Part 12

“No, Ted,” Marion cut in, leaning forward slightly, so she could see him better. “She said if we were actually arrested and indicted she would tell the truth.... Oh, she wasn’t proud of what she was doing,” she added. “She said she wanted to get out of here and she had to have some money. She said she knew she would be in for a hard time with the police for not having told them the truth before, and now she thought she ought to get something for the trouble the police would give her.”

Because he knew a little about Doris Lamar, Hayden could understand the situation and accept the motives which had prompted the girl’s odd behavior. She could not make up her mind to settle down with George Freeman. There had been a chance to break out with Sam Adler and somebody had taken care of that too. He felt no resentment toward her for having kept her knowledge to herself; what was important was that her co-operation could be had, and now he straightened, his mind made up.

“Okay,” he said, “I’ll take it from here.”

A glance at his watch told him it was a quarter of six. That meant he would have to go to Jerry’s Tavern to find Doris, but he did not think it would be difficult to get her outside long enough to tell her how he felt. He mentioned this aloud as he started to lay his plans, and Marion contradicted him.

“She won’t be at the tavern,” she said. “She told me last night that she quit yesterday.”

“That’s all the better,” Hayden said. “I can talk to her at her place.” He looked at Corbin. “Do they know you at the motel?”

“No.”

“I’d like to use the rented car if you don’t mind.”

“Sure. Why not?”

“Marion can drop you off at the motel and you can register and stay in your room until I get in touch with you. It shouldn’t be too long.”

* * * * *

Once in the rented car, Hayden moved circuitously by back roads until he came to the highway approaching the village from the south. Starting about five miles out of town he made inquiries at three filling stations and each time he drew a blank. This brought him finally to Lee Cramer’s place, and as he pulled to a stop beside the gasoline pumps he was reminded again of that night four days earlier.

It was the same kind of day, windy and raw, and dusk was settling fast. Lee Cramer looked just the same as he hustled from the shelter of his cubelike office. The chief difference was that Cramer did not recognize the car, and when he was close enough to see who was driving it he seemed to falter and his gaze was both puzzled and curious. The expression suggested that he might well know the authorities were looking for Hayden, but that did not stop his friendly greeting.

“Evening, Mr. Hayden.... New car?”

“A rented one, Lee,” Hayden said. “But I don’t need any gas. I’m looking for some information and I thought maybe you could help me.”

“I can try.”

“I’m trying to check on a man that came into town Tuesday night.”

“Tuesday?” Lee nodded. “That would be the night the fellow was murdered down at the motel.”

“That’s right. And this man would be a stranger. He might have stopped to ask the same questions Adler did the night before. I checked at three stations down the road but no one remembers him and I thought you might. A big man, tall, well built, good-looking, with a tan and maybe a touch of southern accent.”

Cramer frowned as he considered the question. He looked up at the sky and then at Hayden. He shook his head.

“I can’t place him, Mr. Hayden. He didn’t stop here, at least not while I was on.”

“When do you go off?”

“Around six-thirty usually. My son-in-law--he works in Bridgeport--takes over for me most evenings.”

Hayden had to swallow his disappointment but, so long as there was a chance, he could not quit. “Could you call him, Lee? Would he be home now?”

“He should be,” Cramer said. “I’ll find out.”

He hurried off to disappear in the office and Hayden slumped down in the seat and tried to be patient. He needed further corroboration for the idea that had been forming in the back of his mind for the past twenty-four hours, and the expression on Lee Cramer’s blocky face when he hurried out of the office gave him new hope.

“That was a good hunch, Mr. Hayden.”

“He remembers him?”

“Just like you described him. He pulled in and asked if this was the way to The Shady Maple. He also asked if Frank knew you. Frank said not very well but he knew who you were.”

“Does he remember what time it was?”

“He says he thinks it was around eight-thirty but he can’t be real sure.”

Hayden thanked him. He said he would explain later why the information was important. Then he was accelerating back onto the highway, his confidence mounting as the new and essential part of the mental pattern fell into place. He drove swiftly but with care, and in his mind was the comforting thought that all he needed was a little more time. Give him that and he would be ready for the police and their questions, and it was this thought that took him past the tavern and the motel and brought him to the driveway on the left side of the quiet street.

The archaic and empty mansion had a long-abandoned look now, and it was too dark to read the For Sale sign as he drove past and came to the cottage at the rear. He parked under the trees and switched off his lights, hurrying now, aware that the shades were drawn but seeing a dim crack of illumination in the front.

He was on the step then, knocking, his impatience dominating him. He reached for the knob and when the door opened he pushed into the room. What happened then came without warning.

It was not that instinct failed him; he never gave it a chance. The urgency that had carried him this far had its own momentum, and he was forever grateful that there had been no delay or indecision on his part. For these minutes he had saved proved to be priceless, and in the end his occupation with his thoughts saved him.

There may have been a moment when he was intuitively aware that danger lurked beside him. He also realized too late that he had stepped into darkness and he knew that this should not be. There should have been no darkness, and he now found it both frightening and impenetrable. In that same brief instant he could have heard some movement close by, some whisper of sound that told him something was horribly wrong. Later he knew it must have been that way because he ducked automatically as he tried to check himself and turn toward the unseen threat.

Even as he made his move he was hit and this time the darkness was an ally. The blow missed his head but crashed solidly into the angle of his neck and shoulder, a shocking, vicious smash that knocked him off balance. The topcoat helped cushion the force of the impact, but his effort to turn was much too late and he went down heavily, not hurt but bewildered by the darkness and the unfamiliar surroundings.

He rolled instinctively as he hit the floor. He came to his knees, still not seeing anything. He swore aloud and tried to lunge toward the open door as he came to his feet, but he was moving blindly and fell again as an overturned chair tripped him.

He knew as he finally regained his balance that whoever had attacked him had gone. The night air was in his face as he felt his way to the door and he closed it, hearing nothing outside, knowing that the man had left the way he had come--by foot from the street beyond the wooded area at the rear.

Only then was he really conscious of the quiet surrounding him. Only then was he able to think of Doris Lamar, and he was suddenly so scared and empty inside that he called out to her. He called again, his voice rising, then fumbled frantically along the wall until he found the electric switch.

He blinked against the sudden brightness, and then he saw her, and now the fear was real and paralyzing. She lay crumpled near the center of the room, skirts high and twisted, her face turned away. But even then, unable yet to think or even to move, he could see the stocking knotted about her neck and the dark stain that discolored the bright yellow hair.

_19_

The fear that held John Hayden rooted to the floor in those next awful moments was two-edged and stunning in its impact. For it was not just the sight of the girl and the instant understanding of what must have happened here; it was the realization that without her there would be no testimony to be bought and paid for, no chance for the truth that would clear Marion and himself to be told.

He was moving as the thought hit him, shucking off his coat and tossing it aside, then dropping to one knee and lifting the limp torso while he supported the back of her head. He could feel the warmth of her body against him and he could see now that the stocking held no knot but had simply been twisted across her throat, apparently from the back. He saw the blood above and in back of the temple even though the thickness of the blond hair obscured the wound itself. But it was the color of her face that shocked him most.

There was a grayness beneath the make-up, and he spoke her name again, not knowing that he did so. He touched her cheek and there was warmth there, and he found a wrist and thought he sensed a pulse beat. But she did not seem to be breathing, and he lowered her and turned her face-down, frantic now and driven by a desperation that had as its focus the determination to make her breathe again.

Without experience, not daring to take the time to call a doctor, he moved astride her hips and put both hands beside the rib cage, low down, his fingers pressing and relaxing as he shifted his weight. He found a rhythm of sorts and hoped it was right. He counted, aware of nothing but the warmth of her and the movement he induced.

He was not sure how long it was before he felt a stirring beneath his fingertips. He was not even sure there was a movement at first. He made himself keep to the rhythm but more gently now. Then he felt the response and leaned close, his head beside hers, and heard the faint and labored and wonderful sound of her breathing.

His hands were sweaty and trembling as he caught a breath of his own, and it was then that he felt the cold draft sliding along the floor to touch his spine and make him wonder. Before he could understand this he heard the hoarse cry behind him and the sound of it made his scalp crawl. Somehow he managed to jerk his head around and for a long and terrifying second death stared back at him.

He saw the gun first and it was pointed right at him. He had no time to think, but his reaction was spontaneous and instinctive and he gave voice to it at once. He yelled, the words harsh and violent:

“_George!_ Wait! I found her like this. I just got here.”

He swallowed in an effort to speak again. He moved aside with great caution, an inch at a time, his gaze fixed on George Freeman’s white and twisted face. The back of his neck was cold and there was a great emptiness inside him as he saw the tension in the hand that held the gun and the wild unseeing eyes. He knew he had to get through to the man, to make him see, and now he spoke again, his tone rough, profane, and jarring.

“She’s alive,” he said. “Help me, goddammit! Put that gun down and give me a hand!”

The face that had always seemed so bland and boyish remained pale and twisted but something happened to the eyes. Something had registered in the mind and there was a flicker of movement, a faint gleam of recognition, as Hayden pressed his advantage.

“Call the police!” he snapped. “Get a doctor and an ambulance. Hurry, damn it!”

That time the words got through. The gun wavered slightly, its muzzle dipping, and he began to breathe again. He could feel the perspiration break out on his forehead, the trickle of it down his sides. He could hear the rapid pulsing of his heart as Freeman finally moved.

“Who did it?” he demanded hoarsely.

“I don’t know.”

“I’ll kill him.”

“All right. But call a doctor first.”

He turned back to the girl to make sure she was still breathing. There was no sign of consciousness and his helplessness dismayed him. He wanted to do something about the wound on the head, but when he saw there seemed to be no more bleeding he let it alone and listened to Freeman give orders over the phone.

* * * * *

The first person to arrive in response to George Freeman’s telephone call was a uniformed State Policeman, a stone-faced, competent-looking fellow who, after his first quick glance about the room, went directly to the girl. When he straightened he asked a minimum of questions as he stepped over to the telephone. He was still talking when the doctor arrived.

Hayden, who had sat down on the couch because of the odd weakness in the back of his legs, watched the man take off his hat and coat and then move over to kneel beside the girl. He spent some time parting the blond hair and examining the wound; finally he pointed to the mark on her throat. He picked up the stocking that Hayden had discarded and glanced around.

“Did somebody try to strangle her?”

Hayden said he thought so. He explained where he had found the stocking and what he had done.

“I thought she was alive,” he said, “but I couldn’t tell whether she was breathing or not, so I tried to give her artificial respiration.”

“It did no harm,” the doctor said, “and it might have helped.” He cocked his head and Hayden heard the distant wail of a siren. It faded as he listened, but now there was a sound of a car moving down the driveway and the doctor said: “If that’s the ambulance will you ask them to come right in?”

Freeman, who had been standing near the door and saying nothing, turned and went out. When he returned he was followed by two men with a stretcher and blankets. As they put the stretcher down beside the girl the State Policeman spoke.

“Maybe the lieutenant ought to see her, Doc,” he said.

“I think it’s more important that we get her into oxygen right away,” the doctor replied and gave a silent signal to the two men.

They lifted her gently onto the stretcher and tucked a blanket about her. At a nod from the doctor they raised the stretcher, and as they started out he said he would call the hospital and alert them.

He had just finished with the telephone when Lieutenant Garvey came in with another officer who was also in plainclothes, a blocky, black-browed man a few years younger than his superior. He saw Hayden in his first all-inclusive glance, but if he felt any surprise it did not show. He apparently had been given some information either by telephone or radio and he now turned directly to the doctor.

“How bad is she?”

“Hard to tell.” The doctor glanced at Hayden. “I believe he can give you the details. All I can tell is that she has a concussion, possibly a severe one. We can’t know about a fracture until we’ve taken some pictures.”

“Will she live?”

“I’d say she has a reasonable chance.” He gestured with one hand. “But concussions are tricky. It’s not a sure thing by any means.”

“How long before she’ll be conscious?”

“Maybe an hour. Maybe a day, a week, maybe never.”

When the door closed behind the doctor, Garvey gave his full attention to Hayden. He took his time, the deep-set gray eyes probing and intent, his lips compressed but not grim.

“Have a good trip?” he asked dryly.

“I think it was worthwhile.”

“What makes you think so?”

“I got what I went after,” Hayden said. “I brought Corbin back with me.”

“Corbin?” Garvey considered the name. “That would be Mrs. Hayden’s first husband? Where did you locate him?”

“In Fairview, Alabama.”

“That’s across the Bay from Mobile. You must have beat the local boys to it.”

“But not by much.”

“Did you fly out of Mobile?”

“New Orleans.”

“That was smart. You knew they were looking for him.”

“I knew they were looking for me.”

“How long have you been back?”

“About an hour.”

Garvey nodded and his attitude was suddenly more businesslike than skeptical. “Okay, we’ll get to that later. What brought you here? What happened?”

Hayden told him, and it was an easy thing to do because the scene was still so vivid in his mind. Garvey listened without interruption, his gray gaze speculative but attentive until the story was over.

“You thought you saw a light in here when you got out of the car,” he said, “but when you walked in it was dark.”

“That’s right. Before I had a chance to wonder about it he jumped me.”

“Then if you’d been a couple of minutes later he would have finished the job on the girl.” He thought it over a minute, his lips pursing. “You were trying to give her artificial respiration when George Freeman walked in on you, is that right?”

“I’d just finished.”

“And he had a gun?” He glanced about the room and suddenly his eyes narrowed and he looked at the plainclothes man who had come with him. “Where is he, Malone?”

“The last I saw of him he went in there.” Malone pointed to the bedroom. “I thought he was going to the john.”

“Take a look,” Garvey said and waited until the detective returned alone, a sheepish expression on his face. “Take a look outside.” He watched the other leave and turned back to Hayden. “What brought you here in the first place?”

“Is it important?”

“It could be.”

Hayden stood up and reached for a cigarette, his brown eyes somber and troubled as he considered his reply. Then, because it was something that had to be done, he decided to tell the truth.

“If Doris Lamar doesn’t live I can’t prove this,” he said, “but Doris came to my wife and told her she had information that would clear both of us. She said she would deny it if my wife went to you. She wanted money and she said she was willing to take her chances on any trouble you could give her if she got paid for what she knew. I came here to find out how much she wanted.”

The skepticism still showed on Garvey’s face. He asked other questions and Hayden answered them. He was still at it when Malone came back and shook his head and now Garvey said: “All right, we’ll pick him up later.”

Before he could continue Hayden spoke. “I’d like to ask a favor.”

“Such as what?”

“There’s a lot of talking to be done,” he said, “so why couldn’t we do it at my place instead of here?”

“Why?”

“I told you I brought Corbin back with me. He should be at The Shady Maple now. You’re going to want to question him because he knows a lot about Sam Adler. My wife still doesn’t know how Corbin happened to miss that plane in Capitol City two years ago. She doesn’t know what Corbin did and what was happening during those years.

“Also,” he continued, “I’ve got some ideas about Corbin myself. I understand that my wife and I are still under some suspicion of murder and I’d like to get out from under. So why not go down to my place and have it out in one session? If you don’t mind, I’d like to get my lawyer there too, just in case.”

Such arguments had a reasonable sound and even Garvey seemed impressed. He glanced at Malone, then back at Hayden. For another second or two he hesitated as the logic behind the request came through to him and a glimmer of something that might have been respect replaced the doubt in his gray eyes.

“Call your lawyer,” he said. “You may need him. Tell him to meet you at your place.”

He belted his trench coat as Hayden dialed Roger Denham’s number and stated his request. When he hung up, Garvey was waiting.

“Get your coat,” he said. “I’ll pick up Corbin. Would he be registered under that name?”

“He’s been using the name Cannon for the past couple of years,” Hayden said. “You could try that first, but whoever’s on the desk should remember him.”

Garvey nodded again. “I’ll get him, and Freeman if I can find him. Malone can ride with you,” he added. “Like you said--just in case.... Okay?”

_20_

John Hayden had hoped that he would be able to talk to Marion alone before Lieutenant Garvey took charge of the investigation, but there was nothing he could do about it now. He could see the uncertainty in the hazel eyes when she saw Malone, and he had no choice but to introduce the detective and tell her that Garvey was on his way over with Ted Corbin.

By the time he had taken care of their coats and Malone had settled himself on the divan, the doorbell rang and he went over to admit Roger Denham. The lawyer’s bespectacled gaze was bright and curious, but he shook hands warmly when he stepped inside.

“I’m certainly glad to see you,” he said. “When I got your note and found out what you intended to do I thought it was a foolish move, but Marion tells me you pulled it off. Where’s Corbin now?”

“At the motel. Lieutenant Garvey’s bringing him over--that is, if he hasn’t skipped.”

He introduced Malone and took Denham’s coat, and then he spoke of Doris Lamar. He kept his account of what had happened as brief as he could, seeing the surprise in Denham’s eyes and the look of shock and incredulity in his wife’s face. To give her some encouragement, he stopped beside her chair to take her hand.

“She’s still alive,” he said. “She has a chance.”

“But if--”

“Don’t think that way,” he cut in. “I’ve told the lieutenant what she told you and--”

“But I don’t understand. Who could have done it, John? Who?”

He had no chance to answer the question, and for this he was grateful because he was not ready for it. He came quickly to his feet as the doorbell rang again, and then Lieutenant Garvey and Ted Corbin were in the room and it was time for Garvey to take the floor.

Once again he declined Hayden’s offer to take his coat, but he opened it and sat down, putting his hat beside the chair.

“Detective Ball is at the hospital with the Lamar woman,” he said. “We may hear something, we may not. I understand one of you”--he glanced at Corbin and then back at Hayden--“is going to tell me why Corbin disappeared. You’re going to tell me what Adler knew about that disappearance. But first I’d like to ask _you_ some questions, Mr. Hayden.”

He paused, the gray eyes steady, and something in that look told Hayden he wasn’t going to like the questions.

“You went to Mobile and Fairview to look for Corbin. That means you knew he was alive.”

“I thought he might be.”

“What made you think so?”

It was Hayden’s turn to hesitate, and when he understood that evasion and temporizing would get him nowhere he decided to do the best he could with the truth.

“Adler came to my wife and told her so.”

“He wanted money to stay quiet about it?”

“Yes.”

“She told you. You went to Mr. Denham for advice and then you went to The Shady Maple. Now what took you to Mobile? How did you know Adler might have come from there?”

“You told me later.”

Garvey’s brows lifted. “So I did. All right. Now assuming Corbin lived in that area, how did you expect to find him? No one knew him by that name. You had to have some kind of a lead, a photograph or something--”

Hayden was already reaching for the snapshots and the enlargement of the insignia on the coveralls Corbin had worn when the picture was taken. He offered them, saw Garvey’s eyes narrow as he inspected them.

“You took them from Adler’s wallet,” the lieutenant said. “You denied being there that night.”

“I had to deny it. If you had known what Adler wanted then, and there was always a chance those negatives would turn up--as a matter of fact they did--then you would have known I had both a motive for murder and the opportunity. You might have arrested me that first night.”

“We might have.... So how did you finally locate Corbin?”

Hayden told him in detail about his search the previous day, and when he finished Garvey cleared his throat.

“Now that we’ve got that part straight let’s let it go for now and get back to Adler and how _he_ knew Corbin was alive.”

Hayden looked over at Corbin, who was sitting in his chair, supported by shoulders and buttocks, his long legs stretched out with ankles crossed.

“Do you want to tell it?”

Corbin lifted one hand, tipped it. A small smile twisted his tanned, good-looking face and his voice was unconcerned.