Читать книгу They All Ran Away - Edward Ronns - Страница 6

HE KNOCKED on other doors that morning.

Leaving the newspaper office, he crossed the tree-shaded square to the courthouse. The benches were crowded, there was a moderate press of traffic. Pigeons fluttered and lit and fluttered up again. Squirrels gorged on peanuts. The sun was hot, the shade of the oaks cool and peaceful.

The two men sauntered after him on the brick walk to the courthouse.

He knocked on the door of District Attorney Hiram—Straehle. Straehle was one of those small, energetic men with popping eyes and steel-rimmed glasses who give the impression of being impatient with all the frivolities of life. He wore a dark blue business suit and a fine silk four-in-hand and he sweated even with the droning fan blowing air over him. More pigeons rumbled and cooed on the granite window sill.

Straehle listened with thin lips that grew thinner as Barney spoke. Then he said in a metallic voice: “There is nothing here for you, Forbes. I have not ordered an investigation because there is nothing to investigate. We have no evidence of foul play anywhere.”

“What about Ferne Kane’s statement?”

“Nonsense. The girl seeks sensations.”

“She says Mal Hunter fought with and killed Alex Kane.”

“We have no evidence. No body.”

“Have you looked?”

“Why should we?”

“Have you been in touch with Malcolm Hunter?”

Straehle said: “This is not a police state, Forbes.” He looked regretful for a moment, as if he wished it were. “We have no jurisdiction over the comings and goings of anyone not a known criminal.”

“Hunter has been charged by Kane’s wife with a criminal act. A slight case of murder.”

“Are you working for Hunter?” Straehle asked.

“His brother hired me.”

Straehle tried to smile. It was too much for him. “Jan Hunter has no money. He lives on an allowance Malcolm doles out to him, perhaps simply to keep him in club funds and theater tickets in New York. Jan Hunter is of no consequence.”

“But Malcolm is?”

“In Omega, yes.”

“Can he get away with murder?”

Straehle stood up. The pigeons fluttered off the window ledge. His voice was savage. “Forbes, I checked up on you this morning. You’re a snooper, hired by a weak-minded man who sees ogres under every bush. I am perfectly capable of handling anything that needs attention here. I advise you to forget about the matter and go home.”

“Has Alex Kane any family?”

Straehle looked surprised. “No. Just his wife.”

“So nobody really misses him, is that it?”

“You son of a bitch,” Straehle grated. “Are you looking for trouble?”

“My job is to find Hunter. Maybe he doesn’t want to be found. When I locate him, I’m supposed to help him. Maybe he doesn’t want to be helped. Everybody in Omega seems ready to fall over each other in their willingness to lend Mal Hunter a hand. Maybe I’m wasting my time. For my money, I’d rather be working for Alex Kane, sight unseen. But I’m getting paid for this, and I intend to follow it through. Is that clear, Mr. Straehle?”

“Get out of my office.”

Barney said: “You’re going to have to talk to me sooner or later. You’re going to have to help me find Alex Kane and Malcolm Hunter.”

Straehle’s mouth drained white, puckered. “Do you want me to put you under arrest right now?”

“On what charge?”

“I can think of several, easily enough.”

“And have Peterman, Klassen, Smith, Woolley and Smith on your neck?” Barney asked. This was a bluff. He knew that at the slightest hint of legal difficulty, he would be cut adrift and disowned. He said: “I think you’re covering something. I think you’re sheltering Malcolm Hunter, because he owns you, body and soul, like he seems to own everybody up here.”

“And he owns you,” Straehle sneered. “You’re working for him, aren’t you?”

“Up to a point.”

“With Mal Hunter, you go all the way with him, or you go down the drain. Which is exactly why you ought to be making tracks for the railroad station, Forbes. Go back to town and tell that soft-headed Jan Hunter that Mal won’t thank him for interfering.”

“Then I get no help from you?” Barney asked.

“You get the boot, snooper.”

“Well, thanks for your courtesy,” Barney said.

He went out.

The door slammed violently behind him.

Barney walked thoughtfully across the square, with its bench-warmers and pigeons and squirrels. The fat man and the nervous man appeared behind him. They looked unhappy about their job. He was angry enough to double back and confront them, but it would be interesting to give them rope. He walked on with his thoughts, frowning in the hot sun.

It was ten o’clock in the morning. He found a garage and was sent from there to a Chevrolet agency and rented a small tan coupe, two years old. He took his time inspecting it. The fat man stood wearily in the shade of an awning across the road; the young, nervous one disappeared. When Barney thought he had given them enough time, he closed the deal and drove north out of Omega.

He followed the shore of the lake. The asphalt road became gravel, then a simple dirt trail that wound along the pine-clad peninsulas that thrust green fingers into the aching blue water. Now and then he glimpsed a panoramic view down the length of the lake, south to the hotel. There were rustic cottages along the waterfront, with here and there a more pretentious summer home. The air seemed kissed with wine.

Behind him, in the dust of his rented car, a green sedan clung doggedly to his trail. In it were the fat man and the nervous man.

Lily would have liked Omega, Barney thought. He remembered how she had looked in a sharkskin bathing suit, golden skin glowing with health, her red mouth laughing, her gray eyes soft and gentle. The twist of pain in him was as sharp as it had ever been. It had been a dream, a fantasy, that house on the Sound, everything new and crisp, even the shining new car, that damned new car....

Stop it, he told himself.

He came at last to where the sign said Arrow Cove and turned into a rutted road that led directly to the lake shore. The other car followed, then dropped out of sight.

Alex Kane’s place was a rustic lodge, with a screened porch overlooking the lake, a small dock, and another shed building down on the rocks with a luncheonette sign on it. Barney tried to remember what he had been told about Kane—a Korean war veteran, a native of Omega, who had saved his pay, received the Bronze Star and a cluster for gallantry, came home, married the town tart, and set himself up in business, catering to the boaters on the lake in summer and hunters in the fall.

The luncheonette was closed now. No vacationers in canoes or outboards crowded the dock for a coke and hamburger. Barney got out of the car, careful not to slam the door. He heard the swift trickle of water from a stream that fell white over the rock ledge behind the house and foamed into the lake. A bluebird made a flash of color against green cedars. The sky was like a crystal bubble. A squirrel scolded him as he walked to the house.

A radio crooned from beyond the screened door. Barney let himself silently into a pine-paneled kitchen where the unwashed dishes were piled high in the sink. Ashtrays overflowed with carmine-tipped cigarettes. Field mice had nibbled at a flour bag and caused a small stream of white to spill over the counter. The radio played on. He held his hand out to stop the screened door from slamming, then crossed the tiled floor.

The living room was comfortable, with large windows facing the lake for most of the wall, then yielding to a screened porch. The mountains looked unreal, far out there. On the paneled wall was a crude oil painting hung over the fieldstone fireplace. The hearth overflowed with ashes that nobody had bothered to clean up. There were bright Indian blankets over the couch. A lamp lay toppled that also had proved too much bother for someone to straighten. The empty liquor bottle beside it had been picked up once too often.

The music came from the screened porch. Barney crossed the braided rugs toward it. He heard a clicking sound and did not recognize it and then he stepped out onto the high porch and saw that the girl there was snapping her fingers in time to the music.

She wore white shorts and a bra of toweling and she lay on her back on a cot, her long, tanned legs propped up against the wall, her head hanging over the edge of the cot. Her blonde hair reached to the floor. Bracelets jangled on her wrists. Her eyes were closed and her orange mouth smiled dreamily.

“Mrs. Kane,” Barney said.

Her eyes popped open, the smile jolted into a dark circle of shock, the long legs came down and around in a flashing arc and she was on her feet, facing him.

“Cripes, you scared me!”

“I’m sorry. Perhaps I should have knocked.”

“You’re damned right you should have knocked! Look, we’re closed. No more business. Take your boat and get your beer someplace else, huh?”

“I didn’t come for beer. I want to talk to you, Mrs. Kane.”

She breathed deeply. She trembled for a moment, then reached down behind the cot and picked up a bottle, shook it, heard it tinkle to her satisfaction. Then she took a long drink from it. Then she stopped for breath and lowered her head; her pale green eyes were angry slits, and her mouth curved sullenly.

“Are you a cop?”

“I’m a lawyer, Mrs. Kane.”

“I don’t need a cop and I got less need for a lawyer. Beat it.”

“I’m looking for your husband,” Barney said.

The slitted eyes popped wide, narrowed again. “Why?”

“I heard Alex got himself killed.”

“Then you heard it right.”

“Where is he?”

“How would I know? In the woods. Up in the mountains. In the lake. I don’t know.”

“Sit down, Mrs. Kane. You’re going to talk to me.”

“To hell with you.”

“There’s no reason why we can’t be friends,” Barney said.

She studied him carefully, slowly, from head to foot. She thought about him, frowning. She looked at him again. Her laughter was sudden, thin and wiry, surprising because he expected a softer, deeper sound from her magnificent body. She shook her long blonde hair into place. Slowly, as she made up her mind, her body relaxed. She sat down deliberately, emphasizing the curve of her hip. She took a deep breath and touched her chin with the point of her finger. A smile curved the orange lips.

“What’s your name?” she asked.

“Barney Forbes.”

“You’ve never been here before, have you?”

“No. I’m from New York.”

“Some day I’m going to New York,” she said. “I could’ve gone before I married Alex, but I always figured that when I go it will be in real style, y’know? With money in the bank and clothes on my back to make ’em sit up and take notice of Ferne. It won’t be long now, either. I’m so sick of this place, I could spit.”

“It’s a nice place,” Barney said.

“You think so? That’s what Alex always said. He built it himself.” She forgot her provocative smile and sneered. “A regular little home-maker, that was Alex.”

“What makes you so sure that he’s dead?”

“I’m sure, all right.”

“But why? Did you see him get killed?”

“No,” she said sullenly.

He asked evenly: “Are you expecting a great deal of money soon?”

“You bet I am. I—” She broke off, chagrined. “What kind of a crack is that supposed to be?”

“You said you expected to go to town with a bundle.”

“Well, I meant Alex’s life insurance.”

“I see.”

“Don’t you believe me?”

“Nobody in town seems to believe you, Ferne.”

“You’ve been talking to all those stuffy bastards in Omega,” she said hotly. “They all hate me. But you don’t have to listen to them. I could tell you plenty. I could tell them all off. But I won’t. Not until the time is right.”

Barney picked up the bottle of rye and carried it with him into the kitchen. He paid no attention to the girl’s angry protest. He found two glasses in the litter of china that filled the sink, rinsed them carefully, and carried them back to the screened porch. The girl now sat in a striped chair, her back to the lake. She had her legs crossed. One foot swung angrily.

“You make yourself at home, don’t you?”

“Why not? We’ll get along.”

“You take a lot for granted.”

He poured two drinks, handed her one, tasted his own. The rye was cheap and warm. Ferne Kane drank quickly and greedily. Yet there was a shrewdness in her narrow face, a sense of waiting. She never took her eyes off him. Wasps banged against the screens, and from far off down the lake came the sputtering and racketing of outboard motors. Then for a time there was silence and he heard the serene tinkling of the brook behind the house.

“Who are you working for, Barney?” she asked abruptly.

“Malcolm Hunter.”

It jolted her. Her drink spilled down over the thrust of her toweled breasts. Her mouth was ugly. Then she laughed, a bit uneasily. “You must be kidding!”

“No, I’m not.”

She said sharply: “Did Mal send you to make a deal?”

“What kind of a deal?”

“You know,” she said.

“You’d better tell me all about it,” Barney suggested. “Then we’ll all know where we stand.”

She considered this and she considered the bottle of rye. Deciding to hell with it, she poured herself another drink. The sun was hitting the porch now, and Barney felt its heat strike him, bouncing up off the surface of the lake in a thousand sparkling lances of light.

“It’s no secret that Mal likes me,” the girl said. “He was always hanging around here, up to last week, on some excuse or other. Alex thought it was great that Hunter was his friend. But Alex was just too stupid to see that the real reason Mal came around so much was because he couldn’t keep his hands off me.” She sounded complacent.

“How do you feel about Mal?”

“He’s rich, y’know?”

“Is that all?”

“That’s enough,” she said bluntly. “Rich.”

“And married,” Barney said.

“That never stopped him from fooling around whenever he felt like fooling.”

“What happened here the night both men disappeared?”

“Mal came over in the evening, as usual, in his launch. Had some beer in the shack down there. That’s all we’re allowed to sell—beer. It’s a town ordinance. But then he’d always come up here and pretend to talk to Alex, but all the time he kept putting his hands on me. We both knew what the score was—Mal and me, y’know? But Alex was just too dumb and blind. He thought Mal just came to talk about the war and his plane.”

“Whose plane?” Barney asked.

“Mal’s, of course. It’s gone, now, though.”

“With Mal?”

“I guess so. Anyway, he was here talking to Alex last Tuesday night, looking at me all the time, and I guess he drank a little too much. He got careless.” The blonde girl looked smug now. She pushed up her long hair, arched her body for Barney’s benefit, then slumped down again. “Alex suddenly caught on to what was happening. Alex is part Indian, like Charley Danger, over across the lake. Alex always had a terrible temper, but he never showed it like he did that night.” She paused, leaned forward, letting the towel slip. “Would you like another drink?”

“Later, Ferne. Go on, please.”

“You’re cute, you know that?” She laughed. “You think you’re kidding me? You think I’m stupid, don’t you?”

“Go on,” he said.

“Have you got a girl, Barney?”

“No.”

“Would you like me to be your girl?”

“Later,” Barney said. “We’ll take it up later.”

“You bastard. You think you’re so smart.”

“You’re Mal Hunter’s girl,” Barney said. “That’s good enough for me. What happened when your husband caught on to Mal’s interest in you?”

“They had a fight. Alex tried to kill Mal. They went fighting all over the place, smashing up the furniture, rolling down the steps, out there on the rocks.” Ferne Kane’s eyes shone with relish, remembering the scene. “They were like a couple of wild animals, y’know? I never saw anything like it.” She shivered with pleasure. “They almost killed each other, because of me. Anyway, Mal almost killed Alex. He beat him up something awful.”

“Didn’t you try to stop it?” Barney asked.

“Why should I?”

“It’s a nice question. Was anybody else here who saw them fighting?”

“No. It was late by then. There were no customers down in the shack.” She leaned forward again. Her eyes glistened with sudden greed. “Come on, Barney. Don’t keep me in suspense. What is Mal offering?”

“What would you like?” Barney asked.

“Well, after all, I saw it. He could get the chair, if I signed a statement, if I testified. He owes me plenty.”

“Tell me the rest of it, first.”

“There is no more,” she said, sulky now. “Mal left in his launch and I went down and found Alex all bloody, beaten to a pulp. I helped him in here and put him to bed. The next morning he was gone.”

“Where did he go?”

“He said he got a call for a guided party up at Moon Cove. That’s where he said he was going. But he never came back. You can guess who really called him up there. It was Mal. And Mal killed him up there.”

Barney let air out of his lungs softly. “That’s not evidence, Ferne. That doesn’t prove anything. Did you see Mal after that night, though?”

“No.”

“Have you heard from him?”

“Sure,” she grinned. “You showed up, didn’t you?”

“I have no authority to offer you anything,” Barney said.

“Then why are you here?”

He was silent. She looked at him, her gray-green eyes challenging, then puzzled. Fear dawned in them slowly. She touched her upper lip with the tip of her pink tongue. She looked at the bottle, then jerked her glance away, deciding she’d had enough. Something ugly crawled over her face.

“No money?” she whispered.

“You don’t have anything on Malcolm Hunter that would stand up for a second in court,” Barney said.

“Oh, you rotten—”

He stood up. “I’ll be back soon,” he said. “When I’ve found Mal Hunter and your husband.”

“Don’t come back!” she screamed. “You do and I’ll kill you! Tell Mal when you see him that I’m going to talk my head off! Tell him that! And tell him I won’t take less than double what I asked for before! He can come crawling to me on his hands and knees, he can come begging, and I won’t listen! You dirty—”

Leaving the house by the kitchen door, he started toward his parked car. The two men from the green sedan were standing there in the sunlight, waiting for him.