time, I would be very surprised.'
'You mean I should practice until I'm competent with it?' Matt asked.
'No. That'snot what I mean. The point I'm trying to make is that Wyatt Earp and John Wayne couldn't shoot a snub-nose more than seven yards, nobody can, and expect to hit what they're shooting at. I want you to convince yourself of that, and remember it, if-and I reiteratein the very unlikely chance you ever have to use that gun.'
'Oh, I think I see what you mean,' Matt said.
'I hope so,' Washington said. 'My own rule of thumb is that if he's too far away to belt in the head with a snub-nose, he's too far away to shoot.'
Matt chuckled.
'Where the hell are we?' Washington said. 'We should be in Canada by now. Pull in the next gas station and ask for directions.'
Route 212, a two-lane, winding road, was fifteen miles from the gas station. They had no trouble finding the dirt road 4.4 miles from the intersection of 611 and 212. There were a dozen cars and vans parked on the shoulder of the road by it, some wearing State Trooper and Bucks County Sheriff's Department regalia, and others the logotypes of radio and television stations.
A sheriff's deputy waved them through on 212, and advanced angrily on the car when Matt turned on the left-turn signal.
'Crime scene,' the deputy called when Matt rolled the window down.
'Philadelphia Police,' Washington said, showing his badge. 'We're expected.'
'Wait a minute,' the deputy said and walked to a State Trooper car. A very large Corporal in a straw Smokey the Bear hat swaggered over.
'Help you?'
'I hope so,' Washington said, smiling. 'We're from Homicide in Philadelphia. We think we can help you identify the victim.'
'The Lieutenant didn't say anything to me,' the Corporal said, doubtfully.
'Well, then, maybe you better ask Major Fisher,' Washington said. ' He's the one that asked us to come up here.'
The Corporal looked even more doubtful.
'Look, can't you get him on the radio?' Washington said. 'He said if he wasn't here before we got here, he'd be here soon. He ought to be in radio range.'
The Corporal waved them on.
When Matt had the window rolled back up, Washington said, 'I guess they have a Major named Fisher. Or Smokey thought that he better not ask.'
Matt looked at Washington and laughed.
'You're devious, Mr. Washington,' he said, approvingly.
'The first thing a good detective has to be is a bluffer,' Washington said. 'A good bluffer.'
The road wound through a stand of evergreens and around a hill, and then they came to the cabin. It was unpretentious, a small frame structure with a screened-in porch sitting on a plot of land not much larger than the house itself cut into the side of a hill.
There was a yellowCRIME SCENE DO NOT CROSS tape strung around an area fifty yards or so from the house. There was an assortment of vehicles on the shoulders of the road, State Trooper and Sheriff's Department cars; a large van painted in State Trooper colors and bearing the legendSTATEPOLICE MOBILE CRIME LAB; several unmarked law-enforcement cars, and a shining black funeral home hearse.
'Pull it over anywhere,' Washington ordered. 'We have just found Major Fisher.'
Matt was confused but said nothing. He stopped the car and followed Washington to the Crime Scene tape and ducked under it when Washington did. Washington walked up to an enormous man in a State Police Lieutenant's uniform.
The Lieutenant looked at Washington and broke out in a wide smile.
'Well, I'll be damned, look who escaped from Philadelphia!' he said. 'How the hell are you, Jason?'
He shook Washington's hand enthusiastically.
'Lieutenant,' Washington said, 'say hello to Matt Payne.'
'Christ, I thought they would send a bigger keeper than that with you,' the Lieutenant said. 'I hope you know what kind of lousy company you're in, young man.'
'How do you do, sir?' Matt said, politely.
'I'm surprised you got in,' the Lieutenant said. 'When I got here, there was people all over. The goddamned press. Cops from every dinky little dorf in fifty miles. People who watch cop shows on television. Jesus! I finally ran them off, and then told the Corporal to let nobody up here.'
'I told him I was a personal friend of the legendary Lieutenant Ward,' Washington said.
'Well, I'm glad you did, but I don't know why you're here,' Ward said.
'If the victim is who we think it is, a Miss Elizabeth Woodham,' Washington said, 'she was abducted from Philadelphia.'
'I heard they got a hit on the NCIC,' Lieutenant Ward said. 'But I didn't hear what. I was up in the coal regions on an arson job. Can you identify her?'
'From a picture,' Washington said, and handed a photograph to Lieutenant Ward.
'Could be,' Ward said. 'You want to have a look?'
'I'd appreciate it,' Washington said.
Ward marched up the flimsy stairs to the cottage, and led them inside. There was a buzzing of flies, and a sweet, sickly smell Matt had never smelled before. He had never seen so many flies in one place before, either. They practically covered what looked like spilled grease on the floor.
Oh, shit, that's not grease. That's blood. But that's too much blood, where did it all come from?
Two men in civilian clothing bent over a large black rubber container, which had handles molded into its sides.
'Hold that a minute,' Lieutenant Ward said. 'Detective Washington wants a quick look.'
One of the men pulled a zipper along the side down for eighteen inches or so, and then folded the rubber material back, in a flap, exposing the head and neck of the corpse.
'Jesus,' Jason Washington said, softly, and then he gestured with his hand for the man to uncover the entire body. When the man had the bag unzipped he folded the rubber back.
Officer Matthew Payne took one quick look at the mutilated corpse of Miss Elizabeth Woodham and fainted.
NINETEEN
Officer Matthew Payne returned to consciousness and became aware that he was being half carried and half dragged down the wooden stairs of the summer cottage, between Detective Washington and Lieutenant Ward of the Pennsylvania State Police, who had draped his arms over their shoulders, and had their arms wrapped around his back and waist.
'I'm all right,' Matt said, as he tried to find a place to put his feet, aware that he was dizzy, sweat soaked, and as humiliated as he could possibly be.
'Yeah, sure you are,' Lieutenant Ward said.
They half dragged and half carried him to the car and lowered him gently into the passenger seat.
'Maybe you better put your head between your knees,' Jason Washington said.
'I'm all right,' Matt repeated.
'Do what he says, son,' Lieutenant Ward said. 'The reason you pass out is because the blood leaves your brain.'
Matt felt Jason Washington's gentle hand on his head, pushing it downward.
'I did that,' Lieutenant Ward said, conversationally, 'on Twenty-Two, near Harrisburg. A sixteen-wheeler jackknifed and a guy in a sports car went under it. When I got there, his head was on the pavement, looking at me.
