sammy. I’m supposed to meet a friend for dinner tonight and I have—a few other things I want to do while I’m here, so don’t expect me to do anything.”
    Lasko looked about as happy as Jury had ever seen him look, which wasn’t very much. “That’s great. These people think the only police in the whole bloody world are the FBI and Scotland Yard.”
    Jury picked up his notebook. “Not to worry. An hour with me and they’ll change their minds.”

5
    T he Farradays were sitting at a table in that part of the lobby of the plush Stratford Hilton sectioned off for the serving of drinks. Four pairs of eyes appraised Jury with varying degrees of interest.
    Farraday himself, despite Lasko’s report, seemed skeptical when Jury handed him his card. Lasko had probably made most of it up anyway, except for the initial report. Skeptical, but not unfriendly.
    James Farraday rose and shook Jury’s hand before immediately turning to collar a passing waitress. “What’ll it be, Mr. Jury?”
    Jury declined the drink. Farraday ordered it, anyway. Whiskey, no ice. “I know you fellas like your liquor warm, the Lord knows why.”
    â€œHe said he didn’t want any.” The voice came from the shadows.
    â€œNow,