Cop Out Page 5

  “No. I was just wondering.”

  “Forget it. Somebody ‘11 pick ‘em up somewhere. Chief says you’re on a couple days’ leave, Wes. Make love to your wife or something. No rest, but it’s recreation.”

  Miller hung up, chuckling.

  Malone hung up.

  He turned to find Ellen standing over the cups with the kettle poised, a human question mark.

  “They got through, Ellen. So Bibby’s okay.”

  I hope.

  “Thank God.”

  Ellen poured. A silence dropped between them. He sat down at the kitchen table and set the black bag on the floor between his feet, where he could feel it.

  * * *

  When Malone came down from his shower Ellen was just cradling the phone.

  “Who was that?”

  “I called Miss Spencer.”

  “Who’s she?”

  “The school nurse, for the umpty-eleventh time. We have to have some excuse why Bibby won’t be in school today, Loney. I said I was afraid she might be coming down with the flu and that I’d probably keep her home over the weekend just in case.”

  He touched her black Irish hair. “What would I do without you?”

  “I’ll bet you say that to all your girls.”

  “Yep.” He kissed her and felt the tension of her body through the terry robe. “I’m one hell of a cop. I never even thought of the school.”

  “Oh, Loney, I’ve got to do something!” His stomach contracted. She was jerking with sobs again. “My baby… waking up this morning with those horrible people… “

  “A few minutes ago you were thanking God they got through all right.”

  She kept sobbing. He kept stroking her. He could find nothing else to say. He had always hated to see Ellen cry, he was a complete coward about her tears. They made him furious, they brought back memories of his mother, who had cried her eyes out when his father was alive. The night after his mother-in-law’s funeral Ellen had cried till dawn, and he had run up and down in their bedroom finding no words of comfort, only curses at his helplessness.

  “I’m sorry.” Ellen pushed away from him. “Bawling isn’t going to help Bibby.”

  “You cry all you want.”

  “No, sir. That nonsense is over. Let me make you some breakfast.”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “You’ve got to. You hardly touched your dinner at the Inn last night, you were so tired.”

  “I’d throw it right back at you,” Malone said. “Look, hon. We’ve got to figure out where we stand.”

  “All right, Loney.” She immediately sat down. They both avoided the empty third chair.

  “There’s got to be something we can do besides stay here like bumps on a log.”

  “Let’s get settled first on what we cant do,” Ellen said. “What we can’t do is let Chief Secco or anybody know they were here last night and took Bibby. That’s the one thing I won’t let you do, Loney. We’d better have an understanding about that right off.”

  “What do you think I am, crazy?”

  “Loney, look at me.”

  He looked at her.

  “You’re not a cop in this thing. You’re Bibby’s father.”

  “I told you,” he said gruffly.

  “Just remember,” Ellen said. “Or I swear on my child’s life I’ll walk out on you and you’ll never see me again.”

  “What do you want,” he shouted, “my blood?”

  “Loney. I had to say it. We have to have that clear.”

  “All right, so it’s clear! She’s my child, too, remember!”

  “Don’t be mad at me, Loney.”

  “All right.” He reached down and brought up the black bag and set it on the table between them. He stared at it bitterly. “We don’t even know what they look like. Those goddam masks.”

  “Yes,” Ellen said. “Goldilocks and the Three Bears.”

  “Huh?”

  “Didn’t you notice?”

  “Notice what?”

  “The woman was wearing a Goldilocks mask. That little one-Furia-he was wearing the Papa Bear mask, and the big bruiser was wearing the Mama Bear one. It must be a set.”

  “Then there’s a Baby Bear mask! For Bibby?”

  “That’s what I’m wondering.”

  He jumped up, sat down again, shook his head. “No, that wouldn’t make sense. Why would they put a mask on her? It wouldn’t serve any purpose.”

  “I just thought I’d mention it,” Ellen said.

  He sat thinking. She got up and refilled their cups. “We can do one of two things, Ellen. We can either sit here and wait-”

  “I’d die.”

  “Or I can try to find their hideout and get Bibby back.”

  “Wouldn’t that be terribly dangerous for Bibby?”

  “Could be.”

  “Oh, God.”

  “Ellen. Why don’t I try? I can size up the situation better if and when I find out where they’re hiding. If I see it’s too dangerous for Bibby I won’t move a muscle. How does that sound to you?”

  “If you’re sure. How can you be sure?”

  “Then, if I can get Bibby safely away, we can turn the payroll over to John and tell him the whole story.”

  “And have those three come after us in revenge?” Ellen said with a shudder. “Forget about John, Loney.”

  “This money belongs to Aztec. We can’t just let them walk off with it. I mean of course first we get Bibby back-”

  “That’s what I was afraid of. You’re being a cop again.”

  “I’ not.”

  “Let them have the money. As long as we get Bibby back.

  Maybe the best thing after all is to sit here and wait. They’ll come back with Bibby and we’ll hand over the bag and that will be that.”

  “And maybe that won’t be that,” Malone said. “I won’t kid you, Ellen. We’ve got to face up to the facts. If we do what you say-wait for them to bring Bibby back and pick up the money-all three of us stand a good chance of getting shot. That Furia would get a kick out of it. Why should he leave us alive? Even if we didn’t see their faces, we’ve heard their voices and we know their names. Hoods like that must have a record somewhere-I think Furia’s served time, he used the word ‘screw,’ which is a prison term for ‘guard’-they can probably be identified through the FBI central file in a matter of hours. They can’t be that dumb-I’m pretty sure the woman isn’t. And they’re already in the bag for one murder. No, we can’t trust them, Ellen. We’ve got to take some kind of action. Try something.”

  Ellen’s face had gone the color of skim milk again. “All right then, Loney, you find their hideout the way you said. If you can rescue Bibby we can go olf somewhere, hide or something, till those monsters are caught.”

  Malone got up and went over to the kitchen sink to look out the window. But he was not seeing the dirt driveway. When he turned around his eyes had come back. “It might not be so tough at that, Ellen. Actually when you think about it we have quite a few leads to where they’re holed up. Furia told Hinch to walk there, so how far can it be? And it’s likely somewhere across The Pike on the way out of town or they’d have been able to get there without worrying about being stopped at a checkpoint. On top of everything, the little punk mentioned woods and a shack.”

  “Balsam Lake,” Ellen breathed.

  “That’s how it figures to me. If it’s a Lake cabin-”

  “They must have broken into one of them.”

  He shook his head, fighting his way through the mush. “That would be leaving a lot to luck. This wasn’t set up that way, Ellen. It’s been planned well in advance. I didn’t mention it, but John says Tom Howland must have been in on the robbery and they doublecrossed him at the last minute. That would mean previous contacts between the robbers and How-land. That means they’ve been in town before. Also, the woman sounded familiar to me. I know I’ve heard her voice, a long time ago, I think. I’m betting she comes from New Bradford. Which could be why the
y picked it for their robbery in the first place, because she knows the town. Anyway, it all adds up to preparation. If they prepared everything else, they’d prepare a hideout, too. Maybe months ago.”

  “A rental?”

  “Why not? They could have rented one of the cabins, even used it during the summer. So if the police come nosing around the cabin now, what have they got to be afraid of? Of course, they’d rather nobody knew, but if they can produce a lease-”

  “But in November, Loney? Nobody’s at the Lake in November.”

  “That’s not so. A few people from downstate rent cabins by the year-use them for weekends after the summer season. We patrol that Lake road the year round.”

  Ellen was considering his argument stubbornly. “I don’t know. It sounds too dumb to me. I mean robbing and killing and still planning to hide out for any length of time within walking distance of where they did it. It seems to me that’s the last thing they’d do.”

  “And maybe that’s just why they did it,” Malone insisted. “Who’d think of looking for them practically on the scene of the crime? The more I think about it the more I’m sure we’ve got something. I’m going to find that cabin, Ellen. Do you feel up to staying here alone while I scout around? I don’t think they’ll try coming back before dark.”

  “Don’t worry about me. Do you think you can locate it in one day, Loney? There’s an awful lot of cabins around Balsam Lake.”

  “I’m not starting at the Lake. I’m starting in town.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “If they rented a cabin, it had to be through a real estate agent.”

  “Loney, be careful! You’ll get people suspicious asking questions.”

  “Not if I do it right. I wish to hell I knew how the real pros go about a thing like this.”

  “Just keep remembering Bibby. Please, Loney?”

  She clung to him, begging with her whole body. He kissed her and pulled away. She remained in the kitchen doorway.

  Malone went upstairs. As he was rummaging through the clothes closet in their bedroom he suddenly remembered his hunting rifle. He had not used it in years. Had they searched the upstairs before he got home last night and found it? Ellen might have forgotten to mention it.

  It was still on the top shelf of the closet, wrapped in oil rags.

  He took it down and unwrapped it. After all this time not a speck of rust. That was one thing the Marines had taught him, how to take care of a weapon. With the rifle in his hands the tiredness was rubbed out. He felt around on the shelf and found the boxes of.22 long-rifle cartridges.

  You pulled a boner, Mister Furia.

  He could have shouted with joy.

  But he stood there, weighing and sorting. As he weighed and sorted the tiredness came back.

  Not with Bibby in their hands. And a.22 wasn’t much. You could kill a rabbit or a fox with it, but a rabbit or a fox wasn’t a man with a Colt Trooper and a Walther automatic. I wish I could have afforded that.303 at the discount store. But the shells for it came to five-six dollars a box. Or that M-l carbine they had on sale.

  “Loney, what are you doing up there?”

  He rewrapped the rifle and stowed it along with the cartridges at the rear of the shelf and went out into the hall to the linen closet and got some bathmats and went back and covered the gun and ammunition.

  He changed into sneakers and put on his oilstained green-arid-black plaid hunting jacket and cap and went back downstairs. Ellen was still standing in the kitchen doorway.

  “What were you doing up there?”

  “Don’t let that bag out of your sight,” Malone said, and left.

  * * *

  Malone drove the Saab off The Pike a few hundred yards north of the cloverleaf into the gravel driveway past the gilded white sign t. w. hyatt & son real estate and pulled up before the one-story frame building. It was his fourth stop of the morning.

  He went in. “Hi, Edie.”

  “Well, if it isn’t the lawman,” Edie Golub said, looking up from her typewriter. There was a pencil stuck in her dead-black-dyed hair. “Don’t shoot, Officer, I’ll come quietly.” She was one of the girls from high school who wouldn’t give him the time of day. She had never married. “Don’t you ever crack a smile, Wes?”

  “I’m off duty, I guess I can risk it,” Malone said, smiling. “Young Tru in?” Old Tru had retired the year before and taken his grouch and arthritis to St. Petersburg, Florida. The whole town had breathed out. He had always been the one who stood up in town meeting and threw a monkey wrench into the works.

  “He’s going through the mail.” She got up and opened the door to the inner office. “It’s Wes Malone, Mr. Hyatt. Can you see him?”

  “Wes? Sure thing!” Young Tru sounded eager.

  Here we go again.

  Malone went in. Hyatt was waiting with his best sales smile. He was a tall thin man with a badly pockmarked face, dressed as always like an Esquire ad. He was one of New Bradford’s ladies’ men, big on church socials and parties, the last one home. He was supposed to have been sleeping with Edie Golub for years-he had an old black leather couch in his office-with her “Mr. Hyatts” in the presence of third parties as their coverup.

  “Sit down, Wes, park it. How’s the manhunt going?”

  “Oh, they got away.” It was the fourth time he had had to say it.

  “I understand Tom Howland was in on it up to his fat ass.”

  “Where did you hear that?” It was impossible to keep a secret in New Bradford.

  “It’s all over town,” Hyatt said. “I heard it in the bank a few minutes ago. Is it true, Wes?”

  “I wouldn’t know. I went off duty before the case broke. Tell you what I dropped in for, Tru-”

  “I knew that outfit would get shlogged some day,” Hyatt said. “Whoever heard of a company in this day and age still paying their help in cash? If they’d invest a few bucks in a modern bookkeeping system-with an honest bookkeeper, ha-ha!-put in one of those computers, pay off in checks… But I guess they got a big inventory in pay envelopes.”

  “You’re right, Tru, they asked for it all right,” Malone said. “Oh, what I’m here for. We’ve been having a little trouble over at the Lake. Now that the season is over some kids have been going down there nights to booze it up and generally raise hell-they’ve broken into a few cabins-and we’ve had some complaints from people who lease by the year. I’ve been getting up a list of the year-round renters to make sure we don’t miss any. You know how some people are, afraid to make a complaint. Did you place any one-year rentals at the Lake in, say, the past six-seven months, Tru?”

  “I don’t think so. Bob Doerr gets most of that Lake stuff. Did you try Bob?”

  “I got a few names from him. Well, I won’t keep you.” There was only one real estate office in town he had not covered. If I strike out at Taugus Realty…

  “No, wait a minute,” Hyatt said.

  He sat still.

  “Now that I think of it, I seem to recall there was one. Edie?”

  She popped her hairdo in. “Yes, Mr. Hyatt?”

  “Didn’t we write a lease for one of the Lake cabins around May, June, somewhere around there?”

  “I really don’t remember.”

  “Well, look it up, will you?” Hyatt sat back. “Y’know, Wes, I can never figure you out.” Find it Edie.

  “What have I done now, Tru?”

  “Here you are off duty and you’re working. What are you, bucking for John’s job? Don’t you ever relax?”

  “I guess I’m not the relaxing type.”

  Find it Edie.

  “That’s the thing with you married suckers. You don’t know how to live. Now you take me.”

  “The way I hear it,” Malone said dutifully, “you’ve been taken by experts.”

  “Who, me? The hell you say! Who said that?”

  “Here it is, Mr. Hyatt.” Edie Golub had a lease in her hand. Malone watched it all the way across the rug. Hyatt took it fr
om her, and she stood there. But when he stared up at her she left quickly, shutting the door with a bang.

  “Yes, this is the one. Somebody named Pratt, William J. Pratt. Signed the lease May twenty-third. How’s that for a memory? You want to see this, Wes?”

  “If you don’t mind.” Malone took the lease as casually as he could manage. William J. Pratt typed in. The signature unreadable. Deliberately so, he was positive, a disguised handwriting. It had to be a phony!

  For Hyatt’s benefit he produced a list and added the name and location of the cabin to it. He could have found it with his eyes shut. He could taste it. He handed the lease back and rose. “Thanks a lot, Tru. I’ll check this one out with the others.”

  Hyatt waved. “Think nothing of it.”

  The real estate man went back to his mail, still a little miffed. Malone jumped for the Saab.

  The description on the lease placed the cabin at the southeast end of Balsam Lake where it narrowed to muddy shallows. It was the least desirable section of the Lake. According to Malone’s list, “Pratt’s” rental was the only one in this scattered cabin area that extended beyond the summer season. Made to order for a post-season hideout.

  He drove off the blacktop into a lane, little more than a dirt path, and cached the Saab behind a clump of diseased birch trees in a thicket of wild huckleberry bushes. The bushes were nearly bare, but they made a tall tangle and they camouflaged most of the car. He draped fallen evergreen branches over the parts that showed, and when he was satisfied that the Saab was effectively hidden he left on foot.

  He was a mere three hundred yards from the cabin, but his approach took the better part of a half hour. After a few yards he got down on his belly. It was the Marine game of his boyhood over again, traveling on hips and elbows, never raising his head above the underbrush, avoiding dried-out branches, sticking where he could to the cushioning ground pine. He made so little noise that once he surprised a squirrel on the ground; he could have killed it with a stone.

  At last Malone reached the clearing.

  He did not enter it. The clearing had been hacked in a rough circle out of a thick stand of pine woods and along its perimeter wild azalea, laurel, and sumac had taken root in an almost continuous band of bush. Here Malone settled himself.