Edge of the Law

by Deming, Richard

  Instead he scooped her up in his arms and carried her into the bedroom. When he dropped her on the bed, she lay just as she had fallen, without moving. Lying next to her, he drew her head onto his shoulder.

  “You started something,” she whispered dreamily.

  “What?”

  “I’m not absolutely innocent. But almost. I never knew it could be like that.”

  “So?”

  “I’ve lost all my inhibitions. And I’m not even ashamed. I’m glad. You can have me anytime, anywhere, as often as you want.”

  “Right now, for instance?” he asked in her ear.

  “Anytime,” she said sleepily, snuggling against him.

  He moved his head to kiss her, but she was asleep.

  After a few minutes he gently withdrew his arm from beneath her head and rolled from the bed. Gathering her clothing from the front-room floor, he folded it in a neat pile on her dressing table. For a moment he stood watching her sleeping form. She lay on one side, one stocking-clad leg stretched out straight, the other knee raised. Her arms hugged her full bosom. Running his gaze along her slender body, he could detect no flaw in its smooth symmetry.

  Almost reluctantly he drew a blanket over her.

  He let her sleep a full hour, awakening her at six P.M. Beneath the blanket she stretched like a kitten, then gazed wonderingly up at his fully clothed form.

  “I let you nap,” he explained. “It’s six P.M.”

  She colored slightly. “I didn’t sleep well last night, worrying about you. I usually don’t conk out like this.”

  A faint smile appeared on his lips, grew to an amused grin.

  Turning crimson, she bounced from bed with the blanket protectively wrapped around her. “I didn’t mean that like it sounded,” she said indignantly. “I just meant I don’t take afternoon naps.”

  “I know what you meant,” he said with a straight face.

  “You stop that!” she said, stamping a stockinged foot.

  “Stop what?” he asked with pretended innocence.

  “You know what I mean. Stop looking like you thought I meant—”

  Enfolding her, blanket and all, he kissed the end of her nose. “All I think is that you’re perfect.”

  Her indignation evaporated. “Do you?” she asked, pleased.

  “From the tip of your freckled little nose to the end of your cute little toes.”

  Flipping the blanket from around her, he tossed it on the bed and ran his appreciative gaze over the entire area he had mentioned.

  Clutching her bosom, she said hurriedly, “George will be wondering what happened to me.” She moved around him toward the bathroom.

  “You said anytime, anywhere,” he called softly.

  She halted abrutly in the bathroom doorway. Slowly she turned and gave him an inquiring look.

  “Just checking,” he said wickedly.

  “Oh, you!” she said with a return of indignation. The bathroom door slammed behind her.

  Sands waited in the front room until Bridget came out dressed for work. She examined him with suspicion. When he crossed to put his arms about her waist, she held herself with stiffness.

  “Can’t I ever tease you?” he asked.

  “Do you have to make me feel like a hussy?”

  “You said you’d lost your inhibitions, and weren’t ashamed of it.”

  “Well, you don’t have to test me just to satisfy your ego. You could save it until you’re serious.”

  He grinned down at her. “You couldn’t be a hussy if you wanted to. You blush too easily.”

  She relaxed a little. “You keep teasing me and I’ll get all my inhibitions back.”

  “God forbid,” he said in mock alarm. “From here on I’ll treat you with the respect due a duchess.”

  She looked a little alarmed too. “All the time?”

  “Just outside of the boudoir,” he assured her.

  She relaxed altogether. “Know what, Jud?” she said with a smile.

  “What?”

  “Your friend Mrs. Thompson was right. I guess I am in love with you. Do you mind?”

  “I think it’s a charming idea,” he said. “But I’m a lousy prospect.”

  “I don’t mean I intend to hound you into marrying me,” she said quickly.

  “I didn’t either. I’m a lousy prospect just as a lover, let alone a husband. Odds are, if I don’t hang legally, I’ll be shot or knifed illegally.”

  Instantly she looked concerned. “In all this excitement—not even stopping to say hello to each other when I came in and found you here—not even getting as far as the bedroom—” Her voice trailed off and a blush crept up from her throat as remembrance flooded her.

  “We met with a kind of a bang when you came in,” he agreed.

  “What I’m trying to say is that I just plain forgot everything but—I mean, I don’t even know how you got here after you frightened me to death by jumping out that window. My first thought was that you were committing suicide.” She looked amazed at herself. “How could I forget everything? I was frantic with worry up to the very instant I saw you here.”

  “We’d better talk about it later,” he told her. “George is still waiting for relief.”

  Glancing at her watch, her face registered alarm. “He expected me over an hour ago. Will you wait here until he relieves me again at ten?”

  “Anything in your refrigerator?”

  “Yes, but don’t bother with that. I duck across the street and bring back a take-out meal about six thirty or seven every night. I’ll get two and bring you one.”

  “All right,” he agreed.

  She gave him a quick kiss and ran to the door. Carefully she looked up the hallway before venturing out. Then she pulled it shut behind her.

  CHAPTER XVII

  AFTER BRIDGET left, Sands switched on the television to catch the six-fifteen newscast. The newscaster was an aggressive young man named Jerome Tanner, whose delivery gave the impression that he had personally gone out to gather the details of each item he reported. It was a commentary as well as a news report, with Tanner’s personal opinion, often vitriolic, appended to many of the items.

  World news came first; then, after a commercial, Tanner got around to local items. The first was Sands’ escape from the municipal courtroom.

  “Accused bomb murderer Judson Sands made a daring and successful dash for freedom from the second-floor courtroom at City Hall about three thirty this afternoon,” the newscaster said. “During a recess in his preliminary hearing on the charge of tavern owner Harry Thompson’s homicide by bombing the previous night, Sands leaped from a courtroom window into the branches of a tree, climbed down the tree and ran. Losing himself in the downtown crowd of shoppers, he has not been seen since.

  “In answer to this reporter’s question as to why proper security measures were not taken to prevent such an escape, Chief Court Bailiff Harold James said that since the courtroom windows were a full twenty-five feet from the ground, it had never been considered necessary to place guards at the windows. When this reporter pointed out that the window in question overlooked a large tree whose branches reached to within only a few feet of it, Bailiff James snapped that it had never happened before. By this line of reasoning the police guard might as well be removed from the main door to the courtroom, as no prisoner has ever tried escape by that route either.”

  Sands grinned to himself. He might be in trouble, but he seemed to have caused some trouble too.

  “Police have issued an all-points bulletin on the escapee,” Tanner went on. “He is described as thirty years old, with brown hair and green eyes, about six feet tall and weighing one eighty to one ninety pounds. He has a lean build and sharply defined features. When he escaped he was wearing a tan gabardine suit, white shirt, brown necktie and brown shoes. He wore no hat. Though unarmed when he escaped, he may have obtained arms since, and police emphasize that he should be approached with caution. Anyone seeing a man of this description is asked
to contact the police at once.

  “Sands is accused of tossing a hand grenade last night at Harry’s Bar and Grill, located at West Fourth and Gaylord. The explosion killed proprietor Harry Thompson, thirty-six, and caused considerable property damage. Though the tavern was crowded at the time, miraculously no one but the proprietor was injured. Police say they believe Sands is an organizer for an extortion gang operating out of Chicago.

  “A car rented by Sands was found parked near the scene of the bombing subsequent to the suspect’s arrest, and has been impounded by the police.”

  The newscaster went on to other news and Sands switched off the set. At least one minor problem was off his mind, he thought ruefully. He didn’t have to worry about returning the rented car.

  At six thirty Bridget reëntered the apartment in a breathless state.

  Locking the door behind her, she put her back to it and announced fearfully, “The police were here, Jud! They just this minute left again.”

  Sands didn’t look very perturbed. Without rising from his chair, he asked, “They came to check my room?”

  Bridget was a little deflated by his calmness. “You expected them to come?”

  “Of course. They wouldn’t expect to find me there, but it’s routine to check a fugitive’s last place of residence. They ask you anything?”

  “They wondered about no baggage being in the room. I told them I’d made you pay in advance because you didn’t have any. They asked me to call them if you show up. They don’t know about us, of course. I mean they wouldn’t suspect you were hiding here, would they?”

  “Not likely,” he assured her. “We ourselves didn’t know about us, as you put it, until after my escape. They’ll probably be watching Ginny’s apartment.”

  Bridget straightened away from the door. “Why?”

  “Amatti knows Ginny and I are old friends. He wouldn’t hold the information back.”

  “You’re that kind of friends?” she asked a trifle stiffly. “Close enough to hide out at her apartment?”

  “The police might think so.”

  “But are you?”

  Sands examined her curiously. “Are you being jealous?”

  “Of course not,” she said, then reconsidered. “I guess I am,” she admitted. “I’m acting like a demanding woman, aren’t I?”

  “Is there any other kind?” he asked dryly.

  She examined him in turn. “That’s a bachelor remark if I ever heard one,” she said with equal dryness. “I’ll try to behave in a less feminine manner in the future. I have to get back to the desk now. I’ll bring your dinner in about a half hour.”

  She went out quickly.

  At seven she returned with a newspaper-wrapped roast-beef dinner on a paper plate.

  “There’s a car parked right across the street with two men in it,” she told him worriedly. “They’re just sitting there watching the hotel’s front door.”

  “Police stake-out,” he said without concern. “Routine again. Don’t worry about it.”

  “How can I help worrying, Jud?” she asked in a plaintive tone. “You don’t know how I felt when I saw them sitting there. Was it police, I wondered? Or Renzo Amatti’s men, or some more hired killers sent by that Fallon person? What are we going to do, Jud? You’ll be running from everybody for the rest of your life.”

  Walking over to her, he cupped her face in his hands and gave her a gentle kiss. “Let me do the worrying, redhead. Go tend to your job. And you’d better stay at the desk now until ten. If you keep running back here, the stake-outs may get a brainstorm.”

  She looked frightened. “You think I may have given you away? Suppose they check at the Fox and Hounds and learn I took out two dinners tonight? Won’t they suspect you’re here?”

  “They don’t know your routine,” he said patiently. “For all they know, you deliver take-out dinners to some of your tenants every evening. They won’t suspect you of hiding me. To them you’re just the manager of a hotel I stayed at for a couple of days.”

  She didn’t seem very reassured. Her face was still worried when she returned to work. But she didn’t appear again until George relieved her at ten P.M.

  When she had locked the door behind her, she drew a deep breath of relief. Dropping into a chair, she said, “I thought ten would never come. Those men are still in the car across the street, Jud.”

  “I figured they would be. I’ll have to use the back door.”

  She sat erect. “You’re going out?”

  “Later on, when there aren’t so many people on the street.”

  “Why?”

  “I have some things to do,” he said noncommittally. “I can’t stay holed up here forever.”

  Her face paled. “You’re going to skip town, aren’t you? I’ll never see you again.”

  Smiling, he shook his head. “I stopped running when I hit Ridgeford. I’ll be back. You won’t have to leave the door unlocked. I have a key.” Taking it from his pocket, he showed it to her.

  She was too relieved to be astonished. She merely gave him an inquiring look.

  “The spare one from your box at the desk,” he explained. “It’s how I got in here.”

  She smiled slightly. “I never thought to ask how you managed that. So much started happening from the minute I saw you here—” She blushed. “I never asked you anything. How’d you get away from all the police they sent after you? I heard somebody say that radio cars had the whole area blocked off within minutes.”

  “I just ran fast and had a bit of luck. Did I leave the courtroom in an uproar?”

  “There was a lot of shouting and running around,” she said. “When things quieted down, the judge demanded to know if your lawyer had been a party to your escape.”

  Sands hiked his eyebrows. “What did Swert say?”

  “He got mad. He roared at the judge that his professional ethics had never been questioned, which was more than he could say for some jurists. The judge took offense at that and threatened to hold him in contempt. The D.A. finally quieted them both down and they ended up apologizing to each other. But neither one looked as though he meant it.”

  Sands grinned. “Contempt was just what Swert had for that court. But I’m glad I didn’t get him in trouble. Did you speak to Ginny after my break?”

  She shook her head. “I was too upset to speak to anyone. I stayed in my seat, waiting to hear whether they’d caught you again, until nearly everybody had left the courtroom. The judge adjourned court without hearing any more cases, you know. Finally, when a policeman came in and said you hadn’t yet been spotted, I left and came home. Is it any of my business why you’re going out?”

  “The less you know, the better for you,” he told her. “Incidentally, do you know aiding and abetting a wanted criminal is a felony?”

  She raised her eyebrows. “Do you think I care?”

  “No,” he admitted. “But I do. I want you to promise me something.”

  “What?”

  “If I get caught, don’t turn martyr. I don’t want you in jail. If they move in on me here, I forced my way in and made you hide me under duress.” Pulling Henny Ault’s switch-blade knife from his pocket, he flicked open the blade. “I threatened to kill you with this.”

  Bridget looked shocked. “That would get you in even worse trouble.”

  “There isn’t any worse trouble than a murder rap,” he said. “None of my troubles are your fault, and if I have to take a fall, I’m going to make sure you don’t get dragged down with me. Either give me your solemn promise to play it my way, or I’ll move out and find another hole to hide in.”

  Examining his face, she realized he was dead serious. She said reluctantly, “All right, Jud, if you insist.”

  “I do insist,” he said in a definite tone. Snapping the knife shut, he dropped it back in his pocket.

  “How will you get where you’re going tonight?” she ventured. “Your description must have been broadcast.”

  “It was. Jerome Tan
ner gave it on the six-fifteen newscast.”

  “Then won’t it be dangerous for you to take a cab or bus? I have a station wagon out back you can use.”

  He considered this. “It might be safer.”

  “I’ll get the keys,” she said, jumping up.

  He shook his head. “I can start a car without keys. Just find me a piece of insulated wire.”

  She looked at him blankly.

  “In case I get caught,” he explained. “With a jumper across the ignition, it will look as though the car were stolen. Neither of us could explain my having the keys.”

  “Oh,” she said. “I think there’s some wire in the kitchen.”

  CHAPTER XVIII

  DURING THE hours he was alone in Bridget’s apartment Sands had done a lot of thinking. And he had decided that instead of running from his multiple troubles, he would fight back.

  He was faced with too many separate problems to tackle them all at once, though. For the moment he decided to table everything else and concentrate on clearing himself of the murder.

  This, he knew, was a mountainous problem in itself. He Was convinced that Renzo Amatti had ordered the bombing and had arranged the frame either in revenge or merely because Sands made a convenient scapegoat to turn suspicion from himself. But even if he managed to find evidence pointing to Amatti’s guilt, he had little chance of getting it into Amatti’s controlled courts.

  Nevertheless he determined to dig up what he could, and if it was strong enough evidence, to by-pass the district attorney and take it straight to the State’s Attorney. He was going to need Ginny’s help before he could even begin an investigation, which was why he had to risk leaving the safety of Bridget’s apartment. The danger that Ginny’s line was tapped was too great to risk a phone call.

  Sands waited until eleven P.M. before slipping from the hotel’s rear door. He didn’t anticipate a stake-out in back, for he doubted that the police really expected him ever to return to the Centner. He was sure the one in front was merely a routine precaution, and probably would be permanently lifted in the morning.