Free The Death in the Willows by Richard; Forrest

passengers.”
    â€œWhat about Collins?”
    â€œNegative. The information he listed was fake. He gave a nonexistent address in Orlando.”
    â€œAnything else?”
    â€œNope. They’re still running down all the families of the victims, checking with the insurance companies and all that, but it’ll take days.”
    â€œSo, everyone is looking in Collins’ direction?”
    â€œWhose name isn’t Collins. The only thing they have to go on is a photograph taken of him after the hijacking incident.”
    â€œHe could be running from something else.”
    â€œI know. A wife, another crime.”
    â€œI have the feeling that Collins is tied into all that happened.”
    â€œNYPD hasn’t been able to turn up any link between any of the passengers and the hijacker. Norbie could be right, the killings could be a terrorist act.”
    â€œI had a strange phone call last night. A man said he’d seen the bus fire on the television news. I was supposed to know him. He said he knew I had to take out the hijacker, but why a whole bus?”
    â€œSounds like a crank call.”
    â€œHe ended up by saying that I had taken care of both problems and that they’d take the usual steps.”
    â€œA nut.”
    â€œMaybe.”
    â€œWhat did he sound like?”
    â€œGeneral American dialect with nothing distinctive about his voice.”
    â€œThen I wouldn’t pay any attention to it.”
    The telephone on Rocco’s desk buzzed melodically. The large chief flicked the receiver to his ear, nodded into it, and hung up. “NYPD has sent up a liaison detective to hold our hands.”
    â€œWhy here?”
    â€œYou got me.” He opened the door and admitted a bulky thirtyish man in rumpled clothes. Rocco stuck out his hand with a grip Lyon knew was reserved for occasions of this sort, and he inwardly winced at the pressure he knew would be applied on the New York detective’s hand. “Rocco Herbert.”
    â€œSean Hilly.” He didn’t wince.
    â€œGrab a chair, Hilly. You got ID?”
    The detective slouched into a side chair and flipped his wallet across the desk at Rocco. Rocco examined the identification closely, looked up at the detective twice, slowly folded the wallet, and handed it back. “Detective Sergeant Hilly, this is my friend, Lyon Wentworth.”
    Lyon and Hilly waved at each other.
    â€œI don’t understand this liaison bit,” Rocco said. “You’ve got the wrong jurisdiction. The state cops are handling this one. If you want the guy to contact, see Captain Norbert at the barracks.”
    â€œSomebody else will cover that. The commissioner is very concerned about this situation, feels that the honor of the city is at stake or some goddamn thing. We want that nothing happens to Mr. Wentworth.”
    â€œI’m staying off buses for a few days.”
    Rocco leaned back in the groaning swivel chair. He folded his arms behind his neck and glared at the other police officer. “We think we’re capable of taking care of Lyon.”
    â€œI didn’t know I had to be taken care of.” Lyon had the feeling his remark was lost in the obvious antagonism between the two law officers.
    Sean Hilly smiled crookedly and threw a rumpled leg over the chair arm and fumbled for a cigarette from a crushed pack in his shirt pocket. “Let me say that I didn’t ask for this assignment. I got night courses at John Jay and don’t need time here in the boonies.”
    Rocco’s chair creaked forward as his facial muscles relaxed. “Okay, it’s not your fault. They dig up anything in the city?”
    â€œNot that I know of. I was off yesterday and got the call at home to come up here.”
    â€œWhere do you live in the city, Sergeant?” Lyon asked.
    â€œMe? Live in that cesspool? Hell, I got a nice split out on the Island.”
    â€œSince I’m not investigating this