Part 11

For a while the countryside was as he remembered it from his morning drive from the airport except that it was flatter here and more level. The headlights picked out oaks and pines, with here and there a pecan orchard. Later there was a marshy area for a few miles and presently a sign announced the city limits of Pascagoula. He took care going through the town. He had to stop for a toll bridge which carried them across a wide inlet or river, and then they rode inland again until they came to Ocean Springs. Here a long bridge carried them over a wide arm of Mississippi Sound, and then he was again watching the traffic lights as they went through Biloxi.

For the next thirty miles or so the scene was unchanging. Through Gulfport, Long Beach, and Pass Christian the divided road was straight, the scene unvarying. On the left the beach was broad and gently sloping; on the right, and stretching mile after mile as one town gave way to another, the highway was bordered by homes and spacious lawns, with only an occasional motel or restaurant or filling station to break the residential continuity.

The beach ended in another toll bridge, and Corbin, who had been dozing for the past hour, sat up and produced a quarter to make the payment. Beyond the bridge was the town of Bay St. Louis, and Corbin announced that in another twenty miles they would be in Louisiana. It was some distance beyond--Hayden was never quite sure just where they were--when the highway patrol car sped up behind them.

It happened suddenly and without warning. Hayden had been watching the speedometer regularly, with an eye for the rear-view mirror from time to time, but the patrol car was coming so fast that it was almost on top of them before he saw the flashing red light and heard the first wail of the siren.

His first reaction was one of sudden alarm and his foot eased instinctively on the accelerator. There was guilt and despair in his thoughts too until he saw that the speedometer said sixty, and then he could only wait, the sweat breaking out on him and his voice sinking as he said:

“Oh-oh.”

“What’s the matter?” Corbin said, and then he too heard the siren. “A cop?” he said. “Oh, Jesus!”

“What’s the speed limit?”

“Sixty, I guess.”

“That’s all I’m doing.”

“Hold it that way. If we get picked up now were dead.”

The driver behind touched the siren again briefly as Corbin finished. The lights were huge now in the rear-view mirror, so close that Hayden had to concentrate to keep a steady course. An instant later there was a quick _wssshhing_ sound and then there was nothing but the fading throb of the sedan’s motor and twin taillights that were quickly reduced to pinpoints before a slight curve blotted them from sight.

Hayden felt his heartbeat start to slow down and the back of his throat was dry. He swallowed, hearing Corbin’s soft curse. He let out his breath and made an effort to steady his nerves, a new exultancy working on him now that they were safe.

“What the hell was that?” he asked. “The guy must have been going ninety.”

“I don’t know,” Corbin said. “All I know is I’m glad he kept going.”

The road had been straight for a long time and they had gone over three small concrete bridges spaced two or three miles apart. Now, coming around the curve, they saw in the distance the larger bridge. Beyond it were flares, and as they drew close Hayden saw that it was a swing bridge with three spans. He would have slowed down here anyway, but the flares in the distance made him even more cautious. He was doing no more than thirty when he saw the uniformed man with a flashlight making sweeping gestures that ordered him to keep to the left.

By that time he saw the car on its side in the ditch and the white-painted wrecker. There were two highway patrol cars parked on the shoulder; another car with its front end bashed in had slewed around perpendicular to the road.

“So that’s why he was in such a hurry,” Corbin said with unmistakable relief. “Keep going.”

“I am,” Hayden said and was very careful indeed until the lights in the rear-view mirror were gone. As he pulled his speed back up to sixty he said: “Whew! That guy scared hell out of me. How much farther?”

“Maybe thirty miles,” Corbin said, “all of it easy. It just goes to show what a guilty conscience can do to a guy.”

The highway cut flatly through lowlands and marshes now, with water showing here and there in the marginal area outside the bright beam of the headlights. Cheap cottages and fishing camps on stilts flanked the road with increasing frequency, and once Corbin pointed to a finger of water on the right and said it was part of Lake Pontchartrain. Then they were moving into the outskirts of the city, and Corbin, wide awake since the brush with the highway patrol, gave Hayden directions until they came finally to Moisant International Airport, with its spacious and modern terminal building.

“What do you want to do?” he said as Hayden moved past the approaches and found a parking place.

“Find out when’s the best time to get out of here.”

“What about the car?”

“I don’t want to turn it over to the agent here, not while there’s a chance they might already be looking for us. I can leave it parked anywhere around here and phone the office just before we take off. That way they can pick it up when they get around to it and bill me for the difference.”

He paused to light a cigarette. “I don’t even want to drive it up to the loading areas now. Too much light.... Why don’t you stay here and keep an eye on our bags until I can check things and find out what the score is?”

Corbin accepted the suggestion and Hayden started off, picking his way through parked cars and coming to the lighted entrance where an overhead clock told him it was five minutes of two. A policeman, who was talking with a taxi driver, gave him no more than a passing glance as he went on into the main waiting room, which seemed strangely quiet and empty at this hour.

He slowed down here to inspect the unfamiliar area, noting signs and directional arrows as he tried to orient himself. There was a little movement on the floor, but mostly people huddled on benches in couples and family groups, silent, sleepy-eyed, and half-comatose as they waited for early-morning departures or friends who were coming in on flights from South and Central American countries that terminated here. No one paid him any attention as he continued on his way, and he was grateful for this when he came finally to the information counter.

What he learned from the lone attendant was not encouraging; neither was it unexpected. There would be no more flights to New York until morning. The first and best of these left at nine o’clock, but to find out about space he had to continue on to the airline counter, where a clerk, who had been working on a carton of coffee, put it aside long enough to give him his attention. He consulted his charts when Hayden asked his question and shook his head.

“Sorry, sir,” he said. “That flight is sold out. We already have two stand-bys and I’d be glad to add your name if you would like to take a chance on some cancellations.”

“What’s my next-best bet?”

“We have a conventional flight at nine-twenty that makes two stops and puts you into Newark.” He hesitated in order to consult another sheet. “Also one at nine-forty with one stop that terminates at Idlewild.”

“Which one gets there first?”

“The nine-forty flight.”

“Have you got two seats?”

“Yes, we have.”

“Can I pay for them in the morning?”

“Yes, but they must be picked up an hour before takeoff.” He picked up a pencil. “The names?”

“J. Hastings and T. Cannon.”

Hayden thanked him, and as he turned away and his mind moved on, a thought which had been submerged in his consciousness suddenly demanded attention. Once considered, it took on a new urgency, and he walked to the newsstand near the main entrance and bought a pack of cigarettes, offering a five-dollar bill and asking for as many quarters as the clerk could spare.

For he knew now that he had to talk to Marion. He had to know how she was and what had happened; he had to tell her about Corbin. It was, he knew, a hell of an hour for a man to call his wife, especially a pregnant one--the difference in time meant that it was after three o’clock in Connecticut--but he had to let her know that things were going to be all right. He wanted to do it at once, but the thought of Corbin took him through the doors and across the parking area. He saw again the sign of the Hilton Motel he had noticed earlier and decided this would be the place to spend the night....

The thought dissolved as he came to a stop beside the sedan. Without actually moving he could feel his nerves recoil as he glanced quickly about and the first thrust of panic hit him. He knew then that he had the right car, just as he knew both seats were empty. Not understanding this, not daring to speculate, he stood where he was, shocked and incredulous, and this was long enough for the seed of suspicion he had felt earlier to send out new roots. He started to curse as the anger grew swiftly inside him, but even as he felt the impact of his discovery he heard the soft whistle that came from one side.

He spun about at the sound, peering into the shadows until he found the pale outline of a face. It took shape as Corbin moved down from behind another car, and suddenly he felt all weak inside as relief provided a swift and certain antidote to his fears. When he was sure he expelled his breath and his voice was rough and uneven.

“What the hell have you been doing?”

“Ducking a cop,” Corbin said calmly. “Just to make sure.” He pointed. “I saw him start down the line of cars, heading this way. I thought he was casing them. I didn’t want to take a chance. I got out and ducked.”

Hayden took another breath as he regained his composure. “What happened?”

“Nothing. I guess he was looking for his own car. He walked on by just before you came, got into this Ford, and drove off.... What did you find out?”

Hayden told him, and while the suspicion that had become rooted in his mind still remained, he could find no fault with Corbin’s defensive measures. It was the same way with him. Until the last couple of days the law and its enforcers had been necessary adjuncts to society, designed to keep people in line. His own experience had been limited to a warning for a traffic violation. Now he not only was a prime suspect in a murder case but he had been forced to consider such things as bigamy and fraud. It was no wonder that he felt continually jumpy and on edge, and he was a little amazed that he could still carry on and do the things that had to be done. Even Corbin, whose character suggested that he was not an unduly imaginative man, felt the pressure, but now it was Hayden who had to do the thinking and take charge. He was at once aware of this as the big man said:

“Do we check in at that motel?”

“We can’t sit up all night in the terminal.”

“That’s what I mean. Do you want to drive over there and leave the car?”

“We’ve got this far with it,” Hayden said. “Let’s leave it right here.” He glanced over at the loading area and saw the three taxis parked there. “Get your bag and take a cab,” he said. “Register for both of us. I’m traveling as John Hastings--and tell the clerk I’ll be along in a few minutes.”

Corbin did not argue. He pulled his suitcase off the back seat and started through the cars without a word. Hayden stayed where he was until he saw the other get into the taxi and drive off; then he got his own things, rolled up the windows, and put the ignition key over the sun visor, reminding himself that he must telephone the rental company before he boarded the plane in the morning.

It was cool enough now to wear the topcoat, and when he had put on his hat, he walked over to the lead taxi and put his bag in the back. He told the driver to put down his flag and wait while he made a phone call, and then he was inside and stepping into the booth. He knew that it was possible that his own telephone might be tapped, but he intended to give away nothing that would help locate him. All the odds were in his favor now. He kept the thought in mind as he deposited a coin and gave the local operator his home number.

He heard the number being relayed to a second operator, apparently in New York, and with it came a request for payment. He listened to the _bong_ of the quarters as they registered, the more metallic sounds of the smaller coins as he made the exact change. Then he could hear the distant ringing of the telephone, and he counted six times before a voice that was sleepy and remote and familiar answered.

Marion came awake at once when she heard his voice and the words were hurried and urgent as she asked how he was and where he was and what he had been doing.

“Did you find him?” she asked finally.

“He’s with me now,” he said. “Never mind where. Let’s just say we’re still in the deep South.”

“Will he come?”

“Tomorrow. What about you? Are you all right?”

“No.”

“Has the baby--?”

“It’s not the baby, it’s the police.”

He could hear her catch her breath and knew she was fighting her tears. The sound of it made his heart turn over, but before he could speak she said:

“Oh, darling, don’t you understand? They’re looking for you.”

“I know that.”

“They think you killed that man. Or I did. They say it was our knife--”

“What?” Hayden heard the word distinctly but in the shock of his surprise he could not accept it. “How can they think that?”

“They say it belongs to that set we have in the kitchen.... They could be right,” she added, her voice rough with emotion. “One of ours is missing. I can’t find it anywhere.”

She said other things along the same line, but he was too stunned to absorb them until she said: “And there’s something else, John. That girl at the tavern, Doris Lamar--”

“What about her?”

“She came to see me this evening. She said she knew something that would help us.”

“Did you tell the police?”

“She says if I tell the police she’ll deny everything. She--she wants money,” she added. “She doesn’t know who killed Adler but she says she can help us.”

“All right.” He stopped and made a desperate effort to evaluate what he had heard. He did not understand how this could be nor know just what to say but he wanted to offer some words of comfort and encouragement until he could get home. “What did you tell her?”

“I told her she’d have to wait until you came home.”

“Good girl,” he said.

“She warned me again not to go to the police--”

“That’s all right too. Sit tight, baby. You’re wonderful. I’ll call you from New York sometime tomorrow afternoon, maybe late. Stick to your story. And call on Roger Denham if you need him.”

“But suppose the police find you first.”

“They’re not going to find me. I’ll be back and so will Corbin. We’ll work things out. Now please go back to bed and go to sleep. I’m going to do the same.”

Some odd reaction born of strain and tension and uncertainty made her giggle softly. “I’m already in bed.”

“Then go to sleep.”

“I’ll try.”

“Try hard.... I love you.”

_18_

The flight to New York’s Idlewild Airport was a few minutes late taking off from Moisant but lost no more time en route to Washington. Hayden and Corbin, both wearing dark glasses now, did not sit together and exchanged no words until they reclaimed their bags at the terminal. As they stood waiting, Corbin came up to Hayden with a cigarette in his mouth and asked for a light.

“Do we get a car?”

“We do.”

“You or me?”

“Have you got a credit card?” Hayden watched the big man nod. “Then you’re elected. They won’t be looking for you here but they could be looking for me. I’ll make a phone call and meet you out front when you’re ready.”

He moved away, heading along a corridor that would take him to the taxi stand, and stopped at the first public booth he came to. There was no delay in getting the call through and Marion answered almost at once.

“Hi, sweetheart,” he said. “Are you alone?”

“Yes, John. Is Ted with you?”

“He’s renting a car. Have you been out today?”

“This morning. To do some shopping.”

“Do you think you were followed?”

“No.”

“No police cars out front or down the road?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Good,” he said, and went on to tell her where to meet them. “We’ll be in a sedan with New York plates,” he added. “If you’re followed, don’t stop. Go back home and wait until I can think of something else. If not, take the next right and pull off the road. Got it?”

“Yes, I think so. What time?”

“Five o’clock....”

Luck stayed with them as they crossed the bridge and came sedately up the Hutchinson River Parkway and onto the Merritt. Corbin obeyed all speed laws and they turned north in the fading light of the bleak March day. This was a blacktop road and winding, and when they came finally to the intersection Hayden had specified, he saw the station wagon parked on the shoulder of the road just ahead.

Corbin drew in front of it and stopped. He looked at Hayden. “What does a guy say at a time like this?” he asked.

“You’ll think of something. Come on.”

They got out and walked back. Hayden opened the door and slid over on the seat and Marion’s arms went around his neck to give him a quick, spasmodic hug before she kissed him. She let go reluctantly as Corbin climbed in beside Hayden, her hazel eyes softly curious and a little shy as she inspected the big man who had once been her husband.

“Hello, Marion,” he said, and offered his hand. “I thought I could stay lost for good. I thought I was doing you a favor. I’m sorry it didn’t work out that way.”

She took his hand, held it momentarily, released it.

“I’m sure you did,” she said. “You were never cruel or mean or spiteful.”

“Just stupid,” Corbin said wryly.

“Not that either. I’m awfully glad you came back.”

“I owed you that much. But that’s not all of it. I have a girl in Alabama,” he said, an odd huskiness in his voice. “I was going to marry her. I made a new life as Ted Cannon. I thought it would be all right. It would have been if it hadn’t been for--”

He stopped here and they all knew what he meant.

“Maybe you still can,” Marion said quietly.

“Yeah.”

Hayden believed what he had heard, but there was a growing impatience nagging at his brain and he knew there could not be much more time left. He pressed his wife’s arm to get her attention.

“Anything new since last night?”

“I heard from Roger,” she said and looked at Corbin. “Did Adler phone you Monday night?”

“Me?” Corbin’s blue eyes opened slowly and just as slowly narrowed again. “No.”

“Why?” Hayden asked, the old but not forgotten suspicion finding new nourishment. “What did Denham say?”

“The police were checking public telephone booths. They started around here and widened the area. They found the record of a call made to Fairview, Alabama from a booth just outside the Log Cabin Restaurant on the Post Road. I wondered--”

“Not to me,” Corbin said.

The denial was no longer good enough for Hayden. Not any more. Monday was the night Adler had taken Doris Lamar out dancing, the night he had slugged George Freeman. Adler had tried to blackmail Corbin in Alabama. He had been thrown out and threatened....

“What about Doris?” he said, new ideas forming in his mind now but wanting to get as much information as he could. “Do you know _how_ she can clear us?”

“I don’t know if she’s telling the truth,” Marion said, “but I know what she said. When she came last night she was embarrassed but she was defiant too. It was as if a part of her was ashamed of the way she was acting while another part insisted that she had a right to make the proposition. She said you had already spoken to her about it and she was accepting your offer. She said she knew she was going to be in for some trouble in one way or another, but she might as well get paid for it.”

“She must have seen something the night Adler was killed,” Hayden said.

“She did. She told them at the tavern that she had a headache and asked for time off to go home and get some special pills she had.”

“But she didn’t go home,” Hayden said, remembering what the woman had told him when he had called at her cottage.

“She started over to see Adler. She thinks it was about twenty-five minutes after eight or maybe eight-thirty. She had just started through that parking space in the center of the motel when she saw Adler’s door open. She stopped and stepped behind a car. She saw me come out and hurry past her on my way to get back to where I had parked the station wagon.”

“Ahh--” Hayden said.

“What?”

It took him a moment to reply because he had to be careful not only of what he said but how he sounded. His first thought, which was one of overwhelming relief, was mixed with other emotions more difficult to analyze. He had at no time believed that Marion could have killed Adler, but she had lied to him and the business of the knife that she had told him the night before had been burrowing insidiously in the back of his mind ever since. Now, taking a small breath and concentrating on keeping his voice steady, he said:

“I mean, that’s wonderful. She went in to see Adler after you’d gone and he was alive. That’s perfect. How long was she there?”

“She says it was only a few minutes. Adler started to make a drink. He squeezed a lemon and was looking around for some sugar when they heard this knock at the door. Adler didn’t know who it was. He said he wasn’t expecting anyone, but Doris thought George Freeman might have seen her and had come there to make trouble. So Adler told her to step into the bathroom and close the door. He said if it was Freeman, he’d get rid of him in a hurry.”

She stopped to moisten her lips and her eyes were wide and fixed as they met his own. She seemed not to be trying to build suspense with her hesitation but only searching for words; finally they came.

“That was when it happened,” she said. “While she was still in the bathroom.”

Again the silence came and this time Hayden broke it. “How long was she there?”

“She’s not sure.”

“Didn’t she hear anything?”

“Just some voices that she couldn’t understand or even identify. She didn’t hear anyone raise his voice or cry out. She didn’t hear the sound of anything falling. All she remembers is that suddenly there weren’t any voices any more and she waited another minute or two and finally inched the bathroom door open to take a look. First she thought the room was empty, so she came out and then she saw him.”

She continued quickly, relating the things that Doris Lamar had told her and trying to re-create the feeling of shock and horror and fear that had come to the woman.

“When she realized he was dead she got out,” she said. “She didn’t stop to think whether it was the wise thing to do. She says she was too panicky to think, that she acted on the spur of the moment, and the only thing she had in mind was to get away from there as quick as she could. She came out and shut the door and started for the street and then she saw this man walking past the office and coming her way.”

“Yes,” Hayden said as he remembered the moment and the impression that had come to him that night. There had been a woman, but he had never seen her or known what had happened to her. “It was me, wasn’t it?”

“Yes. She says she hid behind a car and watched you go into the room. The minute the door closed she ran.... Don’t you see, darling?” she said, a break in her voice that she could not control. “If Adler was dead before you came--”

He took her arm and squeezed it hard. He said he knew what she meant. Ted Corbin, who had been silent and still during the past minutes, shifted his weight on the seat and cleared his throat.

“You mean this dame knew about this all the time and wouldn’t tell the police? What the hell kind of a dame is that?” he demanded of no one in particular. “She knows neither of you did it and yet she’d let you stand trial for murder--”