The Expendable Man (29 page)

If only he wouldn't change his story too soon. There must be time to tackle Doc Jopher tonight.

As they neared First Street, Skye said suddenly, “Let's check on what they've found.” He parked in his lot and led the way across to the courthouse. Reluctantly, Hugh went along. It could be he was risking his last previous hours of freedom. The wrench was also in the hands of police technicians.

Skye had no hesitancy. He strode hard-heeled to the door of the police chief, entered. The secretary, a handsome, black-haired woman, greeted him by name.

“Is he in?”

“Yes. Just a minute, Mr. Houston.” She buzzed the office, spoke into the box. “Skye Houston is here.” She disconnected the machine. “You can go in.” Her glance went beyond him. Curiosity touched her eyes but not because she wasn't aware of who Hugh was. Rather as if she knew this was it.

Again he followed the lawyer. The chief was a distinguished gray-haired man, tall in a dark summer suit. He didn't look like a career cop.

Skye made an offhand introduction, “My client, Dr. Densmore,” and said, “I want to know what the lab got out of Othy's car.”

The chief delayed response. He photographed Hugh from crown to toe, he probed Houston's features, he rubbed a thoughtful finger on his cheekbone. Hugh changed his first opinion. The chief might be a political appointee but he came from legal background. He had enough years and experience on Houston to force the younger man to attack.

“For God's sake, Bruce,” Houston exploded. “I could get the report from Hack without asking.”

“Why don't you?”

“Because I don't want to drive all the way to Scottsdale when my office is across the street from yours. You don't think I want to tamper with it, do you?”

“I don't know what you want with it. I don't even know what gives you the idea you can barge in here and demand access to a police report before it's been released to the public. We can't have our reports—”

Skye broke in, “If I cross my heart and hope to die I'll not reveal the contents until they're splashed all over the front of your newspaper—”

The chief answered with asperity, “I'm no longer connected with the paper, which you damn well know. What's more, you know the family's played ball with you keeping this case under cover—”

“All I want,” Skye interrupted patiently, “is to preserve the reputation of an innocent client. If the lab report says what we think it will, he can go back to his hospital and forget this nightmare.”

The chief looked over at Hugh, then smiled at Skye. He flicked his intercom. “Where are those lab reports?” He disconnected and said, “The car is clean.”

“It can't be!” Skye exploded.

“Absolutely, totally clean.”

Without speaking, the secretary brought the requested papers to the chief's desk and quit the room. The chief held them out to Houston.

“I don't believe it!” Skye put on his horn-rims before taking the report.

The chief continued amiably, “There isn't one smidgeon of evidence that the girl was ever in Othy's car.”

Then why had Fred O. been disturbed when Skye spoke of latent fingerprints? There had to be proof in the car. And it came to Hugh. Othy hadn't used his car, for some reason or other. He'd borrowed—from his mother! Of course, from his mother. He wouldn't have been so upset if it had been the car of a friend, a car which couldn't be traced right back to him. Hugh wanted to blurt out the idea but it was best for him to be silent in this office.

Skye returned the paper. He swung his glasses for emphasis. “This is the boy's car? He didn't make a trade for a new one this week?”

The chief's manicured thumbnail tapped the report. “It's all here. He's had that piece of junk for three years.”

It came to Skye then. “He used another car.”

“Or he's as clean as his car,” the chief said. “And you've got the wrong man. If there is a man.”

“My witness—”

“We're looking for your witness. Have you returned her to Indio yet?”

“She's on her way home now,” Skye snapped the half-truth. “For the record I didn't know she was in Phoenix when I talked to Hack last night. Yes, I know she came over in my plane with my secretary, but I didn't know it then. Also for the record, we've got the right man. I know when I'm being lied to and Othy just lied in his teeth to me.” His voice was flint. “What we haven't got is the right car.” He turned on his heel with a short “Thanks,” and nodded Hugh toward the door.

The chief's calm voice followed them. “Wouldn't you like the report on your client's fender wrench?”

Hugh froze. Skye half turned. “Yes, I would.”

“It was clean too. Or at least, it was rubbed down so thoroughly that not a print can be lifted.” He smiled professionally, “Nice seeing you, Houston.”

“The same.”

Hugh waited until they were outside the building before saying, “It was his mother's car.”

“How do you know?” Houston's temper was short.

“I don't know. But if his is ruled out, he must have borrowed a car. There's no other safe way he could take her to an abortionist.”

“Why the hell would he borrow a car when he has one?”

“Maybe he was out of gas.” Hugh's own temper was raveling. “Maybe he didn't want to waste his gas driving her around town. All I say is that it's logical he'd borrow from his mother. Kids do. Everybody does. Whose car do you think I'm driving here?”

“All right, all right.” Houston ended the discussion at the corner. “I'll see if the police are on that angle.” His eyes were as distant as if he'd lost the case. And then he saw Hugh and frowned. “Keep yourself scarce today. If there's more news, I'll call you.”

Hugh said mechanically, “At Ellen's.” He could call in to Ellen. He wouldn't go there; he wouldn't go home. But where to spend the rest of the day? Not driving the white car; it would be a lodestone for the police. He left the lawyer and moved in the direction of the shopping streets of the town. He sauntered with the pavement crowds, feigning interest in display windows. It didn't seem that he had been followed from the chief's office, but because he had no experience in such things, he couldn't be sure. He'd just have to hope he was right. He couldn't spend the entire afternoon walking the hot streets. He crossed and headed in the opposite direction to the nearest motion picture theatre. He was alone, as visible as a rocket, as he approached the cashier's window and bought a ticket.

He didn't know what the current rules were for seating but, remembering childhood, he took a seat in the balcony. There were only three other customers up there, refugees from the truant officer. He hadn't noticed what the picture was before entering; it turned out not too bad the first time around. And the air was cool. The second time was a screaming bore and his summer jacket too light for the continued chill. But he remained in his seat into the third showing, until it would be dark outside.

Emerging at seven-thirty, the warmth of the day past was pleasant on his face. He was inordinately hungry. He'd had no lunch and had been afraid to leave his safety of the balcony for the lighted refreshment counter. If he weren't too late, Ellen might meet him somewhere private for dinner. He passed a news vendor, swung back to buy the evening paper. There was no scare headline, no news of an arrest in the canal murder. They were still seeking clues in Indio.

He began walking toward the parking lot where he'd left his car but he didn't go all the way. Before he returned, before he quit the comparative safety of being just another man on a city street, he had better find out if there were new developments. There were phone booths in the big garish drugstore he'd passed. He returned to it and drank a milk shake while waiting for an empty booth.

In due time, the young girl with dirty blond hair arranged in a grotesque haystack left the booth. She and her duplicate girl friend continued to block the entrance with a detailed retake of her call. He waited in outward patience until they flopped away. He rang the motel and Ellen answered at the first ring from the switchboard.

“Where have you been?” she protested.

“Round and about. Any calls for me?”

His unworried response allayed her anxiety. “Yes, Skye called hours ago, before dinner. He wanted you to get in touch as soon as possible.”

“Have you had dinner?”

“I'm just finishing it.”

“I'll be out as soon as I get a bite. If I may.”

“Don't stop to eat. You can order something here.”

He agreed. “I'll be there as soon as I can.”

She asked in alarm, “You're not at the police station?”

“No.” He could laugh. “I'm downtown. I'll be there soon.” He rang off and called Skye's home. There was no answer. Although certain it was futile, he tried the office. No response. He vacated the booth, meeting the glare of the frizz-headed fat woman waiting.

He wove through the crowded store without hindrance and again started to the parking lot. Once out of the main district, the streets were empty and poorly lit. He walked rapidly, close to the buildings. All, with the exception of a small café, were closed. The courthouse loomed across the street, a darkened mass decorated with a few golden globules of light. No longer were old men seated on the benches under the shady trees. After passing the building he cut over to the parking lot. It too was closed and dark, his car was one of few remaining. But it was a park-and-lock, the keys were in his pocket. No one deterred him from driving away. He went out Jefferson, passing the family home, its lighted windows gentle in the night. He'd call the family from Ellen's, let them know he was all right. His absence since early morning might worry them.

At 24th, he went across to Van Buren and drove on to the hotel. But he passed Ellen's unit; he wouldn't leave the car there tonight as identification of his presence. He followed the outside drive and pulled into the circular parking area which serviced the cocktail lounge and restaurant. It was always crowded, his car would be just another one here.

He walked through the grounds to Ellen's. The draperies were luminous across the picture window. A knock at the lanai might alarm her. He went on to the rear door and rapped.

It was opened only a few inches. Then seeing him, Ellen pulled the door wide, locked it after he entered. She looked at him and said, “You're all right.”

“I told you I was.”

The television set was on in the living room; she turned down the volume, saying, “I couldn't help being worried. Not hearing all day. And Skye sounded disturbed—he wouldn't tell me anything.”

“I tried to reach him.”

“He's gone out to dinner. He'll call back.” She was still examining his face, as if he wore a mask to deceive her.

He said, “I've been to the movies.”

“You've what?”

“It was the safest place I could think of. The cliché.” He sat on the arm of the chair. “Skye told me I should be scarce today. After we saw Othy this morning.”

Her alarm heightened but she controlled it. “You haven't eaten all day?” Her dinner dishes were on the table. She unearthed the menu card from beneath the coffee pot. “Order something now, you can tell me about it while we're waiting for service.”

“Skye didn't tell you about that?”

“No,” she said. “Nothing.”

He called in a steak order. He had just returned to the chair when the phone rang. “Skye.” He started up but she was on her feet.

“Wait!”

From her face, he knew. “He's been calling.”

“I don't know. I answer but no one speaks.”

He was at the phone before she finished, shouting, “Hello.”

But it was Skye. He said, “You were right, it was the mother's car.”

He couldn't help the lift of excitement.

“It was in the shop. For new seat covers. A present from her son.”

“Oh no.”

“A good try but not good enough. They found pieces of the old covers. Bloodstains.”

“Has he been arrested?” It could be he wouldn't involve Hugh. It could be he'd be too frightened to tell anything but the truth.

“He's skipped.”

Hugh couldn't believe the words.

“They let him get away.” Skye was angry. “He could be in Mexico by now.”

“He isn't,” Hugh told him. “He's been calling the motel.” He was thankful he'd had sense enough to keep the car away from Ellen's door. He could reconstruct what was going on, alternate telephone calls and driving by the unit, waiting for Hugh to appear.

“You will be careful.”

“I will. But I don't think there's anything to worry about. The marshal put a prowl car in the neighborhood.”

“If he's picked up, I'll ring you again. Don't stay out late. I'll feel safer when you're home in bed.”

If Skye knew his plans, he would worry. Actually Hugh didn't expect trouble from Fred O. tonight. If the boy were running from the police, he wouldn't want to chance falling into their hands by tackling Hugh. He'd carry on with the harassment, the dirty words, but nothing that he couldn't accomplish from under cover. For the first time since Saturday night, Hugh felt free to come and go without danger. The police wouldn't be looking for him, Othy had practically declared his guilt by skipping. This was the night to visit Doc Jopher.

Yet Hugh rang off quickly as a knock sounded at the outer door. He moved in front of Ellen. “I'll get it.” It would be his dinner but he wouldn't let her take any chances. Despite his reasoning, Fred O. could be lurking.

It was the dinner, the same boy who'd served them before. He took away Ellen's dishes. Hugh said to her, “I must call home before I start eating.” Fortunately it was his grandfather who answered. He could be brief and unconcerned with Gramps.