“Of course, but—”
“You’re going to get some practice. Now tell your strong-arm crew to keep their fingers off the triggers when we come out. Because you’re going to lead the way. We follow. My gun is in your back, Sam. It won’t help you if your men get me, because you won’t be around to know anything more about it.”
“What was that about swimming?”
“Go tell your boys to let us out,” Cornell said.
Rain fell in huge warm drops on the deck outside. The thunder and lightning had passed eastward. Cornell followed Hand closely as the big man stepped into the after cockpit. They found themselves in a semicircle of hard-eyed, puzzled men.
“Tell them you’re coming with us,” Cornell ordered.
Until Hand actually spoke to the men, Cornell had expected the worst. If Hand called his bluff and forced him to use the gun, anything might have happened. The tension eased out of him when Hand’s voice rasped out and commanded the crew to stand back. Sally gave a little sigh.
Three minutes later they were all in Gootsie’s boat. Hand too. There was a moment when the outboard coughed and sputtered and refused to start. The crew lined the rail overhead, watching them. The only light came from the open cabin door above. Rain sluiced down in sudden torrents, flattening the sea. Gootsie muttered at the motor, his wet shirt plastered to his muscular back. Then the outboard coughed and caught with a roar and they backed slowly away from the heaving stern of the cruiser.
Cornell sat on the forward thwart, facing Hand. Sally crouched at his feet. He called to Gootsie above the hiss of rain.
“Stop when you can still see the boat lights, Gootsie.”
“Sure thing.”
It was not as far as Cornell had hoped. The rain blotted out the other vessel for a moment, then the ports twinkled dimly through the darkness again. Gootsie eased the outboard into neutral. Cornell gestured to Hand.
“Take your swimming lesson,” he said.
“But you can’t—”
“Swim for it,” Cornell said. “Back to your boat. That ought to give us time enough, before you take command again.”
“But I might be swept away.”
“Get over the side,” Cornell ordered.
His voice brooked no argument. Hand hesitated a moment, his face dim and beaded with rain. Then he slowly removed his shoes and socks, tucked the socks neatly inside the shoes, and placed them carefully side by side in the bottom of the boat. When he had taken off his tie and shirt, he paused a moment longer, searching the faces of the others, and then he hoisted himself up and over the gunwale. The small boat heaved mightily with the thrust of his feet, but it didn’t capsize. Cornell watched the man’s bald head break the surface. When he was satisfied that Hand was all right and swimming with a firm, steady stroke, he nodded to Gootsie.
“Let’s go,” he said. “Fast.”
Gootsie tore his fascinated gaze from Hand’s head and grinned suddenly at Cornell.
“You done fine, Barney. But he won’t forgive you.”
Cornell reached for Sally’s wet fingers. “Let’s get back to the Landing,” he said. “I’m beginning to see the real shape of this thing. Maybe it can all be settled tonight.”
Sally’s hand tightened in his. She looked up and said something, but her voice was drowned in the lusty roar of the outboard motor as they swung away from Bancroft Point. Cornell shook his head and grinned and bent down to kiss her soft, wet lips.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
PHEENEY’S LANDING seemed like home again. The rain had slackened to a fine drizzle. The electrical storm had passed while Gootsie hid their boat in a narrow inlet, and they watched the Buccaneer prowling offshore hunting them. Their patience outlasted Sam Hand’s. The cruiser gave up after twenty minutes, the diesels growling off into the distance. When Gootsie decided it was safe, they quit the shallows and bucked north again.
There was a lot of activity around the long shed behind Kelly’s Bar. The juke box thumped with new vigor, and light and voices streamed out into the cool wet night Gootsie remained in the boat and muttered angrily.
“That Kelly. Hannigan warned him, but he wouldn’t give it up, because he’s so hungry for money.”
“He’s going on with the cockfight, I gather,” Cornell said.
“They’ll be starting soon. And likely bring the cops around, too. Hannigan won’t be able to help himself.”
“But Kelly must think it’s safe.” Cornell said.
Gootsie shrugged. He didn’t get out on the dock with them. Rain came down in misty, blowing curtains over the clearing. Cornell said, “Thanks for everything, Gootsie.”
“You do all right. Keep your nose clean.”
“Sure,” Cornell said.
He walked with Sally back to the tourist cabin. Her thin summer dress was plastered tightly to every curve of her full young figure. She was shivering, and Cornell put his arm around her. He went into the cabin first, turned on the lights, and felt relieved to find the place empty. Its familiarity made him feel secure again. Sally’s chestnut hair was curled and misted, sparkling with the rain. Her make-up had long since vanished, and she looked wonderful, although she still shivered.
“You’ll have to dry your clothes,” he said.
“I don’t have anything else, Barney. Neither do you.”
“Towels,” he said. “Blankets.”
She smiled. “All right, Barney.” Suddenly she swung toward him, her arms tight around his neck, huddling close in the circle of his embrace. He felt the sob that shook her.
“Hey,” he said gently. “It’s all over now.”
“I was so afraid, Barney.”
“So was I.”
She looked up at him. “Were you? Really?”
“I thought I’d go crazy when you didn’t come back.”
“I’m glad,” she whispered.
“So am I.”
“What are we going to do, Barney? How are we going to get out of this? I haven’t been much help to you.”
He said, “We’re going to settle this tonight.”
“Tonight, Barney?”
“Soon,” he said.
Her mouth was soft and wet. “Do you know who did it?”
“I can guess. I think I know. I’m not sure, but I am going to find out.” He gave her a little shake. “Get out of those wet clothes. We can dry them before the fire.”
“Barney,” she said. “Barney.”
“Yes?”
“I meant it last night. I love you.”
“Yes.”
“Will you kiss me, Barney?”
He kissed her.
The hiss of the hot shower was a warm and honeyed sound. He knelt before the fireplace, trying to ignite the wood Kelly had stacked there. He used the wrapping paper from the groceries Sally had bought that morning. The morning seemed a long way back in the past. Rain gurgled from the roof spouts. The fire caught and spread and the pieces of wood crackled. The chimney drew well. The heat of the flames warmed him.
Presently Sally came up behind him as he knelt before the hearth. She had a single large towel wrapped around her glowing figure, and she looked like a child, with her hair pulled up and piled on top of her head. Her ears were small and pink and perfect. She knelt quickly beside him.
“The fire feels good.”
“There isn’t much wood.”
“Enough to dry our clothes. You’re as wet as I was, Barney. It’s your turn. Use the blanket off the bed.”
He looked at her.
She said, “I’m shameless, Barney.”
“I’m glad.”
“I never felt like this before,” she said.
“You don’t have to tell me that.”
“No, I suppose I don’t.”
Cornell said, “I never felt like this before, either.”
“Are you sure, Barney?”
“Sure.”
“I thought—”
“Never like this about anyone before, Sally.”
/> She kissed him. “Hurry,” she said.
She no longer looked like a child. He moved toward her and she was in his arms, her flimsy covering forgotten. The firelight made her smooth shoulders glow with pink freshness. This time her lips were neither cool nor uncertain when he found them. Cornell felt the quick, eager beat of her heart under his hand, and shook with something stronger than himself, stronger than all the cool cynicism he had always felt before. He hadn’t been fooling her; this was different. This was good and honest and right. And because it was right, he released her after a moment, his face in her soft, scented hair. She turned her head to look up at him, and her smile was tender. “Hurry,” she said again.
There was only the dying glow of the coals to light the cabin. Rain tapped across the roof. The shadows of the room hugged them close. Cornell reached out and felt the clothes before the fire. They were dry. He looked at Sally’s face, highlighted by the dying flames. The girl sighed.
“Everything has to end, doesn’t it?”
“Not always.”
“When will we end, Barney? You and me. Tonight?”
“Perhaps never.”
“Perhaps?”
“It depends on what happens later. I have to go out.”
“Where, Barney?”
“Come with me and find out.”
“Thank you for asking me.”
“I don’t want to lose you again,” Cornell said.
“You won’t, if you don’t want to… Barney?”
“Yes?”
“I’m very happy right now.”
“Yes,” he said.
“You’re thinking of something else,” Sally murmured.
“Yes.”
“A girl?”
“No.”
“Who, then?”
He stood up. “A murderer, Sally.”
The rain had almost stopped. Under the tall trees beyond Kelly’s shed were two rows of parked cars. Light and noise streamed from the building. Cornell turned toward Kelly’s house at the entrance to the tourist camp, and Sally followed behind him. The camp itself seemed deserted, the patrons attracted to the events in the shed. There were lights in the main house, however, and Cornell stepped up on the wide porch and rang the bell.
“Wait here, Sally.”
After a moment the thin, weary-looking woman he had seen that morning came to the door. “Oh, it’s you.” She looked alarmed, then defensive. “Kelly ain’t here. He’s at the barn, with all them gamblin’ men.”
“I just want to use your telephone,” Cornell said.
She muttered in her soft Shore drawl, but stood aside to let him in. The house was as untidy inside as out. The woman gestured to the phone on a rickety table and hesitated, as if debating whether to stand by and listen. Cornell eyed her as he asked for the operator, and she shrugged and shuffled away. It took a moment to get a connection through to Milly Rulov. The blonde’s voice sounded queerly stifled in the humming receiver.
“Yes?”
“Milly,” Cornell said, “this is the man who saw you this morning. When Yvan couldn’t talk to me. We—”
The blonde broke in with a gasp. “Oh, thank goodness. I’ve been trying to find you. Where are you?”
“I can’t say,” Cornell told her.
“But Yvan wants to talk to you. He says it’s important.”
“Where is he?”
“He’ll be back. It’s about last night.”
“Does he remember anything more?”
“Yes, but he won’t tell me about it. He says it’s too dangerous. He wants to give the information to you, because you’ll know what to do with it. Look, I know you don’t want to give yourself away. But he can meet you somewhere, can’t he?”
Cornell hesitated. It meant a delay.
“All right. Does he know about Kelly’s, tonight?”
“The roosters? Oh, sure.”
“Tell him to meet me there,” Cornell said quickly.
“In half an hour,” Milly promised, and hung up.
Sally was waiting in the cool dampness of the porch. Her eyes were anxious. “What now?”
“We wait.”
“There are a lot of people at Kelly’s. It’s dangerous.”
“We’ll go right into the middle of them,” he said.
Stepping into Kelly’s shed was like entering another world. It was not a barn, but an arena. Smoke hung thickly in the air, shredded by movement and the babble of voices. There was a twenty-foot matted ring in the center of the big room, with a low board railing around it and a double row of seats beyond. Almost all the seats were occupied. Cornell paused inside the doorway, adjusting his gaze to the glare and movement of the crowd.
There was a dead gamecock in the pit. One of the pair of setters-to was walking off with the victor, a bloody but triumphant Dominique rooster. The steel spur on its foot glistened red.
Sally’s face reflected sharp distaste at the scene. A few of the nearby spectators turned to look at them. Sally whispered, “Barney, isn’t this illegal?”
“Sure,” he nodded. “Do you want to tell Deputy Hannigan about it? He’s right across the ring, over there. The little fat man with the money in his fist. You met him before, with Gootsie.”
Hannigan stood with a group of well-dressed professional men who had come from the surrounding large cities. Salted in the crowd were those with the flat tidewater countries indelibly stamped on their seamed faces. There was no other sign of the law around.
Cornell moved toward the edge of the ring with Sally. No one paid much attention to them. He gathered from the conversation around him that two mains had already taken place, and a third was about to begin. He scarcely glanced at the rituals in the pit: the weighing in and billing of the birds. His eyes swept the circle of faces and the breath went out of him as he recognized Sam Hand’s bald head. Sally saw him at the same moment.
“Barney, let’s get out of here.”
“We can’t. We have to wait for Rulov.”
“But Hand has his men with him.”
“Nothing will happen here.”
Down in the pit there came a sudden flurry of bloody feathers as the two roosters flew at each other. Excitement stirred the crowd. Hand leaned forward, intent only on the miniature feathered gladiators in the arena. He hadn’t seen them. Cornell wondered what the man was doing here. Perhaps he suspected Cornell was in the vicinity. On the other hand, the mains were recreation for men who liked to gamble and watch the feathers fly. It could be a coincidence.
Of more concern was the problem of law agents in the crowd. Kelly hadn’t kept this a secret, even after Hannigan had issued his warning. Kelly was busy selling beer and liquor to the sweating crowd. The thing to do, Cornell decided, was to relax. In fifteen minutes he could expect Rulov. After that, he would go ahead with his original plan.
The next main seemed to be the one everybody was waiting for. It was a grudge fight, between a Whitehackle belonging to a man named Claney and a Dominique belonging to a man named Johnson. The feud was one of long standing. Despite himself, Cornell found his attention on the pit. The setters-to had entered the arena, one holding Clancy’s Whitehackle, the other Johnson’s Dominique. The two birds were being billed to get them hopping mad. They wore long gaffles—spurs a full two and a half inches long. The tiny steel sabers glinted wickedly in the smoky light.
Cornell felt Sally’s hand on his arm. He followed her nod to the entrance across the barn. “This is a popular place. Something is going to happen around here, sure enough,” she said.
Kari Stone and Paul Evarts had just come in. The couple looked incongruously well dressed among the roughly clad men around them. Evarts looked pale. He dabbed at his forehead with a handkerchief and said something to Kari. Their eyes scanned the double tiers of seats. Cornell made no attempt to hide as Kari’s eyes, cool and haughty, found him. She spoke to Evarts and they started working their way around the pit.
A disapproving roar came from the spectators. Th
e Dominique was staggering, one eye torn out, its breast spattered with blood. It wouldn’t fight. The setters-to looked at the owner for permission and then climbed into the pit and picked up the two birds, placing them breast to breast again in the matted circle. Clancy’s Whitehackle flew forward with a scurry of wild feathers. Its wicked little sabers glistened with blood.
Johnson’s bird staggered and moved toward the rail as if drunk; and then, quite suddenly, it fell over on its side and lay still. There was a murmur of puzzlement that blended into applause for the triumphant Whitehackle. The owner of the dead bird gripped his knees with white-knuckled hands. Cornell felt an odd alarm. There was something wrong about the whole scene, something detestable about the atmosphere of the barn, with its double row of taut, bloodthirsty faces, the smell of feathers, and the bloodstained matting in the pit. The women were worse than the men, he thought fragmentarily. There were a dozen of them, and the shouts and applause came loudest from them.
Evarts had paused and was talking to Sam Hand. Kari had stopped, too, and looked across the ring at Cornell, a small smile on her lips. Her eyes flicked to Sally Smith, and Cornell smiled faintly in return.
He looked at his watch. More than half an hour had gone by. Rulov hadn’t shown up yet. He suddenly felt as if the walls of a trap were closing in on him. He shouldn’t have wasted this much time, he thought. If his theory was correct, they were all after his hide, his and Sally’s. That would explain Hand’s presence, certainly. And he had a hunch that Congressman Keach must be somewhere nearby, too. Well, let them watch and wait, he decided. He turned to Sally. “Let’s get out of here.”
“But Mrs. Stone—”
“Come on, Sally. Don’t be silly.”
It was almost as if his thoughts were a signal for the others. Sam Hand stood up and started for the exit, with Paul Evarts in his wake. After a moment’s hesitation, Kari joined them. Cornell paused. Elbowing past the others as they left came Milly Rulov. There was no sign of recognition on either side. Cornell said, “Wait a minute” to Sally, and then, when Milly glimpsed him through the smoke over the crowded pit, “Let’s go.”
Milly’s broad mouth twitched when she recognized him. She looked different, neatly dressed in a gray gabardine suit, her long hair in a prim bun at the nape of her neck, a jangle of thin silver bracelets on her wrist.
State Department Murders Page 13
