We'll Share A Double Funeral

Chapter 6

Ted Fleichman sat in his car, parked opposite the Westons’ house, feeling like a lump of jelly. Sweat ran down his face. His hands, resting on the steering wheel, trembled.

Jesus! he was thinking. That vicious little bitch! He recalled the sound of the bullet as it had zipped past his face. An inch to the right and he would have been dead. What a mug he had been to have underestimated this girl. Man! This could cause real trouble. Suppose she called the cops? He wiped more sweat off his face and made an effort to control his shattered nerves. She wouldn’t call the cops. No, he assured himself, she was too smart to do that. She’d not only land him in trouble, but herself, too. He had had enough of Sheila Weston. He wanted out. He would tell Dorrie to take him off the assignment. Let Fred handle this, and good luck to him! It would be okay. Sunday the office was closed. He wasn’t going to sit in the car outside her house, taking a chance the cops would descend on him.

He thought of his sick wife. He couldn’t remember when last they had spent Sunday together. He was always watching some randy woman or randy man seven days of the week. Well, okay, he would go home. His wife would be surprised and pleased. He’d take her out for dinner this evening. To hell with the cost. To hell with Sheila Weston! He started the car’s engine and pulled away from the curb. He’d tell the office that he had a stomach upset. To hell with them anyway! Now, relaxing, he drove homewards.

Sheila stood at the window and watched him go. She had quickly come out of her faint and had walked unsteadily into the living room. She had stood behind the muslin curtains, watching Fleichman as he sat in his car. Then when she saw him pull away from the curb, she drew in a long breath of relief. He was going!

She moved away from the window and sat down in one of the lounging chairs.

For some twenty minutes, she stared into space, her mind active. What an experience! she thought. This must never happen again. Then her mind shifted to her husband.

What’s the matter with me? she asked herself. Why do I act like a goddam tramp?

Perry! She felt an overwhelming need to be with him. Ever since they had married, he had been kind and understanding. Whenever he hadn’t been writing, he had been more than lovable. He had always spoilt her. Although she had been demanding, he had done his best to please her.

She beat her clenched fists on her knees.

The trouble with you, you stupid bitch, she thought, is you’re over-sexed. You have only to look at any handsome man and you want him to stick it in you.

This must stop. Perry is marvelous in bed. He loves you! These other men just want your body, but Perry really loves you! I want him and I need him. She thought back on her various lovers, then she thought of Julian Lucan.

She moaned to herself. What a mad, reckless fool she had been!

This must stop!

Then she remembered what Fleichman had said when she had asked him who was employing him to watch her. Nothing to do with Mr Weston. I can’t name my client. That would be a breach of confidence.

Her expression hardened. Ever since Perry had become the top scriptwriter, she had felt that he was dominated by Silas S. Hart. She had once met this man and had hated him. She knew he had no time for her. When any man didn’t fall for her, she automatically hated him. She had an instinctive feeling this powerful movie mogul would like nothing better than to break up their marriage.

So it was obvious. This ghastly blackmailer’s client was Silas S. Hart. She remembered Mavis had said Perry had been seen by her husband at Jacksonville airport, yet Perry had told her he was going to Los Angeles to work for Hart, so why should he be in Florida?

She sat back, thinking. This was another of Hart’s dirty tricks to separate them. This fishing lodge Perry had so often talked to her about, had tried so hard to persuade her to go there with him. Yes, he must be there.

She had a suffocating urge to get away from this house, to be with Perry, to talk to him. She had to confess. Perry was always understanding.

Jumping to her feet, she ran up to the bedroom. As she began to pack a suitcase, she felt released. In a few hours, she would be with Perry. She would tell him everything. She would ask that they might begin afresh. Why not? They could begin afresh.

Anything, she thought as she closed the suitcase, rather than stay alone in this house.

Packed, dressed, she carried the suitcase down to the lobby and called the airport. She was told a flight to Jacksonville was due off in two hours. Sheila booked a reservation. She had plenty of time.

Again she went to the window. There was no car parked outside the house. She felt a moment of triumph. She had frightened this filthy blackmailer away.

So, for the moment, she was no longer being watched. She scribbled a hasty note to Liz, telling her she would be away for a week or so, and to look after the house. Then she telephoned for a taxi. She then went into the lobby to wait for the taxi and she saw the gun lying on the floor by the front door where she had dropped it when she had fainted.

As she saw the gun the shock of realizing that she had nearly committed murder made her close her eyes. God! she thought. What a mess I’m in. Perry! He would be the solution. She must tell him everything. She picked up the gun and stuffed it into her handbag, not knowing what else to do with it.

Seventy minutes later she was at the airport. Half an hour later, sitting relaxed in the aircraft, she was heading for Jacksonville.

Sheriff Ross and Deputy Sheriff Hollis standing just behind him, watched Perry return to the garage.

“I’ll go talk to him,” Ross said. “You keep out of sight. Let’s take it easy, huh?”

“I’ll cover you, Sheriff,” Hollis said. “You take it easy. Logan could be there.”

Ross walked slowly towards the lighted garage, at the alert. He arrived at the entrance of the garage as Perry heaved the typewriter from the car’s boot.

“Hi, there, Mr Weston,” Ross said.

Perry was braced for this encounter, although he didn’t expect to see Sheriff Ross. He put down the typewriter and forced a smile.

“Why, hello, Jeff!” He came forward. “What are you doing here in this weather?” The two men shook hands.

“I could say the same to you, Mr Weston,” Ross said. “You couldn’t have come at a worse time.”

“I guess you’re right. I’m working on a movie, and thought I’d get away from the Big City. I didn’t expect to run into this.”

“You just arrived, Mr Weston?”

“Got in late last night. The road down here is murder. I guess I was lucky to make it.”

“You on your own, Mr Weston?”

“That’s right.”

“All okay with the lodge?”

“Sure.” Perry made the effort and, forcing a smile, went on, “A million thanks to Mary. The place is fine.”

Ross turned and signalled to Hollis who came forward. “This, Mr Weston, is my new deputy, Hank Hollis.”

“Glad to know you, Hollis,” Perry said as the two men shook hands. “Rifles, huh? You two can’t be out hunting?”

“That’s what we’re doing,” Ross said quietly.

“Well, what do you know?” Perry was trying desperately to sound casual.

“Come on in. You’d like coffee or something?”

“We won’t come in,” Ross said. “We’d only muddy up your place.” He pointed to his mud-encrusted boots.

“Come on, take them off. I bet you could use some coffee. You two look half drowned.” Ross and Hollis exchanged glances, then Ross nodded.

“Thanks, Mr Weston. We sure could use some coffee.”

“Get those boots off and come on in. I’ll start coffee,” Perry said, picking up the typewriter. “You know the way, don’t you?”

“I guess it’s okay,” Ross said quietly as both men stripped off their slickers and their boots, “but keep alert, Hank, don’t let’s take chances.”

“How about the rifles?” Hollis asked.

“Leave them here.” Ross patted his revolver holster. “Just let’s watch it, Hank.” He led the way into the big living room, both men in their stocking feet.

Perry poured coffee into a saucepan. He had no idea where Brown was hiding. In the kitchen? Upstairs? He could be anywhere. We’ll share a double funeral. He was surprised to find how steady his nerves had become. He no longer felt frightened. This situation was developing into a plot for a movie script, the kind of script Silas S. Hart was wanting. He paused for a moment, thinking. He realized he was playing with fire. Any moment Brown could turn vicious, but it was possible, if he played the cards carefully, Brown could be kept under control.

Perry felt a surge of confidence. He knew for certain that if he gave Ross the slightest hint that Brown was hiding somewhere in the lodge, there would be a shootout. He knew for sure Brown would never be taken alive.

Some situation! Already, he could imagine how to begin the script. He poured coffee into two mugs. So, okay, play this very cool. This could develop into a great movie.

He carried the two mugs into the living room to find the two officers standing awkwardly, looking around.

“Make yourselves at home,” he said. “Sit down. Here...” He handed the two mugs of coffee to the two men, then dropped into a lounging chair.

“You didn’t tell me, what are you two doing out here in this goddam rain?” Both men sat down, facing him.

“Well, Mr Weston, we’re hunting a killer,” Ross said. “I had an idea he might be hiding in one of the fishing lodges. We’ve checked them out. So far, it looks like I was wrong.”

“A killer? You don’t mean this man Logan? I picked up a radio warning.”

“That’s the man.” Ross paused, then went on, “Would you remember Jud Loss, Mr Weston?” Perry had a sudden cold feeling in the pit of his stomach.

“Jud Loss? Why, sure. He owns an orange farm. We used to have a drink when he was in the village. Nice fellow. What about him?”

“Ever met his wife? His daughter?”

“Can’t say I met his wife, but I remember his daughter... nice kid. What about him?”

“Logan arrived at the farm and massacred the three of them with an ax.”

“Good God!” Perry stared at Ross in horror. “They’re dead?”

“My deputy, Tom Mason, went out to the farm. He was unlucky. Logan gave him the same ax treatment.” He jerked his thumb at Hollis. “He’s replaced Mason.”

Into Perry’s mind flashed the hesitant thought: Should he tell these men that Brown was here?

We’ll share a double funeral.

No!

“This is a terrible thing, Jeff,” he said. “Do you think this man is still in the district?”

“He could be. The State police and the National Guard are hunting for him. The State police think he held up a motorist and got through the roadblocks and is in Miami.” Perry nodded. He was sure, somewhere, Brown was listening, gun in hand.

Having finished his coffee, Ross got to his feet.

“We’ve got to get along, Mr Weston. Will you be staying long?”

“A couple of weeks.” Perry heaved himself out of his chair. “Could be longer. It depends how the work goes.”

“Do you want my wife to look after you, Mr Weston?”

“Not right now, Jeff. I’ll telephone her... okay?”

“You do that. I guess the rain will clear by tomorrow. It’s been a rough three days.”

“Let’s hope.” Perry went with them to the garage and waited until the two men had put on their boots and struggled into their soaked slickers. He shook hands.

“I’ll be around, Jeff, but for the next week, I’ve a big job to cope with. Give Mary my love. I’ll call her when I need help.”

“Okay, Mr Weston,” Ross said, picking up his rifle. “Best of luck with the movie.” He and Hollis moved out into the rain and started up the muddy path into the forest.

“Well, I guess I was wrong,” Ross said. “Okay, you can’t always be right. I guess Jacklin makes sense when he thinks Logan got through to Miami where he could get lost.”

Hollis said nothing. He plodded through the mud behind Ross, but when they reached the shelter of the dripping forest he said, “Hold it a moment, Sheriff.” Ross stopped and turned.

“What is it, Hank?”

“I think Logan could be in Weston’s place, and Weston, under gun threat, is covering for him.”

“What are you saying?” Ross stared at Hollis. “What makes you say a thing like that?”

“A hunch, Sheriff,” Hollis said quietly. “I’ve got a hunch that Logan is there.”

“A hunch? What do you mean?”

“Maybe you can tell me something, Sheriff.” Hollis’s voice was cold and hard. “Why is the telephone torn out of the wall? While you were talking I was looking around. Do you think Weston pulled out the telephone cable, killing the telephone?”

Ross stiffened, He felt suddenly old. He should have seen what Hollis had seen.

“We’ll go back. We’ll ask Mr Weston.”

“With respect, Sheriff,” Hollis said, “we shouldn’t do that. You don’t want Mr Weston killed, do you?”

Having plodded miles in mud and rain, Ross felt tired and defeated. He made the effort to say, “You really think Logan is holed up there?”

“I don’t know. He could be. Why the disconnected telephone?”

Ross thought. “You think if Logan’s holed up here, he’ll start shooting?”

“What’s he got to lose? If we move in, the first to go will be Weston.”

“You could be wrong, couldn’t you? Mr Weston said he was alone.”

“You’d say that if you knew a gun was pointing at you.”

With his boots in thick mud and feeling the rain dripping on his Stetson hat, Ross felt baffled. Up to now, Rockville had been free of crime. Now he realized that he had a situation that, tired and feeling old, he couldn’t handle.

“We’d better alert the State police,” he said.

“With respect, Sheriff,” Hollis said quietly, “that wouldn’t be the way to play it. Frontal assault, if Logan is there, wouldn’t save Weston’s life. He’d be the first to go.”

Ross thought, then nodded. “So how do you suggest we handle it, Hank?”

“We should let this situation cool. If Logan is there, holding a gun on Weston, and I could be wrong, but if he is, I want him to think we don’t think he is there. That way he could relax, and when a killer like him relaxes, then we can make our move.”

“What move, Hank?”

“When I was in the army, I trained as an anti-sniper. I know how to watch and wait. I want your permission, Sheriff, to do just that — watch and wait. If Logan is there and he feels there’s no pressure on him, he could relax, and that’s the time to nail him. Suppose we go back to the office and talk about it?”

“I don’t like it, Hank,” Ross said, hesitating. “If Logan is there, Mr Weston is in danger. I think we should go back and search the lodge.”

“If we do that, and Logan is there, Weston’s a dead man. We too could be dead. Do me a favor? Play it my way. Let it cool. Let me watch.”

Ross turned this over in his mind. He felt confident that Hollis was talking sense, but still he hesitated, remembering Tom Mason.

“When I was serving in Vietnam,” Hollis said quietly, “a sniper knocked off twenty young men. It took me ten days, hidden in the jungle, to get him. Finally the bastard relaxed and I spotted him. Sheriff, this is a specialist’s job and I’m a specialist. Watch and wait. Will you let me play it my way?”

Ross put his hand on Hollis’s shoulder. “Okay, son,” he said. “We’ll do it your way, but I must report to Jenner.”

Hollis shook his head. “Again with respect, Sheriff, we should tell no one. I’ll wait... and I’ll watch. We’ll come back here tomorrow evening, keep in touch by radio. If you tell Jenner, he’ll start action, and that’s what we don’t want right now. We don’t know if Logan is there, so don’t tell anyone.”

Ross shrugged helplessly. “Okay.” He turned and began to plod along the path, then paused.

“I’ll have to tell Jenner something.

“Sure.” Hollis grinned. “I suggest you tell him we checked out the fishing lodges and haven’t found Logan. We haven’t found him yet, have we, Sheriff?”

“Would you remember Jud Loss, his wife and daughter? Logan arrived at the farm and massacred the three of them with an ax.”

Perry leaned against the Toyota, feeling sick. He vividly remembered Jud Loss, a short, thickset man with ginger colored hair. Loss often came down to the Rockville bar, and he and Perry often had beers together.

Murdered! He would make a break for it! Run after Ross! Get away from this nightmare.

“Very nice, Perry.” Brown’s hard clipped voice made his heart skip a beat. He turned. Brown was standing in the doorway, gun in hand.

“Very nice,” Brown repeated. “Come on in, Perry. We both can relax, huh? Those slobs won’t be coming back. You played it really cool.” The gun waved at Perry. “Come on in.” Under the threat of the gun, Perry walked unsteadily into the living room.

He heard Brown lock the garage door, then he came into the room.

“For handling that, Perry,” Brown said, “I’ll cook you a nice supper. Like a chicken?”

Perry sat down. “I don’t want anything.”

“Sure you do. You want a big Scotch.” Brown dropped the gun into its holster and crossed to the liquor cabinet. He poured Scotch, came back to Perry and thrust the glass into his hand.

“You’ll be okay in a moment. My old man was a lush. When I could steal a bottle, Scotch cheered him up.” Perry swallowed the drink in one long, greedy gulp, then he shuddered and dropped the glass onto the floor.

Brown sat on the arm of a lounging chair, watching.

“You filthy brute!” Perry blurted out. “You killed a friend of mine!” Brown shrugged.

“I didn’t know. If I had known, it wouldn’t have made any difference. The stupid jerk put me under pressure. I get mad when jerks put me under pressure. Here’s what happened. There was this car crash and the two cops I killed. I took off. I walked and ran in the rain for ten miles. I hadn’t eaten for two days. I was bloody hungry. I came to this farm. I banged on the door.

“This jerk opened up. I asked him for food.” Brown’s face hardened. “Know what he said to me? He said, ‘Get the hell off my land. I don’t give handouts to bums!” and he slammed the door. I had nowhere to go. I was wetter than a drowned dog.

“Know something, Perry? When I want something and some stupid jerk won’t part, I get mad and, when I get mad, it’s just too bad for stupid jerks. I found the ax in a shed. I went back and kicked the door in.

“I found the jerk and his wife settling to a hot meal. I fixed them. Then I heard a scream and there was a girl coming down the stairs. Her screams got me madder so I chased her up to her room and fixed her. Then I went downstairs and ate the meal on the table. It was good.” Brown nodded. “Yeah, it sure was good. The telephone bell kept ringing. I guessed it was the cops, checking. I guessed before long, they’d come up to check, so I hid in the shed. When I saw there was only one of them, I fixed him and took his car. That’s how it happened, Perry. All stupid jerks.”

He stared for a long, hard moment at Perry. “Don’t you be a stupid jerk. Now, I’ll go fix a chicken dinner. Give yourself another drink.” He got to his feet, then paused.

Watching him, Perry saw Brown’s face turn into a snarling, vicious mask. The sight of his murderous looking face sent a chill down Perry’s spine.

He saw Brown was staring at the disconnected telephone cable.

“Goddam it!” Brown muttered. “I should have fixed that.” He turned. “They didn’t say anything, did they? I was listening. Maybe they didn’t spot it. The old fart is brainless, but the other guy looked tough.” His eyes narrowed.

“I’ll take a look. You sit right here. Don’t be a stupid jerk.” Perry heard him run upstairs. A moment later, he came back, wearing Tom Mason’s slicker.

“I’ll take a look,” he said and, opening the front door, he disappeared into the growing gloom and rain.

Perry got to his feet and poured himself another Scotch.

There was nothing he could do, he told himself. The Scotch had got him over the shock of hearing the Loss family had been murdered. He returned to his chair, lit a cigarette and sipped the drink. He looked at his watch. The time was now 7:10. Already it was turning dark. He thought of the night ahead. How long would this man remain here? He finished his drink. He now felt relaxed and a little high.

Would Ross and Hollis return? Had they spotted the telephone cable? Did they suspect Brown was here?

He got to his feet and began to prowl around the room. Brown would never be taken alive. We’ll share a double funeral. For the first time in his life, Perry realized how important life was to him. He had to do everything he could to prevent a shootout, knowing that he would be the first to get shot.

It was over half an hour before Brown appeared silently in the living room.

After his third Scotch, Perry was dozing in the armchair. He came awake with a start as Brown closed the door.

“They’ve gone,” Brown said. “Stupid jerks! They couldn’t have spotted the telephone. Cops! They don’t know their asses from their elbows. I followed them right to their car. They’ve gone!”

Perry heaved a sigh of relief.

“Okay, Perry, I’ll fix supper,” Brown said. “You hungry now?” Perry discovered he was hungry.

“Sure.”

“Tonight,” Brown said, “you get locked in your room. I sleep light, Perry. If there’s trouble, I’ll handle it. Understand?”

“Sure,” Perry said.

Nodding, Brown went into the kitchen. Perry heard him whistling tunelessly as he put the chicken on the spit.