An Eye for an Eye (12 page)

“Just the same,” said Packer, “he still wants his wife back and your wife, alive, is still his best hope of getting her. Also you were pretty obviously on your own last night; so as far as he knows, there is no law involved.”

“It looked as though he took all the food in the joint with him,” Ernie said. “He must mean to hole up with her somewhere else.”

“All right,” Ben said. “I’ll hope.”

His voice was very bitter.

They got out in the police garage and went upstairs to Harbacher’s office. Ben sat down and stared bleakly at the floor. Poor bastard, Ernie thought. He was breaking his neck trying to save her. And the hell of it is now that he isn’t really responsible any more, able to make the right decisions. But he has to make them. It’s his wife.

Harbacher was talking to him. “I agree with Chief Packer that Guthrie will contact you as soon as he can safely get to a telephone, probably tonight. Possibly even before. I think there is very little we can do until he does contact you. However, there are some preparations we can make.”

Ben shook his head. “I had one remote chance and I bungled it. Now there’s nothing more to do. I’ll talk to him when he calls. I’ll beg him. I’ll offer him everything I have, and if he won’t listen—”

He lifted his hands and let them drop again.

Ernie was tired. He had had only two and a half hours of sleep last night. He was still burning with honest anger at the way things had been balled up in South Flat. He lost his temper and talked out of turn.

“That’s fine,” he said. “You screw everything up and now you’re going to cry on Guthrie’s shoulder. That’ll help Carolyn a lot.”

Ben stared at him with eyes like two pieces of dull glass. Packer and Harbacher stood by and let Ernie talk.

“You’ll beg him. You’ll offer him. He doesn’t want that, he wants Lorene, and the minute you tell him you can’t deliver her he doesn’t have any more reason for keeping Carolyn alive.”

Ben said, “What’s the use of telling him I can?”

“Well, in the first place, Lorene’s a woman. If she was a money ransom, a pack of bills, she could be delivered in a lot of ways, but a woman has to be met someplace. If you make him believe you’re bringing her, he’ll have to arrange a meeting. That could give us a chance to catch him.” Ernie fairly stamped his feet. “Christ, man. What have you got to lose now? You loused up one chance but you might have another. Are you going to louse that up too?”

Ben said, “You don’t have to be so goddamned self-righteous. Suppose it was Ivy instead of Carolyn?”

“I have supposed that. But it’s still true, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“All right. What are you going to do about it?”

They glared at each other.

Ben shrugged and looked away. “You’re right, Ernie. I haven’t anything to lose now. I’ll do what you say.”

“Good,” said Harbacher, stepping in. “I’ll tell you what we want. We would like you to go home and stay by the telephone, and we would like permission to tap your line and install a tape recorder.”

“Go ahead,” said Ben. “What do you want me to say to Guthrie?”

“I can’t write out the words for you. But try and convince him that you’ve talked Lorene into seeing him, that you understand there’s no other way to get Mrs. Forbes back. Don’t let him suspect that you have any contact with us or that you know about the house in South Flat. Don’t ask him where he’s taken her, for instance. Let him do the talking.”

“I’m just to promise him anything he wants.”

“Promising isn’t enough, you’ve got to make him believe it. Otherwise he’ll smell a trap and the whole thing will be off.”

Ben said, “I’ll try.”

Harbacher looked at him doubtfully. Then he went on to other things. “MacGrath and Drumm will go with you. They’ll stay with you in case Guthrie should try to contact you in person or make any attempt on your life. I don’t think either thing is likely, but you never know. We’ll also arrange for stakeouts at both ends of Lister Road.”

Packer said, “Mrs. Guthrie ought to be under guard too. And she might have some idea where he would go.”

Harbacher nodded. “Get over and talk to her. And make sure she doesn’t decide to run out. We’re likely to need her.” He glanced at Ernie. “One of us will be out in a little while. If anything breaks in the meantime you know what to do.”

Ernie said, “I’ll find you.” He turned to Ben. “Come on, let’s get moving.”

Ben got up and went with him. Packer and Harbacher both watched him go as though they were not happy about the prospects. Ernie was not either.

Bill Drumm was waiting downstairs. Ernie drove Ben’s car and Bill followed in the cruiser, which he would leave out of sight at Pettit’s, so as not to advertise their presence.

Ben Forbes sat silently beside Ernie. It was a gray cold day, and before they had gone three blocks it began to rain. Ernie drove mechanically. He was tired, but he could keep going as long as he had to. He didn’t talk to Ben. He didn’t know what to say.

Abruptly Ben said, “I’m sorry, Ernie. I didn’t give you a very fair break.”

“Forget it.”

“You could have caught him if I’d told you. Carolyn would be safe now.”

Ernie said uncomfortably, “That’s not certain. We might have had a better chance than you, but you never know how a deal like this will go.”

Ben shook his head.

“Listen,” Ernie said. “Forget what’s been done and think about what you’re going to do. She’s still alive and there’s still hope.”

Ben said, very quietly, “I told you I’d do whatever you think best.”

Ernie let it drop.

They reached the house. Ernie put the car in the garage and they plowed through the rain to the back door. A few minutes later Bill Drumm joined them. Inside the place was cold and so dreary in the gray light that it gave Ernie the creeps.

Ben sat down in the living room close to the hall. Ernie turned the furnace up and went out in the kitchen with Bill to fix some coffee and sandwiches. When he came back Ben was asleep in the chair, his face so gaunt and lined in repose that Ernie was shocked by it. He threw a blanket over him, and then he and Bill Drumm sat and drank coffee and ate sandwiches and listened for the phone. And all Ernie could think about was Carolyn, only her face looked like Ivy’s.

A couple of men arrived with the tape recorder and went about setting it up in the bedroom. Shortly after that Packer came, and then Mike Vinson from the local FBI office right on his heels. He talked to Ben Forbes and Packer and then went away again. Following its usual custom, the FBI would respect Ben’s request to hold off until Ben had made contact with Guthrie and done what he could to secure Carolyn’s release. Only when she was free or they were sure she was dead would they go all out after Guthrie. Packer would keep them informed. At this point they could not do any more than was already being done.

Packer had not been able to get any information out of Lorene. “Either she doesn’t know anything or she’s scared too witless to tell it,” he said. “I think it’s both.”

The Kratich house was under twenty-four-hour guard and a permanent plant had been established in Lorene’s vacated apartment. The Sheriff’s Office had been notified and a description of Guthrie’s car had been sent out with a request to report it if seen but under no circumstances to interfere with it. They did not want Carolyn Forbes killed over a traffic ticket.

Everything had now been done that could be done until they were given something new to work on.

They all sat down with Ben Forbes and waited for the phone to ring.

Lorene Guthrie was sitting, too. She was waiting for Al to come and kill her.

The Kratich house was big and old, with huge boxy rooms and ugly woodwork and windows that came down almost to the floor. It was well kept up. Vern and his older brother Nick saw to that. They both lived there, Vern because he was a bachelor and Nick because he was a widower. There was another brother and a couple of sisters, but they were all married and had their own homes. Lorene had met the family, but she had never had much to do with them. It had all been Vern and her.

Now she was in their house, almost as if she was already married to Vern. And all of a sudden none of it was real. Not even Vern.

It was like when you were little and you were out in the back yard playing you were a princess and the dog was your magician and you could have anything in the world you wanted, and then Pa would yell out the back door for you to come and do something and you were just yourself with your dirty bare feet. Everything had been going along so nice and happy and she had almost forgotten about Al, and then Mr. Forbes came that night and everything turned around and got ugly again. And there it was, the reality. She was still Al’s wife, and Al wasn’t going to let her get away.

She huddled in the big chair in the front corner bedroom they had given her. Rain dripped down the long window-panes. The red roses on the wallpaper looked like blotches of blood. She had said she was going to sleep, but she could not sleep in spite of the sedatives she had taken. They only made her feel dull and sickish without stopping the thoughts and the fear from going round and round in her head. So she sat in the stuffy overheated room, dressed in a flowered robe that hung open over her slip, smoking endless cigarettes and thinking about death.

There was a policeman downstairs and there were supposed to be some more outside watching. They were going to see to it that Al couldn’t get near her. That’s what everybody told her and maybe they all believed it, but they didn’t know Al. He would find out where she was and come after her, if he didn’t already know, and no policemen on earth would be able to stop him. Al was big and strong and he was clever as a bitch monkey about some things, and he was mad. She had seen him before when he got some grievance fixed in his mind and he would drink and brood and brood and drink and pretty soon there would be a terrible row. He never let anything stop him. He didn’t care if he lost his job or got thrown out of where they were living. If he got mad at somebody they had to suffer for it no matter what. Now he was real crazy mad and she was going to die for it.

Al would find a way into the house, past everybody. He would come up the stairs and open that door and stand for a minute looking at her the way he always did when he was sore, with his eyes kind of bright and his jaw stuck forward. Then he would come at her and drag her out of the chair with those great big hands and beat her, grunting and talking all the time he did it, and he wouldn’t stop. He’d beat her until she was dead, lying on the blue carpet with blood all over her.

She moaned and rocked her shoulders back and forth.

They don’t any of them care about me, she thought. That horrible man that kept telling me I have to stay right here, he doesn’t care what happens to me any more than if I was a dog as long as he gets what he wants. Just like Mr. Forbes. But I thought Vern would have cared. He’s always telling me, “You’re just a kid Lorene, you let me take care of you.” Then why doesn’t he do it? Why doesn’t he take me away somewhere where I’ll be really safe?

He’s always telling me I’m so young. And so pretty. Doesn’t he care at all if I die?

She cupped her palm under the end of a strand of hair and looked at it, feeling the springy curl, admiring the red-gold color. Everybody always said I had the prettiest hair in the world, she thought. Then she looked at her arm. It was round and white and the skin was like satin. Does he want all this to be dead?

She curved both hands under her breasts, those heavy beautiful things she had always been so proud of. The first time she met Al Guthrie he had come into the dairy store for a hamburger and a cup of coffee and she leaned over the counter in her thin white uniform and he looked down the open V of her neck as though he couldn’t believe what he saw there. Then he looked up and met her eyes and asked her what her name was, and she had known he would come back again. It had made her feel big to have a real man hanging after her. She was sick of the village boys, milky-faced and fresh and full of barnyard talk. And Al made good money driving a truck. When he asked her to marry him she hadn’t wasted any time saying yes. All Pa had said about it was good riddance, but Ma shook her head. “I don’t like him,” she said. “He’s a mean man.” And Lorene said, “You ought to know, you married Pa.” And then Ma got furious and told her, “All right, but don’t you come whining home to me for sympathy.” Later when she did just that she found out Ma meant exactly what she said. So every time she had gone back to Al.

She let her hands slide down over the soft curve of her hips and a guilty flush came over her. There had maybe been another reason too. Al hadn’t always been so bad. In one way, he sure had something that Vern didn’t have.

She wondered if Vern would go crazy like Al if she left him.

The rain drip-dripped on the windowpanes and her head throbbed. She stretched out one round white leg in front of her and looked miserably at it and put it down again. Dead, she thought. And I haven’t even got a wrinkle or a gray hair. If I was old and ugly I wouldn’t mind, but it’s cruel this way. And they’re all going to
force
me to stay here—

She beat her hands weakly on the chair arms and moaned.

It’s that policeman, she thought, that Packer. If it wasn’t for him Vern would take me.

He had wakened her out of a drugged sleep to go down and talk to Packer. Packer had asked her all kinds of questions about Al, hacking away at her until she thought she would scream, trying to find out where he might have gone to. And then he had told her all about how he was going to guard her.

“But I’ve got to get away from here,” she said, thinking of Al roaming the countryside looking for her. “Vern’s going to take me. I can’t stay here where he’ll find me.”

She couldn’t understand why Vern looked sore and shook his head. Then Packer said, “I don’t think you quite grasp the situation, Mrs. Guthrie. Your husband has kidnaped Mrs. Forbes and is holding her as a hostage for your return. He has threatened to kill her unless his demands are met. Naturally they can’t be met, but—”