Wife or Death Page 7

  "Augie," Denton said. "Crosby's involved in this case. You know it as well as I do. He has no business acting in his official capacity in the investigation. If I'm a suspect—"

  "Well, aren't you?" the chief asked dryly. "Jim, you'd be an automatic suspect even under other circumstances. The husband always is when the wife is murdered."

  "And the wife's last-known lover?" Denton asked. "Does being D.A, give him automatic immunity?"

  "You know that ain't so, Jim. I'm not forgetting Crosby for one little minute. But let's get back to you. And me. We've been friends since we were kids. Also, I'm chief law enforcement officer in this town. I'm two people, Jim, and I've got to keep 'em separate. Augie Spile says you couldn't kill anybody. Chief Spile says I got to keep you on my suspect list."

  It was as near to a personal plea as Denton had ever heard the big man make, and he softened. "Sure, Augie," he said, and even laughed. "Just don't lean over too far backwards in your cop personality. But I didn't stop by to talk about myself. I just remembered two things I think you ought to know."

  "What's that?"

  "For one thing, the night Angel ran off she must have taken the car out of the garage after we got home, and then brought it back. Or somebody did. It had fifteen more miles on it the next morning than when we got home from the Wyatts'."

  Spile frowned. "You sure?"

  "Positive. I've been checking my gas consumption lately. I look at the mileage meter every time I pull in or out of the garage."

  "Funny," the chief muttered. "Any notion about it?"

  "It's a mystery to me, Augie. Unless their original plan was to take my car, but on the way he decided to kill her and brought the car back afterward. That would have been smart, because if he abandoned the car somewhere it would have caused an investigation. By putting the car back he'd figure I wouldn't ever know it had been gone."

  Augie Spile shook his head. "Her body was found ten miles south of town. Twice ten—up and back—is twenty. You say only fifteen miles were put on."

  "I hadn't thought of that." Denton scowled. "My car was driven somewhere, though—by somebody, Angel or someone else."

  "What's the other thing, Jim?"

  "George Quest knows who the man is. The man she started to run off with. The man I think killed her."

  The chief's heavy lids rose. "George does? How does George figure in this?"

  "He saw Angel and some man wrapped around each other in the back seat of a car on the club parking lot the night of the Hallowe'en Ball. Since she ran off with a man only a few hours later, it must have been the same man."

  "Who was here?

  "George wouldn't tell me."

  Spile looked puzzled. "If he told you that much, how come he wouldn't tell you the man's name?"

  "At the time, we were both assuming Angel's lover had left town with her. But this guy she was necking with was still around, according to George, so he couldn't be the man she ran away with. That being the case, George didn't want to involve him. I had to agree. Angel was quite capable of such in-between quickies."

  The chief looked embarrassed and glanced at the kitchen wall-clock. The stores stayed open until 9 o'clock on Friday nights, but it was almost 9:30. "George'll be gone by now. Must be just about getting home. Suppose I give him a call."

  "Let me do it, Augie," Denton said. "Okay?"

  The chief thought. "Okay," he said, rising. "But if you don't mind, Jim, I'll listen on the extension."

  Denton shrugged. That was the cop in Augie Spile speaking. He went to the wall phone just inside the door to the dining room and dialed the Guests' number. Corinne answered.

  "Oh, Jim!" She sounded terribly distressed. "I've been trying to reach you. I've heard the news—"

  "Already?" Denton said.

  "It's all over town that you've been arrested for murder. I knew it couldn't be true, but—Damn people! Do they know yet who did it?"

  "Ralph Crosby thinks I did. I'm sure most of Ridgemore thinks so, too. Thanks for being a member of the loyal opposition."

  "Don't be an idiot. You couldn't kill anybody."

  "You're a doll," he said. "George home?"

  "Not yet, Jim."

  "No kidding. Where is he?"

  "He phoned just before nine to say he wouldn't be home for a while. He wanted to check something out, he said—he has a hunch about who killed Angel. He said he'd tell me all about it when he got home. Jim, wouldn't that be a risky thing to do?"

  Denton was silent. Then he said, "Oh, I don't think so, Corinne. I can't see George doing anything foolish."

  "You sound as if you know what he was talking about." Her tone was anxious now. "Jim. Do you?"

  "Yes," Denton said slowly. "The night of the ball George happened to spot Angel in some car on the club parking lot in a hot clinch with a man. There's a good chance that's the man she ran away with—and that he's the man who killed her."

  "Well, who is it? George didn't say a word to me about it!"

  "He didn't tell me the man's name."

  "Oh, the darned fool!"

  "Now don't get yourself in an uproar, Corinne. Maybe he went to the police. Let me check."

  "Would you? You're a darling! And Jim, call me back?"

  "Of course." He hung up, and waited.

  Augie Spile came lumbering back with quite untypical speed. "What the hell is he trying to do?" he cried, and lunged for the wall-phone. "Went to the police 1" He dialed.

  "I had to say something," Denton muttered.

  "Harley!" the chief shouted. "George Guest been in? ... Well, if he shows, hold him and call me at home." He hung up with a bang and whirled. "Jim, do you think George would pull a dumb stunt like trying to be an amateur detective or something?"

  "I don't know, Augie—"

  "Better call Corinne back."

  "I think I'll run over there instead. She's got a head start on a case of hysterics. I'll sit it out with her till George shows up."

  "Phone me when you get there."

  "What for?"

  "I want the license number of George's car."

  "Augie, you can't really think—"

  "I'm not thinking anything, Jim, I'm just getting set in case. If this guy George went after is our man, he's already killed once. Will you get the hell over to Corinne's and phone me that license number?"

  11

  The big Guest house was a block west and two blocks north of Denton's—a white clapboard two-story-and-attic job with three bedrooms and a nursery; Corinne and George had planned for a sizable family. After seven years of marriage they were still childless and had begun to talk of registering with an adoption agency.

  Corinne answered the door wearing black lounging pajamas, her dark hair tied back with a black velvet ribbon. Her face was scrubbed clean of makeup.

  "Hey, chick," Denton said. "You look sixteen. And your nose is shiny."

  Corinne did not smile. "How come the personal call? I thought you were going to phone me." As he closed the door she walked over to the wall mirror in the foyer. "It is not."

  "Is too," Denton said. "George hasn't been to the cops."

  "Jim." Corinne turned, her little hands clutching the edge of the foyer table under the mirror. "How serious is this?"

  "I don't know. Augie Spile wants to put a message on the air to look for the car—purely precautionary. What's the license number?"

  She was quite pale. "George went to see that man, didn't he?"

  "We don't really know that to be a fact, Corinne. Look, there's no sense in panicking. This is a small enough town so the two radio patrol cars can cover every street in a short time. What's the license number?"

  "It's on a tag with my keys," she said. "I never remember it."

  She ran upstairs and returned quickly. A tab in the shape of a license plate was among the keys.

  The phone was in the foyer. Denton looked up Chief Spile's home number and dialed. Spile's voice answered after one ring.

  "Jim Denton, Augie," Denton s
aid. "Got a pencil?"

  "Go ahead."

  "The license is 1-H-3OO5. Mercury sedan with a white body and a turquoise top." He turned to Corinne. "That's a nineteen sixty-one, Corinne, isn't it?"

  "Sixty-two."

  "Nineteen sixty-two model, Augie."

  "I'll get it right on the air. And tell Corinne not to worry. If he's in town the boys ought to spot him in less than an hour."

  Denton hung up. "I told you there was nothing to worry about. Augie says they'll spot him in an hour."

  Corinne nodded; there was the faintest crease between her brows. "Can I give you a drink? Or some coffee?"

  "Make some coffee."

  He followed her into the shiny kitchen and sat down at the table while she filled the percolator and plugged it in. She set out cups, cream and sugar in silence, and in silence took a chair across from him and waited for the coffee to perk. Her pallor did not go away.

  "Why don't you relax?" Denton glanced at the kitchen clock. "It's only forty-five minutes or so since George closed the store. Maybe he's stopped somewhere for a drink."

  "He'd have phoned. He always does."

  "He's already phoned you once. Be reasonable, Corinne. He wouldn't be likely to phone again."

  She summoned a smile. "I'm just being a worry-wart, I guess."

  The coffee finished perking. Corinne poured. They sat sipping, slowly, as if it were important to conserve the coffee. Neither looked at the kitchen clock until their cups were empty. The hands stood at a quarter past ten.

  "I could use a refill," Denton murmured. Silently she refilled his cup. She took no more for herself.

  At a quarter to eleven Denton rose without a word and dialed from the kitchen extension.

  "Sergeant Harley," a voice said.

  "Jim Denton, Bob. Any word on George Guest?"

  "Not yet, Mr. Denton. The chief just phoned, too. The patrol boys report they've checked everywhere and the car's not in town. Augie told me to put out the word to the sheriffs office to cover the whole county. I was just going to call it in."

  "Will you phone me as soon as you get anything? I'm at George Guest's house."

  Denton hung up and repeated what Sergeant Harley had told him.

  All that Corinne said was, "I think I'll have another cup now."

  The clock hands dragged on and on. Corinne simply sat, wrapped in her elegant lounging outfit and occasionally shivering as if she were cold. Once, in an attempt to relieve the tension, Denton said, "That bastard! After giving us this scare, he'll probably march in here and want to know what in hell you're doing entertaining a man in your pajamas in the middle of the night."

  "George?" Corinne said, shaking her head. "Never. He's too sure of me. Jim, why don't you go home and get some sleep? You've got to work tomorrow."

  "For one thing tomorrow's Saturday. For another, shut up."

  "You're a love." A little color began to relieve the dead pallor. "More coffee?"

  "I'm floating now. But—yes, thanks."

  He excused himself, and while he was gone Corinne made another potful! At midnight Denton phoned again. Sergeant Harley said, "Nothing yet. The chief says if we don't turn Guest up in another hour I'm to alert the state police. An area alarm would cover Cattaraugus County and as far south of the Pennsylvania border as Coudersport. You still with Mrs. Guest?"

  "Yes. I'll be here until George gets home."

  "Then give me a ring at one A.M. Or the minute Guest walks in, if he does. I don't want to stir up the state boys if he's already home."

  "I understand." Denton hung up.

  There was something about the phrase "area alarm" that sounded like a last resort. That news could wait. The alarm might not have to go out at all. There was no point in adding to Corinne's anxiety.

  So Denton merely said, "Nothing yet. Harley says to phone back at one if George isn't home by then."

  At one he phoned back. "Still nothing," the sergeant said. "Well, I better call the state police, Mr. Denton. I go off duty now, but Neddie Bradshaw will be on the desk and I'll brief him. Ned'll call you if there's any news. You'll still be at Mrs. Guest's?"

  "Yes," Denton said. "And thanks." He steeled himself to turn and face her frightened eyes. "I may as well tell you, Corinne. They're extending the alarm throughout Cattaraugus and down a way into Pennsylvania. So they're bound to find him soon."

  "Dead?"

  "Nonsense."

  "Is it, Jim?" Corinne said quietly. "You know George wouldn't stay out till one A.M, without letting me know where he is. He phones if he's going to be ten minutes late for dinner. Something's happened to him."

  Denton did not reply. He agreed with her perfectly. Something had happened to George, all right. He sat down opposite her and stared at the coffee with sheer hatred.

  At two o'clock and again at three Denton phoned Ned Bradshaw. There was no news.

  At five minutes to four the phone rang.

  Corinne let out a gasp and dropped the cigaret she was in the act of lighting. Denton nearly knocked over his chair in his haste to get to the phone.

  Bradshaw's voice said in his ear, "Afraid I've got some bad news for you, Mr. Denton."

  Denton felt his heart begin to pound. "Yes?"

  "The state police found Quest's car about a half hour ago in a ravine off Rock Hill Road

  . You know that hairpin turn about three miles west of town where they have reflectors on the guardrail?"

  "I know it." What am I going to tell her? he thought. How?

  "He went off the road this side of the curve, before where the guardrail starts. There's an almost vertical drop of twenty-five feet at that point. The car is a total wreck, they tell me."

  Denton began to fight down the feeling he had had in the morgue. "And ... George?"

  "Dead."

  So that was that.

  "They're bringing him into the county hospital morgue. Think Mrs. Guest will be up to an identification tonight?"

  "I don't know." I've got to think, Denton thought, think. "Can't I do that?"

  "It's supposed to be done by somebody from the family. Anyway, it can wait till tomorrow."

  And this is it, he thought as he turned from the telephone. Find the words, find the words .. . Corinne was devouring his face with her eyes. And then words were unnecessary after all.

  "He's dead," Corinne said, "George is dead," in an unnaturally calm voice, while her eyes pleaded, Tell me he isn't, Jim, tell me it's not true.

  "It was an accident," Denton muttered. "The car ran of! the road at a hairpin turn."

  "Where is he?"

  "They're taking him to the .., morgue."

  She shut her eyes. Almost immediately she opened then and put one hand on the back of her chair and pushed herself to her feet. "I'll have to get dressed."

  "It doesn't have to be tonight, Corinne. It can wait till tomorrow."

  "What can wait?"

  He cursed inwardly at her helpless, lost look. "The identification."

  She swayed, but before he could jump forward she steadied herself. "I'll be ready in three minutes," she said. At the door she paused just long enough to murmur with a sort of pride, "George always did hate weak females."

  And left Jim Denton raging at the shade of the departed. You damn fool. You goddam sweet fool. Why did you have to stick your big feet in?

  12

  In the hospital lobby a tall, red-haired state trooper was waiting.

  "I'm Corporal Childs. I'm sorry about your husband, Mrs. Guest. We just brought him in so they won't be ready for a while yet. Why don't you sit down here while I see how long it will be?"

  The trooper disappeared in the stairwell to the basement. Corinne took a seat and folded her hands in her lap. Her eyes remained wide open; otherwise, she might have been asleep. She's in partial shock, Denton thought. He remained standing. When he offered her a cigaret she did not even shake her head.

  An interminable fifteen minutes later Corporal Childs reappeared. "Will you come w
ith me now, please?"

  Corinne rose at once. Denton took her elbow as they crossed the lobby and went down the marble stairs. Her movements were wooden, but she seemed not to need the support. Nevertheless, he held on to her.

  They were met at the morgue door by a young intern.

  "I'm Dr. Knott. Are you sure you're up to this, Mrs. Guest? It can wait, you know."

  Her voice was quite steady. "I want to see him now." ,

  The doctor took her other elbow and they led her to the sheet-covered figure on the squat table. The trooper remained in the doorway. A different attendant from the one on duty when Denton had viewed the body of Angel peeled the sheet back halfway.

  Denton had braced himself, remembering. But this one was different. Not bad, he thought; not so bad. Or maybe you got used to death, even this kind of death. The chest was caved in and there were several ragged gashes on the nude torso from which the blood had been washed away. The head was undamaged except for a big lump on the left side with a sort of equatorial crack running across it, a dark crevasse. It was not George, but it was George. The essential George was gone, leaving a waxwork of him.

  He felt Corinne tremble, or shudder. "It's my husband .., yes." This time her voice was not steady at all.

  Denton and the intern led her back into the corridor. Her feet were dragging a little. "Are you sure you're all right, Mrs. Guest?"

  "I'm just dandy," Corinne said.

  She was a weak female after all, Denton thought. He caught her before she could fall, swung her up into his arms.

  "Just put her down there." The intern pointed to a cart standing against the wall.

  Gently Denton lowered her onto it. The young doctor put a stethoscope to her heart, took her pulse, peeled back an eyelid.

  "Just a faint," he said. He elevated her legs and depressed her head. "Is she all alone at home?" He began to work on her. "She ought to have someone around tonight."

  "I could get hold of a woman-friend," Denton said. "Although at this hour of the night—"

  "Why not check her in here till morning?"

  "All right," Denton said. He felt a great relief, and a great impatience.