dropped to his chin and he pointed a trembling finger at Cook. “She’s here!”
“What the hell did you expect?”
His face grew livid until blood flowed afresh from his mouth. Mallory might have said something in anger if the match had not scorched my finger. I dropped it and cursed. He pulled away from the gun at the same time and ran for it. I took four steps toward the door, my arms outstretched to grab him, but he wasn’t there. At the other end of the room one of the girls started to moan through her gag. A knob turned and for a second I saw stars in the sky at the side of the wall. My first shot got him in the leg and he fell to the floor screaming. In the half-light of the match I hadn’t seen that side door, but he knew it was there. I ran over and yanked him back by the foot, mad enough to send a bullet into his gut.
I never had the chance. There was a blast of gunfire and my rod was torn from my grasp. The beam of a spotlight hit me in the eyes as Dilwick’s voice said, “Freeze, Hammer. You make one move and I’ll shoot hell out of you.”
The light moved over to the side, never leaving me. Dilwick snapped on the overhead: one dim bulb that barely threw enough light to reach both ends. He was standing there beside the switch with as foul a look as I ever hope to see on a human face and murder in his hands. He was going to kill me.
It might have ended then if Mallory hadn’t said, “You lousy rat. You stinking, lousy rat. You’re the one who’s been bleeding me. You son of a bitch.”
Dilwick grinned at me, showing his teeth. “He’s a wise guy, Hammer. Listen to him bawl.”
I didn’t say a word.
Dilwick went over and got my gun from the floor, using his handkerchief on the butt, never taking his eyes from either of us. He looked at me, then Mallory, and before either of us could move sent a shot smashing into Mallory’s chest from my .45. The guy folded over in a quarter roll and was still. Dilwick tossed the still-smoking gun down. “It was nice while it lasted,” he said, “but now it will be even better.”
I waited.
“The boss had a swell racket here. A perfect racket. He paid us off well, but I’m going to take over now. The hell with being a cop. It’ll make a pretty story, don’t you think? I come in here and see you shoot him, then shoot you. Uh-huh, a very pretty story and nobody will blame me. You’ll be wrapped up cold for a double murder, first that copper and now him.”
“Sure,” I said, “but what are you going to do about Grange and her pal?”
Dilwick showed his teeth again. “She’s wanted for York’s murder, isn’t she? Wouldn’t it be sweet if they were found dead in a love tryst? The papers would love that. Boy, what a front-page story if
“Did I?”
“Don’t get smart. If I had any sense I would have taken care of you myself instead of letting that dumb bunny of a detective bollix up things when you were tailing me on that back road.”
“You wouldn’t have done any better either,” I spat out.
“No? But I will now.” He raised the gun and took deliberate aim at my head.
While he wasted time thumbing back the hammer I tugged the snub-nosed .38 from my waistband that I had taken from the punk with the wrecked face and triggered one into his stomach. His face froze for an instant, the gun sagged, then with all the hatred of his madness he stumbled forward a step, raising his gun to fire.
The .38 roared again. A little blue spot appeared over the bridge of his nose and he went flat on his face.
Mine wasn’t the only gun to speak. Outside there was a continual roar of bullets; screams from the house and commands being shouted into the dark. A car must have tried to pull away and smashed into another. More shots and the tinkling of broken glass. A man’s voice screamed in agony. A tommy went off in short burps blasting everything in its path. Through the door held open by Mallory’s body the brilliant white light of a spotlight turned the night to day and pairs of feet were circling the boathouse.
I shouted, “Price, it’s me, Mike. I’m in here!”
A light shot in the door as hands slid the other opening back. A state trooper with a riot gun pointed at me slid in and I dropped the .38. Price came in behind him. “Damn, you still alive?”
“I look it, don’t I?” Laughing almost drunkenly I slapped him on the shoulder. “Am I glad to see you! You sure took long enough to get here.” Price’s foot stretched out and pushed the body on the floor.
“That’s . . .”
“Dilwick,” I finished. “The other one over there is Mallory.”
“I thought you were going to keep me informed on how things stood,” he said.
“It happened too fast. Besides, I couldn’t be popping in places where I could be recognized.”
“Well, I hope your story’s good, Mike. It had better be. We’re holding people out there with enough influence to swing a state legislature, and if the reason is a phony or even smells like one, you and I are both going to be on the carpet. You for murder.”
“Nuts, what was all the shooting about outside?”
“I got your message such as it was and came up here with three cars of troopers. When we got on the grounds a whole squad of mugs with guns in their hands came ripping around the house. They let go at us before we could get out of the cars and there was hell to pay. The boys came up expecting action and they got it.”
“Those mugs, chum, were after me. I guess they figured I’d try to make a break for it and circled the house. Dilwick was the only one who knew where we’d be. Hell, he should have. I was after Grange and the Cook girl and he had them in here.”
“Now you tell me. Go on and finish it.”
I brought him up to date in a hurry. “Dilwick’s been running cover for Mallory. When you dig up the books on this joint you’re going to see a lot of fancy figures. But our boy Dilwick got ideas. He wanted the place for himself. He shot Mallory with my gun and was going to shoot me, only I got him with the rod I took off the boy whose car I flipped over. Yeah. Dilwick was a good thinker all right. When Grange didn’t show up he did what I did and floated down the river himself and found how the eddies took him to the shore. At that time both he and Mallory were figuring on cutting themselves a nice slice of cash from the York estate. Grange was the only one who knew there was evidence that Ruston wasn’t York’s son and they were going to squeeze it out of her or turn her over to the police for the murder of York.”
Price looked at the body again, then offered me a cigarette. “So Grange really did bump her boss. I’ll be a so-and-so.”
I lit the butt slowly, then blew the smoke through my nostrils. “Grange didn’t bump anybody.”
The sergeant’s face wrinkled. He stared at me queerly.
“This is the aftermath, Price,” I reflected. “It’s what happens when you light the fuse.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
I didn’t hear him. I was thinking about a kidnapping. I was thinking about a scientist with a cleaver in his skull and the chase on for his assistant. I was thinking about Junior Ghent rifling York’s office and coming up with some dirty pictures, and then getting beat up. I was thinking about a shot nicking Roxy and a night with Alice Nichols that might have been fun if it hadn’t been planned so my clothes could be searched and my skull cracked afterward. I was thinking about a secret cache in the fireplace, a column in the paper, a cop trying to kill me and some words Mallory told me. I was thinking how all this might have been foreseen by the killer when the killer planned the first kill. I was thinking of the face of the killer.
It was a mess. I had said that a hundred times now, but what a beautiful mess it was. There had never been a mess as nasty as this. Nope, not a dull moment. Every detail seemed to overlap and prod something bigger to happen until you were almost ready to give up, and the original murder was obscured by the craziest details imaginable. Rah, rah, sis boom bah, with a fanfare of trumpets as the police come in and throw bullets all over the place. Was it supposed to end like this? I knew one thing. I was supposed to have died someplace along the line. The killer must be fuming now because I was very much alive. What makes people think they can get away with murder? Some plan it simple, some elaborately extreme, but this killer let things take care of themselves and they wound up better than anyone could have hoped for.
“Don’t keep secrets, Mike, who did it?”
