We'll Share A Double Funeral

Chapter 8

Using the Ross’s spare bedroom, Hank Hollis slept until 10:00, knowing he would probably be up all night. After a shave and a shower, wearing his uniform, he came to the living room.

“I heard you moving around,” Mary called from the kitchen. “Breakfast is ready. Sit down.”

Hollis sat at the laid table, and Mary brought in a pile of waffles which she set before him.

“You eat that. Eggs to follow,” she said, and returned to the kitchen.

Ten minutes later, she returned with a plate of three eggs and two thick slices of grilled ham.

She sat down opposite Hollis.

“How’s the Sheriff?” he asked, pushing aside a few remaining waffles and starting in on the eggs.

“Hank, he’s not getting any younger,” Mary said quietly. “He’s a big worry to me. He’s been on the telephone since eight o’clock. He told me what you plan to do. He’s worried. I’m worried. I don’t think he’ll ever forgive himself about Tom. Do you really think this man could be hiding in Mr Weston’s lodge?”

“Look, Mrs Ross, this is police work. I’ve been trained to check out possibilities. There is a chance he could be there. I don’t know.”

She nodded. “Yes, I understand. Jeff wants to go with you, He keeps saying if he had gone with Tom, Tom might still be alive.”

“Frankly, Mrs Ross, I don’t want him with me. He’s not as young as I am. I’ve dealt with situations like this before, he hasn’t. You relax — he will be much more useful staying right here.”

She put her clasped hands on the table and looked directly at him. “I told him that.”

Hollis finished one slice of ham and started on the other. “I’ll spell it out to him, too. You cook a great breakfast, Mrs Ross.”

“Hank, you will be careful?” He grinned at her.

“Sure.” He looked out of the window. “Well, the rain’s let up and it looks as if the sun might come out.” He finished his breakfast, then pushed his plate aside.

“That was great.”

I’ve prepared food for you to take,” Mary said. “There’s half a cooked chicken and lots of sandwiches. Jeff thinks you could be in the forest for quite a while.”

“That’s terrific! Many thanks.” Hank grinned. “I’ll go talk to the Sheriff now.”

“You really will be careful, won’t you, Hank?”

“I’ll be careful.”

He found Ross at his desk. “Hi, Sheriff,” he said as he came in. “Any news?”

“Sleep well? Mary fed you?” Ross asked, turning in his chair.

“Sure. What’s the news?”

“Negative. I’ve talked to Jenner and Jacklin, there’s no sign of Logan. I’ve called all the farmers — nothing there. It looks to me like Logan did get away before the roadblocks were set up.”

“Unless he’s holed up with Weston.”

“Yes.” Ross pulled at his moustache. “Jacklin tells me he now has two hundred armed men on the hunt. Do you still think this man could be hiding with Weston?”

“As I said last night, I don’t know — it’s a hunch. I want to check.”

“I don’t like you doing this on your own, Hank. I should be coming with you.”

“Don’t let’s go over this again, Sheriff. This is my thing. Maybe nothing will come of it. I plan to close in on Weston’s place and sit and wait. Leave it to me. I’ll keep in touch.”

With a frustrated sigh, Ross nodded. “I guess you’re right. Well, okay, it’s worth a try.” He got to his feet. “I’ve checked your rifle. There’s a walkie-talkie and a good pair of field glasses. Mary said she would provide food. What else do you want?”

Hollis stared at him for a long moment, then he said, “I want to treat Logan as I once treated a murderous Vietnamese sniper. If I see Logan, I want to shoot him. How do I stand?”

Ross shifted uneasily. “That would be illegal, Hank.”

“I know, but who’s going to prove he didn’t shoot first?”

Ross rubbed his chin. He thought of the vicious murders of the Loss family. He thought of Tom Mason.

“So he shot first,” he said looking directly at Hollis. “Okay. You spot him, then kill him. You have my backing all the way.”

Hollis grinned. “That’s all I want to know.” He moved over to where the rifle, the walkie-talkie and the field glasses were lying. “Then I guess I’ll get off. Will you drive me to that turn-off road to Weston’s place? From there on, I’ll be on my own.”

Ross got to his feet. “Let’s go then.” He put his hand on Hollis’s shoulder. “For God’s sake, Hank, take no risks. I don’t want you to go the way Tom went.”

“I don’t want that either,” Hollis said. His smile was grim. “If I get a clear shot, I’ll fix him, Sheriff. If I spot him and can’t get a shot, I’ll alert you, then we’ll have to think how to get at him.”

Mary came in carrying the plastic sack of food. “You’re off, Hank?” Her plump face was strained and anxious.

“Many thanks, Mrs Ross.” Hollis patted her arm. “Please don’t worry. It’ll work out.”

The two men went out into the steamy sunshine and got in the patrol car.

At 9:00 A.M., Sheila, dressed and packed, leaving her suitcase in the motel lobby, crossed the street to Cab Calhoun’s outfitting store.

She had passed a restless night, and found the steamy heat from the early morning sun unpleasant. Slight mist was rising from the sodden street. She entered the store, surprised at its size and its range of merchandise, from fishing tackle and sporting guns to clothes and footwear.

From behind a long counter, a tall, black man with a grizzled beard came to her, smiling.

“Morning, ma’m,” he said. “I’m Cab Calhoun. Thank you for calling. What can I do for you?”

Sheila regarded this man and liked the look of him. “You have quite a place here, Mr Calhoun.”

“I guess. It’s taken me forty years to build it up. It’s as good, if not better, than any other store you’ll find in Jacksonville.”

“Congratulations.” A pause, then Sheila said, “I am Mrs Perry Weston. Perry Weston is my husband.”

Grizzled eyebrows lifted. “Mr Perry Weston? Ah, sure. I well remember him. I had the pleasure to kit him out around three years ago. A fine gentleman if I may say so. I haven’t seen him for too long.”

“I want to be kitted out, too,” Sheila said. “My husband is at his fishing lodge. I am joining him. What do you suggest I buy, Mr Calhoun?”

“You want fishing tackle?”

“No. Just sensible clothes.”

Calhoun smiled. “That’s no problem. You will want a half a dozen cotton shirts with long sleeves, a couple of pairs of jeans and two pairs of boots, then you’re home.”

“Do you know where my husband’s fishing lodge is?”

“Why, sure.” Calhoun looked a little startled. “But Mr Weston will be fetching you, I guess.”

“No. I’m giving him a surprise visit. I want to get there on my own.”

Calhoun scratched his beard.

“If you’ll excuse me, Mrs Weston, that’s setting yourself a tricky task. It’s my business to keep in touch with the local road conditions. I know for a fact that them roads leading down to Mr Weston’s lodge is nearly washed out. If you would wait three or four days to give the road a chance to dry out, then there’d be no problem. I doubt if Mr Weston could make it now.”

“I intend to go there this morning,” Sheila said. “I would be glad if you would tell me how to get there.” She smiled, a determined expression on her face. “My father once told me that obstacles were made to surmount. I’m going this morning.”

Calhoun studied her, then nodded.

“Then I’ll help you, Mrs Weston. I can find someone who will take you in a jeep. That’s the only transport that will get you there.”

“I’m going alone. I can handle a jeep. Can I hire one?”

“Oh, sure. Okay, Mrs Weston, over there you’ll find everything you want. You go ahead. I’ll fix a jeep for you.”

Forty minutes later, Sheila had selected the clothes she would need. Using a changing room, she put on a red and yellow cotton shirt, slid into tight fitting jeans and put on heavy calf-high boots. Carrying her dress, picking up the bundle of clothes she had chosen, she went to the counter where Calhoun was drawing a map on a sheet of paper.

“All fixed, Mrs Weston?”

“Yes, thank you. You have a wonderful selection.”

“Well, now, m’am, I’ve got the jeep fixed for you. It’ll be around in ten minutes. Here’s a map to tell you how to get to the lodge.”

He pushed the sheet of paper towards her. “You leave here, turn left onto the highway and drive around twenty miles. That’ll be no problem. You’ll come to a signpost marked ‘River’ on your left. Turn there. Now, here’s where you will have problems. Take it slow. There’ll be lots of mud and water, and I guess the jeep will get you through so long as you drive real slow. You’ll have around two miles of this road, then you’ll come to the river. Follow the road by the river and you will come to Mr Weston’s lodge. Just remember to let the jeep take you and don’t force it.”

“Thank you, Mr Calhoun, you couldn’t be more helpful.”

“Glad to oblige a determined young lady. Here are the papers for the jeep. Just needs your signature. It’s for a week’s rental. Okay?”

Sheila signed the papers, then made out a check for her purchases.

“May I ask you to give Mr Weston my compliments, Mrs Weston?” Calhoun asked. “Please tell him I hope to see him soon.”

“Of course.” She held out her hand. “Again, many thanks.”

“Want me to put your purchases in a suitcase for you? You can return the case with the jeep.”

“That’d be fine.”

By the time Calhoun had packed her clothes in a battered suitcase, the jeep arrived. Carrying the suitcase, Calhoun followed Sheila from the store to the jeep where a black youth got out of the driving seat.

“I’ll check out,” Sheila said, “and collect my other luggage.”

“You do that, m’am,” Calhoun said, then turning to the black youth, he went on, “Go, collect the lady’s baggage, Joel.”

As Sheila crossed the road, followed by the black youth, a taxi pulled up outside the motel. Gene Franklin came out of the motel, carrying a bulky briefcase. He paused, seeing Sheila. She felt his eyes go over her and saw his frown.

“Good morning, Sheila,” he said. “In spite of my advice, I see you are going.”

Sheila stared at him, her pretty face hard. “Correct. I am still behaving like a selfish, spoilt brat, Mr Toady,” and she walked by him into the lobby of the motel.

Franklin hesitated, then, shrugging, got into the taxi and was driven away.

While the black youth carried her suitcase and vanity box to the jeep, Sheila settled the motel check. Re-crossing the street, she found Calhoun had put her luggage in the jeep and was standing, waiting.

“Ma’m,” he said, “this boy knows all the roads around here. He’ll gladly drive you.”

Sheila smiled. “Thank you, no. I’ll be fine.” She shook hands. “I’ll tell my husband how very helpful you have been.” She climbed into the jeep and started the engine.

“Just take it slow, m’am,” Calhoun said. “It’s been a pleasure to help you.”

Sheila gave him a wide, flashing smile and, with a wave of her hand, headed towards the highway.

Perry Weston came slowly awake and became aware that hot sunshine was streaming through the bedroom windows. He looked at his strap watch. The time was 8:30. Feeling hot and sticky, he got off the bed. He went to the door and found he was still locked in.

He stood still, listening, but heard no sounds of movement below.

Going to the open window, he looked out onto the river, lit by the sun. He saw the road by the lodge was water logged with thick, wet mud. Well, at least the rain had stopped and the sun was out.

Taking his time, he shaved, showered and dressed. He longed for coffee. If Jim Brown wasn’t in control of this bizarre situation, he would get out his fishing tackle and spend the rest of the day by the river. But Jim Brown was in control.

Perry sat down, lit a cigarette and waited.

It wasn’t until 10:00 by Perry’s strap watch that he heard movements.

Going to the door, he listened and heard Brown’s tuneless whistling. Ten minutes later, he heard the key turn in the lock, and Brown entered.

Perry noted Brown was now wearing one of his long-sleeved shirts, hiding the tattooed snake on his arm. Brown looked relaxed as he gave Perry a mirthless grin.

“I’ve been catching up on sleep, Perry,” he said. “You want breakfast? It’s all ready.” While he was speaking, Brown’s eyes were looking around the room, then he moved forward to the bedside table and picked up a big, silver-framed photograph of Sheila.

Perry watched as Brown studied the photograph, giving a nod of approval.

He put the frame back on the table.

“Your girlfriend?” he asked.

“My wife,” Perry said curtly.

“Is that right? Nice. Lucky guy.” Brown shook his head. “Some guys are lucky. I never found a girl I’d want to marry. You like married life?”

Perry got to his feet. “I’d like a cup of coffee.”

He left the room and walked down the stairs to the living room. He found the table laid. He sat down and poured himself a cup of coffee while Brown went into the kitchen. He returned in a moment, carrying two plates of thick, grilled ham.

“This freezer of yours, Perry, is sure something,” he said as he set one of the plates in front of Perry. He sat down. “It’s something to have money. I guess you have a pretty good setup in New York, too.”

Perry began to eat. This man certainly could cook. The ham was done to a turn.

“It’s okay. I live in Long Island.”

“Nice.” Brown was shovelling food into his mouth. “Money can give you anything.”

“If you have enough of it. It depends what you want.”

“I’d like a wife like you’ve got,” Brown said. “I’ve kicked around on my own in this fucking world too long. When I want a woman, I have to pick up some whore. I’ve never had a home, except the hole my father lived in. That was for the birds!”

“How long do you plan to stay here, Jim?” Perry asked.

“When the heat cools, I’ll get moving. I’ve listened to the radio. The cops are still in an uproar.” Brown grinned. “They won’t find me here, that’s for sure.”

He looked up and stared at Perry. “You’re going to stake me. I’ll want ten thousand. Okay?”

“It has to be okay, doesn’t it?”

“You can say that again.” Brown finished eating and sat back. “Yeah. We’ll have to see how we fix it.”

“Where will you go, Jim?”

Brown shrugged. “I’m good at fading out of sight. You don’t have to worry about me. All you have to do is to worry about yourself.”

“Fading out of sight?” Perry said. “For how long? Jim, face facts. Wouldn’t it be sensible to give yourself up? You can’t go on running. Sooner or later, they’ll catch up with you. Even in prison, you’re alive.”

“You’re talking like a goddamn priest.” There was a snarl in Brown’s voice. “Give myself up? Be locked away for the rest of my life? That’s not for me. I’m not scared of death. No one is taking me alive.” His expression was vicious. “And I’ll take as many cop bastards with me as I can.”

Perry was about to say something when the sound of the telephone bell startled him.

“Oh, yeah,” Brown said. “I forgot to tell you. I’ve fixed the telephone. I’m a great little fixer. You answer it, and Perry, watch it.” He stared at Perry. “I’m getting tired of you, buster, so don’t get tricky.”

Perry crossed to the telephone. He lifted the receiver. “Who is this?” he asked.

“This is Mrs Grady, Rockville post office,” a worried voice said. “I heard your telephone was out of order.”

“That’s right. It’s okay now. I guess it was the rain. It’s working fine.”

“I was going to send Josh as soon as the road had dried out.”

“No need, Mrs Grady. Thanks for calling.”

“You’re welcome, Mr Weston.” Perry hung up.

“Checking the telephone.”

“I thought of that,” Brown said. “Didn’t want some guy coming here. Just be careful, Perry. Don’t try using the phone. Right?”

“If it’s okay with you,” Perry said, ’I came here to write a movie. I’d like to start. What are you going to do?

“Go ahead. Don’t worry about me. I like this room. I’ll watch TV. Know something, Perry? I feel real at home in this joint. I’ll get lunch. There are a couple of juicy fucking pork chops in the freezer.”

“Like that with French fries myself.” Perry said, and leaving the room, he walked the short passage to his study. He sat at his desk and looked out of the window at the sun and the trees.

He would have liked to be out with his fishing rod. He sat back in his chair and gave free rein to his imagination. After half an hour of concentrated thought, he took out of his desk a block of paper and began to sketch out first moves of the plot that just could please Silas S. Hart. He became so absorbed in his work that he lost count of time, and it was only when the door opened and Brown looked in that Perry was thrown back to reality.

“Lunch’s up,” Brown said. “Come and get it.”

Perry looked at his strap watch. The time was 1:00. He got to his feet and reluctantly left his desk, following Brown into the living room.

A thick pork chop with a heap of French fries awaited. “Only thing is, no onions,” Brown said, sitting opposite Perry. “I like onions with pork chops.” He grinned mirthlessly. “I’ll have everything. My old man liked onions. I used to cook him fried onions and potatoes. He liked that. Towards his end, it wasn’t all that good for him. He had rotten teeth.”

Perry cut into his chop, thinking everything this man did was now background for his plot.

“You were fond of your pa, weren’t you, Jim?”

“Well, I guess. Know something? It’s good to be fond of someone. He wasn’t all that hot. Sometimes, I didn’t think he liked me. There were times when he used to give me sly looks. I know looks. Okay, I was fond of him. It didn’t matter how he felt about me. I had no one else, so I was fond of him. When I found him dead, something in my life went away.” He chewed, nodded. “Damn fine meat.”

“How about your ma, Jim?” Brown scowled.

“Don’t talk about her. No good. You fond of your wife?”

“Of course.” Brown nodded.

“I guess. Nice looking girl.” He looked up. “A bit young for you, isn’t she?”

This ape of a man had touched a sensitive nerve. Perry winced.

“That’s not your business, is it?” he said curtly.

Brown gave a sneering little grin.

“I guess that’s right.” He eased back his chair. “You’re working on a movie?”

“That’s why I’m here.”

“How do you write a movie?”

Perry shrugged. “If you want to know, you first get an idea. After you’re sure the idea is sound, then you think of people to carry out the idea. Once you’ve created interesting people and the idea, the movie will more or less write itself.”

“Is that right? Sounds easy. The money’s good, huh?”

“Nothing in this world is ever easy if it is to pay off, Jim.” Brown studied him.

“You got characters?”

“I’ve just an idea.”

“What’s the idea?”

“That’s not your business either, is it?”

“I bet one of the characters is me.”

“If you think so, then think so.” Perry stood up. “A great meal. I’ll get back to my desk.”

As he collected the plates Brown began to whistle tunelessly. Back at his desk, Perry could still hear him whistling in the kitchen.

Sheriff Ross and Hank Hollis got out of the patrol car just before the turning down to the river. Silently, Ross handed the rifle to Hollis who slung it on his shoulder. He took the plastic sack of food and the radio transmitter. The two men looked at each other.

“Take no risks, Hank,” Ross said uneasily. “I wish I were coming with you.”

Hollis grinned. “Take it easy, Sheriff. I’ll be in touch.”

“I’ll never forgive myself if something happens to you,” Ross said.

“This is my specialty. Cheer up!” Hollis grinned again. “I’ll get off. Don’t worry about me.”

The two men shook hands, then Hollis moved onto the forest road. He waited until he heard the patrol car start up and drive away, then he began a slow, cautious walk, keeping to one side of the road. He unslung his rifle, hitched the plastic sack and the radio on his left shoulder and continued to move forward.

Once in the dense forest, he moved much more cautiously. Slyly. He felt relaxed.

This hunt after a vicious killer sent his mind back to the jungles of Vietnam. How often had he done this? Countless times. He had always come out alive, and a sniper dead. Okay, Chet Logan, you won’t know what’s going to hit you!

The road was fast drying, but in places there were pools of muddy water.

Hollis skirted these, pressing against the wet shrubs. It took him over an hour to come within sight of the river. To his right, now no more than a couple of hundred yards away, was Perry Weston’s fishing lodge. Here, he warned himself, he must take the greatest caution. He moved back into the thickest part of the forest, using every bit of cover, moving so silently even the birds in the tree tops were not alarmed. Again, he moved forward, pushing shrubs gently aside, feeling thick mud on his boots. It was steamy hot and sweat ran down his face. His shirt and khaki slacks were wet from the soaking shrubs. Discomfort never bothered him. Once a jungle fighter, always a jungle fighter, his Captain had said to him. Damn right!

Another few yards, then parting the branches of a tree, Hollis found himself looking directly at the fishing lodge. He stopped short, crouched and regarded the lodge.

There was no sign of life. He noted the curtains of the front windows were drawn. That didn’t mean Logan wasn’t somewhere either in the lodge or near the lodge, watching.

Hollis looked up at the tree. It seemed perfect for his purpose. Within reach were long foliage covered branches.

Taking his hunting knife from his belt, he cleaned off the thick mud from his boots, then, slinging the rifle, he caught hold of the lowest tree branch and began to climb.

He climbed slowly and carefully, taking care not to make movement among the branches. For him it was an easy climb. He swung himself up and up, until he reached nearly to the top of the tree. From this vantage point, he could look down at the fishing lodge and still remain hidden.

Here, he paused. Two thick branches made a comfortable looking fork. He nodded to himself, then settled, his legs astride a branch, his back against the thick trunk. So far, so good, he thought. I can stay up here for hours.

He flung the plastic sack of food on a branch, found a safe place for his rifle, then set the radio transmitter between his legs. He surveyed the fishing lodge. Still no sign of life. This could be a waste of time, but he didn’t think so. Why had the telephone cable been wrenched from its socket? That was the clue. That was the hint that Logan was hiding there with a gun on Weston.

It was now a matter of patience, and Hollis had plenty of that.

By now, Hollis thought, the Sheriff would be back in his office. He switched on the radio. Keeping his lips close to the transmitter, he said, “Hollis. Are you hearing me?”

“Loud and clear, Hank,” Ross said.

“I’ve found a good tree, Sheriff. I can look right down at the lodge and can’t be seen. There’s no sign of life, but the front window curtains are drawn. I guess I’ll just have to wait.”

“You can get me whenever you want, Hank. I’m not moving from my desk. Keep in touch.”

“Over and out.” Hollis switched off the radio. He looked at his watch.

The time was just after noon. Odd, he thought, Weston hasn’t shown himself. One would have thought he would have come out. Maybe he had slept late and was now having a brunch, or maybe Logan was there and wouldn’t let him out. Hollis decided to sample some of Mary Ross’s sandwiches. He opened the plastic sack and found a big pack of ham and beef sandwiches and a bottle of water.

He ate two sandwiches, always keeping his eyes on the lodge. It would be good to have lit a cigarette, but that would be too dangerous.

He re-hung the sack, settled his back against the tree trunk and relaxed to wait.

This was like good old times, he thought. He thought of the most stubborn and dangerous sniper who was nearly, but not quite, as good as himself. This little Vietnamese had concealed himself in a tree. From there, he had picked off two of Hollis’s good friends. Hollis had sworn to get him. He had located where the shot had come from. In the hot, steamy darkness, he had climbed a tree within three hundred yards of the tree in which the sniper was concealed. He had waited for eighteen tense, nerve-stretching hours. That time, he had only two bars of soggy chocolate and his water bottle, not like now with good sandwiches and half a chicken. Hollis nodded. It had been worth the wait. The jungle had been silent. Finally, the sniper showed himself.

He shinned down the tree, lowered his trousers and squatted. Hollis had sent a bullet through his brain. The most satisfactory thing he had ever done in his Army career. And now he was up another tree, waiting to see if Chet Logan would appear.

Patience!

An hour crawled by. Then Hollis became alert. The grinding sound of a car engine in low gear approaching, made him peer forward.

To his startled surprise, he saw a jeep moving slowly along the sodden river road. From his viewpoint, he couldn’t see the driver. He unslung his rifle, watching as the jeep slid on the muddy road, then he saw the jeep pull up outside the fishing lodge. He saw a blonde haired girl, wearing a yellow and red shirt and tight jeans, jump out of the jeep and walk up to the door of the fishing lodge.

Oh, hell! he thought. Here’s a real complication! Who is this girl? What’s she doing here? He pushed aside some foliage so he could get a better view.

She was knocking on the door. In the silence of the forest, Hollis could hear the impatient rapping of her knuckles.

He was now badly placed. He had only a half sighting of the front door. He saw it open. There was a long pause. Faintly he heard voices. It seemed to him, although he couldn’t hear what was being said, there might be some kind of argument. Then he saw the girl push her way in and the front door slammed.

He switched on his radio.

“Sheriff?”

“I’m listening.” It was a relief to hear Ross’s steady, deep voice.

“There’s a development here, Sheriff. A young girl has just arrived in a jeep and she is now in the lodge. The jeep belongs to Cab Calhoun, Jacksonville. Will you check?”

“Back in five minutes,” Ross said and switched off.

Hollis waited, staring down at the lodge. There was no sign of activity.

Maybe, he thought, I was wrong. This killer isn’t there. Weston had been expecting this girl. He could be sitting up in this tree with swarms of mosquitoes tormenting him for nothing.

But Hollis had learned to be patient. Still, letting the mosquitoes buzz around him, he watched and waited.

Ten minutes crawled by, then his radio came alive.

“Hank?” Ross’s voice.

“I’m hearing you.”

“The girl is Perry Weston’s wife. She hired the jeep and told Cab she would be staying a week or so at the lodge. Look, Hank, I think you can come back. You’re wasting your time. I am satisfied this killer did get away to Miami as Jacklin said. There’s a massive hunt on for him. Come on back.”

“With respect, Sheriff, I’m not coming back yet. How do we know Logan isn’t there? Okay, Mrs Weston could be on a visit. She could be walking into trouble. I’m staying and watching. How does anyone know that Logan is out of our district? I’m going to wait.”

“Yeah. Okay, Hank. Keep watch. I’ll stay right here until you tell me you’re coming back.”

“Over and out,” Hollis said and switched off.