City for Ransom

Philo rushed away on shaky legs, a dazed stork.

“Poor bastard,” muttered Griffin, “but then he always did rush into walls, didn’t he? What do you think of his knowing both victims?”

“I knew the last victim. Does that make me a suspect?”

Ransom knew the general thinking, that Philo courted problems, but he couldn’t be called a murderer on the basis of CITY FOR RANSOM

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character defects or bad judgment! He marched off with the camera, Griffin following, saying, “I’ve a ready replacement for Keane.”

“Trust me, Griff, you’ll never replace Keane’s attention to detail and care in his work.”

“Perhaps . . . when he’s sober.”

“Just get the cuts of the handprint and the bodies. Who’s doing the work?”

“Philo’s apprentice has volunteered.”

“Ahhh . . . Denton.”

“He’s at the ready . . . came when he heard the news.”

“I’m sure he’ll do then.”

“He’s Philo’s able assistant, as I am your able assistant, Alastair.”

“All right, get the assistant on it if he can keep from puking.”

“He’ll do fine.”

“Stay with him then, and give him this to work with.” He handed over Philo’s ill-gotten camera.

“Nathan Kohler seems to be studying your handling of matters, Rance. Go carefully, I daresay. Watch your back.”

Ransom noticed something new in Griffin’s demeanor and tone; something intangible yet cool wafting ghostlike between them. Had Kohler gotten to Griffin? But he was too worried at Kohler’s assessment of Philo’s show of emotion to pay close attention. “You get Waldo set up at the tunnel.

I’ll see to Nathan Kohler.”

Griffin became stiff, his eyes filling with a fire. “You’re not a man easy to like, Alastair . . .”

“What?”

“. . . never giving, never offering a hand, or to buy a cup of coffee, to ask after my day, my family’s health, my take on things, life . . .”

“And you think this is the time?”

Griffin marched off with Philo’s camera, shouting, “Denton! Come with me!”

Ransom realized that the young detective was right about 226

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his having made little time for him, and that he should treat Griffin with more deference and respect. Worrisome. But he hadn’t time at the moment. He had enough on his plate.

Gotta worry about Philo now, he thought, seeing young Denton salivating over the damned new camera handed him.

“Gawd . . . its morocco leather,” Waldo wailed.

CHAPTER 20

Ransom found a park bench where he’d collapsed, fully expecting Nathan Kohler to join him, and he expected a fight, at least an argument. He expected Kohler to tell him that an infusion of fresh perspective was sorely needed as he, Ransom, had gotten not a grain closer.

So when he sensed someone drop onto the bench beside him, he didn’t look up until he heard the irritating voice of Dr. Tewes. “I called Dr. Fenger . . . pleaded with him to come to the scene . . . to examine the bodies immediately, but I fear, he’s exhausted and burnt out on murder.” “Dr. Tewes . . . how good of you to come.” Ransom’s sar-casm sounded harsher than he’d meant.

“Take out all your frustration on me . . . if it gets you onto what you do best.”

“Drinking.”

“No, tracking . . . focus on your gift for the hunt, and trust your instincts.”

“Until recently, that is how I managed, but lately . . . the headaches have become nonstop, the worse since Muldoon’s sap.”

Tewes ran a hand through Ransom’s hair until he found the knot.

“Ouch! Damn!”

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“You’re not kidding. No wonder you’ve a headache.”

“Reduce another man to tears.” Ransom gave in to Tewes’s fingers—both hands now caressing his cranium. Tewes’s touch felt light, his hands caring. Alastair gave in further, submitting, too tired to protest. Strangely, he didn’t wish it to end.

“I could help you.” Ransom only half heard as Tewes continued a light massage, careful not to strike the palpitating bulge. “Left you unconscious. Hope they throw the book at Muldoon.” “For striking down a cop?”

“You’re the most cynical man I’ve ever met.”

“Cynical or realistic?”

“Do you think everyone is out to get you?”

“Aren’t you?”

“I’m not your enemy, Inspector.”

“No, you’re only spyin’ for Nathan Kohler?”

“I . . . I’ve read your record. You’re a fine detective.”

“What’ve you got on Kohler?”

“I’ll not say.”

“He expects you to muck up my case.”

“There is that, yes. But Alastair, I’ve not sold you out.”

“How heartening. You only spy for him; you don’t tell him anything.”

“The other day, at the fire scene, I told him I was done with collusion.”

“But you’re here now.”

“I only want to help.”

“To help me?” He began laughing. “Like at the train station?”

“Just catch this bastard before his insanity touches us all in ways unimaginable.”

“He seems bent on . . . on destroying me . . .”

“Question is,” said Nathan Kohler, standing over them now, “who’s next?”

“He’s going for larger game,” said Ransom. “His pattern has been to go up the social scale.”

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we ever have this monster in custody . . . well, it could act in our favor.”

“Act as a kind of Bertillon measurement of the killer’s mind, you think?” he asked Tewes. “And I ’spose you’d like to run hands over this maniac’s head?”

“Doing so with enough such madmen, who knows, perhaps over time, if diligent records are kept, similarities in the bone structure, or areas of abnormality in the brain—areas of weak magnetism, for instance—” Jane realized that both men only stared. “But who can say without long-term study?” “This is why we at top asked Dr. Tewes’s assistance, Alastair,” Nathan said. “To give our investigation a rigorous scientific, ahhh . . . appearance.”

“I see . . . how blind I’ve been.” Ransom grimaced.

“It could have a bearing on the Lombroso controversy, my study,” she added.