“No,” I said. “All I see is a chump who got in over
his head and is trying to wiggle out.”
“Maybe you’re not looking from where I am.” She
smiled, and then went on, “But let me tell you what I
had in mind. Tonight when you told Buford what you
were going to do, you didn’t make any mention of
what was going to happen after you abandoned the
River Girl — 141
boat there in the swamp. Have you thought about
that? You don’t mind my asking, do you?”
“No,” I said. “Not at all.”
“Good. You realize, of course, don’t you, that
you’re going to be afoot and that when you get out to
the highway you won’t be able to flag a ride because
whoever gives you a lift will remember you. And,
naturally, you can’t take your car. Also, even if you
walked to the next town, you wouldn’t dare get on a
bus there. They might remember you.”
“Yes,” I said. “I know that. It’s not very good, that
part of it, but it can’t be helped.”
Actually, I had an idea about it, but I didn’t see any
point in telling her. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust her,
but there just wasn’t any reason she had to know.
There was a railroad across on the far side of the
swamp, and at one place a water tank and siding
where freights went in the-hole for passenger trains.
I planned to hang around there tomorrow night and
get on a southbound freight.
She leaned a little across the table. “Well, there’s
where I can help you. You’ll be afoot, so I can pick
you up on the highway after dark.”
“Why?” I asked. “I mean, I appreciate it a lot, but it
would be risky for you, and there’s no reason you
have to get mixed up in it.”
“Yes,” she said eagerly. “Don’t you see I want to do
it? Listen, Jack! I can call you Jack, can’t I? It would
be so easy. You just tell me where you’ll be, say at
nine o’clock, and I’ll come by very slowly. I’ll flip my
headlights up and then down a couple of times so
you’ll know who it is, and then stop. If there are too
many cars in sight, I’ll go on and turn around and
come back for you.”
“And then what?” I asked.
“I’ll give you a lift to Bayou City. You can get a bus
there without attracting attention. That’ll be far
enough away. I’ll tell Buford I just went down there
shopping. I do it quite often.”
“He doesn’t know about this, then?”
River Girl — 142
“No,” she said quietly. “He doesn’t know about it.”
I was thinking. This was a lot better way of getting
out of the swamp than the other. I’d get to Bayou
City the same night, and I wouldn’t have to go to the
hotel looking like a tramp from having ridden all
night on a freight, providing I even got on one. It
was just what I needed, but I still hesitated a little.
Nobody does anything for nothing. What did she
want to get mixed up in it for?
“What do you think?” she asked, watching me
intently.
“It sounds good.”
“Then it’s a deal?”
“I’m still wondering what you get out of it.”
“Excitement,” she said simply.
“Is that all?”
“I think so. I’m not sure. But isn’t that enough?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I’m not that fond of
excitement.”
She studied my face. “You just think you’re not.
You don’t realize yet what you’re capable of.”
“Look, Dinah,” I said. “I’m not looking for thrills.
All I want to do is get the hell out of here before I
get thrown in jail. And I don’t care if I never see any
more excitement the rest of my life than a good, fast
checker game.”
“All right,” she said. “But where do I meet you?”
What the hell, I thought. She just wants to help me
for the laughs she gets out of it. Why not? It’d be a
way out of that swamp.
“O.K.,” I said. I was trying to get the layout of the
roads and the lake straight in my mind to give her a
picture of it. “Excuse me a minute. I want to get a
pencil.”
I found a pencil and an old envelope in the dining
room and came back. She slid her chair around
alongside mine, pressing gently against my shoulder
and watching me as I drew the map.
River Girl — 143
“Here’s town,” I said. “The highway runs east
along here, and then turns south, toward the end of
the lake. You know where that store is down there,
don’t you? The highway goes across the south end of
the lake on the big earth dam, and just beyond the
east end of the dam there’s a store and a boat place
and a honky-tonk beer joint.” She nodded.
“Well, about two miles beyond that bunch of
buildings a secondary road takes off to the left,
going north. This runs up the other side of the lake.
It isn’t much of a road, but there’s not much travel
on it, which is good for our purpose.” I paused,
trying to remember landmarks. It had been a long
time since I’d been over there. The railroad was over
there, running parallel and probably a quarter mile
beyond the secondary road. I’d want to leave the
boat at some place that would indicate Shevlin had
headed for the water tank to catch a freight. There’s
a small creek, I thought, along there somewhere.
And then I remembered.
“Look, Dinah. It would be about fifteen miles after
you make the turn off the highway onto that country
road. You hit a stand of big pines very close to the
road on both sides, a half mile or more of them
before they taper off into second-growth stuff again.
Then there’s a gravel pit with an old loading
platform, off to the right, where I’ve marked it. Then,
just about a half mile beyond the gravel pit, you’ll
cross a small concrete bridge. It won’t be the first
one, for there are some more below it, but I can’t
remember whether it’s the third or fourth. Anyway,
that’s the reason I’ve put these other landmarks on
here, so you’ll know you have the right one. I’ll be
waiting just beyond the bridge. Blink your lights as
you go over it. Think you’ve got it?”
“Yes. It’s easy. Now, what time?”
“How about eight o’clock? It’ll be dark by then.”
She put her—hand on my arm and smiled.
“Wonderful. Can I bring anything for you, any
clothes from here that I could put in the car now?
Naturally, you won’t be able to take anything extra
in the morning.”
River Girl — 144
I shook my head. “No. I won’t take a thing. Just the
clothes I’ll have on. It wouldn’t look right
otherwise.”
“Yes. That’s right.” She got up from the table.
“Well, I’ve got to go and let you get some sleep.”
I walked out to the car with her and opened the
door. She stood very close to me for a moment,
looking up, then she said, “Good night, Jack.” I
pretended not to notice the warmth in her voice.
“Good night,” I said, and watched her back out of
the driveway.
I took three of Louise’s sleeping pills, and still it
was a long time before I got to sleep. Doris was
there, just beyond me in the darkness, and when I
would start for her Shevlin would be there too,
putting his hand up to his chest and looking toward
me as he started to fall to the floor.
The pills made me oversleep a little. I got up and
shaved and dressed and then looked around the
house, not knowing why I did it, for it didn’t mean
anything at all. I’ll never see it again, I thought, or
Louise, and it doesn’t mean a thing. I stood for a
moment in the front door, then closed it and went on
down the walk. Four years were just overnight in a
hotel room. I had breakfast at Barone’s and got to
the office about half past nine. Buford was already
there, with Hurd, and Lorraine was looking for
something in the files. Buford nodded abstractedly,
and then Lorraine put the paper on his desk. I went
over and sat down and started looking at the
morning newspaper.
“Say, Jack,” Buford said, turning around in his
chair, “you ought to know your way around that lake
pretty well, the number of times you’ve been up
there fishing. You like to take a trip up there today?”
“Sure,” I kidded. “Can I take my fishing tackle?”
“Not today.” He sobered. “I just got a tip this man
is up there near the end of the lake somewhere. You
ever see him?”
River Girl — 145
He handed me the notice on Farrell. I looked at it.
“No-o. I don’t think so. Wait a minute, though.
Maybe I have, at that. When I was fishing up there
yesterday. Man was having trouble with his motor.
No, he was older than this. Must have been fortysomething
and much thinner.”
“That picture was made ten years ago. It was
probably him, all right. The dope I got on him is that
he’s living in a shack pretty far up the lake. Take this
along, and make sure you’ve got the right man
before you bring him in. The tip may be a false
alarm. You know how it is.”
“O.K.,” I said. I went over and got the gun and a
pair of handcuffs. “I’ll rent a boat and motor down at
the store.”
“Watch yourself, in case he is Farrell. He’s wanted
for murder. You want Hurd to go along?”
I looked at Hurd and winked. “Not unless he wants
to handle the motor while I troll for bass.”
“O.K., then. You’d better get started. It’s a long
trip.” He reached for his hat. “Wait and I’ll walk
down with you. I want to get a cup of coffee.”
At the bend of the stairs there was no one in sight
for a moment. He took an envelope out of his coat
and handed it to me and I shoved it in my pocket.
“Good luck,” he said. “And remember what I told
you.” Don’t come back, I thought. Out on the
sidewalk there were several people standing around
and we couldn’t say any more. “I’ll see you tonight,”
I said, and he waved and started across the square
toward Barone’s.
I went down to the garage for one of the county
cars. While I was waiting for it I ducked into the rest
room and checked the envelope. It was all there, in
hundreds, fifties, and twenties.
The boy brought the car down and I got in and
headed up past the square. It was beginning to be
hot now, and I could hear the pigeons cooing up
under the eaves of the courthouse.
River Girl — 146
You remember Jack Marshall? I thought. Big
fellow, lived around here a long time. Quite a
football player in high school. Daddy was a district
judge, but he never did amount to much. Got to be a
deputy sheriff and was killed out there in the swamp
somewhere. Never did find his body.
Marshall? Jack Marshall? Name sounds familiar.
Whatever became of him, anyway?
I swung around the courthouse, and then I was
headed out the street going south toward the
highway.
River Girl — 147
Seventeen
As I drove down toward the south end of the lake, I
was busy with the fact that Shevlin hadn’t gone all
the way down there yesterday with his fish. It wasn’t
a very big thing, but I knew it could lead to talk.
When I had parked the car by the boat place I
walked across the road to the restaurant and
ordered a cup of coffee. The proprietor himself, a
sour-looking man in his fifties, was on duty behind
the counter. He brought the coffee and then went
back to looking at the morning paper.
“You know anything about the people who live up
the lake?” I asked.
He turned a page, glancing up at me once and
seeing the gun and the white hat. “Ain’t many up
there now. Used to be a few trappers, but most of
‘em are gone the last few years.”
I took out the wanted notice and shoved it across
the counter. “Ever see this man around?”
He studied it for a moment, then shook his head.
“No. Don’t think so. Looks a little like a man up
there I buy fish from once in a while, but he’s older
than this.”
I knew he had recognized the picture, all right, but
was reluctant to get mixed up in anything involving
River Girl — 148
the police. He said nothing about the fact that
Shevlin hadn’t shown up yesterday.
“This is an old picture,” I said, rambling on like a
fool. “It’s probably the right man, all right. I was up
the lake about ten miles yesterday, and ran into him.
His motor was broken down. Something wrong with
the ignition, I think. I offered to give him a hand with
it, but he said he was going to row back to the house
and work it over.”
“Oh?” He said nothing further, but I was pretty
sure I’d cleared up Shevlin’s failure to appear, in
case it came up later.
“You don’t have any idea where he lives up there,
do you?” I went on.
“Nope.” He shook his head. “Except that it’s pretty
far up, I reckon.”
I bought a couple of sandwiches from him for
lunch and went back across the road. The man with
the boats recognized me from yesterday and looked
in surprise at the gun and the deputy’s badge.
“Going to try ‘em again today?” he asked. “No,” I
said. “This is just business. I’m looking for a man
who may be living up the lake.”
I rented a boat and motor and shoved off. “I’ll be
back sometime this afternoon,” I called out as I
pushed away from the dock.
It was a little after eleven. I had nine hours
between now and the time I was supposed to met
Dinah out there on the road. Handling the boat
almost automatically on the broad areas of the lower
lake, I tried to think it all out logically to see if I had
taken everything into consideration. It was
necessary, first, that I go all the way to the cabin.
This was principally to make sure that there was no
one fishing near it. It would be bad if some
fisherman testified later that he had been just below
the place all day and had never seen me go past, for
it had to appear that I had gone to the cabin, taken
Shevlin into custody, and started out with him.
There were a few boats on the lower part of the
lake. I passed three or four before I got up as far as
River Girl — 149
the slough where I had always launched my own,
some five miles up from the store. After I passed that
point I began to tighten up and worry. I could feel
the tenseness growing inside me as each mile
slipped back in the wake of the boat, and I stared
with apprehensive eyes as I rounded every bend in
the channel. Of course, if I met anyone fishing, the
only thing I could do about it would be to remain
above him until I was sure he had gone back down
the lake. Obviously, I couldn’t have someone see me
come back down alone. And if someone testified that
he had been fishing fifteen miles or more up the lake
all day and had seen me go up, but never come back,
it would lead to the conclusion that Shevlin had
probably resisted arrest and killed me up near his
cabin, which I didn’t want at all. That would lead to a
concentration of the later search for my body around
the cabin itself, where Shevlin was buried in the
lake. If they started dragging the lake around there,
they might find him. Buford, after all, had to make
some pretense of trying to solve the mystery. And,
too, the newspapers would be full of it, with dozens
of conjectures as to what had happened, and the
swamp would be full of volunteer searchers for a
long time. If, on the other hand, no one saw me go
up or come down, the searchers would have no idea
at all in which part of the thousands of acres of
sloughs and channels and marsh Shevlin had
disposed of my body. And since there would be no
evidence of a struggle around the cabin, the theory
would be that I had started out with him, got
careless, and let him jump me somewhere below,
after which he disposed of my body in some out-ofthe-
way backwater, went back for his wife after it
was dark, and then escaped. That was the way I
wanted it.
Another thing I had to do was to be sure I knew
where to turn off to the east to get into the slough
that led far across the bottom toward the road and
the small stream where I would meet Dinah. I had
been up it once, years ago, and thought I knew
where it came out into the channel of the lake, but I
River Girl — 150
wouldn’t be able to waste much time looking for it.
As I went up I kept a sharp watch, trying to
remember what had distinguished it from the dozens
of other inlets and sloughs leading off on that side.
As I recalled, it was a little larger than the others,
and where it came out into the lake the point of land
between it and the lake itself had a narrow shelf of
sandy beach instead of the mudbank and the tangle
of underbrush characteristic of most of the lake
shore. By the time I was a little more than halfway
up to the cabin I began to look for it in earnest,
wondering if I had already passed it, for as I
remembered, it was about ten miles up from the
store. The slough itself led out across the bottom in a
generally northeasterly direction and the small
stream that flowed into it crossed the county road
over on the east side of the swamp some fifteen
miles above the highway, as I had told Dinah. After
another mile or two went by, I began to worry,
fearing that I might have my landmarks wrong and
had passed it without recognizing it. Then, at last, I
rounded a turn in the channel and saw it. I looked
around carefully at the general location after I had
gone by, to be sure I would recognize it without
trouble on the way down. Of course, I could still be
mistaken, but I was pretty sure that was it.
I had nothing to worry about except meeting
another boat. I looked at my watch. It was a little
after one, and I should be there by two or shortly
after. In an attempt to relax and relieve the tension
that grew with every bend in the channel, I
unwrapped one of the sandwiches and tried to eat it.
It was dry and tasted like cardboard, and I threw it
into the lake. It’s not much more than five miles
now, I thought. There’s not much chance I’ll meet
anybody this far up. But still, you never can tell. And
right here would be the worst possible place, this
near to the cabin. Turn after turn unfolded ahead of
me, the lake flat and empty in the midday heat. I
came up past the place where I had camped,
rounded the last bend, and relaxed all over with a
deep breath of relief. There was no one anywhere.
River Girl — 151
I’d better go up to the house, I thought, just to
make sure everything looks all right and that nobody
has been there. I had just swung the boat about, to
head into the slough toward the landing, when I
noticed it. There was something odd about the
surface of the lake just above, a peculiar sheen or
color to it that did not look right for the position of
the sun. It seemed to have the appearance calm
water sometimes has at sunset. I turned to look at it
again, but the view was cut off by the trees as the
boat entered the slough. Just imagination, I thought.
Too much strain, and my nerves are beginning to
play tricks on me. Then, for some crazy reason, “the
multitudinous seas incarnadine” ran through my
mind. For Christ’s sake, I thought, I’m getting as
jumpy as an old woman.
I was still thinking about it, though, as the boat
nudged against the landing. I made it fast with the
anchor rope, and then remembered I should refill
the gasoline tank of the motor from the can of fuel in
the bow. I took off the cap and found the funnel, and
when I was unscrewing the cap of the can I spilled a
little of the gasoline oil mixture into the half inch or
so of water in the bottom of the boat. I looked down
at it, indifferently at first, and then, as I watched it
spread, with growing horror, while I turned cold all
over as with a sudden chill.
Frantically I pushed the boat off and started the
motor. Swinging hard around, I headed at full
throttle out into the lake, terrified, already knowing
what it was and cursing the stupidity that had ever
let me fall into such a terrible blunder. No wonder
the surface of the lake had looked odd! I swung right
as soon as I was out of the slough, heading up the
lake toward the spot where I rolled him from the
boat. I was at the outer edge of it now and plowing
toward the center, looking all around me at several
acres of water covered with the microscopic and
iridescent film of oil.
It was that outboard motor. I had started to empty
the fuel I had heard splashing around inside the
tank, and then had changed my mind, thinking it not
River Girl — 152
worth the trouble. There hadn’t been much more
than a pint of it, but now, lying on the bottom of the
lake, it was being forced drop by drop out of the
airhole in the cap and was coming to the surface to
spread out into a monstrous and inescapable marker
over his grave. There was no faintest breath of air to
form a ripple on the water, the surface lying as still
and unmoving as glass, with the result that it had
spread out evenly over an incredible expanse for so
slight an amount of oil, so thin it would be
completely invisible except for the sheen of color
reflected from the sky and sun.
I cut the motor and let the boat drift, trying to get
hold of myself enough to think. The oil was going to
be here; there was no current in the lake to move it,
and there was nothing I could do about it now.
Nothing, I thought desperately, except to find the
spot where the motor was lying and see if more was
still coming to the surface. If there was, I had to stop
it. But how?
Taking up the oars, I pulled slowly along, watching
the surface of the water. There was no way to tell
exactly where it was, so I turned and rowed back
toward the shore to get my bearings. Bringing the
boat up near the bank just off the place where I had
reached it yesterday to put him aboard, I lined it up
and started pulling very slowly, stern first, out
toward the center of the lake. When I thought I had
come almost far enough, I quit rowing and let the
boat come to rest, not moving about in it to set up
any motion of water. Sitting dead still and swinging
only my head, I began a minute scrutiny of all the
area for twenty feet or more around the boat, on
both sides and in front. The film of oil was slightly
heavier here, and I knew I was very near the spot.
Two or three minutes went by and my eyes began to
ache with the bright sunlight and the staring. Maybe
there isn’t any more, I thought. Maybe it has all
leaked out by now. Then I caught it, a glimpse of
changing color seen out of the corner of my eyes,
some ten feet ahead of me and to the left. I stared
fixedly at the spot, waiting, almost afraid to blink my
River Girl — 153
eyes. They began to sting, but I held them there, and
in a moment I saw it again, quite plainly this time. A
drop of oil had come up out of the dark, tea-colored
water and spread, shining and iridescent in the
sunlight, the colors changing as it thinned out across
the surface. With my eyes fixed unwaveringly on the
spot, I picked up the oars, gave them one shove, and
then reached around for the anchor and dropped it. I
was right over it.
Now what to do? I looked up and down the lake,
afraid again of other boats or fishermen, but the long
reach was devoid of any form of life or movement. I
was alone in the whole immensity of the swamp here
in the bright heat of the middle of the day, but still I
could feel the stirrings of panic within myself.
Perhaps it was because already, without thinking
about it, I knew what I was going to have to do and I
was afraid of it. The oil on the surface of the lake
was something I couldn’t do anything about, except
possibly to spread and scatter it by running through
it with the boat and motor, but the oil in itself might
not be too dangerous. After all, it would eventually
disperse, collecting on the big leaves of the pads and
the old snags and growth along the banks, and
whoever saw it would probably believe that someone
had spilled some fuel while refilling the gasoline
tank of his motor, and think no more about it. But
this other thing, this oil bubbling up here in one
spot, a drop at a time and maybe going on for weeks,
putting more and more on the surface, would be
sure to arouse curiosity and eventually somebody
would start dragging for whatever was down there. I
had to stop it.
I sat still, thinking. The valve was probably shut
off. There was very little chance that the fuel was
leaking out there. That meant, then, that when the
motor had come to rest there in the mud on the
bottom it had been nearly upright, or tilted in that
direction, and as air escaped from the tank and
water forced its way in, the water naturally pushed
the fuel up into the top of the tank, where it was
River Girl — 154
escaping now, drop by drop, and might go on
indefinitely.
I had been trying to evade it in my mind, dodging
around it and never coming face to face with what I
knew; but now, with all other escape cut off, I turned
and faced it. I had to go down there. But could I? I
could feel the weakness and revulsion take hold of
me at the thought. He had been down there a little
over twenty-four hours, in that warm water, and I
knew that by now he wasn’t alone. I shuddered. I
just couldn’t do it.
Was there any other way? I knew there wasn’t. The
water was twelve feet deep and I couldn’t reach it
with an oar. Trying to drag the anchor over it would
be a futile waste of time. It had to be that way or not
at all. It wouldn’t take four seconds, I thought. All I
would have to do would be to locate the valve, make
sure it was shut, and then tip the motor down so the
water and fuel inside the tank would change
positions. I could do it in one dive. And it’s either
that or go away and leave it the way it is, knowing
that sooner or later somebody is going to get curious
about the source of all that oil bubbling out of the
bottom of the lake. I stood up in the boat and started
unbuttoning my shirt.
No comments:
Post a Comment