A Touch of Death — 61
“Save me from what?” she asked coldly.
I shook my head and took my hands off her arms
to light a cigarette. “Has your car got a radio in it?”
“Yes. Why?”
“I’ll tell you the easy way to find out if I’m telling
the truth. Trying to go back to town is the hard way,
and there’s only one to a customer. In about an hour
there should be some more news. We’ll listen to it.”
“Maybe there’s some on now,” she said. She
picked up her purse and started toward the door.
She had a good start before I realized what she was
up to.
I jumped after her. By the time I reached the door
she had run down off the porch and was standing in
the open, fumbling in the purse for her keys and
looking around for the car.
“Wait!” I yelled. She paid no attention.
She swung her face around and saw the shed at
the side of the house. The car had to be in there. She
whirled, ran one step toward it, and then it
happened.
The purse sailed out of her hands as if a hurricane
had grabbed it. She stopped abruptly and stared as
it flopped crazily and landed six feet away from her
on the edge of the porch, and we both heard the
deadly whuppp! as something slammed into the
front wall of the house.
She was frozen there. I was down off the porch
and running toward her before I heard the sound of
the gun. Without even thinking about it, I knew it
was a rifle and that he was shooting from
somewhere beyond the meadow, over two hundred
yards away She started to run now. I grabbed her. It
was four long strides back to the front step. I dug in,
feeling my whole back draw up into one icy knot. I
was a hundred yards wide, and all target.
I leaped onto the porch. I stumbled, and slammed
in through the open doorway, trying to keep from
falling on her. And just as we hit the floor I saw a
coffee cup on the table ahead of us explode into
A Touch of Death — 62
nothing, like a soap bubble. The pieces rained onto
the floor.
I rolled her over me to get us out of the doorway,
and reached back with one foot to kick the door
shut. He put another one through it just as it closed.
A golden splinter tore off the wood on the inside,
and on the back wall a frying pan hanging on a nail
bounced and clanged to the floor.
It was silent now except for the quick sob of her
breath. We lay on the floor with our faces only
inches apart. The fright was leaving her eyes now,
and I could see comprehension in them, and a
growing coldness.
“Maybe you’d like an affidavit with that,” I said.
I pushed myself up from the floor. She was trying
to sit up. One side of her face was covered with dust,
and a trickle of blood from a splinter scratch was
almost black against the pale column of her throat.
“Stay where you are,” I said. I scooted over and
stood up beside the front window. Peering out one
corner of it, I could see the meadow. It was
completely deserted and peaceful in the sunlight.
Somewhere beyond, in the dark line of timber at the
foot of the hill, he lay with his rifle and waited for
something to move.
He probably wouldn’t try to come any closer. Not
until tonight. But in the meantime nobody would go
out that road.
A Touch of Death — 63
Seven
“The stupid idiot,” she said. I looked around. She
was standing up, squarely in line between the front
and rear windows. I didn’t say anything. I dived.
I hit her just at the waist and took her down with
me, turning a little to land on my shoulder. Splinters
raked through my shirt. Panes in the front and rear
windows blew up at the same time and glass tinkled
on the floor.
“What’s the matter with you?” she spat at me. “Are
you crazy?”
She lay beside me, caught in my arms like a
beautiful and enraged wildcat. I disengaged an arm,
picked a sliver of windowpane off the front of her
robe, held it up so she could see it, and tossed it
toward the front window. Her eyes followed it.
“Oh,” she said.
“If you feel like silhouetting yourself again,” I said,
“tell me where that money is first. You won’t need
it.”
“What can we do?” she asked.
“Several things, I suppose, if I didn’t have to spend
all my time knocking you down. Do you think you
can stay here this time?”
“Yes.”
A Touch of Death — 64
“All right.”
I crawled over her. When I was away from the
windows I stood up and ran into the bedroom.
Grabbing a couple of blankets off one of the bunks, I
draped one across the bedroom window and brought
the other out.
I stood beside the rear window. “Cover your face,”
I said. “We’re going to have more glass.”
She put an arm over her face. I flipped the
blanket. It caught over the old curtain rod. Glass
smashed in the front window again and the blanket
jerked, but remained on the rod. It had a hole in it.
I looked swiftly around. The back door was locked,
the window covered now. The storeroom had no
outside door, no window. He could sneak around to
the sides or back, but he couldn’t see in anywhere to
shoot. And he knew I had his gun.
From that distance he probably couldn’t see in the
front window now, with no light behind it. Maybe he
couldn’t, I thought. I could put another blanket over
it, but I wanted to be able to see out on one side, at
least. The thought of being sealed up in there with
no way to guess where he was didn’t appeal to me.
“Is it all right now?” she asked.
“No. Stay down.”
I looked at her again, and thought of something.
“Take off that robe,” I said.
She sat on the floor and stared coldly at me.
“Don’t we have anything better to do?”
“You have got something on under it, haven’t
you?”
“Yes. Pajamas.”
“Well, shut up and toss it here.”
She shrugged and slid out of it, turning a little to
get it out from under her. The pajamas were blue
and wide-sleeved, the lounging type. She tossed the
robe. I crawled over and stood up beside the front
window and flipped it over the curtain rod. It slid off.
A Touch of Death — 65
I picked it up and tried again. This time I got more of
it over the rod and it stuck. There was no shot.
I stepped back. It was fine. It was just sheer
enough to be transparent with the light on the other
side. I could see the meadow. Nothing stirred.
“All right,” I said. “He can’t see in.”
She stood up. “What do we do now?”
“I don’t know.”
I went over and got the gun out of my coat. I slid
the clip out and looked at it. There was one cartridge
in it. Two, I thought, with the one in the chamber.
“We can’t just stay here,” she said.
“You got a better idea?” I checked the safety again
and shoved the gun in my belt.
I fished in my pocket for a cigarette. The pack was
empty. I went over to the coat and got another. I
opened it, and gave her one. We sat down at the
table. I could see out across the meadow without
being directly behind the window.
“Couldn’t we sneak out the back door and get to
the car?” she asked.
“Sure,” I said. “You might even get it out of the
shed before he killed you. You’ve seen him shoot
that rifle.”
She said nothing.
“And,” I went on, “suppose you did get out to the
highway? What then? Every cop in the state has the
description and license number of that Cadillac.”
She stared thoughtfully at me through the smoke.
“Afoot? Out the back door?”
“It’s twenty miles to the nearest place you could
catch a bus. You’re a dish everybody looks at. And
you’re wearing pajamas and bedroom slippers. Any
more ideas?”
“Charming thug, aren’t you? Shall I cheer you up
for a while now?”
“Why? I’m all right. Nobody knows me; I can still
run.”
A Touch of Death — 66
“Well? Why don’t you?”
“You don’t scare much, do you?”
“Would being scared do any good?”
“You’re about the hardest citizen I’ve ever run
into,” I said. “Did you kill Butler alone, or did that
guy out there help you? Is that how he got in the
act?”
“I don’t know anything about it.”
“Which one of you has the money?”
“I have nothing to say.”
“Who was that girl in the car? Angel-faced ash
blonde, with a hush-puppy accent.”
“Why didn’t you ask her?”
“I don’t think she liked me.”
“I can understand that,” she said.
“Well, you’re popular,” I said. “You’re in great
demand.”
She put the cigarette in the ashtray and leaned
back in the chair with her hands clasped behind her
head. The pajama sleeves slid down her arms. They
were lovely arms.
I watched her, thinking swiftly. We were both in
one hell of a jam, but I was beginning to get the
glimmerings of an idea. It all depended on whether
she had the money or not, and I still believed she
had it.
There was no use even trying to guess whether
she had killed Butler, or whether that man out there
had, or both of them; but I was beginning to respect
the cool and deadly intelligence behind that lovely
face, and I was growing more convinced of one thing
all the time: that no matter who had killed him,
unless that guy out there was a lot smarter than I
thought he was, she was the one that had the
money. It figured that way.
“You’re the Homecoming Queen,” I said.
“Everybody wants you.”
“I really don’t see what you’re waiting around for,”
she said. “You have pointed out that there is no
A Touch of Death — 67
possibility of escape. I agree with you. Any further
discussion of it is superfluous; and you should
realize, if it’s entertainment you’re after, that
taunting me with it is futile.”
I leaned back in the chair and blew a smoke ring.
“I was going to make you an offer.”
“What kind of offer?”
“It doesn’t matter. If you haven’t got that money,
I’d just be wasting my breath.”
She smiled. “You know,” she said, “there is a
touching sort of simplicity about you I almost
admire. Anyone with a less comprehensive stupidity
might get sidetracked once in a while and wander
off the main objective, but you never do. You started
out to get that money, and by God, you’re going to
get it. I almost regret that you won’t.”
“Well, if you haven’t got it, what’s the use talking
about it?”
She shook her head. “It isn’t a question of whether
I have it or not. The real point—as anyone but a
thick-headed mastodon would have figured out
hours ago— is that if I did have it I’d willingly go to
hell before I’d see Diana James get a nickel of it.”
I put down the cigarette and stared at her. So that
was what had been holding up the negotiations. You
never knew. They didn’t make sense; they never did,
not even the smart ones. Not even to save her own
skin. . .
“Look,” I said. “The hell with Diana James. Haven’t
you heard? She’s been scratched.”
“What do you mean?”
“Just that. She double-crossed me before we even
started. She told me you were in Sanport, to get me
to come up here and shake down the house. What
did she care if I got caught?”
“And that isn’t quite all,” she said. “Think again.”
“How’s that?”
A Touch of Death — 68
“You still haven’t seen the full beauty of it.
Suppose I had surprised you and you’d got rattled
and killed me? Wouldn’t that have been tragic?”
I thought about it. The fact that I wouldn’t have
been stupid enough to do a crazy thing like that was
beside the point. Diana James could easily have been
counting on the possibility.
“Well,” I said. “That’s how it is with you friend
Miss James. She’s been dropped from the rolls.”
“I see,” she said coolly. “And now you’re ready to
transfer your great-hearted devotion?”
I walked over and took a good look out the
window. The meadow was empty of life. I came back
and sat down.
“Yes,” I said.
“I’m flattered.”
“Never mind you’re flattered. Have you got the
money?”
“I might have,” she said.
“Where is it?”
“I said I might have.”
“It’ll take more than that, honey,” I said. “Let’s get
it on the line.”
“Why?”
“You haven’t got a chance. You’re cold meat. As
soon as it’s dark and I can get out of here, I’m going
to shove. I can get away. And you’ll be a dead
woman with a hundred and twenty thousand dollars
as soon as your friend out there moves in on you.”
She stared thoughtfully. “And what is this
proposition of yours?”
“The geetus, baby.”
“I have it.”
“You know about not trying to kid me, don’t you?”
Her eyes were cold. “I said I had it.”
I took another drag on the cigarette and looked at
her a long time. There was no hurry. Keep the
pressure on her. “Let’s put it this way,” I said at last.
A Touch of Death — 69
“You’re dead. We both know that. You’re dead twice.
If that character out there doesn’t clobber you with
his rifle, you’ll be caught by the police and go on
trial for murder. With your looks and a good sob
story you might beat the chair and get off with life,
but it’s a sad outlook either way.
“Alone, you haven’t got a prayer. No car, no
clothes, no place to hide. You’re naked, with the
light shining on you. With me helping, you might
have a chance. A slim one. Say one in a thousand.
My deal is the same one Diana James and your
husband cooked up. I’ll try to get you out of here,
hide you until some of the pressure is off and we can
redecorate you as a blonde or redhead, and deliver
you to the West Coast or somewhere. I don’t say I
can do it. You can see the odds yourself. But I’ll try.”
She nodded slowly. “I see. And for how much?”
“Make it a round number. Say a hundred and
twenty thousand dollars.”
She continued to stare at me. “You know, when
you said I was hard, I didn’t realize what an
authority I was listening to.”
“You didn’t think I was going to do it for nothing?
Look at the risk. The minute I start to help you, I’m
committing a crime myself. And when I lose my
amateur standing it’s going to be for big money.”
“So you’d just take all of it?”
“That’s right. Of course, if you get a better offer in
the next hour or so. . .”
“And what would I live on if I did get to the
Coast?”
“What does anybody live on? Go to work.”
“At what? I never did any work in my life.”
“How do I know what? I’m not an employment
counselor. Is it a deal, or isn’t it?”
She thought about it for a minute. Then she
shrugged. “All right. But suppose you get the
money? What guarantee do I have that you’ll carry
out your end of it? Just your innate sense of honor?”
A Touch of Death — 70
“That’s right.”
“Enchanting prospect, isn’t it?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Now, where’s the money?”
She smiled. “That’s the only thing I have in my
favor. You’ll have to go through with at least part of
your bargain before you even get it.”
“Why?’
“It’s in three safe-deposit boxes in Sanport.”
“Safe-deposit boxes!” I stared at her. “Well, how in
the name of God are you going to get at it? With
every cop in the state looking for you!”
“Well, naturally, they’re not rented under my right
name.”
“Oh,” I said. “And where are the keys?”
“At home.”
“In your house?”
She nodded, her eyes a little mocking.
“But that means that even if we can find some way
to get out of here, we’ve still got to go right back in
the lion’s mouth.”
“Umh-humh,” she said. “It isn’t easy, is it? But
that’s the reason I engaged such high-priced talent.
It’s no job for the inept. Let me know when you think
of something.”
* * *
The sun climbed higher. It was hot in the cabin. I
tried to make myself sit still and think, but then I’d
be up and pacing the floor again. I watched the
window constantly.
There was a way out of it. There had to be. All I
had to do was find it. We had to have a car. We
couldn’t use her Caddy, but there was another car
down there somewhere. He had one. But he also had
a rifle, and he knew how to use it.
“Do you suppose he’s gone?” she asked. She was
still sitting at the table, finishing another drink.
A Touch of Death — 71
“Of course not,” I said. “He’s just waiting. We have
to move sometime, and when we move he lets us
have it.”
“How does he know we haven’t sneaked out the
back door and left on foot?”
“Because,” I explained curtly, “he knows how
you’re dressed. He knows you’re not going anywhere
without a car. And we can’t use the Cadillac, even if
he wasn’t watching it with a gun.”
She poured another drink. The bottle was nearly
empty. She held up the glass and looked at it. “Well,
you’re the high-priced expert.”
She was chromium-plated and solid ice both ways
from the middle. From her attitude you’d think she
was merely a spectator at all this. It was something
she was watching from the first row balcony and
finding a little tiresome.
The air was clammy with heat. My shirt stuck to
me. I looked at her and the bottle with irritation.
“Look. You can lay off that sauce.”
She glanced briefly up at me. “And you can mind
your own business.”
I sat down across from her. I caught the front of
her pajamas and pulled her up straight in the chair.
“Let s get this straight. Right now. If we get out of
here, for about the next two months I’m going to
have the job of trying to hide you from the police.
It’s going to be rough, believe me. And if you get
caught I’m in the bucket too. So I don’t intend to
make the job any harder by having to watch out for a
blabber-mouthed lush wandering around in a fog.
You’ll stay sober.”
There was only faint interest in her face, as if she
were just waiting for me to crawl back under a rock.
“If you’re certain you’ve finished,” she said, “you
might take your hands off my clothing.”
“Yes, Empress,” I said. I shoved her back in the
chair. “But keep it in mind.”
“Do you intend doing anything about getting us
out of here?”
A Touch of Death — 72
“I’m working on it, Your Highness. But we can’t go
anywhere until after dark, anyway. So keep your
pants on.”
“Barbarian.”
“Who is that guy out there?”
“How would I know? He hasn’t sent in his card.”
“Cut it out. Who is he?”
“I fail to see where it concerns you. You’re being
paid to neutralize him, not identify him.”
“Boyfriend?”
“As you wish,” she said boredly
“Who killed Butler? Both of you?”
She made no answer. She merely stared at the
empty space where I would have been sitting if I
hadn’t already crawled back under the rock.
Even if we got out of here, I thought. . .
Living with her for two months was going to be
fun. Which one of us would start to come unglued
first?
A Touch of Death — 73
Eight
I stood with my back against the rear window and
stared out the front. As nearly as I could, I lined up
the broken panes front and rear, and sighted. He’d
be right in there somewhere. There was no reason
for him to move, if he could see everything from
where he was. He could watch the house there, and
he could cover the road.
There was nothing to mark his spot, however. One
area in the timber was just like any other. I looked
farther up the hill. On the skyline and a little to the
right I saw a tall tree that had apparently been
struck by lightning. That would serve as a reference
point.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Getting ready to call a cab,” I said.
I took off the white shirt. It could be seen too
easily in the timber. I found an old blue one in the
storeroom and put it on, and shoved the gun back in
my belt.
She was still watching me. I went over to the
table, picked up the bottle of whisky, and poured
what was left on the floor.
“You’re going to have to be at least partly sober
for this,” I said. “Now. The only reason he hasn’t
A Touch of Death — 74
walked in here and shot you is that he knows I’m
here and that I’ve got a gun. It’s his gun. You still
following me?”
She nodded, saying nothing.
“Well, I’m going out there. I’m going to try to get
behind him. I hope I can get out the back without
being seen. But the gimmick is that he might not
shoot if he did see me. It’s you he wants. So he may
pretend he doesn’t see me, and let me go. And when
I’m out there on the wide part of the swing he may
come in for you.
“The front door is locked. After I go out, bolt the
back one. Sit in the storeroom, because it hasn’t got
any windows. And if you hear him on the porch or if
he starts to kick in one of these other windows,
scream. And keep screaming. Close the door to the
storeroom and pile everything in there against it.
And if you smell smoke, scream twice as loud.”
“Smoke?”
“That’s right. It’s one way.”
She got it, but it didn’t scare her much. “All right,”
she said. “And thank you for your solicitude. It’s
touching.”
“Isn’t it,” I said.
I opened the back door and stepped out. Nothing
happened.
I dropped off the porch and ran bent over toward
the bushes at the edge of the water, the muscles
bunched up and icy in the middle of my back.
Guessing where he was and what he’d do was fine
on paper, but out here in the open I could feel the
cross hairs of a telescope sight crawling all over me
like long-legged spiders. It was the dead silence all
around and not ever knowing that made it bad.
I hit the bushes and dropped into them. A
mosquito buzzed around my face and got in my nose.
I stifled the impulse to sneeze, and searched the
timber along the lake shore in both directions,
turning my head very slowly. Nothing moved. I
looked behind me, out across the lake, just for the
A Touch of Death — 75
sheer relief of seeing one place he couldn’t be. It
was glassy under the sun. Out in the middle a mud
hen swam, jerking its head, and left a V-shaped
ripple on the surface. The trees were dark green
along the other shore. It looked like the picture on a
sporting-goods calendar.
I started crawling to the right, between the screen
of bushes and the water’s edge. I had to slide under
the little dock where the two skiffs were tied up. I
was behind the shed now. A down log blocked my
way. I crawled over it. A limb broke, snapping loudly
in the hush. I fell to the ground and waited. Nothing
happened. Three minutes went by. Four. I started
again.
Mud sucked at my hands and knees. Sweat ran
down my face. I kept watching for snakes. I looked
back. The house and shed were lost in the trees, but
I could see the dock. I had come over a hundred
yards. A little more would do it. Wherever he was,
he’d still be near enough to the edge of the timber to
see the whole meadow.
I had to be behind him now. I stood up, wiped
some of the mud off my hands, and began slipping
through the timber, circling and heading away from
the lake. Here in the low ground, underbrush was
heavy, but ahead I could see it thinning out as I
approached the foot of the hill. I stopped in a minute
and held my breath to listen. If he had seen me
leave, he’d be closing in now. I’d have to get there
fast if she screamed. It was silent except for a
squirrel chattering up on the hillside.
The grade began to pitch upward into the pines
and stunted post oak. The soil was sandy here and
matted in places with pine needles. My feet made no
sound at all. I could see the meadow now and then
through the trees, two or three hundred yards off to
my left and a little below. I went straight up toward
the crest of the ridge. In a few minutes I came out
on level ground, turned sharp left, and began
searching for the tall pine with the dead top. After
another hundred yards I found it and faced down
toward the lake for a glimpse of the house to orient
A Touch of Death — 76
myself. Through a small opening in the trees I could
see part of the roof. I turned ninety degrees and
went straight ahead for a hundred and fifty steps,
going very slowly now and taking advantage of all
the cover I could.
I stopped and squatted down at the foot of a pine. I
should be directly above him. Somewhere in the
trees below he was lying with his rifle beside him,
watching the house. Moving nothing but my eyes, I
began covering it foot by foot, every tree trunk, log,
bush, every patch of mottled sunlight and shadow.
As my eyes probed, I rubbed my hands in the sand
and then together, to get the rest of the mud off. I
checked the gun in my belt, to be sure it would come
free when I needed it.
I could see nothing. No movement, no bit of color
that could be clothing. He was farther down. I
picked out a clump of bushes ten yards ahead and
crept toward it, moving noiselessly on the sand.
Crawling up beside it, I lay flat on my stomach and
studied the hillside below me for five minutes. There
was no sign of him.
I moved again. I could see the edge of the meadow
in places below me now and knew this was as far as
I could go. If I missed him and got in front of him I
was dead. I stopped, lay still, and searched the
hillside on both sides and ahead. My eyes made the
slow, complete swing from right to left, stopped, and
went back again.
I saw him.
I saw a shoe. It grew into a leg and then into two
legs half screened by the low-hanging branches of a
dogwood twenty yards straight down the hill from
where I was. The underbrush was heavier here than
it had been on top of the hill, but by moving a little
to the right I could see him clearly.
I took a deep breath, feeling tight across the chest.
One of us might be dead in the next minute or two. I
could try to bluff him with the gun, but suppose he
didn’t bluff? He was desperate; he had nothing to
lose.
A Touch of Death — 77
I could still go back.
I thought of those three safe-deposit boxes in
Sanport and knew there was never any going back
now. I started crawling down the hill.
I watched his legs. There was no movement. I
could see his whole body now. The rifle, with its
telescope sight, lay across a small log in front of him
while he watched the clearing and the house. I
searched the ground ahead for any leaf or twig that
would make the slightest sound if I stepped on it.
Ten feet behind him I straightened up on my
knees, pulled the gun out of my belt, leveled it at the
back of his head, and said, “All right, Mac. Turn
around. Without the gun.”
His face jerked around. He started to lift the rifle.
“You’ll never make it,” I said.
His eyes were a little crazy, but he knew I was
right. He didn’t have a chance, lying down that way
and facing in the other direction.
“Slide the bolt out,” I said. “All the way. And throw
it—”
I was careless. I’d been intent on him to the
exclusion of everything else. It was almost too late
when I heard the sound behind me. I started to turn,
and the club missed my head just far enough to land
on my arm, numbing it out to the fingertips.
He was scrambling to his knees, trying to get the
rifle swung around. I clawed at the tree limb with
the sick arm and reached back with the other and
found her. I put the hand against her belly and threw
her at him like a bag of laundry. She took a long step
backward and crashed down on top of him and the
two of them rolled across the rifle. I reached down
for the gun I had dropped.
It was the blonde, but she’d turned off the
Southern belle. Her eyes were hot with fury as she
untangled her long legs and arms and tried to sit up.
She had pine needles in her hair, and a scratch on
her knee oozed blood over the ruin of a nylon
stocking.
A Touch of Death — 78
She didn’t like me. And you could see the cords in
her throat while she was telling me about it.
“Shut up,” I said.
I walked over to them. They were both sitting up.
The rifle was under her legs in the sand. I pushed
them out of the way and dragged it from under her
with my foot. She liked me even less. He didn’t say
anything. He just looked at me with his crazy eyes.
I shoved the rifle backward, stepped back to it,
and squatted down. I took the bolt out and threw it
twenty yards down the hill into the underbrush.
Then I swung the rest of it against a tree. The stock
splintered, and broken glass trickled out the end of
the scope.
“Where’s the car?” I said.
Something had been eating him away inside for a
long time. You could see it in the hot, crazy eyes,
and in the way his hands twitched as he rubbed
them across his mouth. “Who are you?” he asked.
His voice was ragged. “What do you want?”
“A car,” I said. “I thought I mentioned that.”
There was something odd about them, and I saw
what it was now that I had time to take a good look.
They were brother and sister. He was big, and a lot
younger, probably not over twenty-one or twentytwo,
but it was unmistakable. Maybe it was the
identical ash blondness and the well-formed bone
structure of their faces. They were good-looking as
hell. And full of it.
“You’ll never take her out of here,” he said. “You’ll
never take her out of here alive. I’ll kill her. I’ll kill
you.”
I gestured with the gun. “On your feet.”
He hesitated a moment, watching me; then he got
up. She continued to sit there
I caught her by the arm and hauled her up. Red
fingernails slashed toward my face. I brushed her
hand away and shoved her. She bounced against him
and he caught her to keep her from falling.
“If she won’t walk,” I said, “carry her.”
A Touch of Death — 79
He stared hungrily at the gun. “Where?”
“Out to the road. We’re looking for a car,
remember?”
She looked at him with contempt. “Are you afraid
of this miserable thug?”
“What do you want me to do?” he said. “He’s got
the gun.”
“So you’re going to let her get away?”
“She hasn’t got away yet.”
“All right, break it up,” I said. “You can yak some
other time.”
“What are you going to do with Mrs. Butler?” she
asked.
“I’m going to adopt her. I think she’s cute.”
“Maybe you don’t know what you’re getting mixed
up in. The police want her for murder. She killed her
husband.”
“I don’t care if she killed Cock Robin,” I said. “I
just work here. Now shut up and start walking.”
They started out toward the road. I kept about six
feet behind them. When we struck it we were near
the edge of the meadow. I didn’t see the car
anywhere. It had to be above.
“Turn right,” I said. “Up the hill. And stay in the
road.”
We went silently uphill through the sand.
“You could tell me where it is,” I said. “But that
would be the easy way. So we’ll just walk. It’s only
eight miles out to the road, and eight miles back.”
They made no answer. They walked side by side in
icy silence, not looking back.
“If we pass it,” I said, “don’t bother to say
anything. We’ve got all the rest of the day to walk
around.”
I watched the ruts, fairly sure I’d see where they
had pulled it off the road even if they had it hidden.
And just before we reached the crest of the ridge I
A Touch of Death — 80
did. It was pulled off in a clump of dogwood. It was
the same car the girl had driven up in.
“Who’s got the keys?” I asked.
They stared at me in silent hatred.
It was obvious she didn’t have them, because she
didn’t have a purse. I looked at him. “All right,
Blondy. How’d you like one through the leg?”
He took the keys out of his pocket.
“You drive,” I said. “And Toots will sit in the
middle.”
We got in. He backed it out on the road.
“Downhill,” I said. “To the camp. And don’t get any
funny ideas about giving it the gun and crashing into
a tree. I might walk away from it, but you wouldn’t.”
We were jammed in together, but I held the gun in
my right hand over against the door, where she
couldn’t grab for it.
She turned her face and stared into mine from a
distance of three inches. She was lovely. “You son-ofa-
bitch,” she said.
I patted her on the leg. “Did you ever find
Gillespie, honey?”
A Touch of Death — 81
Nine
We stopped in front of the cabin.
I got out. “Inside,” I said.
We went up on the porch. I heard Madelon Butler
unlocking the door, and knew she had watched us
from the window. The door opened and the blonde
went in, followed by her brother. I was in the rear,
not expecting it, and they almost pulled it off.
He jumped inside, making some kind of hoarse
roaring sound in his throat, and the blonde tried to
slam and bolt the door ahead of me. I got a foot in it
just before it closed, and leaned on it. She shot back
into the room and sat down. I almost fell over her.
He was on the floor, with Madelon Butler under
him, groping wildly to get both hands on her throat.
She was kicking and beating at his arms, but
uttering no sound, while that insane racket kept
coming from his open mouth.
I shoved the gun in my belt and hauled him up. He
wouldn’t turn her loose, and tried to bring her with
him. I hit him. He turned his face a little, and finally
let her go and looked at me as if he’d never seen me
before. I hit him again and felt the pain go up my
arm. He was standing there rubber-legged as if he
couldn’t fall until somebody told him where, so I put
my hand in his face and pushed. He stretched out
A Touch of Death — 82
alongside the blonde on the floor. I felt of my hand.
It hurt and it had blood on it, but I couldn’t feel any
broken bones.
Madelon Butler stood up. The dark hair was wild
and her eyes were like winter smoke as she came
toward me. I didn’t know what she was trying to do
until I felt the gun sliding out of my belt. I grabbed
her wrist, broke her grip on it, and shook her hand
off.
“No, you don’t,” I said. “Sit down.”
She didn’t seem to hear me, so I shoved her down
in the chair at one end of the table. The other two
were getting off the floor, and now they both looked
crazy. He was crying, and her face was white and
her eyes blazed.
I pointed to the chairs at the other end of the
table. “You’d better sit down,” I said. “I’m tired of
wrecking my hands. From now on I use the gun.”
His mouth was working. Tears ran down his face.
“I’ll kill you,” he said. “I’ll kill you.”
“Quiet,” I said. I pointed at the chairs again.
They sat down.
I pulled a chair up to the table, halfway between
them and Madelon Butler, and sat down myself. I
tilted back in the chair a little, put the gun in my lap,
and took a cigarette out and lit it.
After all the violence it was suddenly quiet in the
room, so still I could hear the sound of my own
heavy breathing. Then the blonde’s voice came up
through it.
Her hands grasped the edge of the table so tightly
her fingers were white around the nails. I could see
the cords standing out in her throat. Her voice
wasn’t much more than a whisper that sounded as if
it were being pressed out of her by a heavy weight
on her chest, but some of the things she said I’d
never heard before myself.
It went on and on. Madelon Butler watched her
curiously, the way she might study something
brought up by a deep-sea trawl. When the blonde
A Touch of Death — 83
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