by Ben Benson
I was standing by the curtained bay window. From it I could look up and down the entire street with a single, sweeping glance. Across from me was the Nofke house, shades drawn, squat and ugly in the sun. Beyond the house I could see the weed-infested brown field. It was twelve noon on Monday and Leta Joyce Nofke was not working. She was at home.
In the living room with me was Earl Koniat, a State Police detective-lieutenant; short, thick-set and middle-aged. He was reading the morning paper.
“She’s due to come out about now,” I said to Koniat over my shoulder. “This is the time she goes to the store.”
Koniat put down his paper slowly. He stood up. “I’ll help you spot her,” he said. “I’ll take the side window. I can see all the way to the supermarket.”
“I wish we could tail her,” I said.
“We can’t,” Koniat said shortly. “This is a small town. A strange man following a girl would stick out like a Santa Claus suit in July. Anyway, Bill Gahagan is in the store. He’ll watch from that end.”
“If Osanger rode by in a car and snatched her quick—”
“We’d take him just as quick,” Koniat said, pointing to the telephone on his table. “We’ve got a direct wire into Troop headquarters. All I do is flash the signal. The noose is pulled and we have Osanger. Don’t worry so much, trooper.”
“I’m sorry, sir,” I said. “I’m as jumpy as hell.”
“It’s being cooped up,” Koniat said. “You’re not cut out for it.”
I looked across the empty, sun-filled street. The shadows from the trees were short and stumpy. I lifted my arm and looked at my strapwatch. It was five minutes past twelve. Leta was supposed to go shopping at twelve and she had not come out yet.
I turned worriedly to Koniat. I was about to say something when the door of the Nofke house opened suddenly. Leta Nofke came down the walk. She was wearing a snug-fitting, candy-striped cotton dress. Her head was bare, her hair swept up from her face and pinned high in back, the golden tones glinting in the sun. Her face was pale except for the curve of lipstick on her mouth.
She walked along Mill Street toward Main, her black handbag swinging from her arm, her rounded hips moving gracefully below her small waist.
“She’s out,” I said to Koniat. Koniat moved away from the table, still holding onto the newspaper. He came to the side window. He nodded his head.
“And I think she’s some dish, too,” he said.
I turned swiftly, angrily, feeling the blood heat my face.
“Keep your eyes on the street,” Koniat said. His eyes were flat and empty, his face impassive. “She’s at the corner.”
I watched. At Main Street she stopped at the intersection and looked both ways. A sedan came into view on Main, slowly, moving close to her. I held my breath. The car passed. I saw her cross Main Street. She pushed open the glass entrance doors and went into the supermarket. A pulse quickened in my throat.
In the rear of the bungalow I heard a door open. I swung around, my hand jumping to the holster under my jacket. Lieutenant Newpole came into the living room carrying a large paper bag.
“Here’s your chow,” he said. “Everything all right?”
“Yes, sir,” I said.
“Where’s the girl?”
“She went shopping.”
“The supermarket?”
“Yes, sir,” I said.
“Fine. Gahagan’s in there.” He put the bag down on the table. “Nothing else?”
“No, sir.”
“Well, I’ve got a little surprising news myself, son,” Newpole said. He looked over at Koniat. “Earl, watch the windows for a minute.”
I moved across the room to the table. Newpole sat down and pushed his hat back. He said, “We know the Pomeroy murderer.”
“Who?” I asked. “Osanger?”
“You keep insisting all the time it’s Osanger. You’re stubborn, Ralph.”
“I guess I am, sir.”
“Well, you’re right. It is Osanger.”
“Yes, sir,” I said. “How?”
“The empty shell you found did it,” Newpole said. He pinched his chin. “How was Osanger with a gun? Would you know?”
“He was an expert,” I said.
“How much of an expert?”
“He could take a gun apart in ten seconds. I watched him do it.”
“He did it, all right,” Newpole said. “He killed Pomeroy, then switched barrels on his automatic. He must have had a spare barrel, maybe a half-dozen spare barrels. That’s why Ballistics said the barrel tests on the bullets didn’t match. Osanger shot Pomeroy with one barrel. When we picked up his gun from him there was another barrel in it. The man is smart.”
“I’m afraid of his smartness,” I said.
“He’s smart, but not too smart,” Newpole said. “He didn’t know about the breech-block test. Ballistics took a breech-block impression when they tested Osanger’s pistol. The empty shell I brought them has a breech impression that matches. And the moulage in the barn fits Pomeroy’s shoes.”
“So all we need is Osanger,” I said.
“That’s all,” Newpole said. He put his hands flat on the table. “Osanger.”
“He’ll show,” I said.
“He’d better make it soon,” Newpole said. “We’ve got a wedding next Sunday, haven’t we?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’ll let you off, of course.” Newpole smiled. “You’re the groom and I think they’ll want you there. But I was hoping to make it, too. I got one of those classy engraved invitations.” He took off his hat. “I might as well wait here until the girl gets back. Go ahead and eat, son.”
I sat down at the table. I opened the bag and took out a wax-wrapped sandwich.
“It’s ham,” Newpole said. “But I owe you a steak dinner. You had it figured—all but the gun barrels. You wouldn’t be expected to know that.”
“Thanks,” I said. I began chewing on the sandwich. There was a thermos jug of coffee. I poured some into a paper cup.
“She’s coming out,” Koniat said from the window.
I put the coffee down quickly. I went over near Koniat. I saw her cross Main Street and walk toward us on Mill. There was beauty in her, I thought. In spite of the deadness in her face she had beauty and an unconscious grace. She walked lithely, the bag of groceries in her arms. I watched as she turned into the house, her tight, trim skirt swinging. I saw her bring up a knee to balance the brown bag as she fumbled for her key. It showed the firm curve of hip and thigh. Now the door was open and she was inside. I kept staring at the door after it was closed.
“She didn’t take long,” Koniat said. He fished into his jacket pocket and brought out a crumpled cigarette. He lit it slowly and deliberately. The smoke came out of his nostrils.
Newpole was eying me. “Listen, son,” he said. “Don’t keep looking at that door. Don’t get any wrong ideas. You’re being married next week.”
I was about to answer something, but he had stood up and turned to Koniat.
“Earl,” he said, “somebody in Walpole claims he spotted Osanger there. It’s the sixth tip we’ve had from as many different places. I’ll have to ride out to Walpole and run it down.”
“Sure,” Koniat said phlegmatically. “You never can tell which tip will be the right one.”
“I’ll keep my radio open,” Newpole said. “Any message you have will be relayed from Troop.”
Koniat nodded solemnly. Newpole waved, turned away and went out through the back of the house. Koniat walked over to the table. He opened the bag, took out a sandwich and bit into it. I moved back to the window and watched the Nofke house.
*
At 1:55 a truck from the Empire Laundry came down Mill Street. A tall, lanky driver went along from one house to another delivering flat, kraft-wrapped laundry. Koniat and I were at the window watching it closely. The laundry truck turned the corner of the street and disappeared.
It was two minutes past two when an electric
company truck came onto Mill Street from the opposite direction of Main. It didn’t go by us. It stopped four houses away. I noticed that the glass beside the driver’s window was broken and half-covered with a piece of cardboard.
“Lieutenant,” I called Koniat.
Koniat was at the table doing the crossword puzzle in the morning paper. He came over silently and peered at the truck. I could hear his shallow breathing beside me.
“I can’t see the driver,” he said.
“The cardboard blocks him,” I said. “Funny that the electric company would use a piece of cardboard for a broken window.”
“He’s just sitting there,” Koniat said. “He’s not getting out.”
Suddenly the truck backed down the street in the direction it had come from. It made a turn. Koniat remained at the window waiting. He took a pair of binoculars from the chair and focused them to his eyes.
He said, “The truck is now on Sycamore Street. I can see it across the field. Here, you take over the window. I’m going to call the Troop and get through to Newpole. I’ll have him find out if the electric company had any service calls for Mill or Sycamore Streets.
He went to the telephone, lifted it from its cradle and spoke into it. I watched him speak, then hang up. “Newpole will call us back,” he said.
“The truck is gone now,” I said.
We waited silently. Koniat smoked a cigarette. The telephone rang and Koniat went over and answered it. He spoke in low monosyllables, his eyes wary and alert, watching the window from where he sat. He hung up.
“The electric company had no calls here,” he said. He looked up at me and his voice was hard and tight. “Also there’s a File One on our Framingham TT. The electric company had a truck stolen in Walpole about an hour ago. What do you think, kid?”
“Osanger,” I said. “He’s finally shown.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
WE WERE BOTH AT THE WINDOW WHEN NEWPOLE came in through the rear door fifteen minutes later. Newpole, his long, thin face serious, moved over to the telephone desk and sat down. He stretched his long, reedy legs.
“We’ve got Carlton on Plan Four,” he said in a clipped voice. “The trap’s been set. Carlton’s been boxed in completely by our troopers and all adjoining locals. There’s no way Osanger can get out.”
“What do I do, sir?” I asked.
“You stay right here,” Newpole said. “We’ll start tightening the circle.” He took out his pipe and tobacco pouch. “We may find the truck abandoned in a nearby woods. When we do I’ll have them bring down the dogs from the Andover barracks. They may be able to pick up a trail from the truck. If we’re lucky, we’ll grab Osanger in the woods.”
He held the pipe up and scratched a match under the table. He said, “I don’t think there’s much doubt it was Osanger in that truck. The tip in Walpole gave a close description. Osanger used that cardboard so nobody could see him. That truck had no broken window when it was stolen.” He lit his pipe and puffed on it for a moment. “I don’t know if he’ll try to case the house again or not. He hasn’t noticed anything suspicious, that’s pretty sure. He might wait a day, maybe two days, not longer. Even if he has some food cached away in the woods he can’t wait more than forty-eight hours. If he does, we’ll have him.” Newpole looked up at me with an odd expression on his face. “We go by the book, son. When we take them, we usually take them alive.”
I said nothing. Newpole said, “Leta Nofke is not to go out any more. She and her father have enough food for a while.” He turned to Koniat. “Earl, when it gets dark you’ll cover the back of her house as usual. Never mind the porch this time. Park yourself inside that little vestibule. It’s tight quarters but at least there’s no chance you’ll be seen.”
Koniat nodded.
“Lieutenant Newpole,” I said, “I’d like to have the back of the house tonight.”
“Hell, no,” Newpole said. “I need an experienced detective in there.”
“I’m a lot younger than Lieutenant Koniat,” I said persistently. “I can stand it better in those small quarters.”
“For chrissakes,” Newpole said. “I’m not looking for stamina. I want somebody who can handle himself.”
“I can handle myself,” I said. “Let me do it, sir.”
Newpole scratched doubtfully at his nose. “I don’t know,” he said slowly. “I’ll admit it’s a tough grind and it calls for a young man. But we can’t afford to make any mistakes at this stage.”
“I won’t make any mistakes,” I said. “Please, Lieutenant.”
Newpole looked at Earl Koniat. “What do you say, Earl?”
Koniat scraped the floor with his toe, looked down at his hands, away from me. I waited for him to speak.
“The kid’s all right,” Koniat finally said. “He’ll do. And he’s got his own reasons for it, Ed.”
Newpole rubbed his hand over his pipe bowl. Then he tapped the stem against his teeth. “Okay,” he said, standing up. “Tonight, Ralph. As soon as it gets dark. I’ll take over the watch now so you and Earl can get some relief. You’ll have about five hours’ rest. So hit that bedroom, you two, and get some sleep.”
“Yes, sir,” I said. “Thanks.”
“Just remember two things about tonight, Ralph,” Newpole said. “Stay awake and don’t turn your back on anything.”
*
I came from the yellow bungalow just as soon as the sky grew fully dark. I crossed the street, running swiftly. I slipped in between the Nofke house and the one next to it. I ran up the alley and around to the back porch. The empty field in back was dark and lifeless. I turned the knob of the door leading to the vestibule. It was unlocked. I moved inside, closing the door behind me. The vestibule was pitch-black.
“Ralph?” a voice asked softly.
“Yes,” I whispered. It was Leta’s voice. I heard her clothes rustle, then the soft warm flesh of her hand moved along mine.
“What’s that in your hand?” she asked. “A gun?”
“Yes,” I said. I put the service revolver away in the hip holster. “How did you know it was I?”
“I’ve been watching the street since sundown. I saw you run over here.”
“You can put on your house lights now,” I said. “But keep the kitchen door closed. I’ll stay out here in the vestibule.”
“Oh,” she said. There was a pause. “Why the change?”
“What change?”
“The other detective stayed out on the porch last night. You think Ken is coming tonight?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “But they told me to stay in the vestibule.”
“I’ll get you a chair.”
“It’s better that I stand.”
“All night?”
“Well, I won’t fall asleep so easily.”
“Maybe you’d like something to eat,” she said.
“No, thanks. I’ve eaten.”
“Beer?”
“No, thanks. I’m all right here.” My eyes were becoming accustomed to the darkness and I was beginning to distinguish the outline of her face. “You’re being real kind,” I said softly. “I didn’t expect you’d act so nice.”
“You thought I’d be sore at you,” she said.
“Yes.”
“And you know why, too. Because you used me. That’s all you think I’m good for. To be used and thrown away—like a paper napkin. Why don’t you admit it, Ralph?”
“No,” I said. “It’s not that way at all.”
“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking,” she said. “I have a lot of time to think. Too much. Now I realize I shouldn’t blame you. They gave you a job and you had to do it. Sure, I was sore at first. You made love to me only because you were told to. It hurt me. It made me feel cheap. Even I can feel cheap, Ralph.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “It wasn’t that way at all. I—”
“It’s my fault, too,” she broke in. “You’re an attractive man and you were so nice to me. The truth is I wanted you to make lov
e.” Her hand gripped mine hard. “See, I told you. I’m not ashamed.”
“I wasn’t ashamed either,” I said.
“It’s different with you. You’re married, aren’t you, Ralph?”
“No,” I said. I hesitated. “But I will be next Sunday.”
“Oh,” she said, her voice muted. “Next Sunday.” There was a pause. I could hear her breathing rapidly beside me. “Come inside to the kitchen, Ralph.”
“I can’t. They told me to stay out here.”
“I’ll draw the shades, then put on the lights. You can watch this door from the kitchen. What’s wrong with that?”
“They expect me to stay outside, Leta.”
“Who’s across the street?” she asked.
“Lieutenant Koniat.”
“He’ll be watching the front of the house,” she said. “You can watch the back just as well from the kitchen. Please, Ralph.”
“I can’t,” I said. “I’m supposed to stay here.”
“Please,” she said urgently. “Ken’s coming. I know he is. I’ll be in there all alone. I’ll go crazy waiting. I have to have somebody near me, somebody I can talk to. Please, Ralph. What do they expect from me?”
I took a deep breath. “All right,” I said. “Let’s go in. But only for a little while.”
She took my hand and guided me into the kitchen. I watched her firm, shapely silhouette as she passed before the windows and drew the shades. Then the lights went on. I blinked at the harsh brightness.
“Thank you, Ralph,” she said. “I’ll put my father to bed. I’ll be right back.”
She left the kitchen. I pulled up a chair close to the back door and sat down facing it. She came back. She walked to the sink and began to fill a coffee percolator with water. Then she reached up to the cupboard and brought down a tin of coffee.
“It’ll keep you awake,” she said. “I’m going to make some toast, too. I’ll bet you have a good appetite.”
“There was never anything wrong with it,” I said, my eyes on the door, but my nose sniffing the aromatic odor of the coffee.
