Death's Sweet Song (15 page)

“Sure, but let's go inside where I can wash up a little.” I needed the time to get set for whatever was coming. We went inside and I went into the bathroom and washed my hands. When I came out I felt that I was as ready as I would ever be.

“All right, fellows, what can I do for you?”

Otis sat on the edge of the bed, Ray took a chair, and I stood there in the doorway. “Well,” the Sheriff said slowly, “it isn't much, but I can't afford to overlook a thing. You've heard that they found Otto's-body in the lake.”

Not trusting my voice, I nodded.

“He was a fine old man,” Ray King said softly, and I nodded again, watching the Sheriff. Otis was staring down at his hands, and I couldn't tell what was going on in his mind. Ray King went on: “The picture's pretty clear now, Joe. Old Otto was killed during the robbery and his fingerprints were planted all over the place to throw us off the trail. The whole town's worked up about it. So is the Sheriff, and so am I. We want that killer, Joe, we want him bad!”

“I know how you feel,” I said. “I liked Otto, too. I guess everybody did.” My voice sounded all right. It was calm enough.

The Sheriff raised his head. “The point Ray's trying to make, Joe, is that we can't overlook a thing, no matter how small, if there is a chance in a million it might help us. That's the reason we're here.”

“I understand, Otis.”

“Well, here it is. The day before the robbery you were out to the box factory, weren't you?”

So that was it. “That's right,” I said. “I stopped by to pay Pat Sully some money I owed him.”

“So Pat told me. Joe, were you going somewhere else and just happened to drop by, or did you make a special trip just to see Pat?”

“Why, I guess I made the trip special. I was downtown and just happened to think of it—that's the way I do things sometimes.” I didn't like the way this was going. I couldn't tell where it was leading or what they were thinking. They just sat there dead-faced, their eyes expressionless.

“Now tell me this, Joe. Did you notice anything out of the way while you were out there that day?”

I could hear my heart pounding. “What do you mean, Sheriff?”

“I mean you used to work at the box factory and were pretty familiar with the place. You knew all the people, the buildings. It occurred to me that a person who hadn't been out there for a while might notice something that people who work there every day might pass by. I just want to know if you noticed anything out of the way, no matter how small—something that might help us.”

I made a show of thinking it over. “I'm sorry, Sheriff, I can't think of a thing.”

“Tell me just what you did while you were out there.”

“Did? Well, not much. I just went in and gave Pat the money I owed him and left. I wasn't there more than two or three minutes.”

“I see.” Otis took off his Stetson and wiped the sweat-band with his handkerchief. “Well, it was just a chance. I've talked to everybody at the factory, and they're not much help. There's one more thing, Joe, if you don't mind.”

“Sure.”

“It's out there in the car. I want you to take a look at something.”

What was he getting at now? Was it a trick? Was he beginning to suspect something or was it just routine? I felt as though my nerve ends had worked to the top of my skin. If anybody had touched me I'd have yelled.

But I managed to keep a straight face as we filed out of the cabin. Ike Abrams was standing at the corner of the station, watching us, and Otis called to him. “Come on back here, Ike, if you're not busy.” And then he opened the car door and there it was, on the floor.

The flywheel that I had tied to the body.

“Have you ever seen this before, Joe?”

At that moment I was completely defeated, crushed. My tongue was thick and my throat tight, and I knew I couldn't utter a word if my life depended on it. To gain time, I pushed my head and shoulders into the back of the car and pretended to take a close look at the flywheel. My God, I thought, he knows everything! He must! Why else would he bring that thing straight to me?

It was a bad moment. But it passed. I made my hands stop trembling. By sheer force of will I made myself stand up and say calmly, “Is this the flywheel that was tied to the body?”

“That's right. Did you ever see it before?”

“I don't think so. Of course, I can't be sure. Ike works on cars sometimes, back of the station, and leaves extra parts around.”

“What do you do with those extra parts?”

“Have them hauled away with the tin cans and other trash that piles up in a place like this. Maybe once a month I call a truck and have the stuff taken out to the dumping grounds.”

“I see.” Then he said, “Ike, how about you? You ever see a flywheel like this before?”

“Sure,” Ike said, and my insides seemed to shrivel.

“Have you ever seen
 
this
 
one before?”

“Can't be sure about that. But it looks like one that used to be back in the station.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Well...” Ike pushed closer and had a good look. “Well, the ring gear is still on it, for one thing. See how chewed up it is? It looks like the assembly I took out of Dr. Hooper's old Dodge not too long ago. He had a bad habit of pushing the starter while the engine was running— absent-minded, I guess—and that's the reason the ring gear is chewed up the way it is. Had a hell of a time with the pinion gear jamming.”

“Is that the reason you replaced the flywheel?”

“Hell, no. Just a new ring gear would have fixed that part of it. That old car of his had a bad clutch that scored a flywheel. Had to replace the whole assembly.”

“When was that?”

“Maybe a month ago. A little longer.”

Otis turned to me. “Have you had the trash hauled since then?”

That was the big question. That was the jackpot question, and it could kill me if I didn't come up with the right answer.

That clutch, that flywheel, they had been taken out together, and it was reasonable to assume that they had been hauled away together. If they had been hauled away. If both of them were still in the station, everything would be fine. But I knew they weren't. If both of them were gone, that would be fine, too. But that clutch was still there.

You'd better think fast, Hooper.

And I couldn't think at all. I stood there with my forehead screwed up, trying to look as if I was thinking, but there was just a roaring emptiness in my brain. There was only one thing to do. I had to bluff it. I had to lower my head and bull my way through, and hope that Otis Miller would take it.

I heard myself saying, “Sure, all that stuff was hauled away almost a month ago. It's about time I called the truck again.”

“Ike would remember the hauling, wouldn't he?”

That was the end. I might as well get set for it. I looked at Ike and knew that he would be no help at all. “Sure,” I said, surprised to hear that my voice was still normal. “I guess Ike would remember.”

Ike was scratching his head, looking a bit sheepish. “Sheriff,” he said slowly, “I can't be sure when the last hauling was done, but I think I know what you're getting at. You're trying to trace that flywheel, is that right?”

“It's the only clue we have. That's right, Ike.”

“The flywheel I mentioned we had in the station, do you figure it's the same one you have in your car?”

The Sheriff said nothing. He just waited.

“Well,” Ike went on, “like I said, I don't remember exactly about the hauling. But I do remember that clutch assembly, because I took it home with me.”

The Sheriff's eyes widened. He looked as though he had reached for his gun and discovered it wasn't there. “What do you mean, Ike—you took it home with you?”

“Well...” Ike was sweating now. He knew that he had just kicked one of Otis Miller's ideas full of holes. I felt like the man who got a reprieve after they had already strapped him to the chair. I could hear relief whistling through my teeth. Suddenly I could smile. I could breathe again. Riding this kind of luck, nothing could stop me. Nothing! It was all I could do to keep from laughing.

The Sheriff was waiting.

“Well,” Ike said again, “I figured Joe wouldn't mind. I had an idea I could use some of the parts sometime.”

“Have you still got that clutch assembly?”

“Sure. At home.” Then Ike got smart, as he sometimes did. He stopped talking.

The Sheriff looked at Ike, then at me, then he took off his hat and wiped his face. Then, surprisingly, he grinned. “Well, I guess that's all. Sorry to have bothered you, Joe.”

“Not at all, Sheriff.” He could never in the world pin anything on me now, no matter what he was thinking behind that grin.

Then Otis turned to Ray King. “We'd better be going. I want to check with all garages and salvage yards on this thing.”

Ike and I stood there as they got into the car and drove out to the highway. My feeling of elation began to melt as the car disappeared. It had been a close thing—too close for comfort. If Otis had caught me in that lie about the flywheel, it would have been all over.

I used the stove-repair excuse on Ike again and back to the Sheldon cabin. Paula had the question ready before I got the door open.

“What did the Sheriff want?”

“I don't know what he wanted. He was very polite, but that doesn't mean a thing with Otis Miller.”

“What kind of questions did he ask?”

“It isn't the questions that matters. Most of them didn't make sense. But he had that damn flywheel with him. That's the important thing.”

Sheldon was awake again. He had been following the talk with his eyes closed, but now he opened them. His voice was husky, not much more than a whisper.

“He didn't trace the flywheel to you, did he?”

“Not for sure, but he may have ideas. There's no way of telling about a man like Otis.” I went over to the bed and said, “How do you feel?”

“Like hell.”

“You'd better take a turn for the better, because you've got to get out of here.”

Paula stepped between us.

“Look,” I said tightly, “I know what I'm talking about. This sheriffs no dummy. Sooner or later he'll begin tying all the loose ends together, and that will be the end of us.”

“We'll leave,” Paula said calmly, “when the doctor says it's all right. Not before.”

I could feel anger swelling in my throat. Tread lightly, I told myself. Take it easy and think straight. I turned and walked out.

Paula followed me out of the cabin and caught me at the bottom step. “This is the way it has to be, Joe. I don't like it any better than you do, but I can't leave him to die.” She looked at me. Then she took my hand and I could feel the current going up my arm. “It's going to work out all right, Joe.”

“You don't know the Sheriff.”

“It's going to work out. I can feel it. Karl will be ready to travel before long. When things cool off, you can contact me through my sister, just the way we planned.”

I wanted her, but I also wanted to stay alive. I said “That husband of yours is going to get us nothing but trouble. Leave him to me and I'll get rid of our troubles before they kill us.”

Her eyes snapped angrily. “No! Can't I make you understand? I owe Karl something, I owe him plenty, and this is the only way I can pay him back. Seeing him through this is the only way I'd ever feel right about leaving him.”

“This is a hell of a time to develop scruples about paying your debts!”

“Nevertheless, that's the way it is. I'm no good, Joe, but neither am I completely rotten.”

“All right!” I was mad, but not so mad that I didn't realize that I had to get away from there. “Nurse him back to health, if you can. Take your time. Everything's going to be just dandy.” I went back to the station and worked on the grease rack until I had calmed down.

It was a long day. They don't come any longer than that one.

I couldn't keep my mind on business for wondering about the Sheriff and whether or not he actually suspected anything. I knew one thing—I had to get hold of my father and have him patch Sheldon up well enough to travel. Every minute they remained in Creston piled more odds on Otis Miller's side of this thing.

I called my dad twice that afternoon but he wasn't home. There was nothing to do but wait.

I was on edge again when Ike came in, wearing that stupid grin of his.

“Well,” I said, “maybe you'll tell me what's so goddamn funny.”

Ike didn't bat an eye. “You know,” he said, “you're beginnin' to act just like Frank Sewell when he broke up with his wife. Damn if he wasn't the hardest man to live with you ever saw.”

“If I'm so hard to live with,” I said, “maybe you'd like to gather up your work clothes and quit.”

“Nope,” Ike said quietly. “I figure you'll get over it after a while.”

I never figured that Ike fancied himself as any cupid, but I could see that he was trying to swing the conversation around to me and Beth Langford. That was about the next to the last thing in the world I wanted to talk about.