‘Evelyn’ is a funny name for a man.”
“No, I don’t think that. My father’s name was Marion. Not so important, is it?”
“Nooo…unless you’ve got it.”
“I see our boy got here,” Delaney said, patting the fender of the parked car.
“Uh-huh,” Forrest nodded. “He arrived. Captain, I’ve got a cold six-pack here. Would you like…”
“Sure. Thank you. Go good right now.”
The Chief selected a can, pulled the tab, handed over the beer. They both raised their drinks to each other, then sipped. The Captain inspected the label.
“Never had this brand before,” he confessed. “Good. Almost like ale.”
“Uh-huh,” Chief Forrest nodded. “Local brewery. They don’t go into the New York City area, but they sell all they can make.”
He had, Delaney decided, the face of an old bloodhound, the skin a dark purplish-brown, hanging in wrinkles and folds: bags, jowls, wattles. But the eyes were unexpectedly young, mild, open; the whites were clear. Must have been quite a boy about 40 years ago, the Captain thought, before the beer got to him, ballooned his gut, slowed him up.
“Look here, Captain,” Forrest said. “One of your men got some into him.”
The Chief pointed out a bullet hole in the body of the car and another through the left front window.
“Come out here,” he continued, pointing to a star-cracked hole in the windshield.
Delaney stooped to sight through the entrance hole in the window and the exit hole in the windshield.
“My God,” he said, “by rights it should have taken his brains right along with it, if he was in the driver’s seat. The man’s got the luck of the Devil.”
“Uh-huh,” Chief Forrest nodded. “Some of ’em do. Well, here’s what happened…I get here about an hour before he does, pull off the gravel road into the trees, opposite to the turnoff to the Park. Not such good concealment, but I figure he’ll be looking to his right for the Park entrance and won’t spot me.”
“That makes sense.”
“Yep. Well, I’m out of my station wagon, enjoying a brew, when he comes barreling along, pretty as you please. Turns into this here dirt road, sees the locked gate, speeds up, and just cuts right through; hot knife through butter. Then he gets out of the car, stretches, and looks around. I got him in my glasses by now. Handsome lad.”
“Yes, he is.”
“He starts changing to his outdoor duds: a jacket, boots, and so forth. I got a turn when he ducks into the car with a full head of hair and comes out balder’n a peeled egg.”
He wears a wig,”
“Uh-huh. I found it, back there in the car. Looks like a dead muskrat. Also his coat and city shoes. Then he pulls or a cap, packs up his gear, and starts for Devil's Needle. I come across the road then and into the Park.”
“Did he spot you?”
“Spot me?” the Chief said in some amazement. “Why no. I still move pretty good, and I know the land around here like the palm of my hand. No, he didn't spot me. Anyways, he gets there, attaches a line to his belt and to his gear, and goes into the chimney. Makes the climb in pretty good time. After awhile I see his line going out, and he pulls up his gear. Then I see him standing on top of Devil’s Needle. I see him for just a few seconds, but he’s up there all right, Captain; no doubt about that.”
“Did you see any food in his gear? Or a canteen? Anything like that?”
“Nope. Nothing like that. But he had a rucksack. Might have had food and drink in that.”
“Maybe.”
“Captain…”
“Yes, Chief?”
“That alert you phoned to the State boys…You know, they pass it on to all us local chiefs and sheriffs by radio. I was on my way out here when I heard the call. Didn’t mention nothing about Chilton.”
“Uh…well, I didn’t mention Chilton to them. It was just a hunch, and I didn’t want them charging out here on what might have been a wild-goose chase.”
The Chief looked at him steadily a long moment. “Sonny,” he said softly, “I don’t know what your beef is with the State boys, and I don’t want to know. I admit they can be a stiffnecked lot. But Captain, when this here is cleaned up, you’re going back home. This is my home, and I got to deal with the State boys every day in the week. Now if they find out I knew a homicidal maniac was holed up on State property and didn’t let them know, they’ll be a mite put out, Captain, just a mite put out.”
Delaney scuffed at the dirt with the toe of his city shoe, looking down. “Guess you’re right,” he muttered finally. “It’s just…” He looked up at the Chief; his voice trailed away.
“Sonny,” Forrest said in a kindly voice, “I been in this business a lot longer’n you, and I know what it means to be after a man, to track him for a long time, and to corner him. Then the idea of anyone but you takin’ him is enough to drive you right up into the rafters.”
“Yes,” Delaney nodded miserably. “Something like that.”
“But you see my side of it, don’t you, Captain? I got to call them. I’ll do it anyway, but I’d rather you say, ‘All right.’”
“All right. I can understand it. How do you get them?”
“Radio in my wagon. I can reach the troop. I’ll be right back.”
The Chief moved off, up the dirt road, with a remarkably light stride for a man his age and weight. Captain Delaney stood by Blank’s car, looking through the window at the coat, the shoes, the wig. They already had the shapeless, dusty look of possessions of a man long dead.
He should be feeling an exultation, he knew, at having snubbed Daniel Blank. But instead he felt a sense of dread. Reaction to the excitement of the morning, he supposed, but there seemed to be more to it than that. The dread was for the future, for what lay ahead. “Finish the job,” he told himself, “Finish the job.” He refused to imagine what the finish might be. He remembered what his Army colonel had told him: “The best soldiers have no imagination.”
He turned as Chief Forrest came driving through the sprung gate in an old, dilapidated station wagon with “Chilton Police Department” painted on the side in flaking red letters. He pulled up alongside Blank’s car. “On their way,” he called to Delaney, “About twenty minutes or so, I reckon.”
He got from behind the wheel with some difficulty, grunting and puffing, then reached back inside to haul out two more six-packs of beer. He held them out to Delaney.
“For your boys,” he said. “While they’re waiting.”
“Why, thank you, Chief. That’s kind of you. Hope it’s not leaving you short.”
Forrest’s big belly shook with laughter. “That’ll be the day,” he rumbled.
The Captain smiled, took the six-packs over to his cars. “Better get out and stretch your legs,” he advised his men. “Looks like we’ll be here awhile. The State boys are on their way. Here’s some beer, compliments of Chief Forrest of the Chilton Police Department.”
The men got out of the cars happily, headed for the beer. Delaney went back to the Chief.
“Could we take a close look at Devil’s Needle?” he asked. “Why sure.”
“I’ve got three snipers with me, and I’d like to locate a spot where they could cover the entrance to the chimney and the top of the rock. Just in case.”
“Uh-huh. This fugitive of yours armed, Captain?”
“Just the ice ax, as far as I know. As for a gun, I can’t guarantee either way. Chief, you don’t have to come with me. Just point out the way, and I’ll get there.”
“Shit,” Chief Forrest said disgustedly, “that’s the first dumb thing you’ve said, sonny.”
He started off with his light, flat-footed stride; Captain Delaney stumbled after him. They made their way down a faint dirt path winding through the skeleton trees.
Then they came to the out-crops. Captain Delaney’s soles slipped on the shiny rocks while Chief Forrest stepped confidently, never missing his footing, not looking down, but striding and moving like a gargantuan ballet dancer to the base of Devil’s Needle. When Delaney came up, breathing heavily, the Chief had opened his holster flap and was bending it back, tucking it under that sweat-stained belt.
Delaney jerked his chin toward the dogleg holster. “What do you carry, Chief?” he asked, one professional to
