by Ben Benson
Karen Morgan said, “Lorelei was asking for you.”
I smiled. “Send her my best.”
Billy Nesbit said, “I went to the barracks asking for you. They said you were on an assignment. The assignment over?”
“They try to keep us busy,” I said, which was not a responsive answer. He was looking well, I thought, and dressed as carefully as ever. I noticed his sunburned nose was peeling.
“I don’t see anything more on the Somers case in the papers,” he said. “So I’m adding two and two together. The case is dead and you’re off it.”
I didn’t answer that. My sandwich and coffee came. I paid for them and began eating.
“I’m sorry,” Nesbit said. “Maybe I’m treading on sacred ground again.”
“It’s not that important,” I said.
He wiped the corners of his mouth with a napkin. “I’m sorry about that little run-in you had with Ernie Congdon.”
“I don’t remember having so much trouble with Ernie Congdon, himself.”
“No, it was Johnny, wasn’t it? Ralph, I’d have beaten the kid’s brains in. I’ve always told Ernie that his brother needed a tighter rein.”
“And how about Ernie?”
He looked at me for a moment. “Ernie is different,” he said quietly. “I know because I’ve taken an interest in him. You have to understand Ernie.”
“I understand this about Ernie,” I said. “There’s a chip on his shoulder. He keeps daring people to knock it off.”
“He’s an individualist, a fellow who has to have his freedom of thought and motion. Just because he won’t conform, people are down on him. I have the same trouble myself.”
“I think Ernie’s a maverick,” I said. “I don’t like him.”
“You don’t know him, Ralph.”
“I think I do. The Congdon type of nonconformist doesn’t impress me. I see it as a sign of weakness. Sometimes it’s a lot tougher to conform and live by the rules. Let’s not kid each other about it, Billy.”
He was about to retort angrily, then discipline covered his tongue like a leather sheath. He picked up his coffee cup and I could see his hand was not steady. “I won’t argue with my senior, Ralph.”
“You can argue all you want with me. You shouldn’t back down if you think you’re right.”
“No,” he said. “I’ve got too much respect to argue with a good friend.”
Karen Morgan said, “I wish you two could find more time for each other. I can’t think of anybody I’d rather see Billy friendly with.”
I looked at her. Her green eyes were radiant with warmth and friendliness, and that was a quick switch. The last time, when I had asked her the questions, she had been curt and almost hostile.
“Speaks of you all the time,” Nesbit said to me. “Karen thinks you’d be a great steadying influence. Help me become the perfect trooper.”
I said, “I’ve needed a lot of steadying in my own time. Ask anybody.”
“There’s one thing I meant to talk about,” Nesbit said briskly. “Those questions you asked Karen.”
“Please,” Karen Morgan said to him. “Don’t spoil things. You promised—”
“Ralph understands,” Nesbit said. “That’s why our relationship is so good. We’re frank and candid with each other.”
“What about the questions?” I asked.
“You could have asked me,” he said. “I’d have told you.”
“I could have,” I said. “You weren’t in town that day. I asked Karen and I got the answers and the corroboration all in one package.”
“It seemed a little rough to her.”
“I’m a cop,” I said. “I have to do certain routine things. Sometimes, in the process of elimination, I have to ask personal questions of good people. No cop likes to do it because, once in a while, it leaves a bad taste. But if they’re intelligent people, they understand. If you want to be a trooper, you have to understand.”
“I never thought of that part of it,” he said, pinching his ear. “The questions and such. It’s like invasion of privacy.”
“Then you think about it,” I said. “Think about it a long time. You want to be a cop. The job isn’t only the show of wearing a tailored uniform. The attitude of the mind is important, too. Think about it.”
“I’ll think about it a long time,” he said.
“And while we’re asking questions,” I said, “there’s one more I want to ask, Billy.”
“Fire away.”
“I’d rather it was in private. I’m sure Karen wouldn’t mind if you stepped outside for a minute.”
“All right,” he said. “But I’ve nothing to hide from Karen.”
“It wouldn’t be good form on my part,” I said.
I stood up and said good night to Karen. She answered mechanically. There was a worried little furrow on her forehead. I went outside the diner and waited for Nesbit.
He came out a moment later, took a deep breath, looked up at the star-studded sky, then said, “Okay, let’s have it.”
“You remember when I asked you about hitchhikers in Ashendon? You said you knew of none.”
“Yes, I remember.”
“Did you forget someone?”
“You mean Ernie Congdon?”
“That’s exactly who I mean.”
“I didn’t forget Ernie. But he’s been in enough trouble in his life. He’s trying to make a fresh start and I don’t like to see him grilled about every crime that happens.”
“The point is you weren’t truthful with me,” I said.
“That’s rather a harsh way of putting it,” Nesbit said. “It was not my intent to be untruthful, Ralph. I was merely trying to offer some protection to a kid who I knew was innocent.”
“You could vouch for him that Friday morning?”
“Yes, I could.”
“Did you see him that morning?”
“No, I didn’t. I was at Karen’s house. Look, I know Ernie.”
“I don’t care how well you know him,” I said. “You weren’t with him that morning and therefore you can’t vouch for him. It wasn’t your place to judge. It was wrong.”
“I’m sorry,” he said contritely. “I understand now what you mean. It was an unintentional wrong, believe me, Ralph.”
“All right,” I said, “I’ll put it down as a mistake in judgment.”
“Thanks,” he said. His hand touched my shoulder. “I know one reason I have such regard for you. You’re a gentleman, Ralph.”
“Am I?”
“Yes. You could have said this to me in front of Karen. In fact, I told you to. I would have looked foolish. And I hate to look foolish. Anybody does.”
“It was a private matter,” I said.
“I’m glad you were decent enough not to humiliate me. You have sensitivity of soul, though you try to hide it.”
“Let’s not go and analyze me.” I smiled. I started down the stairs and toward the parking lot. “So long, Billy.”
“Wait a minute,” he said. “I knew I had something to tell you. Maybe it will help repay your kindness. I hope it’s a lead for you.”
I came back. “What kind of a lead?”
“Do you recall asking Ernie if he had seen a girl hitchhiker around?”
“Yes,” I said.
“I saw her,” Nesbit said, suppressed excitement in his voice. “I saw that girl. I drove to Lowell this morning. A girl hitchhiker. Gorgeous. Young, seventeen or so, with flaming red hair. Small.” He measured with his hand. “Not more than five feet tall, maybe five-one.”
“What time was this?” I asked.
“About ten this morning. I was riding down Route 4, right outside Chelmsford, and I saw this little doll of a girl thumbing a ride toward Chelmsford and Lowell.”
“Did you pick her up?”
“No, sir,” he said. “I don’t know why, but I didn’t. She just didn’t look right to me. Just a small, pretty girl without luggage, standing out in the middle of the woods, not e
ven near an intersection. I don’t know how she got there.”
“Weren’t you curious?”
“Yes, I was. But suddenly I got this odd feeling that I was a big, fat carp and this was a luscious piece of bait dangling from a hook. I didn’t strike. I swam away. If it’s a tip, Ralph, you can have it for what it’s worth.”
“It’s a very good tip,” I said, “and it’s worth a great deal. Thanks, Billy.”
I went back to the cruiser. Bob Littlefield got out and entered the diner. I sat in the car, had a cigarette and listened to the radio calls. From where I was sitting, I could see Billy Nesbit and Karen Morgan in the end booth, their heads together. I saw Bob Littlefield walk over, take off his cap and speak to them. He did not join them.
Ten minutes went by. Bob Littlefield came out. When he slid in behind the wheel of the cruiser he said, “You’ve been getting pretty friendly with Billy?”
“I’ve seen him around,” I said. “I’ve been out on one date with him.”
“He’s not a bad kid.”
“No, he isn’t,” I said.
“He might even make a good trooper, if he’d stay with it.”
“Yes,” I said. “He just gave me a damn good tip.” And I told Littlefield about the redheaded hitchhiker.
Littlefield nodded. “That’s right. Billy has always given us some good tips. He’s got a knack, a sharp eye and a sharp mind. In that respect he’d make a hell of a good trooper. What else has he got? Charm? Sure, he could charm a snake. But I don’t know how solid he’d be. When you needed him, would he roll up his sleeves, wade in and help do the dirty work? I don’t know.”
“He might surprise you,” I said.
“He might. But I get leery of rich kids. Of course, that girl of his is some dish.”
“Yes,” I said briefly.
“Watch out for the pitch from her. She can make you feel like you’re the most important guy in the world. But all the promotion is for her one love, Billy Nesbit. She’s trying to sell him to the boys. Smooth the path for him.”
“You have her wrong, Bob,” I said, my throat suddenly parched and dry.
“Listen, I’ve watched the girl promote. If Billy wants to be a trooper, she’ll see he gets to be one. She’ll get him anything he wants. But all the time I’ll bet you she’s a girl with a long-range program. She’s thinking of the Nesbit foundry and all that fat Nesbit money which is so close by. And when she marries the boy, you can be sure he won’t be living in a barracks long. She’ll give him his fling, but he’ll end up in the foundry. And she’ll end up in that big house.”
“Why don’t you shut up?” I said angrily.
He turned his lean, dark face toward me in surprise. “What’s the matter with you?”
“You flap your big lip too much.”
“Hey, don’t get me wrong. I’ve got nothing against the girl. Good luck to her. It’s just that I’ve seen her in action and I think I know where she’s heading.” He eyed me curiously. “What the hell does it mean to you?”
“It means nothing to me.”
“Yeah,” he said, turning forward and whistling softly. Then he started the motor and said, “Let’s go to work.”
Chapter 10
I phoned Newpole about the girl hitchhiker and got the immediate assignment to ride that area until further notice. Early the next morning I was on Route 4, in civilian clothes, and driving my own two-door sedan. From there I rode to Route 27, then back to 4.
There are not many short cuts in police work. Most of it is tedious, painstaking routine. Nothing is overlooked. This was a lead on the case, although a faint and tenuous one. As such, it was my job to pursue it. If the girl had appeared twice on the roads leading into Lowell, there was an excellent chance she would appear a third time.
I didn’t find her that day. Nor the next. I had an idea I would find her eventually. It was the law of averages. She would have a hard time beating them.
It was the third day, Friday, June twenty-first, when it happened. The hour was early—9:00 A.M. The traffic on Route 27 was thin and scattered. That was normal. Number 27 is not a main artery.
Looking ahead into the easterly sun, I almost missed her. She appeared suddenly at a turn in the road. As I came closer, I could see she was a diminutive girl with fiery-red hair. She stood beside the road holding a small, battered hat case. I neared her and started to slow. She waved. I stopped alongside her.
She was pretty—her face round and babylike. Her red hair was cut medium short and curled out on both sides. When I looked closer, the hair seemed too bright to be natural. I thought then that perhaps red hair was more sensual and more appealing when it came to thumbing rides.
I reached out and opened the door for her. She smiled brightly and moved toward me, and for the first time I saw the faint little lines around her mouth and knew she was older than I had originally thought. She was not seventeen. She was twenty, possibly twenty-one, with a small but well-formed body.
As she started to climb in, she hitched her tight skirt deliberately high, showing a shapely knee and thigh. Her clothes, at closer inspection, looked shoddy and worn.
She smiled again, dazzlingly, and said in a throaty voice, “Thanks awfully. Where are you heading?”
“Lowell,” I said. Her accent was not Massachusetts, nor New England.
“Swell,” she said. “Just where I was going.”
I waited for her to get in and close the door. But she didn’t. She stood in her very high-heeled, black, scuffed pumps, one small foot on the floor board, her skirt still hiked high, the other foot on the ground, the outthrust of her body molding her figure against her clothes. She half-turned in the direction of the underbrush and said apologetically, “I’ve got some other folks with me.”
I saw them now. Two men who darted out from a clump of bushes. I stared at her questioningly.
She said quickly, “You don’t mind, do you? Only my husband and my brother-in-law.”
“Well,” I said, “it was kind of sudden the way they popped out of the brush like that.”
She was standing aside now to let them into the back seat. She giggled and said, “They had a call of nature, I guess. I could have sworn they were standing behind me.”
The two men grinned wolfishly at me as they got in. Both of them were in their mid-twenties. The first one was tall, thin and stoop-shouldered, in an open-throated, soiled blue shirt and denim pants. The other, shorter and stockier, wore tan chinos and a plaid, short-sleeved shirt. Both of them were grimy and unkempt, with long sideburns and long, uncut hair, brushed back in duck tails.
The girl settled down in the seat beside me and pulled the door shut. She said, “Boy, it was getting tiresome out there. Must have been waiting over twenty minutes. Guess folks thought I was waiting for a bus.”
“No bus on this road,” I said, starting up the car. “Bus runs over on Route 3.”
“You must know these parts,” she said.
“Sure, I work out of Lowell.”
“And you go in this way every day?”
“No, I’m a salesman. I’m coming in off my territory.”
“Who you work for?”
“A soap company.” Then picking a name out of the air, I said, “Froth Soap.”
“Oh, sure, Froth. Marvelous soap. Use it all the time. Must be nice being a salesman,” she mused. “I went with one once.” She flicked her head back. “Oh, long before I got married. He had a big, fat expense account, he did. You have one of those, mister?”
“A small one,” I said. “I always hear about the big ones, but they never came my way. How long have you been married?”
She held up her left hand and I saw a gaudy five-and-ten-cent-store wedding band. “A whole week. I’m a bride.”
“Good luck,” I said, looking back at the two silent men in the rear seat and trying to pick out the groom. It was the tall one, I thought.
“Luck?” she was saying. “The luck’s been all bad. Top, here, lost his job. W
e don’t have a dime.”
“Who’s Top?”
“Top,” she said. “My husband. The tall one in the blue shirt.”
Through the rearview mirror I could see him staring at me with a hard smile on his mouth. Now he took out a crumpled pack of Chesterfield cigarettes. He lit one without offering to anybody and flipped the burned match to the floor.
“The other,” she was saying, “is my husband’s brother, Algie. They don’t look much alike, do they?”
“No,” I said. I saw that Algie had no expression on his face whatsoever. “Too bad your husband lost his job. What does he do?”
The tall man in back blew smoke. “TV mechanic,” he said huskily. It was the first time he had spoken since he got into the car.
“You shouldn’t have trouble getting a job,” I said to him over my shoulder. At the same time I began to feel the girl’s body pressing against mine. She was thigh against thigh and her left hand was resting on my knee.
Top said, “I’ll get a job, I expect. But Betsy and I are going to need a few bucks to tide us over. That’s Betsy sitting beside you.”
“Hi, Betsy,” I said to her.
“Hi.” She smiled indolently.
“We’re flat broke,” her husband said suddenly.
I said, “Maybe you can get an advance from your new boss.”
“I hate to start a job that way,” he said.
I didn’t answer. I kept my eyes on the road ahead of me, waiting for their next move. Once, with my elbow, I touched the outline of my pocket revolver at my hip. It gave me assurance.
“I notice,” Top said, “Betsy’s taken a shine to you. She’s sitting so close and all—”
“Listen,” I said, inching away from her, “I’m flattered and all that, but it’s kind of screwy with the husband sitting right behind me—”
“I’m broadminded,” he said. “Don’t worry.”
“Thanks,” I said. I could feel her fingers now squeezing my knee.
Top said, “You like Betsy, don’t you?”
“I wouldn’t offend you,” I said. “Sure, I like her.”
“Seriously,” he said. “She’s a good hunk of stuff.”
“She looks fine,” I said.
