by Robert Bloch
Karen started to step forward, but Frank Gordon shook his head.
“Not yet.”
Peering into the hangar, Karen could make out the squat bulk of the VW. Behind it was a plane, and beyond that, the light. Its source was apparently an electric lantern, placed on the floor beside a tool rack. And now Rita’s silhouette moved across it.
“That her?” Gordon’s voice was pitched to a whisper.
“Yes, thank God. And she’s alone.”
“Good. Here’s what I want you to do. Go in and talk to her.”
“You’re not coming with me?”
Gordon gestured with the revolver. “Don’t worry—if you need me, I’ll be ready. My hunch is you’ll get further with her if she doesn’t see me at first. Tell her what happened—about Bruce, and Tom Doyle. I think she’s ready to crack. Maybe Bruce has been in touch with her, maybe she knows where he is.”
“What if she won’t say anything?”
“Then I’ll take over. But it’s worth a chance.” Gordon put his hand on her arm. “Remember, she’s in danger, too, whether she knows it or not. You’ve got to convince her of that.”
“I’ll try.”
Karen moved through the mist, moved forward to the deeper darkness beyond the hangar entrance.
And now there was no turning back.
No turning back as she walked past the plane, no turning back as she emerged into the fitful flicker of the light, no turning back as Rita looked up and saw her, recognized her.
“What are you doing here?”
There was shrill surprise in the voice, and something else, something more than mere surprise, in the shadowed face.
“I have to talk to you. Now.”
Rita had a heavy wrench in her hand. She didn’t put it down; instead, her fingers tightened around the handle.
“You picked a fine time. Can’t you see I’m busy?”
“I didn’t pick the time. Please, Rita, listen to me—”
“I’m listening.”
She listened while Karen told her about Bruce’s call, the meeting on the roof and what followed. From time to time Karen hesitated, but she didn’t stop completely until she came to the moment when she’d stared out of the window at the body sprawled far below.
Rita didn’t move, her face was still in shadow, and she said absolutely nothing.
I’m not reaching her, Karen told herself. I have no way of reaching her, only words.
She found them.
“You didn’t see what I saw, Rita. Tom Doyle, lying in the street with his head smashed open like a rotten melon. Griswold dead in a room filled with the smell of his own burning flesh. That poor nurse—”
“What do you want from me?”
“The truth.” Karen felt her fingers curl back against the palms, felt the nails, digging into flesh. “It’s not a matter of faith or loyalty—it can’t be, not anymore. We’ve got to stop what’s happening. If you’ve kept anything back, if you know where Bruce has been hiding—”
“She didn’t know.”
It was Bruce’s voice.
And it was Bruce who now stepped from the shadows on the far side of the plane.
Karen stared at him as he came towards her, nodding slowly.
“I headed here the other night,” he said. “But Rita didn’t know it. I didn’t want to involve her, any more than I did you. But I needed some place where I’d be safe, and this was all I could think of. When the police arrived to question her, I managed to stow myself away in a plane on the field and they didn’t find me. After they were gone, I left. It wasn’t until this evening, when I came back, that I let her know I was here, told her what had happened.”
“Then she knows—you confessed—”
“There is nothing to confess.”
“But I saw you on the roof! I sent Doyle to you myself!”
“He didn’t find me.” Bruce’s voice was low. “After you left to get him, I lost my nerve. I couldn’t face him—I was afraid—so I ran. Karen, believe me, I swear to God I was out of the building before he ever reached that roof!”
“Then who killed him?”
“Cromer.”
It wasn’t a statement. It was a shocked murmur of recognition, as Bruce stared past Karen—stared at the man who now entered the hangar, holding the revolver in his hand.
Karen saw him, and then she turned to Bruce and there was no stopping now. “You’re crazy!” she gasped. “This is Sergeant Gordon—he’s a detective—”
The man smiled. “Nobody’s crazy,” he said softly. “Not your husband. And certainly not me.” The smile was as fixed and steady as the weapon he held in his hand.
“I was waiting outside the office building today, hoping your husband would try to contact you. When he went to the roof, I followed him. It seemed like a perfect opportunity to dispose of the only remaining person who could identify me. I’d managed to find all the others, and now, through the exercise of logic, I’ve found Bruce.”
He nodded, eyes on Karen. “Logic, I said. Cold, clear logic. But your arrival prevented me from carrying out my intentions. I stayed concealed on the far side of the skylight and listened. When Bruce revealed my name, I realized the plan must change. Because there were now two people who knew my name. And I couldn’t deal with you both there, not without a weapon.”
“So you let her go, and when I ran off, you waited for Doyle,” Bruce said.
“Exactly. I was behind him when he came up through the skylight exit, and he never knew what happened.”
Karen shuddered. “And Frank Gordon?”
“I was waiting in a service closet down the hall outside your office when he arrived. I found a heavy metal doorstop among the storage articles. It’s not there now, but Gordon is, unless they’ve discovered him by now. I took his gun and his badge and I.D. The car, of course, is one I’d picked up earlier today.”
“I was alone when you came to me in the office,” Karen said. “You had the revolver—”
“Logic.” The man smiled again. “It would have been dangerous to do anything with the police right outside the door, searching the building. The important thing was to get you out of there. And I was still hoping you could lead me to Bruce again. When you told me what you did at dinner, I knew that Rita was also a problem. So let’s have no more of this stupid name-calling. My thinking was correct. You’re here, all of you.” The smile was still fixed, but his finger tightened on the trigger.
“Cromer, listen to me.” Bruce faced the smile, faced the muzzle of the gun. “I talked it over with Rita before you came, told her everything. She said I should call the police—and I did, from her office. They’ll be arriving any moment now—”
Cromer’s voice was as cold as his smile. “Please, don’t insult my intelligence. That’s the oldest gag in the world—”
Then the cold smile froze.
Because he heard the sirens, sounding in the distance.
They all heard them, but it was Rita who moved.
Her arm came up, holding the wrench. And then she hurled it at Cromer’s head.
He flung himself against the side of the plane as the wrench whizzed by, thudded to the floor beyond. The revolver came up and he fired.
On the heels of the shattering echo, Karen heard Rita cry out. She fell back, clutching her arm. Amidst a swirl of acrid smoke, Karen saw the blood spurting from between Rita’s fingers, saw Bruce lunge forward to grapple with Cromer.
Cromer gripped the gun, fighting to turn the barrel of the weapon towards Bruce’s chest. But Bruce chopped at his wrist and the revolver fell.
For an instant the smoke parted and Karen saw Cromer clearly. The smile was gone, the semblance of humanity itself seemed stripped away, and all that remained was the animal fury of glaring eyes and snarling mouth—the naked face of violence.
Then Cromer’s clubbed fists smashed against Bruce’s chest, hurling him back. He turned and ran out of the hangar, into the mist of the night.
The sirens
shrieked from the roadway, and Cromer swerved. Through the open end of the hangar, Karen could see him running across the field.
A dark blur descended from the sky, then exploded in a sudden blaze of revolving light. Karen screamed then, but her voice was lost in the roar of the helicopter blades spinning down on the fleeing figure. By the time the pilot saw Cromer through the shrouding fog, it was too late to avoid him.
The helicopter dipped, almost toppled, as the shearing metal struck. Cromer fell and his body ceased to move.
But his head rolled halfway down the field.
CHAPTER 25
There were two ambulances—one for Rita, one for what was left of Cromer.
Lieutenant Barringer arrived and took over.
Bruce made his statement and Karen made hers. Even Rita was able to give a preliminary deposition while the police surgeon applied the tourniquet to her arm.
Then it was time to make the trip down to the Van Nuys Station, time to make the tapes and sign the transcripts. For a while it seemed as though it would never end, but eventually, of course, it did.
Free, Karen told herself. Finally free.
And she and Bruce walked out.
Into the night-world . . .
