Death's Sweet Song (18 page)

“He'll be better off without me.”

“Karl asked you once if you had a girl here in Creston. Do you, Joe?”

“Not any more.”

“No girl, no roots.”

“Nothing.”

“Just me?”

“Just you.”

She laughed. The sound of that laughter cut like a whip, and at that moment I could have killed her, and I almost did. I knocked her back against the car and grabbed for her throat. But she was too fast for me. She slipped out of my arms and moved quickly along the side of the car, and there was a flash of uneasiness in her eyes. Not fear, just uneasiness that came from the knowledge that she had done something very dangerous. By the time I got my hands on her again that first unreasoning burst of anger had disappeared, but Paula didn't know it.

“Joe, what's wrong?”

“Nothing's wrong,” I said roughly. Then, very gently, I put my hands on her throat and slowly let my fingers begin to squeeze. “Just you, Paula. That's the way you want it, isn't it?”

That was when the first fear showed in her eyes. In my mind were all the things I was giving up for her, and she had laughed at them. I don't know what would have happened if the car hadn't pulled off the highway just then, if the headlights hadn't cut a bright swath across the row of cabins and snapped me out of it. I turned her loose and said, “That must be my father. You'd better go back to Karl.”

She slipped away quickly, as silently as the night itself, and I stood there by the car as rigid as steel. Slowly I made myself relax. I told myself that what had happened had been for the best. She knew who was boss now. That was Sheldon's trouble; he had never let her know who was boss.

It didn't occur to me that my father, in his old Dodge, hadn't had time to reach the station. I watched the headlights coming toward me from the highway, and when the car stopped a little way from my cabin I stepped out and said: “Dad, is that you?”

“No, Joe.” A thick, squat figure stepped out of the car and said, “It's the Sheriff, Joe. Otis Miller.”

The muscles in my legs turned to milksop. The Sheriff waited for Ray King to get out of the car and then the two of them came toward me. If my legs could have worked I would have started running in stark panic—but they wouldn't work and that was the only thing that saved me.

Otis Miller said, “Hope we didn't wake you, Joe, comin' out here like this in the middle of the night.”

“Not at all, Sheriff.” I was amazed that my voice could sound so calm. “Too hot to sleep in that cabin of mine— but we could go in and have a beer. What have you got on your mind?”

“Just some questions, Joe,” Ray King said.

At this time of night! But I merely nodded at the door to my cabin and the two of them went in ahead of me. I followed and turned on the light. Otis sat heavily in the room's only armchair and Ray took the edge of the bed. They were very businesslike. Their faces told me nothing.

“How about that beer?” I said. “There's some in the icebox.”

Both of them shook their heads. “Later, maybe,” Otis said, wiping his face with a handkerchief. “Joe, didn't I see somebody with you as we drove off the highway just a minute ago?”

I was sure they could hear my heart pounding. I had to stand there looking them right in the eye, not knowing what they were thinking, or how much they knew. “Oh, yes,” I said, and again my voice sounded all-right. “That was the lady from the next cabin. Her husband came down with the fever. She knew my father was a doctor and wanted me to call him.”

“Did you do it?”

“Sure, just before you drove up. He'll be here soon.”

I was going to have to explain my father some way when he got here, and I might as well do it now. If Otis and Ray already knew about the Sheldons, there was nothing I could do about it, anyway. I needed a minute to get myself set for whatever was coming, so I said, “Ray, you sure you won't have a beer with me?”

“No, thanks, Joe. Maybe later.”

I went into the kitchen and got a can out of the icebox and opened it. Why had they come here at this time of night? Why in heaven's name had they come? I forced myself to calm down. By sheer will power I stuffed my fear down to the bottom of my guts and held it there. Then I went back to them.

“About those questions. Is it anything special, Sheriff?”

“Can't say yet about that Joe, have you been here all night?”

“No, not all night. I closed the station and went into town to see a movie.”

“By yourself. No one was with you?”

“No, I was by myself.” I tried to grin. “Maybe you've heard; me and Beth Langford kind of called things off.”

He hadn't heard and he wasn't interested.

I said, “What's this all about, anyway? Is it so important that it can't wait till morning?”

“It's important enough,” Otis said. “Joe, how well did you know Bunt Manley?”

Here it comes, I thought. Buy my voice was a thing apart; it answered calmly. “Bunt Manley? Why, I don't know him very well. He put in some federal time for bootlegging a while back, didn't he?”

“When was the last time you saw Manley?”

I started to say I couldn't remember, but I recalled just in time that my dad had seen me with Manley just a couple of hours ago. It would take too short a memory to forget a thing like that.

I said, “Come to think of it, I saw Bunt Manley tonight. Not more than two hours ago.”

“Here at the station?”

“Sure.” I felt a little better. I was convinced that I could make up lies as fast as Otis could ask the questions. “Sure,” I said again. “He drove up to the station just as I was closing up. He wanted some gas.”

“I see. Does Bunt Manley usually trade with you?”

“No, not as a rule. Nearly everybody in town, though, drops in on me at one time or another.”

“What did Manley do after he got his gas?”

“Paid me and drove off, that's all. Say, couldn't you give me an idea what this is about?”

“In a minute. When was the last time you saw Manley before tonight?”

I made a show of thinking. “I can't remember, Sheriff. I might have seen him in town, but not to speak to.”

“I see. Joe, could you give me the time?”

“Sure.” Then I looked at my wrist and my watch wasn't there. “I must have left my watch lying around somewhere,” I said, and started toward the dresser. But Otis stopped me.

He held up a watch and said, “Is this yours, Joe?”

That was when the roof fell in. That watch! I didn't know just what part it was going to play in my future, but I knew it wasn't going to be good. I could see it in the Sheriff's eyes, in the tight lines at the corners of Ray King's mouth. There was absolutely no use denying it was my watch. On the back was the legend “Joseph Hooper, Jr. May 16, 1938,” engraved in the gold. My dad had given me the watch when I was graduated from high school, and if that engraving wasn't enough to settle it, the local jeweler had the records.

It was my watch, all right. But where had it come from? How had the Sheriff got hold of it? I remembered having it on my wrist only a short time before, because I had been counting the seconds while waiting for that train.

Otis Miller said again, “Is this yours, Joe?”

“Yes, it's mine.” That was all I could say.

“Could you guess where we found this watch, Joe?” he asked, his voice silky-smooth, his face bland.

It was like playing barehanded with a swamp moccasin, but I had to play with him until I found out where he was headed. “No, I have no idea where I lost it.”

The Sheriff stood up, a rare smile touching the corners of his thick mouth. “You sonofabitch!” he said softly. “You know, all right.”

Ray King came out of his chair. “Hold it, Otis. Take it easy.”

“Stay out of this, Ray. I swore I'd get the bastard that killed Otto Finney, and by God, I'm going to do it.” He stepped in front of me and shoved the watch in my face. “It's yours, isn't it? You admit it?”

“I told you it was mine.” My heart sank. I could feel the ground falling out from under me.

“AH right, now I'll tell you where we found your watch. Just about an hour ago we picked it up near the railroad tracks where Bunt Manley was murdered. See this leather strap? The stitching is rotten. That's how you lost the watch. You killed Manley, probably while he was here at the station, then you put him in his own car and put the car on the tracks to make it look like an accident. But while you were fooling with that car you caught your watch strap on something and the stitching pulled loose and you lost it. That's the way it happened, isn't it?”

That was
 
exactly the
 
way it happened. But the first shock had worn off and now I was more angry than afraid. I said, “Otis, that's the craziest story I ever heard of. Are you actually accusing me of killing somebody?”

“I'm not accusing you, I'm telling you!”

I turned to the deputy. “Ray, for God's sake, what's got into him? Has he gone out of his mind completely?”

Ray only looked at me. This was Otis Miller's play and he wasn't going to try to take it from him. I wheeled back to the Sheriff.

“Tell me one thing,” I said, “just one thing, before you make any more of these crazy accusations. Why in the world would I want to kill Bunt Manley when I hardly even knew the man?”

“Maybe you didn't want to kill him,” the Sheriff spat. “But maybe you
 
had
 
to kill him. Maybe he came around wanting a bigger share of the money and you decided you had to kill him.”

“What money are you talking about? This gets crazier all the time!”

“You know what money, Hooper. The same money you and Bunt Manley took from old Provo's box factory. If I have to spell it out for you, by God, I'll do it. I've been keeping my eye on Manley ever since he got out of the pen. He's never been any good and I knew sooner or later he'd get himself in bad trouble. So Manley was the one I thought of first when you broke into the factory and killed the old watchman. But Manley couldn't have done the job alone. Somebody had to be in it with him, so when I started looking for a partner I found you.”

The Sheriffs voice was still, soft, and sure.

I was practically yelling. “What the hell do you mean? I thought you were a responsible man, Otis, but here you are building a case on nothing but thin air and making these insane accusations! Well, I've had enough of it! I demand that you offer some proof or shut up and get out of here!”

He grinned. “That suits me fine. We'll start with that bogus bill that you brought around to my office right after the robbery. I knew at the time you were lying through your teeth about just getting it, because that kind of paper hasn't been seen in more than a year. That was a mistake, Hooper, because I started to wonder why you'd go to that much trouble to pump me about the robbery.”

I snorted. “I didn't pump you. I might have mentioned it casually. Hell, the whole town was talking about it. If I mentioned it, do you call that proof that I had a hand in it or killed Manley?”

“And Otto Finney, too,” he said softly. “Don't forget Otto. No, it doesn't prove anything in particular, but it all adds up to a jury.”

We stood there glaring at each other and nobody had to tell me that he had me by the throat and I was fighting for my life. From here on out it would be brass knucks, and I knew it. I tried to get set for it.

“All right,” he said, and his voice was hard now, hitting like a hammer. “Here's something maybe you didn't know. We knew Manley got some ideas during his stay in Leavenworth. We figured he'd try something like this before long. But Manley was smart, we didn't learn a thing from him, so we figured our best bet was to find the man who was in it with him. That turned out to be easier than I had hoped, when we found Otto's body in the lake with that flywheel tied to him. That was your big mistake, Hooper, that flywheel.”

It wasn't “Joe” now, it was “Hooper,” and he said it as though he had a mouthful of quinine.

“That flywheel is the thing that cooked you, Hooper. We have Ike Abrams' word that he took it out of your father's car and left it in the back of your station. No mistake about it, it's the same flywheel. The jury will take Ike's word for that. You and Bunt Manley robbed the box factory and killed the watchman; then you smeared Otto's fingerprints all over the safe to throw me off the track. Finally you brought the body out here, weighted it with that flywheel, then took it out to the lake and dumped it. It's as simple as that and I can prove every damn word of it.

“Have you heard enough? Well, I'm not through yet. There's plenty more. There's something else that started me thinking about you, Hooper. That visit of yours to the box factory. You hadn't been near that factory for years, not since you used to work there, but on the day before the robbery you made the trip just to pay a five-dollar debt. I ask you, does a story like that hold water? Like hell it does! You went out there to get the exact layout in your mind because the robbery was all set for the next night, when you knew the entire payroll would be in the safe. You prowled around the front office, where the safe was, then you went back to the warehouse and talked to some of the workmen.”