The Man With the Getaway Face (14 page)

Buying a house had meant suburb to Parker from the beginning. The East Side Airlines Terminal had the phone books for the boroughs of New York – except for Staten Island – but the man Parker was looking for would be in Nassau County or Westchester County, or maybe even in Fan-field County up in Connecticut.

There was a "Wells, Chas. F.", in Nassau County. Parker knew from May that Stubbs had planned to go through the phone book for all the possibilities and then go visit each one. He also knew that Stubbs would start with the city itself.

But sooner or later it would have to occur to Stubbs that Wells lived outside the city, and Stubbs was six days ahead of him. There wasn't time to do it the way Stubbs was doing. Parker looked at the phone number for this Nassau County Wells, got some change out of his pocket and went into one of the booths.

He talked with an operator first, and fed some more money into the slots. Then the ringing sounded in his ear. He was just about to give up, after ten rings, when the phone was answered by a male voice. Parker said, "I want to talk to Charles F. Wells."

"Speaking."

"This is Wallerbaugh."

If he was the wrong Wells, he'd be baffled. If he was the right Wells, the naming coming at him this way might throw him off base.

It did. There was a pause, and then the voice, wary and careful. "What was that name, please?"

"Dr Adler," Parker said. Just to be absolutely sure.

The wait was longer this time, and the voice this time was low and vicious. "Who are you? What do you want?"

Parker hung up. He left the booth and went back across the crowded terminal floor and took a cab back to the Airlines Terminal. It was the right Wells, and he was still alive. That could mean Stubbs hadn't found him yet, even though he'd had six days. Or it could mean Stubbs had found him and Wells had proved his innocence. It could also mean that Stubbs had found him and was now dead.

The address wasn't much to go on. Reardon Road, Hunting-ton, Long Island. There was a map in the glove compartment of the rented Chevrolet, and Parker found Huntington and figured out his best route. The Queens Midtown Tunnel, because it was handy to the Terminal, and then the Long Island Expressway. Glen Cove Road up to North Hempstead Turnpike, which was also 25A, and that road into Huntington. When he got there, he could ask directions to Reardon Road.

He put the map back in the glove compartment.

Parker drank half the beer. "I'm looking for Reardon Road."

The bartender looked at him and said, "You, too?" Then he turned to somebody else sitting at the bar. "Here's another guy looking for Reardon Road."

"Is that right?"

"You mean my brother's been here already?"

"Your brother?"

"Older than me. Short and stocky and looks maybe a little punchy."

"Well I'll be damned," said the bartender.

The local the bartender had talked to come over to Parker. "He was hi here maybe half an hour ago."

"Less than that," said the bartender.

Parker drained the rest of the beer. "I thought I was ahead of him. Which way did you say it was?"

"Reardon Road?" The customer looked at the bartender. "How did we tell his brother to go?"

Another customer came down the line. "I was the one told him. Look, Mac, you go straight on through town on this street, see? And then you keep on going straight till you see the golf course."

"The Crescent," said the first customer.

"Right. The Huntington Crescent. And you make a left just the other side of the golf course."

"First left," said the bartender.

"Right," said the second customer again; he didn't like to be interrupted. "And then you make the second right and the first left."

The other customer and the bartender nodded. That's the way we told him."

Parker repeated it back. "First left after the golf course, then second right and first left."

They all told him that was right, and he thanked them. Then he went back out to the car and drove through town, staying within the speed limit all the way. This was no time to waste fifteen minutes arguing with a cop.

The golf course was farther from town than he'd expected, but maybe that was because he was in such a hurry. Stubbs was less than half an hour ahead of him. But because of the phone call, Wells was forewarned.

Distances are deceiving on narrow blacktop country roads. The second right was for ever after the first left, and the next left was across the rim of the world in Asia some place. Then at last he was on Reardon Road, and he had to crawl to be sure of reading the names on the mailboxes. He spotted Wells's name at last, and pulled the Chewy off the road. He couldn't see the black Lincoln parked anywhere, so Stubbs must have just blundered on in, driving the car.

Parker got out of the Chewy, locked it, and walked down the private road among the trees, He came around a turn and there was the Lincoln, parked, blocking the road. He took the Sauer out and moved up slowly, but the car was empty. He went beyond it, saw the house, and cut away to the right into the woods.

If Stubbs had any sense, he was working his way around through the woods to the back of the house. Or he'd done it already. There were lights on in the house and Parker caught occasional glimpses of them through the trees. He kept bearing right, until he knew he was beyond the house, and then he angled to the left around it.

All of a sudden there was blacktop in front of him, and he was looking at the three-car garage. He cursed under his breath and took a backward step, and then he heard the shot to his left. He rushed out to the blacktop and looked down to the left and saw Stubbs there, in the evening gloom, folding forward into himself. Beyond Stubbs was another man, distinguished-looking and white-haired, holding a gun. Wells looked past Stubbs and saw Parker, and his eyes widened as the gun came up, ready for another shot.

Don't kill him yet, Parker told himself, and don't ruin his right hand. He fired low, and the bullet shattered Wells's ankle. Wells made a strange high-pitch "Aaahh", and pitched forward on to the blacktop. The gun skittered away and stopped next to Stubbs's ear.

Parker checked Stubbs first, and he was dead. Then he checked Wells, who was unconscious. He ripped the sleeve from Wells's shirt and made a hasty tourniquet around Wells's leg to keep all the blood from pumping out through the ankle. Then, holding the Sauer again, he trotted across the blacktop and into the house.

It was a fine old house; the original owners had probably been Tories.

Parker went from room to room, switching on the lights, leaving them on in his wake. The light gleamed on polished mahogany and brass, on rich flooring and rich woodwork, on muted oil paintings and shelves of books.

In the kitchen, the light was fluorescent, and shone on porcelain and stainless steel and formica. Parker went upstairs and prowled all the rooms, and then went down into the basement, where he found the servants' quarters. But there was no one in the house.

Finally he went back outside, leaving the house ablaze with light. Outside it was fully night. Parker looked at the windows on the second storey of the garage, but they were uncurtained except for a film of dust. He went across the blacktop to where the two men were lying, and found Wells crawling towards Stubbs and the gun.

Parker kicked him on the bad ankle, and he fainted again. Then Parker picked him up and carried him into the house and dropped him on the leather sofa in the living-room. He'd never seen a leather sofa before; it must have cost around a thousand.

When Wells came to again, Parker was sitting in a chair near the sofa, the Sauer held easy in his lap. Wells blinked in the light, and whispered, "My leg. My leg."

"I know you killed Stubbs. Did you kill Dr Adler, too?"

"My leg," Wells whispered.

Parker grimaced. He'd have to start with an easier question. "Where are the servants?"

Wells closed his eyes. "I need a doctor."

"Answers first."

"I gave them the evening off."

Parker nodded. "So there'd be no witnesses when you killed Stubbs? You killed Dr Adler, too?"

"My leg. I need a doctor, I can't stand the pain."

"Answers first. You killed Dr Adler?"

"Yes! Yes, you knew that already."

"I wanted to hear it." Parker got to his feet and walked out of the room.

Behind him, Wells cried, "For the love of God, I need a doctor!"

Parker remembered a study. He found it and searched through the desk drawers till he found pen and paper. On the way back he passed through the music room and took down an LP in its jacket to write on.

Wells was still on the sofa, his eyes closed. When Parker came in he opened them. "Did you call a doctor?"

"Not yet."

"The pain, man."

"That's nothing." Parker lifted Wells to a sitting position, the bad leg straight out in front of him, heel on the floor. Then he loosened the tourniquet. "Watch the ankle."

Wells watched, and saw the blood suddenly spurt. It had practically stopped before, and started to coagulate, but when the tourniquet was released the clot broke down. Wells groaned, and reached for the tourniquet.

Parker slapped his hand away. "You've got something to write first." He gave Wells the LP and the paper and the pen. "Write how you killed Dr Adler and Stubbs."

"I'm too weak! I'm losing blood!"

"You could die," Parker said, "if you waste time arguing."

Wells's hands were shaking, but he managed to write: "I leaned in the window from the porch, and shot Dr Adler as he was sitting at his desk. I fired four times. I waited in the woods for--"

He paused and looked up. "What was the chauffeur's name?"

"Stubbs. With two b's."

" – Stubbs and shot him when he came into the open in front of my house."

Parker read over his shoulder. "Sign it."

"Charles F. Wells."

"The other name, too."

"C. Frederick Wallerbaugh."

"Fine."

Parker took the confession away so no blood would get on it, and then fired the Sauer once. The bullet caught Wells in the heart.

Parker put the Sauer away under his jacket and waved the confession in the air till the ink dried. The he folded it up and put it in his pocket, and went out to the kitchen to find a knife.

It was just eleven o'clock Thursday morning when he drove up to the sanitarium building. In the four days since he'd seen it, the further deterioration in the place was visible. It was falling apart fast, in the hands of May and her two men, and they'd probably abandon it before winter.

As Parker got out of the car, carrying the overnight bag, Lennie and Blue came out on to the porch and stood looking at him. Blue's left arm was in a sling, and his colour wasn't good. They both seemed surprised to see him.

Parker came up on to the porch. "Where's May?"

Lennie blinked. "We didn't expect to see you no more."

Blue said, "Where's Stubbs?" His yapping voice was weaker than before, but still belligerent.

"May first," Parker said.

"Here I am."

Parker looked past the two men and saw May in the semi-darkness just inside the doorway. She was glaring at him, and holding an old Colt Peacemaker in both hands, her right hand holding the grip and the trigger and her left hand holding the barrel.

"You'll burn your hand off, you shoot that gun when you're holding it that way. And break a wrist while you're at it."

"Don't you worry none about me," she said. "What are you doing back here?"

"I said I'd be back?"

"Where's Stubbs?"

"He's dead."

"You killed him."

"Wells killed him." He walked towards her, between the two men, and the gun wavered in her hands. She seemed to be debating in her mind. When he was almost upon her, she lowered the gun, sullenly, and let it hang heavy and ineffectual from her right hand.

"Come on," he said. He walked around her and led the way down the hall to the doctor's office. He could hear them whispering behind him, Lennie or Blue whispering urgently to May, and May making sounds of anger.

In the office, he set the overnight bag down on the floor beside the desk, and turned around. The three of them were standing the same as the other time, just inside the door – May in front, Blue behind and to her right, Lennie behind and to her left. They looked like bowling pins.

"All right," May said. "I suppose you still got that funny-looking gun. But this time I've got one too, and don't let my skinniness fool you. You make one funny move and I'll shoot you before you can blink an eye."

"I'm sure of it. I'm going to get a piece of paper out of my pocket."

"Move slow," May warned him.

Parker reached into his inside jacket pocket, and came out with the folded confession. He walked across the room and handed it to May.

She didn't know what to do with the Peacemaker. She couldn't unfold the paper while she was still holding it. Finally, reluctantly, she handed it over to Blue. "Keep your eye on him."

"Don't you worry about that," Blue said.

May read the confession and Blue and Lennie read it over her shoulder, Blue forgetting all about watching Parker. Parker could have walked over and taken the Peacemaker away from Blue, but there was no point in it. He leaned against the desk and waited.

May finished first, because the other two were lip-readers. She looked over at Parker. "How do I know this isn't a phony?"

"Is that his real name there, down on the bottom? C. Frederick Wallerbaugh?"

"So what?"

"All you told me was 'Wallerbaugh'. Not the first and middle names, or how he signed himself."

"That's right, May," Lennie said. It was a surprise to hear him talk. Parker looked at him and tried to decide if Lennie was still wearing the same undershirt he'd had on last Saturday. The corduroy pants were the same.

"All right," said May. She wanted to be difficult, and there was always a way. "How come he wrote this?"

"I'd shot him, and he wanted me to get him a doctor."

"You forced him. So maybe it's a pack of lies."

"What for?" Like the last time, Parker was having trouble keeping hold of his temper. But he didn't want to get too impatient, because then he'd kill those three morons, and that would be their brand of stupidity.

"So we'd think it wasn't you killed Dr Adler and Stubbs."

"Why did I kill Dr Adler and Stubbs?"

"So they wouldn't tell nobody about your new face."

"Then why didn't I kill you three the last time I was here?"

"That's right, May," Lennie said. Parker looked at him, surprised again. Maybe Lennie was the one with a mind in his head.

"All he's trying to do is fast-talk us again," May said.

"But why would he kill the doctor and Stubbs, and then not try to kill us? Why should he try to fast-talk us?" Lennie asked.

May shook her head, truculently. "I just don't trust this man."

"I don't think I should trust you either," Parker said. "I trusted the doctor because he had a brain, and because a friend of mine vouched for him. But you three are morons."

"Hold on there." The Peacemaker had been dangling from the end of Blue's arm, but now he managed to bring the barrel up and aim it at Parker.

"Now, wait, Blue," Lennie said. "If this man's trying to be fair to us, we ought to try to be fair to him." His face was screwed up with concentration, the way Stubbs had done sometimes when he was thinking hard. "You got to admit he makes sense. All he's been doing is trying to prove to us he didn't kill the doctor, when it would have been easier for him to kill the three of us. If he'd killed the doctor that's just exactly what he would have done. And besides, May, you said he wouldn't come back and that would prove he was the killer. But he did come back after all."

May thought that one over, not liking it because it cleared Parker and she didn't like Parker. Finally she shrugged, reluctantly. "I suppose that's right."

But Parker wanted to be sure. "Wells killed your doctor. You got that straight now?"

"I suppose so," May said. She was frowning hard now, and she looked at Lennie as though for help.

"We got to be fair with this man, May. He went to a lot of trouble to prove himself."

May shook her head. "You better give me that gun back, Blue."

Parker studied them, frowning, and then grimaced in disgust. "You already blew the whistle!"

May had the gun again, holding it in her two-handed grip, aiming it shakily at him. "Now, you stay right there."

"You couldn't wait," Parker said. "You had to be damn fools."

It was Lennie who answered, apologetically. "We figured you for a phony," he said. "We got to talking it over, and May thought – we all thought you were just out to kill Stubbs, that you'd sold us a bill of goods. May said – we all figured you wouldn't be coming back. So I went down into town, and talked with a guy I know. He works for the bookie's wire service, and he made a couple phone calls, and then I talked to another man on the telephone--"

"Who?"

"I don't know, named Lowry, something like that. And I gave him your description."

"You acted so goddam tough," May cried.

"Not tough enough. I should have burned you, all three of you. I should have known I couldn't trust you."

Lennie, still apologizing, said, "It wouldn't of been fair not to tell you. After all the trouble you went through. We did wrong, but it wouldn't of been fair not to tell you."

Parker considered. The thing was shot now. The syndicate didn't have a picture of him, and a description always fits thousands of men, but they did know about the new face. They knew now not to look for Parker the way he used to be. He felt like taking the Peacemaker away from May and using it on the three of them, but it wouldn't do any good.

So what now? He could go find himself another plastic surgeon, run the whole thing again, but the hell with it. You could never be sure, never be absolutely sure. Doing it this way, running away and trying to hide from the syndicate, that had been wrong from the beginning. He had his own life to live, his own pattern, his own plans and pace. What good was it to› change all that? He might just as well let the syndicate kill him.

What he had to do was make sure the syndicate was convinced they should forget him. He had to make them hurt, he had to bring them down to where they'd be willing to throw in the towel. Then he could go on about his business without worrying about new names or new faces or new days of life.

The three of them were watching him, warily. Finally Lennie said, "What do you figure to do now?"

"With you people? Forget you."

"We're sorry, Mr Anson," Lennie said. "Honest to God."

There was no sense talking to them. They were idiots, but they'd done all the damage they could do. Parker started through them, out of the room, but Blue said, "You forgot your bag."

Parker paused and looked back at the overnight bag. "Oh, yeah." He went back to it. "Stubbs told me one time, if anybody tried to kill the doctor to protect their new face, Stubbs would take the new face away from them. Stubbs got killed, so I did it for him."

He picked up the overnight bag and set it on the desk. There was a zipper around three, sides, and Parker unzipped it all the way around. The flap fell open, and May and the two men looked at the new face Dr Adler had given to Charles F. Wells.

They were still staring at the head when Parker walked through them and down the hall and out to the car. He paused beside the car to light a cigarette, then climbed in behind the wheel and drove back out to the road. He'd give the car back to the rental people. And after that…?

After that, Miami. The syndicate trouble had to be settled, but it could wait. Parker had to unwind for a while, for a few weeks anyway. It would be good to be Charles Willis again for a time.