“If you can.”
I kissed her. “Yes, darling. If I can.”
It wasn’t very heroic, and there was nothing heroic about the way I kissed her. I didn’t want to go, didn’t want to stick my neck out, or in.
But I had to, and I went.
I went fast. The walls of Vista Canyon flashed by, the roadside signs blurring before me. “DRIVE SLOWLY” meant nothing to me. And “DANGER—FALLING ROCKS” was kid stuff. I wasn’t afraid of falling rocks. I was afraid of seeing the Professor’s car, or Jake’s, in the rear-view mirror. I was afraid of seeing Doc Sylvestro waiting for me in ambush with a sawed-off shotgun.
As I approached the heart of the Canyon I slowed down. Just before the turn which brought me to the crossroads beneath the hillside, I pulled over to the shoulder and stopped the motor. I climbed out and walked cautiously around the bend. A car was parked up against the trees—a strange car. I inspected it, noted the familiar AMA seal. Dr. Sylvestro’s heap, all right. That meant he was still up there.
I returned to my car and started the motor. A U-turn was dangerous here, but it was more dangerous to leave the car standing where it could be seen. If Sylvestro recognized it, or if the Professor and Jake arrived, it meant, as they say in the drapery business, curtains.
So I drove back slowly down the road until I hit another side path in the Canyon. I pushed the car up the dirt roadbed until I found a spot under some trees, out of sight. I parked here and walked back on foot. I kept looking over my shoulder, in case somebody came along. And I kept looking ahead, anticipating Doc Sylvestro.
My neck got sore in a hurry. It was hot, but sunset wasn’t far off. I came abreast of the crossing again, glanced up at the hillside house far above me, and then found a clump of bushes to screen me. Then I sat down, lit a cigarette, and let the sand fleas have dinner. The cigarette smoke didn’t rise above the bushes, nor did I. I sprawled out and watched the sunset.
Pretty soon it was twilight on the trail, and the ranch-hands were gathered around the fire swapping yarns, the rich and poor alike lolled at their ease before the festive board, and I still sat in the prickly weeds, turning my flea-bitten face to the hilltop. I leaned back and closed my eyes. I began to doze...
Muffled sound from far away: door slam, crunching, footsteps. Dr. Sylvestro descended interminable stairs. I caught glimpses of him through the trees. He minced down, carrying the inevitable black bag. He stopped at the bottom, mopped his forehead and pulled out a cigarette. He lit it, and a little red eye moved through the dusk towards his car.
The car started, rolled down the road, out of sight. I waited until the sound of the motor died away in the dim distance, and then I got up. I said goodbye to the fleas and crossed over to the wooden stairway.
I climbed. There was no handrail, and the Canyon depths loomed below. A crowd of bats, courtesy Universal Pictures, flew out of an old vampire movie and chittered at me. The sky darkened. I sweated. Up and up and up. I looked down at the gray ribbon of the road. No cars coming. I went on. Then I stood on a level, stone-set patio, before the porch. The windlass for the little cable car occupied part of the area. I occupied what was left. The house before me was dark. This time I knew what to do. I went around to the porch and looked for the place where I’d slashed the screen. It accommodated me promptly. I entered through the porch and walked into the parlor.
The house was more than dark—it was empty. There were no signs of a struggle, nothing to indicate what Dr. Sylvestro might have been doing. Perhaps I’d been mistaken. Perhaps Miss Bauer had left. She might be at Caldwell’s place right now. Best thing to do was call and find out, at once.
I looked around for the phone and couldn’t find it. I walked through the hall and peeked into the bedroom. Nothing there. The bed was made, no signs of packing or confusion. I was relieved. I walked on, into the kitchen.
Even before I entered, I could smell it: the strangely familiar odor, the instinctively recognized reek. An attempt had been made to mop up. But there were stains on the table, on the floor all around it. I thought of an operating room—Dr. Sylvestro and his black bag! But then, where—?
Humming. Humming from the corner. Something huge and white and gleaming, something that hummed and purred as it crouched next to the refrigerator. I walked over to the deep-freeze, tugged the handle, raised the lid of the freezer chest.
I saw the packages wrapped in heavy preserving paper—six of them. I lifted out the top one, the round one. I unwrapped Miss Bauer’s head.
Eighteen
There was nothing else for me to do, then. I closed the freezer and left the kitchen, left the humming and the odor and the stains. I found the phone in the dining room to my left.
I clicked the receiver, sharply. I said, “Give me the police department, please.”
An answering voice came. “What are you doing here?”
It was Rogers who spoke.
Here?
I dropped the mouthpiece. Rogers wasn’t here. How did he get on the phone? Then I realized. The phone was connected with the vaults under the fox pen!
I knew it now. I knew there wouldn’t be time to make a call, because Rogers was climbing out of the cistern. I heard a clang as I ran toward the porch door. I stood on the patio, at the head of the stairs. I gazed down into darkness. I’d have to take those stairs in the dark now, and I’d have to move fast.
Feet thudded behind me. The porch door banged. Then I saw the flash, heard the sound of the shot. It went sprang! And it was close, too close. I ran forward. The windlass loomed. I could use the cable car.
There was another shot, another flash and spang! I jumped into the car and reached over to trip the windlass. A knife slashed at my wrist. It was too dark, too close for Rogers to use a gun. He had a knife now, and he was cutting the cable.
I reached out, groped, grabbed. He kicked at my face. I found his leg in the darkness, held on. He toppled but I was a second too late. Something snapped, and suddenly the car was plunging down through a gauntlet of branches that stabbed my face. Rogers squirmed in my arms. We were crashing together, clattering, ripping, roaring in a flimsy wooden car that was like an orange crate.
He still had his knife, and the blade grazed my throat. I twisted his arm. He grunted and bit into my shoulder. I pushed him forward in the swaying car. It was black, no moon shone, and the trees clawed me as we rumbled down. He stood up, trying to kick. The car tipped forward.
I threw myself against him. He screamed and went down. Down and over the side of the car. It went over him. And then it began to turn.
I hurtled down through the treetops with his scream in my ears. I fell and rolled, fell and rolled, and the car crashed past me, and then I hit bottom and lay there, covered with a blanket of black.
A long time later, I opened my eyes. That hurt. But it didn’t particularly matter, because everything hurt. My head and neck ached. For a moment I lay still and tried to keep my eyes shut while I sorted and catalogued the varieties of pain.
I raised up, bracing myself on my hands. I was on the ground, but needles were lacerating my hands. Pine needles. Could I stand up? I could try. There was a tree trunk far away: light-years, pain-years away. I hunched forward and my fingers clawed bark, braced the broad surface. I got to my knees, embracing the tree trunk. It must have looked silly, and it hurt like hell.
I stood up, raising myself by degrees. I could hear something snap. It might be twigs; it might be my vertebrae. But I had to stand up, lift up that load of pain. Weary totin’ dat heavy load. And where was the lonesome road? I found it. I walked very slowly, very softly. I bumped into bushes, and it hurt. I bumped into trees, and it hurt. But I kept right on walking, through the thick underbrush.
Deep darkness and crickets all about me. I was walking along the dry bed of a little gully. It was dusty. I smelled the dust when I stumbled and fell. I coughed and got up and walked again. I wiped dust from my face and something sticky came away in my hand. I kept moving. I had to find
the car on the side road. Once I found it, I had to drive it. And that would only be the beginning of this night’s work.
The car was parked where I left it. I managed to open the door and climb in. Then I sat for a moment, waiting for my strength to come back. After a while I realized I’d have to wait for a long, long time. So I just started the car and drove away.
At first I drove very slowly and then I drove fast. The road kept winding and winding and I wound with it. Finally I was out of the Canyon and back on the highway. I checked my watch. Only 9 P.M. Only?
But that meant I’d been gone from Caldwell’s for over four hours. And during that time, anything could happen. Miss Bauer was dead. Where was Dr. Sylvestro and the Professor and Jake?
I thought I knew, but I had to make certain. There was just one way to find out. I pulled in at the first filling station. I went to the washroom, first, and cleaned up—trying not to look at my face in the mirror. The cold water felt good on my face and neck and wrists.
Then I lit a cigarette, came out, and used the wall phone. It rang and rang for a long time before somebody picked it up at the other end. I didn’t say anything, didn’t even breathe until I heard the voice. Then I relaxed.
It was Caldwell, all right.
“Hello,” he said.
“You all right?” I asked. “You and Ellen?”
“Yes.”
“Thank God for that! I was afraid the Professor might have figured things out and paid you a call.”
“What happened?”
“It’s too long a story,” I told him. “Tell you when I see you. Miss Bauer is...gone. That’s all you need to know right now. But listen to me carefully. This is important.”
“Right,” he said.
“I want you and Ellen to stay where you are. Call the cops at once—tell them you just had a threatening phone call, or anything you want. Just so you get them to send a squad over to watch your house. The Professor might still show up. Will you do that?”
“Yes.”
“I’m going down to Long Beach, to the boardwalk. The way I figure it, that’s the logical place for the Professor to hide your pictures and negatives. He’d never leave them around his home once he thought I’d be up there. So I’m on my way now.
“Tell Ellen not to worry. If I see the Professor or Jake I won’t go in. But I’ve got to make a search and move fast. I’ll call you the minute I’m finished.”
“Right.”
I hung up and went out. I drove away quickly. From now on, everything would depend on timing. Timing and luck. I circled Venice, kept on going. I was beginning to feel better, now. No bones broken, and at least Caldwell and Ellen were safe and under police protection. All I had to do was find the photos. Timing and luck.
Long Beach loomed ahead. I parked, headed for the boardwalk through the tunnel. I kept my eyes open. No sign of Jake, no sign of the Professor, no sign of Dr. Sylvestro—just the usual evening crowd. I thought of my first visit here, months ago. I’d hated the crowd, then. Now I wanted to reach out and touch people as they passed by—touch them, stop them, tell them I needed their help. Well, they couldn’t help me. I didn’t deserve help. This was something I had to do on my own. I had to do it and succeed, so that I could take my place among people once again.
I stood in front of the pitch. The horse-faced woman nodded at me—she’d seen me often enough, by now, to be friendly.
“Anyone around?” I asked. “Jake, or the Professor?”
She shook her head. “Haven’t seen them all evening. I’m just taking it easy until closing time. Jake said he probably wouldn’t show up tonight but I should stick, just in case he needed me.” She turned the page of a comic book.
I moved past her.
“You going in?”
“Just for a minute,” I told her. “Rogers left my script here yesterday, he tells me. I’m on my way into town. Thought I’d stop by and pick it up.”
It was a simple, logical excuse. She looked up from the page and said, “Want I should help?”
“No, that’s all right. I think I know where it is.”
I headed for the entrance, and then I was going down the short, dark passageway. My skin began to tingle in anticipation—I didn’t like dark passageways, however short. But there was no one waiting for me.
The inner room was empty, too. The banners hung listlessly in the background and when I snapped on the dim overhead light I saw nothing but the covered table and the crystal ball. I didn’t expect to see more. There was a second room in back. Here Jake retired when business was slack and brewed himself a pot of coffee over a hot plate.
I poked my head around the corner tentatively. Nobody took a crack at my skull, so I went inside. Chair, cot, chest of drawers, hot plate, shelf—my eyes inventoried and appraised. Where would he hide the pictures?
I went to work. I turned the chair upside down. I overturned the cot and felt the padding thoroughly. I took all the drawers out of the chest. I swept the plates and cups off the shelf. I even inspected the inside of the coffee pot and the bottom of the hot plate. I drew nothing but blanks. Then I went back into the other room. I kicked over both chairs, ripped out the padding. I yanked the cloth off the table, holding the crystal ball carefully in my hand. No photos, no negatives.
I was wrong. They weren’t here, after all. Sighing, I set the crystal ball back on the bare surface of the table. The clouded crystal ball. Too bad it wasn’t real—then I could stare into it and find out where the pictures were.
I could stare into it and—
My fingers scooped it up, twirled the base. It came free. And there, inside the rounded hollow, I found what I’d been looking for: five pictures. Negatives, two sets of negatives. The works. My hands trembled as I set them down on the table and fumbled for a match. It was very hard to strike a light, but I knew I’d make it. The match flared up. Then, all at once, the flame wavered. The flame wavered, because something came up with a rush and a swoop behind me. I tried to turn, but the match went out.
Something came down on the back of my head, and I went out, too.
Nineteen
“Eddie, are you all right?”
It was Ellen’s voice. I opened my eyes and stared up into her face. My head was on her lap. She massaged the side of my neck. The back of my head throbbed. But I could forget about that, as long as Ellen was with me.
Ellen was with me. But that meant—I tried to sit up and almost made it.
“Take it easy,” she said. “Wait a minute.”
But I didn’t have a minute to wait. I had to sit up, even though the walls spun round and round. I had to sit up, focus my eyes, and stare at my surroundings. I had to find out where I was, where we were.
I managed. Ellen and I were on a couch in a small room. The walls were of unfinished board, nailed loosely in slats over a base of stone. I could see the stone through the boards because some of them were badly warped by dampness. The air smelled damp and musty. A low-watt naked light bulb dangled from the ceiling, its wire connection trailing off to another room beyond a low door.
There was only one other piece of furniture—a chair— and Caldwell slumped forward in it. He looked at me, nodded, but did not smile. Ellen wasn’t smiling, either. Come to think of it, neither was I.
Quite a reunion. Quite a surprise. I’d always been sentimental about reunions, but this wasn’t the time or the place. I could see that at a glance.
“So they got you, eh?” I said.
“That’s right,” Caldwell sighed, heavily. “The way I figure it, Jake or the Professor came to and called Doc Sylvestro out at the Canyon. He took care of Miss Bauer. They didn’t figure you coming back out, so you surprised Rogers.
“They thought you’d come to me. And that’s where they went looking. We had the door locked, but Jake got in through the cellar. Before we suspected anything, he had a gun on us and then he and the Professor took over.”
I shook my head, trying to shake off some of the pain and no
t succeeding very well at it. Apparently this wasn’t my day for success.
“Might have figured it if I hadn’t been so stupid,” I said. “Then I suppose they were already there when I called you?”
“Yes,” Caldwell told me. “They were there, all right. Jake had his gun in my back all the time I was talking to you. I wanted to warn you, somehow, but—he had his gun in my back, and...”
His voice trailed away in a sigh.
“Not your fault,” I said. “What else could you do? So they knew I was going to the boardwalk and they came after me.”
“Sylvestro did,” Ellen said. “The Professor and Jake brought us here in their car. Sylvestro took you.”
“Just where are we?” I asked. Then, “Don’t tell me. I already know. Well, I always wanted to find out what the Professor’s hideout looked like. I always wanted to get down into the cistern. Looks like my wish is granted.”
“Take it easy, Eddie.”
I stood up. The room whirled, but I waited until it was steady once more. “Where are they?” I asked. “And what are they up to? They didn’t tie us up or anything. Maybe we can—”
“Forget it.”
I recognized the shadow even before the bullet head poked around the side of the door. Good old Jake. Good old Jake and his big fat .45.
“The dame’s right,” he said. “Take it easy. Doc and the Professor are having a little conference. They’ll be ready for you in a minute.”
I grinned at him. He grinned back. Then he slouched into the room. I watched him, watched the gun. Both kept coming closer.
“You know something?” Jake asked. I could smell alcohol on his breath, and I could also smell that acrid, metallic odor common to guns. I didn’t like either one, and both were close.
“What’s that?” I watched him and the gun, but I didn’t move, didn’t dare to move.
“That was a dirty trick you pulled on Rogers. We found him in the bushes. A dirty trick. I don’t like dirty tricks.”
Hard Case Crime: Shooting Star & Spiderweb Page 29
