At the time.
Mrs. Casey, since Corey moved in, had made an exception to her dictum of not making breakfast. She got up at six so he could have his breakfast before the guard left and she generously stayed up to serve us lesser mortals.
Harley left after breakfast. I drove Mrs. Casey to her ten-o’clock Mass. When I returned to the house a couple of teenage boys were playing catch on the Crider lawn and there was a car with a Missouri license plate on their driveway.
“Do the Criders have visitors?” I asked Corey.
He shook his head. “They sold out and moved to Sun City.”
They had found their sanctuary.
Jan was on the phone when I came into the house. When she hung up she told me she had invited the Vogels for dinner. “And your friend Bernie asked if he should bring his gun. I don’t think that was funny.”
“Bernie,” I explained, “has to deal with hoodlums day in and day out. Most cops do. They have a less panicky view of the breed than we ordinary citizens do.”
I told Corey after lunch that I would stand guard for a while and he could get some exercise in the pool. The sheriff’s cruiser went past three times in my first hour of watch. I joined Corey and Jan in the pool. Let the bald cat play his nitwit game; I was a man, not a mouse. Corey was no longer being held. Our family was alive and well. But Jasper Belton was neither well nor alive and Harley Davidson Belton was on the hunt. Baldy was overmatched—I tried to tell myself.
When the Vogels came, we all sat in the living room, nobody in the front yard. Over the expensive Scotch I reserve for Bernie’s refined taste I related to him all that Harley and I had learned on the trip.
“So now,” I explained, “we know everything about the killer except his name.”
“Everything about the suspect,” he corrected me, “except his name.”
“Come on! He was living with Jane Meredith. She was beaten to death and five hundred dollars she had withdrawn from her savings is missing. Her car is found abandoned in Ventura. Corinth cigarette packages are found in the shack and in his hotel room, and I learned that’s what he smokes. We can tie the man up with Jasper. Are you telling me that’s not a case?”
“It’s reasonable cause for arrest,” he admitted. “But where is the hard evidence? Any prowler could have killed Jane Meredith and stolen her car and her money. And you can be sure the defense attorney will have half a dozen people in court who smoke Corinth cigarettes. And where’s the weapon? Corey’s is the only one that has been found, and it matched the slug in Belton’s neck. Think of what the defense can make of that.”
“Corey’s safe, isn’t he?”
“He can be picked up again. Is this the last of your drinkable Scotch?”
“I’ll bring you another,” I said. “But you sure as hell haven’t earned it.”
“Brock,” he said patiently, “I was only trying to point out what could happen. I’m sure you don’t believe in vigilante justice.”
“Of course not!” I half lied. “Neither Stan Nowicki nor I believe in that.”
“Nowicki!” he said scornfully.
“You have just contradicted yourself,” I told him.
“What in hell do you mean by that?”
“Mull it over,” I said, “while I get you another free drink.”
I don’t know if he mulled it over or not while I was getting his drink. The fact in hard evidence is that he didn’t reopen the discussion when I came back.
We changed pairings after dinner. Bernie and Jan talked about the new writers and artists I couldn’t understand and Ellie didn’t want to understand. Ellie and I talked about the various causes which were her present interest, all of them concerned with making this a better world, and I gave her a donation before they left.
The guard was on watch by that time. We all went to bed, except for Mrs. Casey, who was probably watching the late, late golden oldie movie on the tube.
CHAPTER 12
T HE MORNING WAS OVERCAST but the
Mrs. Casey, since Corey moved in, had made an exception to her dictum of not making breakfast. She got up at six so he could have his breakfast before the guard left and she generously stayed up to serve us lesser mortals.
Harley left after breakfast. I drove Mrs. Casey to her ten-o’clock Mass. When I returned to the house a couple of teenage boys were playing catch on the Crider lawn and there was a car with a Missouri license plate on their driveway.
“Do the Criders have visitors?” I asked Corey.
He shook his head. “They sold out and moved to Sun City.”
They had found their sanctuary.
Jan was on the phone when I came into the house. When she hung up she told me she had invited the Vogels for dinner. “And your friend Bernie asked if he should bring his gun. I don’t think that was funny.”
“Bernie,” I explained, “has to deal with hoodlums day in and day out. Most cops do. They have a less panicky view of the breed than we ordinary citizens do.”
I told Corey after lunch that I would stand guard for a while and he could get some exercise in the pool. The sheriff’s cruiser went past three times in my first hour of watch. I joined Corey and Jan in the pool. Let the bald cat play his nitwit game; I was a man, not a mouse. Corey was no longer being held. Our family was alive and well. But Jasper Belton was neither well nor alive and Harley Davidson Belton was on the hunt. Baldy was overmatched—I tried to tell myself.
When the Vogels came, we all sat in the living room, nobody in the front yard. Over the expensive Scotch I reserve for Bernie’s refined taste I related to him all that Harley and I had learned on the trip.
“So now,” I explained, “we know everything about the killer except his name.”
“Everything about the suspect,” he corrected me, “except his name.”
“Come on! He was living with Jane Meredith. She was beaten to death and five hundred dollars she had withdrawn from her savings is missing. Her car is found abandoned in Ventura. Corinth cigarette packages are found in the shack and in his hotel room, and I learned that’s what he smokes. We can tie the man up with Jasper. Are you telling me that’s not a case?”
“It’s reasonable cause for arrest,” he admitted. “But where is the hard evidence? Any prowler could have killed Jane Meredith and stolen her car and her money. And you can be sure the defense attorney will have half a dozen people in court who smoke Corinth cigarettes. And where’s the weapon? Corey’s is the only one that has been found, and it matched the slug in Belton’s neck. Think of what the defense can make of that.”
“Corey’s safe, isn’t he?”
“He can be picked up again. Is this the last of your drinkable Scotch?”
“I’ll bring you another,” I said. “But you sure as hell haven’t earned it.”
“Brock,” he said patiently, “I was only trying to point out what could happen. I’m sure you don’t believe in vigilante justice.”
“Of course not!” I half lied. “Neither Stan Nowicki nor I believe in that.”
“Nowicki!” he said scornfully.
“You have just contradicted yourself,” I told him.
“What in hell do you mean by that?”
“Mull it over,” I said, “while I get you another free drink.”
I don’t know if he mulled it over or not while I was getting his drink. The fact in hard evidence is that he didn’t reopen the discussion when I came back.
We changed pairings after dinner. Bernie and Jan talked about the new writers and artists I couldn’t understand and Ellie didn’t want to understand. Ellie and I talked about the various causes which were her present interest, all of them concerned with making this a better world, and I gave her a donation before they left.
The guard was on watch by that time. We all went to bed, except for Mrs. Casey, who was probably watching the late, late golden oldie movie on the tube.
CHAPTER 12
T HE MORNING WAS OVERCAST but the
Similar Books
