Man On The Run Part 2

"No," she said. "That woman wouldn't have given up her ring-side seat. She'd have stayed right there watching the hall until the police arrived. If anybody else had gone in or out, she'd have said so."

"Then there had to be somebody else already in the apartment when I got there."

"How would he get out?"

"Through the kitchen and down the back stairway that leads to the garage in the bas.e.m.e.nt. There's an exit to the alley on the ground floor."

"Hmmm," she said. "But you didn't see anybody else in the apartment:"

"No. But I was only in the living room."

"You didn't see a coat, wrap, hat, or a purse, or anything?"

"No. I wouldn't have noticed, though, if there had been one. I was boiling, and all I saw was Stedman."

"If there were somebody there, why would he suddenly decide to kill Stedman? Presumably, it would be a friend or acquaintance."

"Or one of his girl friends. I don't know. All I know is that he was all right when I went out of the room, and less than five minutes later he was dead."

"Do you think anybody will ever believe it?"

"Of course not. Why do you think I ran?"

"It does have one thing in its favor," she said. "It's stupid enough to be true. Anybody could make up a better story."

I shrugged and got up to prowl restlessly around the room. Light was fading now inside the house. I turned, and her eyes were on me. This time she didn't look away. She shook her head musingly.

"I keep trying to decide whether you look more like a Roman gladiator," she said, "or some raffish medieval monk who got caught in the wrong bedroom."

"Well, my clothes will be dry in a little while."

"Oh, I don't mind. It's a fascinating combination-a ca.s.sock and a black eye."

There was something provocative in her tone, and when I turned quickly to look at her I saw the same thing in her eyes. I walked over beside her. She moved over almost imperceptibly, and I sat down on the edge of the chaise.

"Can't we have a fire?" she asked teasingly.

"No."

"Think how cozy it would be," She smiled. "An open fire and the sound of the rain."

"And the police kicking in the doors."

"Maybe I'd send them away."

"Sure you would," I said.

"You don't think so?" She ran a finger gently along the bruise on my jaw. "Does that hurt?"

"No," I said. I kissed her. Her lips parted and her arms tightened fiercely around my neck. Then she was whispering against my mouth. "It's the way you look in that garment. I haven't been able to keep my eyes off you."

I kissed her again. She made a little whining sound in her throat, but then she twisted away from me and stood up. Her face was flushed and her breathing ragged as she eluded my hands and ran toward the next room. I caught her beside the bed.

"It's so cold in here," she whispered. "Did you close that window?"

I reached out across the bed to pull the drape aside to make sure, and while I was off balance she hit me with a shoulder and both arms. I spun around, landed on the corner of the bed, and slid to the floor. She ran out into the living room and slammed the door shut. I got up, raging. She'd play h.e.l.l getting away with that; there was no lock on the door.

I hit it on the run, turning the k.n.o.b and starting to lunge through after her. It opened six inches or so, and stopped abruptly, and I slammed into it face-first. Something was holding it at the bottom. I could hear the sound of her heels as she ran out into the kitchen. Wild now, I backed off and hit the door again as hard as I could. The top sprang outward a few inches, but the bottom scarcely moved. I heard the car door close out in the garage and then the engine starting. I lunged frantically at the door, and this time I managed to fight my way around the edge of it. It was too late. She was backing out of the garage. I ran to the front window just in time to see her get out with the plastic raincoat over her head, lock the garage doors, and then calmly get back in the car and drive off. She knew she was safe once she was outside the house.

I turned away, swearing bitterly, and lighted a cigarette. There was no use even trying to run; they'd be here in less than five minutes. d.a.m.n her, anyway; this was the thanks I got for saving her life. Then I cursed myself for being so stupid as to leave the keys in the car. I'd forgotten about them in the urgency of getting her out of that carbon monoxide. And now I'd let her make a complete sap of me.

But how had she jammed the door? It didn't matter now, but I went over and looked at it. It was clever. She'd jammed the end of the fireplace poker under it. The poker had a large handle, so it acted as a wedge; the harder I'd shoved, the tighter it had jammed. Suzy was a clever girl. I called her that and several other things.

I went over and yanked my clothes off the line and started dressing. She'd find a police car inside half a mile, and I might as well be ready when they got here. I wadded up the blanket and threw it savagely across the room. I stopped to listen, but heard nothing except the rain. A minute pa.s.sed, and another, while I put on trousers, shirt, and shoes. What were they doing, sneaking up on me? She must have told them I had no gun. I went to the window and peered out. The road was deserted and rainswept in the gathering dusk, with no cars in sight anywhere.

A full hour went by before I dared believe it. She hadn't reported that I was here. I wondered why? Had she been in a wreck?

Before it was fully dark, I ate some more of the corned beef and drank a cup of coffee. I turned off the gas heater for fear it might be seen through the drapes, made sure the outside doors were locked, and curled up on the couch with a blanket. The rain went on. It had a lonely sound.

The Dancy Dancy would have sailed this afternoon, and by now she'd have made her departure from the sea-buoy and be shouldering her way southeastward toward the Florida Straits: I lighted a cigarette and took a quick look at the time. I'd just now be going up to the bridge in oilskins to take over the watch. Homesickness and longing swept over me. I shoved them out of my mind. would have sailed this afternoon, and by now she'd have made her departure from the sea-buoy and be shouldering her way southeastward toward the Florida Straits: I lighted a cigarette and took a quick look at the time. I'd just now be going up to the bridge in oilskins to take over the watch. Homesickness and longing swept over me. I shoved them out of my mind.

In the morning it was still raining, not as hard now, but with a steady gray drizzle that looked as if it might go on for a week. I made some coffee and listened to the radio news. The police were still convinced they had me surrounded in the vicinity of Carlisle and were continuing their search. The only thing to do was stay right here as long as I could. There was no way to account for her not going to the police, but she hadn't, so presumably she wasn't going to. I searched the place, trying to find a razor so I could shave, but there was none. The black eye was still puffy and badly discolored; it would be days before it disappeared. And by that time the ginger-colored beard would be worse. Either way, I'd attract attention. It seemed hopeless.

The day dragged on. I searched the rows of Suzy's books until I found an English edition and tried to read. It was laid in New Orleans during the Civil War and was full of intrigue and sizzling bedroom scenes. Most of the girls were pet.i.te and blonde, with a high degree of inflammability and a low flash-point. Their descriptions were like scaled-down versions of Suzy herself; and thinking of them reminded me of her and made me uncomfortable. After awhile I put the book away. And just at dusk I heard a car drive up and stop in front of the garage. I peered out. It was Suzy.

Four

She drove in, closed the garage, and ran up onto the front porch. I heard her key in the lock. She came in and quickly shut the door. She was wearing another sweater and skirt outfit, and a dark coat, and her face was slightly damp with the rain. She had a briefcase under her arm.

I started to say something, but she shook her head warningly. Coming close, she whispered against my ear. "There are some men out in the road, on foot. We've got to hurry. I came back to get you out of here."

"How?" I asked. "And why?"

"There's no time for questions. Put on your coat and take down that clothesline, while I empty the ashtrays and get rid of the food cans. We can't leave any trace of you here."

I put on the coat, gathered up my wallet, stuffed the tie in my pocket, and put away the line. She swiftly put the place in order and picked up the blanket I'd used for a poncho. She motioned for me to follow her. We went out in the garage. The light was almost gone now, and I could scarcely see the outline of the car. She unlocked the trunk. I could just make out that the spare tire had been removed, and that there were some blankets in it, and a topcoat and hat.

She put her lips against my ear. "Get in. I fixed it so you'll be able to breathe in there."

"Where are we going?" I asked.

"Sanport. That's the safest place for you now. Hurry up. They're going to start searching these cottages."

I climbed in and curled up on the blankets. She lowered the cover slowly to gauge the clearance, and then pushed it down until the latch clicked. I was locked in. It occurred to me now that it was too late, that I was completely at her mercy. All she had to do was drive up to the nearest patrol car or police station and hand me over like an oyster on the half sh.e.l.l, if she wanted. She'd be sticking her neck out a mile by helping me, and yet I'd accepted her story without question. But still, if she'd wanted to turn me in, she would have done it yesterday. Wouldn't she? I didn't know. Nothing made any sense now.

I heard the tapping of her heels as she went back in the house. In two or three minutes she returned, put something in the car, and opened the garage doors. She backed the car out. I could hear rain drumming on the metal just above my face. She closed the garage, and was just getting back in the car when I heard another splashing through the puddles in the road behind us. It stopped. Little chills ran up my spine as I heard the growl and chatter of a police radio. Men were getting out. They walked up to the side of the car.

"Miss Patton?" one of them asked.

"Why, yes," she said coolly. "What is it?"

"We're searching these cottages for that man Foley that's hid out around here. Were you just inside there?"

"Just for a few minutes," she replied. "I came back for these papers I forgot when I was out here yesterday. Why?"

"You didn't see any sign he'd broke in?"

"No-o. Everything seemed to be all right."

"Were you in all the rooms?"

"Yes," she said. "But, wait. I did notice yesterday that somebody had broken a pane of gla.s.s in the garage window-"

"We know about that. Well, we won't keep you any longer."

They came back past the side of the car, got in the cruiser, and went on down the road. I sighed with relief. She backed on out of the driveway, stopped, and started ahead. In a moment I felt the car make a right turn. We were on one of the main streets that went up through town and bisected the highway. I began to hear other cars pa.s.sing. Traffic grew heavier, and twice we stopped for traffic lights. I could hear pedestrians crossing. Then we turned right once more and began to go faster. We were on the highway. Then, abruptly, we slowed and began to inch along. We stopped and then started slowly ahead again. The road block, I thought. I heard a police radio again, not much more than an arm's length away, and a man's voice said, "All right, lady." We began to gather speed. I exhaled slowly. We were beyond them.

I tried to guess where she was taking me, and why, but gave up. She'd said back to Sanport, and if I'd guessed all the turns correctly, that was the direction we were headed now, but what part of town she meant and what she was up to were a complete mystery. I tried to guess what time it was, and thought it must be after six. It was probably dark outside, judging from the impenetrable blackness here in the trunk. I could move a little, and there seemed to be plenty of air. I listened to the high whine of tires on wet pavement and hoped she was a good driver. Locked in the trunk of a flaming wreck would be a horrible way to die. Then I wondered if I didn't have enough to worry about now, without borrowing more.

After what could have been anywhere from half an hour to an hour she slowed and made another turn. The sounds changed. There weren't nearly as many cars hurtling past in the other direction. They dwindled until we seemed to be almost alone on the road, and then the road itself was different. We were off the pavement, and she was driving more slowly. I thought I heard surf. She stopped and cut off the engine. I could hear the rain again, drumming gently on the metal above me. Then she was inserting the key in the lock.

I climbed out. She had cut the headlights, but I could make out that we were on a strip of deserted beach with a light surf running up on the sand just beyond us. In back was the dark line of some sort of low vegetation like salt cedar. Rain fell gently on my head.

"Get the topcoat and hat," she said, and ducked back in the car.

I took them out, closed the trunk, and got in beside her. I could just see the pale blur of her face and the blonde head. "Where are we?" I asked.

"West Beach, just south of the airport," she replied. "We're safe enough. On a night like this there won't be many cars around."

"You're going to drop me here? Is that it?"

"I'm not going to drop you at all. That is, unless you want to be dropped. Do you?"

"Don't make jokes," I said. "But why are you sticking your neck out like this? They could make it plenty rough for you."

"I know," she said. "Here." She took cigarettes from her purse and punched in the lighter on the dash. In the soft orange glow as she lighted hers, I could see the outline of her face and the alert and faintly cynical gray eyes.

"What's the deal?" I asked.

"No deal," she said coolly. "Except you might interest me. That's possible."

"Why didn't you notify the police when you got away yesterday? I thought that's what you did it for."

"It was, naturally. But after I got away, I found I couldn't. I'm not sure just why. Maybe it was because you saved my life-in spite of the fact I'm not positive it's worth saving. Anyway, I went on home and said nothing about it, thinking I'd just let you hide out there until you had a chance to sneak out and get away."

'Then why did you come back?"

"Several reasons. In the first place, I started thinking about your story and began checking it. It's interesting. And then it occurred to me that if you were caught in the cottage I might be implicated and charged with harboring a fugitive. After all, it could be proved I'd been out there after you'd broken in and therefore must know you were in the place and hadn't reported it. So it would be safer to go all the way and get you out of there to a place where they couldn't find you. Then this afternoon I read in the paper that they were thinking of searching all those cottages."

"Where are we going?" I asked.

"My apartment," she said. "Sanport is the last place they'd think of looking for you now, and you'll be completely out of sight until your face heals. I've got you some more clothes. But we're going to have to wait until after midnight before we try to sneak you in there. In the meantime, there are a lot of things I want to tell you."

"And a couple I'd like to tell you," I said. "I think you're wonderful. And thanks a million."

I made a move toward her. She put a hand in my chest. "Easy, boy. Don't start that parked-car routine. We're not teen-agers. And I said I wanted to talk to you."

"All right. What is it?"

"First, I want to ask a question. How well do you think you can trust your friend Red Lanigan? Tell me something about him."

"Why?" I asked.

"What do you know about Red?"

"Practically nothing, except that I talked to him today."

"Does he know who you are?"

"No," she replied. "I called him on the phone and merely said I was a friend of yours and that I might be able to help you. What I was doing, of course, was checking your story-or at least the part of it he would know. And he told it the same way. I think you're telling the truth. I'm also beginning to believe there was was somebody in Stedman's apartment when you got there. And I gathered Lanigan thinks there's a possibility of it also. What about him?" somebody in Stedman's apartment when you got there. And I gathered Lanigan thinks there's a possibility of it also. What about him?"

"He's a pretty nice guy. Used to be a pro-football player, linebacker for the Pittsburgh Steelers. I used to play a little football myself in high school, and I'm a nut on the pro game, so we got pretty chummy in the couple of years I've known him. That's a neighborhood bar, and I lived up in the next block, you know. That is, when I was in port. So I was one of the regulars; you know how those neighborhood places are. Sometimes we go fishing together during my vacation. It was Red that stopped me from climbing on Stedman there in the bar last trip. Stedman used to hang out there quite a bit too, you know. Along with several other detectives. But what's it all about?"

"I think he's got something he wants to tell you. About a girl."

"What girl?" I asked quickly.

"That's it. He doesn't know, except he thinks Stedman might have been involved with her."

"Stedman was involved with plenty of girls. Including my wife."

"I know," she said. "Lanigan told me a little about him. And, incidentally, your wife is is in Reno, in case you've wondered. The police checked through the Nevada police." in Reno, in case you've wondered. The police checked through the Nevada police."

''Why?" I asked.

"Trying to establish your motive. She admitted going out to nightclubs with Stedman a couple of times, but said that was as far as it went."

"Sure, sure," I said. "He was just a Boy Scout. Everybody knows that. But what about this other girl?"