The Shadowers (12 page)

“No, but—”

“It’s a face you wouldn’t forget if you saw it twice, even just passing it on the street,” I said. “And don’t think Kroch doesn’t know it. It’s his handicap in this business, as my height is mine. He’ll be forever figuring ways to get around it. Well, suppose he’s using Mooney as his eyes, and keeping his ugly, conspicuous self under cover. Mooney isn’t scheduled for any heavy work. Anybody can see he isn’t up to it. He just keeps track of you, acting the romantic lover. That’s why he followed you here in a panic, not because he was scared of a scandal, but because he couldn’t afford to lose contact with you or Kroch would have his hide. His job is to keep you located in a general sort of way. When the time comes, Kroch moves in and makes the kill.”

Olivia winced. I guess it wasn’t a pleasant idea to have tossed at you casually.

Then she said impatiently, “That’s ridiculous! Harold has no interest whatever in politics. Why would he—”

“Does Harold lead such a blameless life that you can’t imagine anybody blackmailing him, Doc? Is he such a strong character he’d tell a blackmailer to publish and be damned?”

She was silent for a moment, then she said quickly: “But Kroch shot him! Doesn’t that prove—”

“In the arm?” I said. “A neat, small-caliber flesh wound with a doctor available—two doctors if you count Mooney himself—if anything went wrong, like a severed artery? It’s been done before by people with complicated motives and mentalities. Why did Mooney come around this morning to apologize? He’s hardly the apologetic type. If you hadn’t invited him to your room, maybe he’d have invited himself on some pretext.”

“To get shot? Harold would never agree to that. You saw the way he reacted.”

“He didn’t have to know what was going to happen. He could just have had orders to make an appearance there with you at a certain time. Kroch’s acting surprised and annoyed by his presence could have been just a cover-up. And after the shooting, Mooney didn’t dare squawk.” I drew a long breath. “Look, Kroch knows I have him spotted. He can guess I’m also suspicious of Harold, the way he’s been hanging around you. This could be Kroch’s way of whitewashing Harold and taking all the suspicion on himself. That would leave the handsome doctor, pale and romantic-looking, with his arm in a sling, free to keep up the surveillance unsuspected. Meanwhile Kroch crawls back into his hole, wherever it is, gets regular reports on you from Mooney, cleans his little popgun, and waits for Der Tag.”

Olivia shook her head. “I don’t believe it!” There was a little pause. She gave a short laugh. “I guess I just don’t want to believe it, Paul. It was bad enough thinking Harold at least found me... well, attractive enough at the start. If he did the whole thing under orders, that doesn’t leave me any pride at all.”

I said, “It could be that Kroch found the situation between you and Mooney already established when he came on the job, and simply looked around for a way to take advantage of it.”

“It’s a nice thought,” she said wryly. “It makes everything much better. Now all I have to face is the fact that Harold is willing to help another man murder me to save his own skin...”

The little car buzzed on down the black highway between the trees of one of those dry-looking southern pine forests. When you come from the West, as I do, you’re apt to think everything east of the Mississippi is built up solidly like suburban New York, but it isn’t true. There are still some good big forests there, and some bleak lonely island beaches that haven’t yet been turned into replicas of Coney Island.

I had one of those offshore strips of white sand near Pensacola in mind as I drove. I’d seen it from the air, returning from the carrier with Lt. (jg) Braithwaite, and I’d talked it over with Olivia, who’d been out there in the summer. She’d agreed that at this time of year, too cold for swimming or picnicking, you could commit murder at leisure there, or any other crime you happened to have in mind. The difficulty would come in getting our subject out there, particularly if he was using another man as a front.

I noticed that Olivia was twisting her new wedding ring on her finger. “It’s a funny feeling,” she said.

“What is?”

“Being married. Like this. In cold blood, so to speak. Paul?”

“Yes?”

She didn’t look at me. “Please remember that in spite of last night it’s purely a business proposition.”

I said, rather stiffly, “If you mean I’m not to presume on the wedding license—”

“No, that’s not what I mean,” she said quickly. “But it’s not as if we were in love with each other or trusted each other, really. It’s not as if we really knew each other and expected to spend a lifetime together.”

“What are you trying to say, Doc?”

She didn’t look up. “Just that I’m not really a very nice person. I used to think I was. Nicey-nice. Prissy, even. A very high-minded and moral citizen. But I’m just not, that’s all. The last few days—the last few weeks— have shown me things about myself that are rather frightening. But you’re not marrying me for my character or personality, or my looks or money or background, or anything like that, are you? You picked me out for this job, or your chief did. It wasn’t my idea. Please remember that. So if you should learn something about me one day, something not very pleasant, you’ll have no right to complain that I tricked or deceived you. Will you?”

I said, “Is this another of those little personal matters you don’t care to discuss, Doc? The last one got me a sock on the jaw, as I recall. I hope you don’t have any more pugilistic boy friends hanging around.”

“No,” she said. “No, it’s nothing like that. It’s just... No, I can’t say any more. It’s not my secret.”

I looked at her for a moment longer, looked ahead, and straightened the little car out at the edge of the pavement. For some reason I found myself remembering that Mariassy was a Hungarian name, and that Emil Taussig had once pulled a big, murderous job in Budapest, or tried. It would be a hell of a coincidence if there was any connection, and if there was one, I couldn’t think what it would be, but it made me uneasy just the same.

“You pick the damndest times to go into your mystery-woman act,” I said irritably. “The secret life of Olivia Mariassy. Nuts!”

“I shouldn’t have said anything. I was just trying to keep the record straight, for my conscience’s sake. It’s really completely irrelevant.”

“Sure,” I said. “So was Mooney, you said. If it’s not your secret, whose is it?” I looked at her again. She shook her head minutely; she wasn’t telling. I said, “Doc, if you’d heard that darling-never-trust-me line as often as I have—”

“And always from a beautiful female agent, I suppose.” Olivia’s voice was dry. “And usually in bed, no doubt. It must be a fascinating life.”

“You’ll have an opportunity to judge it for yourself in just a moment,” I said. “I’m going to give it a try while we’re still on the road. If somebody’s tailing us, they’re very good, and they’re obviously not going to give us a look at them driving. I think we’d better disappear from the highway temporarily. Get the guy worrying about losing us, if there is a guy, and maybe he’ll show himself while we lie in the woods, watching. He may even come in after us, if we arrange it right.”

She looked at me, and touched her tongue to her lips. “And if he does?”

“If he does,” I said, “we’ve got orders to take him.”

“You mean right now? Right here? I thought you said you were going to wait and lure him out to one of the beaches—”

“We’ll keep the beaches in reserve,” I said. “This piney country looks pretty good. I’m pretty good in the woods, if I do say so myself.”

Olivia shivered slightly. “All right,” she breathed. “All right. You don’t mind if I’m a little frightened, do you? But it will be nice to have it over, if it works. If there is someone.” She hesitated. “You’ll have to tell me what to do.”

I told her.

The road I picked to turn off on was just two ruts among the trees. It ran straight back into a patch of timber that promised adequate cover. I drove off the highway a reasonable distance but not so far that the Renault couldn’t be spotted by someone with sharp eyes driving by.

Stopping, I took Olivia into my arms. It was supposed to look very passionate from a distance—after all, we’d just got married, and a little private clinch was in order— but the French, for all their sexy reputation, must not go in for that stuff much or they wouldn’t put the handbrake and gearshift lever where they do.

Still, it wasn’t exactly a mechanical performance. I mean, we were both human and we’d spent some time in the same bed the night before. She still knew where the noses went. I was aware of traffic on the highway, but I won’t claim I kept an accurate count of every car that went past. We were both a bit breathless when the time came to break.

“One of these days,” I said, releasing her, “one of these days we’ll have to do that just for fun, Doc. Scene Two coming up. Do you have a blanket on board?”

“Blanket?” She had her hands to her hair. She wasn’t looking at me. There was color in her cheeks and she looked just like a woman who’d been kissed and not at all like a scientific institution. “No, I’m afraid there’s no blanket. Why?”

“Don’t be innocent,” I said. “Because of what would follow naturally between two newlyweds in a secluded spot like this, that’s why. Because of what obviously can’t be done in a car this size by a man my size. Well, my topcoat will have to do. Leave your damn hair alone and come on.”

I grabbed the coat from the rear seat, got out, and joined her on the other side of the car, putting my arm around her to make it look good if somebody was watching. A vehicle went past on the highway doing at least eighty; that one wasn’t looking out for anything but cops. I led her toward a patch of brush that offered privacy. Inside there was enough space at the foot of a big pine to spread my coat. Olivia sat down and checked her stockings for snags, then looked up smiling.

“I’m not supposed to be thinking of my appearance, am I?”

Her voice was cool and steady now, and I found myself wondering if that was really what she’d been thinking.
It wasn’t my idea,
she’d said.
You’ll have no right to complain that I tricked or deceived you.
It was as clear a warning as I could expect.

It was a hell of a case, I reflected. Nobody was really acting right, not Kroch, not the woman who was supposed to be my partner in the assignment, the woman who was now, according to law, my wife. Even Mooney, the lightweight, couldn’t seem to stay in character either as a sincere lover or a panicky seducer or a cowardly accomplice. And in some respects I wasn’t being very consistent myself, although I preferred not to examine that idea too closely.

I said, business-like: “If anybody’s shadowing us, he’s had plenty of time to go past. We’ll assume he spotted us smooching in the car.”

“Kroch knows what you are,” Olivia interrupted. “The passionate love scene isn’t likely to have fooled him, is it? Any more than our hasty marriage?”

I said, watching her, “Let’s not go overboard on this Kroch theory, Doc. He’s our best bet, true, but he’s acting very oddly. And if there should be somebody else, neither Kroch nor Mooney—”

She frowned quickly. “Who?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “But there’s something in this damn case that I’m overlooking, and until I find it I’m not going to settle on Herr Kroch to the exclusion of everything else. And if it’s Kroch following us, no harm is done. He’ll naturally have some doubts about the sincerity of our display of passion; he’ll wonder just who the hell we think we’re fooling. He’ll be puzzled. So much the better. He’ll have all the more reason to want to find out what we’re really up to in here. Let’s hope he parks up ahead and comes sneaking back for a look. If he does, your job is to make him think we’re both right here in this thicket. I leave the details to your imagination.” I paused, and took my compact .38 Special out of my pocket. “One more thing. Have you ever been checked out on one of these, Doc?”

She shook her head. “No. Do I have to—”

“Something could go wrong. I was told you were valuable government property out on loan to us, to be returned in good condition. If there’s trouble, I want you to have this.”

“What about you?”

“Hell, I can’t use a gun on him. I have to take him alive. But he’s tough and experienced and he could get away from me and come for you. That’s what the gun is for. It sounds like the crack of doom and it kicks like Tennessee white lightning, so hold it with both hands and don’t let the uproar scare you. It holds five shots. Point it where you want to shoot and pull the trigger five times and once more for luck. Don’t sit around waiting to see what the first shot will do. Just keep shooting till it clicks empty. Okay?”

She licked her lips, took the gun gingerly, and looked it over. “Okay, Paul. Where’s the safety?”

I said, “You’ve been reading too many books, Doc. This is a revolver. If it had a safety I’d have told you. All you have to do is pull the trigger. Don’t talk, don’t threaten, don’t warn, don’t hesitate, just shove the thing out ahead of you and open up.
If
he comes in here after you. That’ll mean I wasn’t as good in the woods as I thought. You can’t take him alone so don’t try. But remember, we want him alive if it can possibly be arranged so don’t shoot unless he’s really coming for you.” I started to turn away and stopped. “Just one more thing. We also want me alive if it can be arranged. At least I do. I’ll sing out before I get too close. The password is still ‘flattop.’ Don’t get nervous and blow my head off by mistake.”

“I... I’ll be careful.” Her voice was a little shaky.

“Scared?” I asked.

She smiled faintly. “Just a little. Do you think he’ll really come?”

“If there is a shadow—Kroch or somebody else—and if he gets curious enough, he’ll come,” I said. “If. That’s one question. How far he’ll come is another. We’ll give it a full hour. Go into your act if you hear somebody out here.”

I looked at her sitting on my spread-out coat, looking lost and out of place in the woods in her smart jersey dress—her wedding dress, as things had turned out— and her nylons and high heels, with the murderous little revolver in her hands. I found myself remembering, for some reason, Harold Mooney, the man she claimed to love, screaming silently into the twisted towel as she went into his arm without anesthetic.
I’m not a very nice person,
she’d said.