Manhunt. Volume 14, Number 1, February/March, 1966

The Anonymous Body by Nancy A. Black

The suddenness of the blow sent me sprawling. I struggled in a swirling fog to keep my feet... then the world came down on me and I slipped into a bottomless pit.

It stood there, rising stark against the sky. The barn next to it was weathered and discolored by years of rain, snow, and wind beating against it. The silo itself was old and nearly as weathered as the barn, although there was some evidence of the red paint that must have once shone brightly upon its wooden staves.

I drove my new station wagon into the rutted driveway, feeling each bump and jolt with the anguish only an owner of a new car can feel. When I saw Clyde Jenkins, the county sheriff, waiting for me some of my annoyance at being called out here to this part of the county vanished. Clyde had greater problems than my resentment. Ever since he’d taken office a little over two months ago, after Tom Rinehart died suddenly of a heart attack, he’d had more trouble than Tom had encountered in twelve months. Clyde, a short, undersized man, was nearly dwarfed by the big western-cut hat the sheriffs in this state have taken to wearing. Following in the footsteps of a long line of big, bluff, stockily built sheriffs whose size alone had often been enough to quell a disturbance, Clyde had become the butt of some of the county’s worst ruffians, who wouldn’t hesitate to take a swing at a lawman they thought they could whip in a fight. Clyde’s brow was knitted now in a frown which he seemed to wear continuously these days.

As I left the wagon and walked toward him, Clyde beckoned me to follow him and trudged off toward the barn. I followed him, a little surprised at Clyde’s lack of a greeting. We walked through the barn, its musty odor and the layers of dust over everything proclaiming its long disuse. We stoped in front of the door to the silo and my eyes followed Clyde’s pointing finger. I looked, blinked, and then staggered backward as a wave of nausea gripped me. I’d seen death before but not quite like this. I backed hastily away from the door and looked at Clyde. The frown on his forehead had deepened and his eyes were very tired and very dull.

“She’s dead, isn’t she?” I asked foolishly, for one glance at the body lying at the bottom of the silo was enough to tell me that she was dead.

“She’s dead, all right,” Clyde answered.

“I’ll get my equipment,” I said. “I suppose you want it from all angles. The works.”

“From every angle you can think of. Close-ups, especially. Lot’s of them. This is murder.”

Clyde’s words, “This is murder,” hit me as I walked back to my station wagon for my equipment. Murder was something I hadn’t expected to encounter when I returned to my hometown after the Korean War bent on making my living as a photographer. Working as a small town photographer, I soon discovered, was not the way to acquire riches, especially if you were competing against two well-established old-timers. Hence my preoccupation with the photographic needs of the county offices, particularly the Sheriff’s office.

I found another man and Cal Lewis, Clyde’s favorite deputy, with Clyde when I returned to the silo. I had a nodding acquaintance with Clem Pitkin. While I set up my equipment I listened to Clem explain again to Clyde how he had found the body.

Clem, who owned the farm next to this one, had arranged with old Mrs. Banning to run part of his herd of cows into the barnyard for the coming winter. He’d also gotten permission to fill the silo. Mrs. Banning had been happy to let him do it since the farm had been vacant since her last tenant left over three years before. Clem and his son Jack had come over this morning to clean out the silo in preparation for filling it sometime the next week. Right away they’d found the body of a woman, covered over with some old straw that apparently had been carried from the barn floor and dumped on top of her.

I went to work, taking shots from every angle. I tried not to look at the woman too closely as I worked. She’d apparently been strangled and wasn’t a pretty sight to look at. But I couldn’t help noticing a few things about her. Her dress looked as though it was a new one and fairly expensive. But it didn’t go with the woman at all. It was gaudy, and much too young for her. Twenty years before she could have probably worn the dress and looked attractive in it, although in a cheap sort of way. Now she just looked hard and rundown. I put her somewhere in her forties, although it was hard to guess. Her hair was long and loose, and obviously dyed a reddish brown.

Once I looked up and found Cal Lewis looking intently at the dead woman. He had a funny look on his face. “Know her, Cal?” I asked.

“No,” he answered shortly. “I never really knew her.” He turned on one heel and strode off.

Cal was kind of strange at times, but most of the time he was easy to get along with and very easy to talk with. He was a bachelor and seemed quite contented with his singleness. Almost everyone in the county knew Cal and liked him. Maybe it was that slow Virginia drawl of his that set you to liking him as soon as he opened his mouth. Cal had drifted into town soon after the end of the war. Six months later he’d become one of Tom Rinehart’s deputies and had been on the force ever since. Cal came from Petersburg, Virginia, and could tell the story of the Civil War battles of that city better than any eye-witness could have done.

The coroner and his men came just as I was making my last exposure. I didn’t want to watch them take her out of there so I took off for town. Anyway I had a ten o’clock appointment to get back to and it was half-past nine then.

Much to my surprise I found my sometime fiancee waiting outside my studio when I returned. Anita Taggert is a tall, cool blonde with a lot of big ideas which I don’t quite measure up to. We were in high school together and like all kids that age I suppose we had more than our share of big ideas. Anita was bent on a career as a topflight fashion model and I was sure I was headed for a career as a magazine photographer along with such as Robert Capa, Werner Bischoff, and others.

Then Korea came along before we left high school. When we graduated Anita and I became engaged and then like a lot of other young kids we parted. I headed for Korea via the U.S. Army and the Signal School at Fort Monmouth where I learned to handle a camera the Army way. Anita headed for New York and her modeling career. I guess it must have been Korea that changed things for me; or maybe I never was cut out for the big dreams I’d wanted. But anyway somewhere along the way I lost my taste for my big ideas. When I came home and announced my intention to settle in the old hometown and concentrate on family portraits, Anita pleaded with me to change my mind. When I stood firm she promptly broke our engagement and took the next plane back to New York. She still dropped in to see me on the infrequent occasions when she made a visit home, hoping to change my mind, I’m sure, although she didn’t press the issue.

I couldn’t help feeling a little smug as I got out of my new station wagon. Anita was staring at the wagon as though she’d never seen one before.

“What did you do, Matt,” she asked. “Inherit some money from one of your grateful clients?”

I grinned at her. “Business has grown a bit since your last visit.”

“It must have.”

She turned away from the wagon and looked me over. I saw her disapproval when she looked at my clothing. Tramping around in a barn and a silo isn’t compatible with the wear of highly polished shoes and gray flannel suits. So, instead, I wore a pair of heavy work shoes and a suit of suntans with a leather jacket to cut the chill of early fall. I was certain it had been a long time since Anita had been this close to a man dressed as I was.

While she was looking me over I gave her a quick appraisal. I supposed she wore the latest fashions, but, anyway, her clothes became her for she was beautiful, as always, in a cool sophisticated way.

“I’d love to talk to you, Hon,” I said, “But right now I’ve got a rush job on my hands and a customer due in ten minutes for a sitting.” I flashed a smile at her to take the sting out of what must have sounded to her like a polite brush-off. “And as you can see I’ll have to make myself presentable.”

“I wasn’t aware that you went to so much trouble for your clients, Matt.”

“Well, this one’s kind of special. Charles Henry Lane. You remember. Prominent young businessman and son of one of our oldest families. I think I quoted our DAILY NEWS correctly.”

Anita smiled softly. “Hum. Perhaps you aren’t a total loss after all, Matt.”

I knew what she was leading up to so I quickly changed the subject. “How long are you stopping in this humble wayside town?”

“Two weeks.”

“Two weeks!” I exclaimed. “What is this?” Anita rarely stayed longer than a couple of days.

“I’m on vacation. Two whole weeks.”

“And you’re spending it here?”

“Why, yes, Matt. I thought it would do me good to get away from the city for a while.”

“I’m sure you’ll enjoy yourself. We have plenty of clean fresh air. Wholesome milk to build strong bones and teeth, and quiet to soothe ruffled nerves. By the way, aren’t you a little thin?”

She ignored me and walked toward the door. “You don’t have much time to dress to receive Charles Henry Lane, Matt. Call me when you’re free. See you later.”

With a wave she was gone. I watched her disappear up the street and suddenly I felt an old, but not unfamiliar, sensation somewhere in the region of my heart. Quickly I willed it away and, glancing at my watch, dashed for the back room.

I had just slipped my tie around my collar when I heard the chime on the door ring. A few moments later I hurried out to the front room.

When I saw Charles Henry Lane I felt a little foolish for having made those remarks to Anita. For all the pompous words flung around about him by the DAILY NEWS Charles Henry Lane was small-town upper-class at its best. At forty-five he still had the neat athletic build of a man ten or fifteen years younger. His dark brown hair was beginning to recede and there were some rather deep lines around his eyes and his mouth, but they only served to give him a mature and rather distinguished look.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, Mr. Lane. Just got back from the Banning farm. I suppose you’ve heard of the excitement out there.”

“No. I haven’t heard.”

He spoke very slowly, almost as though he were carefully choosing his words. I was a little surprised at the expression on his face; it was almost wary. Or was it puzzlement?

“Someone found a body out there. A woman. Sheriff’s pretty sure it’s murder.”

Lane looked shocked. Remembering my own reactions when I saw the body I felt comradely toward him. He too had been through a war and seen violent death. But like me he had spent the years since in a town which hadn’t had a murder since 1895.

“It’s rather a shock, isn’t it?” I offered sympathetically.

“Yes, it is,” he answered. “Of course it happens every day in the cities but here—” He stopped and looked at me rather helplessly.

“I suppose the world had to catch up with us sometime, Mr. Lane. Although I wish it had waited a little longer.”

“Yes. Yes, so do I. I just got back last night from Cincinnati.” He grinned ruefully. “I kept thinking all the way home last night how nice it would be to get back home where everything’s nice and quiet.”

“Business trip?” I asked politely.

He nodded. “Yes. Left early Sunday. One of those conventions. Don’t really know why I go. Never seem to accomplish anything.”

The sitting didn’t go very well. I kept seeing that woman’s ghastly face every time I looked in the camera and Lane seemed preoccupied. I had to repeat every direction to him about three times. I took a couple of extra shots for insurance and then called it quits. I knew Clyde would be anxious to get my pictures so as soon as Lane left I went right to work. A couple of hours later I locked the studio door behind me and carrying a stack of slightly damp enlargements walked up the street to Clyde’s office in the county jail.

Clyde was talking on the phone when I walked in. He waved me to a chair as he finished his telephone conversation. A minute later he swung around in the swivel chair to face me. His movements were as quick and sure as ever but I caught a bewildered look in his eyes that had never been there before. He glanced quickly through the stack of photos and then piled them neatly on the corner of his desk.

“Thanks, Matt. That looks like a good job. As usual,” he added, giving me a grin that faded too quickly from his lined face. I took out a pack of cigarettes and after giving him one took my time about lighting up.

“Any idea who she was, Clyde,” I began. “I like to keep my records pretty complete, you know.”

Clyde shook his head. “And I like to keep my records complete, Matt. But so far, nothing. No identification on the body, no one’s recognized her so far, and her clothes could have come from any large department store in the state or maybe the whole country. Just nothing. Except it’s pretty certain she was strangled. Doc’s working on that now. And she’s probably been dead about forty-eight hours.” He threw up his hands in a helpless gesture. “I’ve started through all the channels, missing persons, the FBI for fingerprints, but all that takes time. And in the meantime...” He paused and looked at me intently.

There was a catch in my throat. “In the meantime, there’s a killer running around loose.” I finished it for him.

He nodded. “It’s probably an out-of-town killing and someone just happened on that abandoned farm and thought it a good place to dump the body.”

“But the silo, Clyde? Sure, an abandoned farm’s a fine place to get rid of a body. But why the silo? Why not a shallow grave somewhere on the farm? That silo just doesn’t make sense.”

Clyde nodded. “That’s what puzzles me, Matt. If it weren’t for that silo I’d be pretty sure this was an out-of-town killing. Or rather out of the county. It’s almost as though someone knew that silo was going to be filled soon but didn’t think that Clem would clean it out first. It if weren’t for that, why hard telling how long that body could have stayed in there.”

I saw what Clyde was getting at. If that silo had been filled on top of the body it would be months before the silage was fed out down to the body. And if it wasn’t all fed out and the silo wasn’t used the next year or the next, it might even be years before it was used again.

“I’m calling on the auxiliary deputies, Matt. If I have to I’ll run everybody in the county through that morgue. Someone here must know her.”

“Yeah,” I answered. “Someone knew her well enough to kill her. But suppose the killer’s the only one who knew her, Clyde?”

Clyde sighed wearily. “I know, Matt. That’s what’s worrying me. If the killer’s the only one who knew her he’s not likely to let us find that out.”

The afternoon was pretty well shot when I left Clyde. There was no hurry on Lane’s pictures so I decided to call it a day. I called Anita at her parent’s home. When I suggested we share an early dinner she accepted rather too eagerly to suit me and I was sure she’d heard about the murder and would be full of questions. For a moment I was sorry I’d asked her out. I’d had about all I could take of that murder for one day.

When I stopped off at the home I shared with my older brother Clint and his wife Maggie for a quick shower and change of clothes I learned news of the murder had reached the back-fence clothes-line circuit hours before. Maggie seemed to sense that I didn’t want to discuss it and quickly switched to something else. I felt better then and only hoped Anita would be as perceptive.

And she was. I even found myself chuckling inside when I caught the approval in her eyes as she looked at me. I knew I looked every inch the rising young photographer in my dark blue suit.

My hometown only has one hotel but it’s a nice one with an excellent restaurant and dance floor on the ground floor. We took our time over dinner and then took a few spins over the dance floor. It was still early when we left. I’ve never quite gotten over a rather childish pride in my studio so when we left the hotel I drove down past it. I glanced at the sign above — Matthew Braddock, Photographer — letting my eyes glance lovingly at the entire spot where it nestled, between a clothing store and a hardware store. I didn’t dare to hope that Anita was seeing it with any similar feelings. Suddenly I swung the car over to the curb. The display window was lighted and although the lights didn’t illuminate much of the front room I’d seen something in there. As I dashed up to the front door I caught another glimpse of something or rather someone moving through the doorway of the reception room. By the time I got inside he was gone, leaving the back door banging softly in the cool night air. A car started up down the alley but it was gone by the time I got out there.

Anita had come inside the studio when I came back. She looked frightened and lost. I suddenly realized that I’d never seen her frightened before. But I didn’t have time to think about that now. I called Clyde and then started taking a quick inventory.

None of the equipment seemed to be missing and the cash register hadn’t been touched. Then I saw my print files. I file both prints and negatives by number. The negative files didn’t look like they’d been touched. But the last drawer of the filing cabinet that holds my prints was pulled open and someone had begun to paw through them. I couldn’t figure it out but I got my appointment book out and started checking it against the prints to see if anything was missing. None of today’s work was in the file, of course. For a minute I thought he’d made off with a whole week’s work and then I remembered that I hadn’t filed anything from the last four days. I’d planned to do that today but Clyde’s early morning call to go out to the Banning farm had caught me before I’d opened up this morning. I went back to my finishing room and there they were just as I’d left them.

Clyde and Anita came into the finishing room just then. Clyde seemed just as puzzled as I was when I told him what had happened.

“And you say he started to go through your print files, Matt?”

I nodded my head. “Yep. That’s what it looks like. And just the recent ones, too.”

“Matt, are you sure you never saw that woman before?”

“Clyde, you don’t think it was the killer?”

“Can you think of a better explanation?”

“No. But.” I didn’t finish. They did come a little too close together to be pure coincidence. First the discovery of the body and then the raid on my studio.

“Matt, I want you to go through every picture you’ve taken for the past week. See if you can come up with anything.”

“But Clyde.”

“No buts, Matt. The killer obviously thinks you have something in those files. Whatever it is we have to find it before he comes back. I’ll leave Cal and another man here to keep watch.”

When Clyde had gone I looked helplessly at Anita. “Well, Honey. I guess it’s going to be a long night. I think I’d better take you home. Cal can watch the place for a few minutes.”

“Oh. No you don’t Matt Braddock. I’m staying right here. Someone has to keep you awake.” She moved briskly over to the hot plate where I keep my coffee pot. “I think we could both use some coffee.”

“Thanks, Hon. I really appreciate this.” I noticed that her earlier frightened look had disappeared. In its place there was a concern that I knew was directed to me. Suddenly I felt very warm inside. It had been a long time since I’d seen anything like that in Anita’s eyes. A long, long time.

I went to work on the pictures. There were quite a lot of them but most of them were studio portraits and after a quick glance I could eliminate them. The rest were mostly shots I’d taken around town the past week. Some street scenes I’d shot for my own amusement, several I’d taken to test some film, and then I came to the batch I’d taken of the Happy Times 4-H Club. As I picked them up I remembered that these must have been taken the day of the murder if the coroner bore out Clyde’s first assumption that the woman had been dead about forty-eight hours. Day before yesterday. Sometime during the morning.

I’d gotten up early that morning for the Happy Timers were leaving on the seven-thirty bus to the capital city. They were already at the bus station when I arrived. I’d taken quite a few pictures of them: group shots, their leader boarding the bus, even some after they were on the bus. I glanced quickly through the enlargements. If there was something in these the killer was afraid of I couldn’t imagine what it would be. I handed the stack to Anita.

“See if you see anything in these pictures, Anita. I sure can’t but maybe I’m missing something.”

Anita took the stack over to a table and began to examine them. I heard footsteps and looked up in time to see Cal Lewis come in. He wriggled his nose at the coffee pot.

“Say, Matt, you couldn’t spare a fellow a cup of that could you?”

“Sure thing, Cal. What about your partner?”

“Naw. John don’t drink coffee, Matt. Say, you found anything yet in those pictures?”

“Not yet, Cal, although I’ve pretty well got it narrowed down to one batch. There’re the only ones that could possibly have anything in them. Anita’s looking them over now.”

“Well, guess I’d better get back outside. John’s out in back keeping an eye on things.” Cal ambled on out the door.

“Matt, do you still get Y’s and Z’s on your automobile licenses in this county?”

“Sure. Why?”

“Then come here and look at this car in the background of this picture.”

I looked. Sure enough there was a car with a strange license tag in the background. Then I saw something else. How I’d missed it before I didn’t know. But there she was, getting into the car with the strange tags. She was looking right at the camera and that gaudy dress was unmistakable.

“It’s her!” I cried.

“Who?” Anita asked, puzzled.

“The woman who was murdered. She’s getting in that car with the strange tags. Well, I guess this wraps it up. All we have to do is trace the owner of this car and we should have the killer. Looks like Clyde’s first hunch about this being an out-of-town killing was right.”

“I’m not so sure, Matt,” Anita answered slowly. “If it were someone from out of town they surely wouldn’t be hanging around here now. And the killer must be still around.”

“Guess you’re right, Anita. Of course, the killer no matter who it is knows about this picture. But it’d be pretty hard for a stranger to hang around without being seen. And he must know the body’s been found. I’m going to run this picture down to Clyde’s office. You wait here. I’ll either be right back or call you from up there.”

“What about the negative, Matt. Don’t you think you’d better lock it up?”

I grinned at her. “Say, maybe you should be around more often. Keep me from forgetting things.”

I locked the negative in the safe and then left the studio.

“Find it, Matt?” Cal called to me as I went out the door.

“I think so, Cal. I think so.”

The suddenness of the blow sent me sprawling. I struggled in a swirling fog to keep my feet and then the world came down on me and I felt myself slipping into a bottomless pit.

The sunlight burned into my eyes, making my head pound faster. “The blinds,” I whispered, “Please close the blinds.” Instead I felt a moist cloth fall over my eyes and the sunlight disappeared. I sighed deeply, relaxing. In another moment I was asleep.

When I awoke again the sun had disappeared and a cool soothing breeze drifted in from the open window. My head felt thick and full of mush and when I ran my hand over my head I felt a good-sized knot. Otherwise I seemed to be all right. Then I ventured to look about me. With a start I recognized a hospital room. “What the...?” I exclaimed. Then a gentle hand fell over my mouth. “Hush,” Anita whispered.

“What happened? What am I doing here?” I insisted.

“As Clyde said, someone cold-cocked you,” she announced.

“Clyde!” Now I remembered. “The picture! What happened? Who hit me? What happened to the picture?”

“Not so fast, Matt. One question at a time. Someone hit you and knocked you out after you left the studio. I’m afraid he took the picture, Matt. But we still have the negative and you can make Clyde another print when you get on your feet.”

“But the license number, Anita! He’ll have to trace that!”

“Hush, Matt. Don’t get so excited. I remembered the license number. Clyde’s already checked it out. You’ve been here almost twenty-four hours and a lot has happened since last night.”

“But what’s happened? Who hit me?”

“I think Clyde will have to tell you that, Matt. He’ll be here in a few minutes. Now lie back and relax.”

I did as she asked and a few minutes later Clyde walked in the door. I started involuntarily when I saw him, causing my head to begin throbbing painfully. Clyde looked tired and beaten. His face had gone an ashen gray and the deep lines around his mouth and eyes looked deeper than they had when I’d last seen him.

“Hello, Matt. Good to see you’re going to make it. You had us all worried there for a while.”

His voice sounded as dispirited as he looked. I began to dread what I knew he must be going to tell me.

“Did you see who struck you down, Matt?” he asked suddenly.

“No. Not a thing. I was in a hurry to get to your office. The next thing I knew the world came down on my head.”

Clyde nodded. “Yes. I thought you probably hadn’t. I think he followed you from the studio and when you got past the business district he let you have it. But I guess it doesn’t matter now.”

“Who was it, Clyde?”

“Cal Lewis, Matt. I know it’s a shock. Kind of hits me where it hurts. But everything hangs together pretty well.”

“But Cal? I don’t get it?”

“Guess I’d better tell you the whole story. One of the first things I did yesterday was start getting hold of all the bus drivers who made a run into town the past few days and had them in to look at the body. This morning I finally reached the last one, Tim Anderson, who drove the seven-thirty bus in and out of here on Monday morning. The one that 4-H Club took out of here on that trip they won to the capitol. He recognized her right away. She came in with him out of Akron. Seems she struck up a conversation with him which is how he remembered her. He also remembered something of the conversation. According to him she said this was her first visit here. Said she was going to visit her brother, Cal Lewis, one of the deputy sheriffs.”

“So that’s why!” I broke in. “That’s why he made that funny remark out there at the farm about not really knowing her.”

“Anyway, Matt, that sort of broke it when the bus driver gave his statement. I confronted Cal with it and he admitted she was his sister.”

“What about the killing?”

“Says he didn’t kill her. Claims he didn’t even know she was in town. Says he hasn’t seen her for about two years. The last time soon after she went to Akron to live and he went up to see her.”

“But if he didn’t kill her why didn’t he identify her?”

“He claims she was no good. Said she must have been up to something down here and he felt whoever killed her probably had a good reason. He thought if he kept quiet we’d connect her with whoever she came here to see but if he admitted knowing her we’d suspect him.”

“Sounds kind of fishy to me, Clyde. Why didn’t he just say he was ashamed to admit she was his sister. That’d make more sense.”

“I thought so, too. Anyway he had the opportunity to kill her. He took Monday off. Left town the night before. He claims he went to see a girl of his in the capitol. But won’t give her name or anything else to back up his story. Says he’s going to keep her out of this even if it makes it bad for him.”

“I never knew Cal had a girl.”

“Neither did anyone else around here. I figure he went to the capitol, hired that car, it came from a rental agency in the capitol, by the way, drove back here, picked up Thelma Gaskins at the bus station and then drove out to the Banning farm. The only thing that bothers me is his reason for killing her.

“I also got a report from the FBI in Washington. Her prints were on file. She’s been in and out of trouble since 1943. Started hanging around the soldiers from Camp Pickett during the war. Apparently that started her off. Since then she’s been in trouble all over the country.”

“Any proof that Cal rented the car?”

“I sent Phil Masters down there this afternoon with a picture of Cal. When he gets back I figure I’ll have it all sewed up.”

“Sure looks that way. But Cal! Just doesn’t seem possible. I suppose he’s the one who gave me this?” I gingerly touched the knot on my head.

“He denies that, too, Matt. But Anita heard you tell Cal as you left that you thought you’d found something. When you didn’t come right back and didn’t call she got worried and called me. So I went looking for you. But she’d tried to find Cal before she called me and he wasn’t around. By the time I got down to the studio Cal had turned up. Claimed he was checking out a noise he heard in the alley that runs beside the hardware store.”

They wouldn’t let me out of the hospital until the next morning. I slept fitfully that night. My head throbbed most of the time and every time I thought about Cal it throbbed even more.

Anita came to the hospital early the next morning. She’d driven my station wagon in and I didn’t object when she insisted on driving me home. I didn’t really feel up to leaving the hospital but I was anxious to get back to work. Anita started the car and then turned to me before pulling out of the parking lot.

“Clyde called early this morning. He’d like to talk with you again. Do you feel up to it?”

I didn’t really but I didn’t want to admit it. I had a feeling Anita was about ready to take me back inside that hospital as soon as I gave her the slightest hint that I felt like going back to bed.

Clyde looked even grimmer this morning, if that were possible.

“The man who rented out that car says it wasn’t Cal, Matt. Says the man who rented it gave the name of Henry C. Marshall and showed some credit cards in that name. Said he looked to be in his early forties or late thirties, was tall, well-built, and his hair was receding slightly. And that certainly doesn’t fit Cal. Cal’s tall and skinny and he couldn’t make that shock of red hair of his look receding if he tried. Also the man who took out that car had brown hair.”

“Hum.” I thought a minute. “That description sounds more like Charles Henry Lane than Cal.”

“I hope you’re kidding, Matt.”

“I am. Just thought of him because his was the last portrait I took. No. Maybe I’m not kidding. Lane was out of town, too, that day. Or said he was. He was telling me Wednesday when I took his picture. Telling me what a terrible thing this was to come home to. We were talking about the murder. Matter of fact I told him about it. He hadn’t heard about it yet.”

“What time was this, Matt?”

“Oh, about ten-thirty. Right after I got back from the Banning farm. He acted funny about that. When I mentioned the Banning farm. Maybe you’d better take his picture down to the capitol and show it to that clerk.”

Clyde scoffed. “Look, Matt, I want to believe Cal didn’t do this just as badly as you do. But Charles Henry Lane! I can’t buy that. Think about it a while and you won’t either.”

“Now wait just a minute, Clyde. Why not Charles Henry Lane? If it’s possible for a guy like Cal Lewis to go wrong why not Charles Henry Lane. Look. Give it a try anyway. Send somebody with a picture of Lane to the capitol.”

“Not me, Matt. It’d get around and then I would have troubles. I’m not sticking my neck out for a damn fool hunch of yours like that.”

“Then I’ll do it, Clyde. I’ll print up one of those pictures I took Wednesday and take it down there myself.”

Clyde shrugged his shoulders. “I’ll give you a letter to take with you in case they object to talking with you. But other than that you’re on your own.”

I regretted saying I’d go as soon as I walked out of Clyde’s office. I didn’t feel at all like driving to the capitol. But then I thought of Cal and I knew I had to do it. Halfway out to the station wagon I thought of something else and I went back to Clyde’s office.

“Do one thing for me, Clyde,” I said to him. “Find out where Charles Henry Lane spent his Army days.”

Clyde sighed. “All right. I’ll do that much for you.”

When I explained my idea to Anita she wasn’t at all skeptical. Maybe it was because she’d been away so long and Charles Henry Lane was rather unreal to her. And when she insisted on going to the capitol with me I didn’t object. I needed her now if only for moral support.

It’s about 65 miles one way to the capitol. Anita offered to drive down. My head was hurting again from printing up some enlargements of Lane so I let her drive. By the time we reached the capitol I was feeling pretty good. It was about three o’clock when we reached the edge of the city and three-thirty when we got to the car rental agency.

Fortunately the man who rented the car on Sunday night was on duty again. It took only a few minutes to get what I wanted. Charles Henry Lane was the man in our mystery car and our clerk was quite willing to make an identification in person.

Anita and I were both elated as we started homeward. I felt we really had something now. I drove and as the miles clicked by Anita dozed, her head resting near my shoulder. About twenty miles from home and just inside our county line there’s a bad curve and a drop-off on one side. It’s a bad spot and a lot of cars have gone over the bank. I don’t think anyone has lived who’s gone over. We were nearing it now and I began to slow down. Anita had awakened and was sitting sideways in the seat looking out the rear window. Suddenly she sat up straight.

“Matt! That car behind you is coming up awfully fast isn’t it?”

I’d been watching him in my rearview mirror. He was coming awfully fast. I swung off the road just as he cut around me, half on our side of the road. We hit the guard rail but stopped.

“Matt! He crowded you off the road!” Anita cried.

“He sure did! If I’d been going a little faster we’d have gone right through the guard rail!” I was boiling mad because I knew one side of my station wagon was a mess where I’d scraped the guard rail. I got out of the car. There’d been very little traffic on the road and not a car was in sight now. I was examining the damage when I heard someone running through the gravel along the road. I swung my flashlight on him. Charles Henry Lane!

When the beam of my light hit him he slowed to a walk. Then I saw the revolver in his hand.

“Drop the light on the ground, Braddock. Good. Now kick it toward me.”

I wasn’t going to argue with a killer. I did as he said.

“All right, now. Get back in the car.” He opened the door behind me and got in too. “Now get this car back down the road. That’s fine.” He was holding the gun at Anita’s head. I prayed desperately for another car to come along but nothing was in sight. “Now drive forward, point the wheels toward the guard rail, and stop when I tell you.” He got out of the car now and pressed the muzzle of the gun against my temple as he opened my door. “Now put your right foot on the gas pedal and your left on the brake. Fine.” He looked to make sure I had the car in drive. I knew what was coming next. I glanced over at Anita. She was staring straight ahead and I knew she, too, knew what he was about to do.

“Now gun the motor. Faster, Braddock. Fine. So long, boy.”

With that he grabbed my leg and jerked my foot off the brake. But as he did so I drove my left arm into his face. At the same time Anita hit the selector lever throwing the car into neutral. Instead of hurtling forward we rolled a few inches and stopped. As I dived for Lane he fired. I heard the bullet strike the windshield and then I was on top of him. Lane was in good shape and desperate. But I was seventeen years younger and just as desperate. It was touch and go for awhile but I’d knocked the gun out of his hand when I dove for him and all he had to fight with were his fists. I stood up. Lane lay on the ground unable to move.

“I’ve got the gun, Matt,” Anita called to me. Then I heard a car coming down the road. I grabbed Lane and managed to drag him off the highway.

“Get that flashlight,” I panted at Anita. “I think he threw it in the back seat. Flag that car.”

But before Anita could get the flashlight the car was rounding the curve. I noticed that it was going awfully slow. They must have seen us at the same time for that big red flasher came on. I collapsed against the car as Clyde and Cal Lewis stepped out of the sedan. And then I had something else to think about as Anita flung herself into my arms.

“You know, Clyde,” I said later, “I’ve always thought pictures were important but I never thought one of my pictures would help solve a murder.” Anita squeezed my hand.

“I’m not surprised, Matt. I always knew you’d be a famous photographer. But I’ll admit I didn’t expect it to happen here, or in quite this way.”

We were all sitting in Clyde’s office, having a much needed coffee break. Charles Henry Lane, was safely locked up. There’d been no more fight in him when Cal slapped him awake and put the handcuffs on him.

“Okay, Clyde,” I said, putting down my coffee cup. “Let’s finish this up. When did you decide my idea wasn’t completely cockeyed?”

Clyde gave me a sheepish grin. “Not very long after you left. I knew it would take too long to get anything from the Army on Lane’s whereabouts during the war. So I checked the newspaper files, figuring Lane’s whereabouts would have been given there. Lane was at Camp Pickett, Virginia, from 1943 until he went overseas in ’44. So then I went to Cal with what I had.” He glanced at Cal. “Care to fill him in, Cal?”

“My sister,” Cal began, “was always pretty wild. But when she began hanging around the soldiers from Camp Pickett she really cut loose. There was talk that she’d even married one of the soldiers during a weekend spree that ended up in Maryland. But nothing ever came out about it and I’d always supposed it was just talk. My sister never acknowledged the rumor. I asked her about it once but she just laughed at me. Then soon after that she ran off with a fellow from town. Hugh Gaskins. They sent word they’d gotten married, he went into the Marines, and was killed somewhere in the South Pacific. I was overseas myself at that time. My parents died while I was gone and when I came back I’d lost all track of Thelma. About eight years ago I got a letter from her. She’d tracked me down through some friends at home. I heard from her once in awhile then and a little over two years ago she wrote from Akron. Soon after that I went up to see her. That was the last time I saw her alive. Not too long after I visited her I got a letter from her asking if I knew Charles Henry Lane. She said he’d been up there for a convention in the hotel where she was working and she’d noticed on the register that he was from here. I think when I answered her letter I gave her a brief sketch of Lane, pointing out that he was quite a big man here in town. I thought no more about it. I didn’t even remember the incident when I saw her out there in the silo the other morning. But when Clyde came to me with the news that Lane had been at Camp Pickett I began to put two and two together.”

“So I released Cal and we went looking for Lane,” Clyde continued. “And of course we couldn’t find him. I’d already called the car rental agency in the capitol and found out that the clerk there had identified your picture of Lane. On a hunch I decided to drive toward the city.”

“Lane gave us the rest of the story on the way back here,” Clyde began after another sip of his coffee.

“About two years ago Lane was in Akron for a convention. Thelma was working at the hotel where he stayed. She recognized him and made herself known. Lane admitted he’d never divorced her. She’d disappeared soon after the wedding, Lane went overseas, and by the time he got back he’d almost forgotten about marrying her. And since no one knew of the marriage he ignored it. By then he’d met the future Mrs. Lane, of course, so he was even more eager to forget Thelma. Soon after he saw Thelma in Akron she began blackmailing him. This went on about two years and it began to get a little difficult for him to give her the sums she demanded. He kept stalling on her last demand. She threatened to come down here and he told her to come ahead. He’d be waiting for her in a car at the bus station. By then, of course, he’d decided the only thing to do was to kill her. He left early Sunday for the convention in Cincinnati, checked in there at the hotel, then caught the bus to the capitol where he rented the car, using fake credentials he’d fixed up. By seven-fifteen Monday morning he was waiting at the bus station for Thelma. He drove out to the Banning farm. She thought they were going to talk things over. The house was locked up so they went out to the barn. He strangled her, threw her body into the silo, and tossed some loose straw from the barn in on top of her. Then he drove back to the capitol, turned the car in, and caught the bus back to Cincinnati. He figured the body’d be safe in the silo until he could come back and bury her somewhere on the farm. But he didn’t know about Clem’s lease.”

“He knew Matt had got Thelma and the car in the background of one of the pictures Matt took that morning but since he figured her body’d never be discovered he didn’t worry about it.”

“And if he hadn’t gotten panicky and tried to steal the picture we’d never have dreamed I had it,” I added.

“Lane thought he was in the clear with Cal’s arrest,” Clyde continued. “He thought the picture would be ignored now. He knew we’d sent a man to Columbus but he was sure we’d never connect him with the car. But then he happened to see you and Anita heading out of town this afternoon. He decided to follow you to see where you were going. When you kept on towards the city he kept behind you all the way.”

“Then I suppose he saw us enter the car rental agency?” I asked.

Clyde nodded. “And saw you come out. You were carrying a package and by your expressions he was sure the clerk had identified his picture.”

“I’ll bet this beats New York excitement,” I said to Anita as we left Clyde’s office. She nodded in agreement.

“I think I’ve had about all the excitement I’ll need for awhile.”

“Say, what is this,” I countered. “Aren’t you eager to get back to gay, mad New York?”

She smiled sweetly at me. “Not right now, Matt. We’ll give it another week and then we’ll see.”

Suddenly I felt about ten years younger. I had a hunch that other week would be a long one, and that Anita wouldn’t be going back to New York for a long, long time.