Odds Against Tomorrow

Chapter Seventeen

At three o’clock in the morning the village of Crossroads lay sleeping in faint moonlight, its streets shining emptily and bursts of wind tugging with a lonely sound at the canvas awnings above the dark shops.

The all-night drugstore and the gas station at the bend of the federal highway were exceptions to the black silence; they were courageously open for business as usual, bright and defiant flags against the night.

At police headquarters in the Municipal Building, Kelly was sitting opposite the sheriff’s desk, a cigarette burning in the ash tray near his elbow, and a sheaf of notes and reports in his hand. Morgan had gone off duty, and the sheriff and several of Kelly’s men were working with the troopers at the roadblocks surrounding Crossroads.

Kelly swiveled in his chair and stared at the county map on the wall, focusing his eyes on the black circle the sheriff had drawn around the area southwest of Crossroads. It was a pretty big noose, he thought. Too big. The men were trapped all right; roadblocks sealed off the section efficiently. But they had a vast territory to move around in, and someone might be hurt, before the noose was jerked tight around their necks. They had to get them fast. That was the essential thing at this end of the job.

Washington was working on the other side of it. They had identified the slain holdup man. Burke, an ex-cop from Detroit, bounced for using his badge as the emblem of a private collection agency. It was all over for him now, Kelly thought. He’d tried for the big time and missed by a country mile. Washington was running down a man named Novak, who had been an associate of Burke’s in the past few months. Maybe Novak wasn’t part of the bank job. But they wanted to make sure. Dozens of agents were after him, along with the police departments of every state. Novak, whoever he was, didn’t have a prayer.

That left the man inside the noose. John Ingram, a Negro. The police in Philly had run a cautious check on him. He hadn’t been in trouble before. He was known as a quiet, good-humored fellow, a dealer in a gambling joint, one of four brothers with good records and responsible jobs. Ingram puzzled Kelly; he just didn’t fit the picture. Bank robbers fell into categories. They were usually impulsive and reckless men, indifferent to risk or danger. Hard to stop, since banks seemed to challenge their outlaw temperaments, but very easy to apprehend; they inevitably spent their stolen money foolishly, drinking and brawling, and showing off until they brought the law down on themselves.

The white man, yes. They didn’t have his name yet. Just the sheriff’s description: big and rangy, with steady, sullen eyes. He fitted. Moody, restless, a man with a grudge.

The door opened and Kelly turned from the map, expecting Sheriff Burns; but it was his daughter, Nancy, bundled up in a hooded raincoat and carrying a large thermos in her arms. She said “Hello,” rather awkwardly, and put the thermos on the counter. “I thought Dad would be here.”

“He’s out at one of the roadblocks.” Kelly glanced at his watch. “Should be back pretty soon.”

“Would you like coffee?” She put her raincoat over a chair and ran a hand nervously over her long blond hair, “I couldn’t sleep — I wondered if you and Dad might like something hot to drink.”

“That sounds fine,” Kelly said. He leaned against the desk and watched her pour steaming coffee into the metal cups she unscrewed from the top of the thermos. There was an efficient haste in all her movements as if she were eager to get the job over and done with; he found it difficult to imagine her doing anything at a casual, leisurely pace. Rush, rush, he thought. He was puzzled by this girl; there were contradictions about her that he couldn’t understand. She seemed warm and cold, wistful and hard, pensive and indifferent — but all the same time, the emotions blended together in aggravating and illogical patterns. He had been thinking about her quite a lot since dinner — not simply because she was a young and attractive female, but because the incongruities in her manner aroused his professional interest in puzzles.

They sat for a moment in silence, Kelly perched on the desk, the girl studying the splinter of light moving on the glossy black tip of her pump. The office was warm and quiet, a comfortable coffee-fragrant refuge against the night pressing against the frosted windows. But the silence between them wasn’t comfortable, Kelly realized; she seemed awkward and strained for some reason.

He couldn’t imagine why. She was good-looking enough, he thought, studying her smooth profile. Just a little bit stiff and shy, but everything else was definitely all right; nice blond hair, fresh clean skin, intelligent eyes and mouth. No discernible flaws. She was wearing a soft beige sweater with a neatly pegged tweed skirt, and the full curving lines of her bosom and hips were very evident as she twisted slightly in the chair and crossed her smooth, slim legs.

So why wasn’t she married? he thought.

“You say you had trouble sleeping tonight?” he asked her politely.

“Yes — I don’t know why.”

“You often have trouble sleeping?”

She glanced at him, a touch of color in her cheeks. “I’m afraid so.”

“I’m a pretty good sleeper,” he said. “If sleeping were a commercial activity, say like baseball, I’d be the DiMaggio of the league.”

“What’s the secret? Plenty of exercise, wide-open windows and so forth?”

“The open window is the real secret,” he said.

“Does your wife mind a cold bedroom?”

“I’m not married,” Kelly said. “But I have a future wife wandering around somewhere, and I hope she won’t mind.”

“It’s an interesting way of looking at things.” She laughed a little. “In fact it’s pretty cockeyed.”

“I don’t know. Men torch for ex-wives. So what’s wrong with me torching for a future wife?” He smiled at her. “Don’t you ever daydream like that? About the guy you’re going to marry?”

“I suppose I must have. I suppose everyone does.” She stood and smoothed her skirt with swift, efficient gestures. “Would you like more coffee?”

“Yes, thanks.” Watching her, he began to understand the incongruous thing about her; she didn’t seem to realize she was attractive — she just didn’t have the casual confidence in herself that was usually part of a good-looking woman’s equipment. That puzzled him, too. Hadn’t anybody told her she was pretty or amusing or wonderful? It seemed unlikely. Maybe someone had stopped saying it... that had the same effect sometimes.

She should be married, he decided finally; that would fix her insomnia.

Kelly wasn’t insensitive, but his mind worked simply and directly. The obvious seldom escaped him, and the obscure always sounded a warning bell in his mind; the combination made him a difficult man to fool.

The phone rang, shattering the uneasy silence, and he said, “Excuse me,” and picked up the receiver.

“Is Sheriff Burns there?” It was a woman’s voice, high and shaky. “This is Doctor Taylor’s wife.”

“No, he’s out. Can I help you?”

“Something has happened to my daughter. Something terrible — I’m sure of it.” The woman’s voice was rising hysterically. Kelly said, “Take it easy now. Just tell me what’s wrong.” He covered the receiver and looked questioningly at Nancy. “Doctor Taylor’s wife?”

“That’s Laura Taylor — they live in Avondale, about ten miles from here.”

“Mrs. Taylor,” Kelly said.

“I’m trying to be calm. My daughter went to a parish dance tonight. She should have been home hours ago. But she’s not.”

“Who did she go with?”

“The Metcalf boy. I’ve called him already. He was in bed — he told me he left Carol off at one o’clock.”

“Did he see her go inside the house?”

“Yes, yes — he took her to the door.”

“Have you checked the house carefully? She might have curled up on a sofa or something like that.”

“She’s not here, I tell you. I’ve gone from the basement to the attic.”

“Would she have gone out to stay at a friend’s house?”

“No — something terrible has happened. I’m sure of it.”

“Is Doctor Taylor there?”

“He’s got a call. There was an accident on the federal highway. I’m here alone.”

Kelly turned and stared at the radio speaker. He was sure there had been no accident on the federal highway; he had been sitting beside the speaker all night. “Mrs. Taylor, I’m coming right out,” he said. “Just take it easy. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

“Please, please hurry.”

Kelly reached for his trenchcoat. One of the hunted men was wounded, and a doctor had been called to a nonexistent accident — it could only mean one thing...

“I’m going to get your father,” he said to the girl. “Can I drop you on the way?”

“No, please don’t bother.”

“Why do you think it’s a bother? Come on...”