We'll Share A Double Funeral

Chapter 5

“The footpath is just ahead,” Ross said, peering through the windshield. “Pull into this lay-by.”

Hollis slowed, then steered the car into the lay-by and cut the engine.

“From here, we walk,” Ross said. He fiddled with the radio and got Jenner’s headquarters, “Carl, Ross,” he said. “We are at position on the Miami highway. We’re using the footpath to get down to the river.”

“Hold it!” Jenner said, his voice sharp. “You wait. Jacklin has sent four National Guards and they’ll be with you in half an hour. I don’t want you to go into the forest without support, Jeff.”

“I have all the support I need,” Ross said. “I have Hank. I don’t want four trigger happy kids losing themselves in this jungle. Keep them off my back. Over and out.” He switched off. “Okay, Hank, let’s get wet.”

The two men reached into the overhead rack for their rifles. Ross put the plastic sack of sandwiches in the pocket of his slicker, then both men got out into the rain.

After locking the car, Hank followed Ross’s tracks back along a narrow path that led into the forest. Coming under the heavy foliage of the trees, they were sheltered from the pelting rain, but water dripped on them.

Water and mud flooded the path, making the going slow and precarious.

This walk reminded Hollis of his trips into Vietnamese jungles. Often it rained like this, but as he had led his patrol, he hadn’t bothered about the rain. All he then bothered about was a concealed sniper. He felt pretty confident that this killer wouldn’t be lurking in shrubs. All the same, he kept his rifle at the ready as he plodded after Ross.

Here was a man! Hollis thought. One of the real old toughies. A man to be admired.

This is my territory, he had said to the top shot of the Florida police, no one gives me orders.

That’s telling them, Hollis thought, and grinned.

Ross paused and turned.

“Another mile, Hank, then we reach the river. The first fishing lodge is immediately at the end of the footpath. I’ll go forward, you cover me. We don’t stop to argue. We shoot first and apologize after. Okay?”

“Look, Sheriff,” Hollis said quietly. “I’ve had jungle training in the army. With respect, I go first and you cover me. This is my scene. We don’t want to make a balls-up of this. One slip and we’re both dead. Okay?”

Ross hesitated for only a moment, then he nodded. “Right. Then let’s get on with it. Go straight ahead. I’ll do what you do.”

Hollis moved around Ross and started down the path. The trees were thinning so both men had the rain beating down on them.

After half an hour of slow progress, sloshing in the mud and rain, Ross said softly, “We’re nearly there.” Pulling aside a tree branch, Hollis could see the river. He could also see a wooden cabin.

“That’s Mr Greenstein’s place. He only comes once a year,” Ross said. He fumbled in his pocket and produced a bunch of keys. “They all leave their keys with me.” While the rain dripped off his Stetson hat, he selected a key. “What do you think?”

“You stay here, Sheriff. I’ll take a look,” Hollis said, and taking the key from Ross, he moved fast in a crouch towards the cabin.

Watching him, Ross saw that his deputy really knew his business. He seemed to melt into the trees and shrubs, moving like a shadow with the speed of a hunting dog. Ross stayed where he was, fingering his rifle. He felt bad about letting Hollis do this, but he knew the younger man could handle this dangerous situation much better than he could. He thought of Tom Mason who had driven up to Loss’s farm and to his death. He should never have let him go up there alone.

Now, he had let his second deputy go forward alone. Suppose Hank got killed?

Trying to imitate Hollis’s movements, Ross moved forward until he was within twenty yards of the cabin. Crouching, he covered the cabin with his rifle, listened and waited.

He waited for perhaps ten minutes. They were the longest minutes he could remember, then he saw Hollis appear around the side of the cabin and wave to him. Relieved, Ross hurried to him.

“Can’t see a trace of a break-in, Sheriff,” Hollis said. “All the window shutters are tight. The door’s okay, but he could be in there.”

“We’ll check it out.”

It was a nervy half hour before Ross relocked the door of the deserted cabin.

Both men now fully realized the task they faced. As they had checked the four rooms of the cabin they had known that at any moment there could be a blast of gun fire. It had been a nerve-stretching job. Four more cabins to check!

“The next one belongs to Mr Franklin. He comes regularly twice a year. He’s due at the end of the month.”

“Who looks after these cabins while they’re empty?” Hollis asked.

“My wife, Mary, organizes it. These guys let her know when they are coming and she sends a couple of workers down to clean up. Franklin’s place is about two hundred yards further on.”

Again Hollis led the way. Again there was tension. Again Hollis checked for a break-in. Again they searched the cabin. Both men were very edgy by now. By the time they had checked out the fourth cabin, the time was 3:45 P.M.

Standing in the big lounge, Ross took off his soaking slicker.

“I guess we’ll take a break, Hank. Let’s eat. There’s only one more cabin to check. If he isn’t there, then I guess he isn’t in the forest. There’s nowhere else for him to hide.”

Hollis took off his slicker, wiped his face with a handkerchief and sat down.

Ross produced the ham sandwiches and the two men ate hungrily.

“The last cabin we have to check, Hank,” Ross said as he munched, “belongs to Mr Perry Weston, who is a scriptwriter. He’s a real nice fellow, also has a place on Long Island. He bought this lodge three years ago, and had it worked over, made it cozy.

“For the first year, he came every other month. He’s a keen fisherman. Many a time I had drinks with him at his lodge or in Rockville. Then he married a girl fourteen years or so younger than he. Fishing wasn’t her scene. Mr Weston wrote to Mary asking her to look after the place, saying one day he hoped to be back. Mary does the lodge every month and keeps it nice. He hasn’t been up these past two years, but Mary keeps a check on the freezer. There’s plenty of food. The lodge would be just right for Logan.”

Hollis finished his sandwich, then looked at his watch. It was 4:05.

“It’ll be getting dark in a couple of hours. Shall we go?”

Ross stood up and stretched. He put on his slicker. “Looks like the rain’s lessening.”

The two men picked up their rifles and left the cabin. Hollis waited until Ross had locked up, then started along the muddy path by the river. “The lodge is a half mile ahead,” Ross said.

Moving silently, still hampered by the mud and water that covered the path, the two men began to converge on Perry Weston’s fishing lodge.

Jim Brown had repaired the plug on the TV set, had turned the set on and, for the past hour, had sat watching a police movie. From time to time, he released a derisive whistle.

“Cops don’t act this way,” he muttered. “What crap!”

Perry sat away from the set, nursing a glass of Scotch. The loud voices, the sound of gun fire, the roaring cars didn’t disturb his worried thoughts.

“When people put pressure on me, I hit back. That’s natural, isn’t it? I promise you. You give me away and we’ll share a double funeral.”

Perry recalled the vicious expression on Brown’s face when he had said this. He was sure Brown wouldn’t hesitate to wipe him out if Perry made one false move.

Jesus! he thought. What a situation. He had to do everything he could think of to keep this man relaxed. No pressure, no criticism. Friendly understanding. Listen to him, Perry said to himself. Go along with him. Let him talk when he wants to.

The movie came to an end and Brown switched off the set.

“Junk,” he said. “Do you write junk like that, Perry?”

“I hope not. I don’t write for TV.”

“No,” Brown turned in his chair and stared at Perry. “I guess you’re pretty smart. You make a lot of money?”

Keep this ape relaxed, Perry told himself as he said, “I make more than I did when I was your age.”

“How much money do you make?”

“It depends. Each year varies. Around sixty thousand, but it’s taxed.” Perry made much more than this, but wasn’t going to tell this man just how much he did make.

“Sixty thousand... nice. Have you got money with you?”

“Around five hundred.”

“You could get more?”

“Yes, from the Rockville bank.”

“That’s good news. I will need a stake, Perry. Okay with you?”

Perry forced a smile. “Okay with me, Jim.”

Brown nodded again. “It’ll have to be okay with you, Perry, right down the line.”

“Looks like it.”

“Yeah. Sixty thousand bucks. Know the highest money I lifted off a sucker? Two hundred dollars and a gold watch that wasn’t gold.”

“People don’t carry much money around with them these days.”

“That’s right, but you can get money from the bank.” Perry nodded.

Brown got to his feet and went to the window. Lifting aside the curtain, he peered out.

“The rain’s stopping. That means the cops could be here before long.” He turned and stared at Perry, his ice cold eyes menacing. “You know what to say when they come.”

“We already spelt it out,” Perry said quietly. “You don’t have to go over the dialogue again.”

“Don’t play it tricky. That way, you stay alive. Understand?”

“I’m no smarter than you. So I don’t play it tricky.”

Brown’s thick lips parted in a grin. “Any guy who works on a garbage truck and ends up with a joint like this must be smart. You could call it tricky.”

“Okay, I’m smart,” Perry said. “One thing, Jim. If the cops do come here, you’ve left the Stetson hat and the slicker in the garage. If they find them—” He stopped at the sight of Jim’s leering grin.

“Brown’s a smart guy, I don’t get caught. I’ve got the hat and the slicker hidden in my room,” Brown said. “You don’t have to worry about me. All you have to do is worry about yourself.”

Perry shrugged. “I have things in the car. Clothes, a typewriter, business papers. I’d like to have them. Okay with you?”

Brown thought for a long moment, then he nodded. He took from his pocket the key to the garage door.

“Go ahead. Unload the car. Nothing tricky. Let me tell you something. I’m good at two things. I cooked for my old man, who liked his food. That’s one thing I’m good at.” The gun in its holster flashed into his hand. “And I’m very good, but not tricky with a gun. Go ahead, get your stuff.”

Raising his hand as a signal to Ross, Hollis brought their plodding progress to a stop. Under the dripping branches and the rain the two men came together, close to the lodge.

“Someone’s in Weston’s,” Hollis whispered. “Someone just came out to the garage. There’s a car there.” They were within fifteen yards of the fishing lodge. They leaned forward and peered through the rain.

Ross moved and recognized Perry Weston as he was unloading bags from a car.

With Hollis crouching by his side, he said, “That’s Weston.”

“You mean that’s the owner of the place?”

“That’s him.”

For a long moment, they watched Perry drag out two suitcases, then he disappeared from sight.

Ross moved out of the cover of the trees with Hollis at his heels.

Brown, watching, spotted the Stetson hats.

Perry came into the living room and dumped the suitcases.

“I’ve got my typewriter to collect,” he said.

“Take it easy, buster,” Brown said softly. “They’re here. Two goddam cops. You know what to do. One stupid move from you and you’re dead. Go ahead and get your typewriter.”

Perry gaped at him. “They’re here? What do you mean?”

“Get moving or there’ll be a shootout, and the first to go will be you! Go!”

The threat in Brown’s voice was like a blast of icy wind to Perry. For a long moment he stood paralyzed. Brown gave him a shove, then ran up the stairs.

“I’ll be watching, buster,” he called. “One stupid move and you’re dead.”

Bracing himself, Perry walked back to the garage.