by J. T. Edson
It almost seemed that the owlhoot was a ghost from the wild old frontier days of Rockabye County, returned to commit further crimes then fade silently away—but Alice and Brad knew that no ghost had crashed the barrel of a revolver against the side of Hoopler’s head.
While admitting the danger, Jack Tragg had ruled that Alice and Brad must continue to play their part in the ‘psychological tailing’ of Laurie Zingel. However, he had assured the deputies that precautions were being taken. The G.C.P.D. had arranged for undercover and official vehicles to maintain regular patrols along the State Auto Road turn-offs. That might inconvenience the various lovers seeking solitude on the turnoffs, but offered the peace officers their best chance of scaring away or capturing the owlhoot. Alice had had to admit that she could offer no more practical solution to the problem. Nor would the presence of one more car greatly improve the law’s chances. So at four o’clock she and Brad had relieved the day watch team at the Euro-Tex factory and waited for Laurie to appear.
‘Why don’t they take him more seriously, Brad?’ Alice demanded, after she had backed the Oldsmobile into the alley.
‘I don’t know,’ the big blonde replied. ‘If anybody points a gun at me, I sure as hell take him seriously. Let’s hope she breaks tonight.’
The hope did not materialize. By the time she had reached her apartment, Laurie had almost regained her previous assurance of safety. When she saw the car reversing between the two stores, she told herself that they were taking up position to watch the occupants of Apartment Eighteen. Probably their presence at Euro-Tex had not been connected with her. It must have been no more than coincidence and her guilty conscience had caused her to think that they were looking at her. Even the incident outside could have a simple, innocent explanation. Naturally the peace officers would be watching the rear of the building. The deputy she had seen was only signaling to the new arrivals that he and his partner had already taken their position.
Although she knew that there were flaws in her line of reasoning, she fought against thinking about them. She desperately wanted to believe that all still went as she and Sandwich had planned. Even when she found herself compelled to go time after time to the window and peer cautiously from behind the drapes at the car in the alley, she persisted in pretending it was out of curiosity rather than through fear of having been found out.
At eight o’clock Laurie decided that she would go out for a meal. Doing so would settle once and for all whether she was the object of the peace officers’ presence around the Temple House. Slipping on her cloak-coat, she left her apartment. Her eyes went to the door of Apartment Eighteen, but it had closed as soon as the black-haired policewoman saw the movement of her head. Wondering if she ought to go and warn the occupants of their danger, Laurie decided against it. If she did so, they would probably try to escape and, on being caught, tell their captors about her actions. That would draw the deputies’ attention to her; the last thing she wanted to happen.
Still wondering how she could arrange a meeting with the two ‘call-girls’, and let a hint of their danger slip out in the course of an apparently casual conversation, Laurie crossed to the elevator. Riding to the ground-floor, she elaborated on the scheme. Suppose she visited their apartment on the pretense of borrowing something—coffee, sugar, an egg, like that—it ought to be easy to mention the deputies in what would appear a harmless, unintentional manner. The more she thought of it, the better she liked the idea.
Laurie was almost cheerful as she left the elevator. Yet she could not make herself go out by the front entrance. Not that it mattered, the Chinese restaurant where she mostly ate could be more easily reached through the back of the building. So she went that way. Opening the rear door, she was about to step through it when she saw the Mexican deputy approaching along the opposite side of Danville Street. Their eyes met. Laurie could not prevent herself from withdrawing rapidly. Even as she went, she noticed that the deputy had turned with no less speed and stood staring all too intently into the window of a milliner’s shop.
Moving involuntarily until she stood with her back flattened against the wall, Laurie peeped nervously around the edge of the door. The deputy still faced the shop’s window and studied it with patently insincere concentration. Suddenly the little blonde understood his motive. Standing as he was, the peace officer could see the opposite side of the street reflected in the glass.
There was no doubt about it, he had deliberately avoided meeting her face to face. Nor could she hope that his reticence had been caused by mistaken identity, the belief that she was one of the women under surveillance. Laurie had seen the occupants of Apartment Eighteen. Under no conditions of poor visibility could she be mistaken for either of them. Which meant that the deputies must be watching her after all.
‘They’re not!’ Laurie croaked, hardly aware that she had spoken aloud.
She could not summon up the courage to put her doubts to the test. Thrusting herself from the wall, she hurried back to the elevator. On returning to her apartment, she snatched up the telephone’s receiver. With her finger poised ready to dial, she changed her mind and hung up.
‘She’s running scared,’ Alice breathed as she listened to the Communications Bureau operator report Laurie’s action.
When the policewoman on stake-out had reported that Laurie was leaving, the deputies went into their pre-arranged line of action. Whichever door she had used, the blonde would have been confronted by a peace officer.
‘Looks like she’s Sandwich’s girl for sure, Joan,’ Larsen commented from his team’s car.
‘I never doubted that,’ Joan Hilton answered calmly. ‘Any bets on whether she goes tonight?’
‘I sure hope she does,’ announced the black-haired policewoman plaintively. ‘That building super’s been giving me some mighty interested looks every time I’ve met him today.’
‘I wonder why,’ Joan put in. ‘Anyways, all us car crews had best grab a meal. I don’t reckon she’ll go before midnight, but we’d best be through eating by ten in case she figures to make a liar out of me.’
As senior member of the deputy team that had caught and handled the Sandwich case, Joan controlled all the officers involved in the ‘psychological tailing’. The Communications Bureau worked a three-watch rota, so the man on the telephone tap ate his meals in the basement of the sporting goods store while maintaining his vigil. Living in an apartment, the two policewomen could cook their food on the premises or, like the car crews, go singly to the Rawhide Diner, selected because of its proximity to the Temple House.
‘How about it, Alice,’ Larsen called, for all the deputies recognized the wisdom of the suggestion. ‘You want for me to pick you up after I’ve fixed the bug to little Laurie’s convertible?’
‘Who’s paying?’ Alice inquired suspiciously.
‘If you twist my arm, I’ll go Dutch,’ Larsen promised.
‘You’re on,’ Alice confirmed. ‘If we go now, we can catch the newscast on the diner’s television.’
‘I’ll meet you there,’ Joan said. ‘If you’ll let me pay for my own meal.’
‘Way you eat,’ Alice told her, ‘I’d insist on that.’
On her return from the diner, Brad could sense that something had happened to annoy his partner. However he did not linger to ask what it might be. They had until four o’clock on Friday morning to talk about it. Joining Sam Cuchilo and Valenca at the diner, Brad ate a good meal. The newscast had ended and The Invaders made their unearthly presence felt on the television screen. Being a viewing-fanatic, as far as his work at the Sheriff’s Office allowed, Valenca complained that they would not have time to see the full program.
Going back to Unit S.O. 12, Brad learned what had annoyed Alice. It seemed that, despite passing on a G.C.P.D. warning about the Owlhoot—the name had been used so much that it rated the capital letter—being dangerous, the newscast still treated him as a joke.
‘The G.C.P.D.’re doing all they can,’ Brad consoled her. ‘Ev
en if we weren’t on this “psycho-tail”, we couldn’t do any more than’s been done already.’
‘I know,’ Alice agreed. ‘But I sure hope she goes tonight.’ Seated at the table in her apartment, Laurie was trying to decide how she could do just that. Despite being badly shaken by the discovery of the law’s interest in her, she had regained her ability to think. So she had fought down her first inclination, to collect her car immediately, join Sandwich and make a run for the border. Doing so under the noses of the watching deputies would be neither easy nor safe. They were waiting to be led to the rendezvous so that they could capture Sandwich. Until she was found with him, the law had no evidence against her. Yet she knew that she could not continue to face the constant surveillance.
The idea that she might leave Gusher City alone, and contact Sandwich when clear of the area, never entered her head. If she went too far, her hold on him would weaken and he might slip away without her. Taking everything into consideration, she decided that only one course remained open. She must stay alert, grab the earliest opportunity to make an undetected departure, pick up Sandwich and head for Mexico. Having reached her decision, Laurie prepared to spend the night in the apartment and made a meal instead of going out to buy one.
At twelve-thirty McCall came out to visit the ‘psychological tailing’ teams. Joining Alice and Brad, he told them that the Owlhoot had struck again. Instead of going into the area of his previous robberies, he had made four hits on turn-offs from Route 118 on the south side of the city.
‘Nobody got hurt,’ McCall continued, ‘but he changed his M.O. on the last two hits.’
‘How?’ Alice asked.
‘Well, not so much changed as went back to his first M.O.,’ McCall corrected. ‘He still only takes money, talks like an old-time cowhand and all, but he had the last two couples climb out of the car and hand over the loot.’
‘It’s getting worse!’ Alice breathed. ‘You know what I reckon?’
‘What do you reckon, Alice?’ the First Deputy inquired. ‘Brad was right. The Owlhoot’s a nut doing it for kicks.’
‘A smart nut,’ Brad put in. ‘Smart enough to know we’d be covering those State Auto turn-offs and change his location.’
‘If he’s that smart,’ McCall drawled, ‘why’d he go back to an M.O. that almost got him jumped last time he used it.’
‘If Brad’s right, and he is doing it for kicks, the safe way’s not exciting enough anymore,’ Alice guessed. ‘So he’s gone back to having them get out of the car. He wants somebody to jump him.’
‘It could be,’ Brad agreed. ‘Or maybe he’s riled that his victims and the news-media aren’t taking him seriously. So he’s giving his other marks the chance to jump him. Maybe not consciously yet, but that could come.’
‘Go on,’ McCall offered.
‘If nobody tries to take him, he’ll maybe act like he’s off guard so that the feller he’s robbing’ll reckon there’s a chance to jump him.’
‘Brad could be right,’ Alice stated.
‘Talked to Doctor Hertel on the phone as soon as I heard about the Owlhoot going back to his old M.O.,’ McCall remarked. ‘I won’t try to give you his exact words, but what he said ties in with your notion.’
‘What else did he say?’ Alice wanted to know. Doctor Hertel was the Department of Public Safety’s psychologist and she was keen to learn his views.
‘You’ll find his report when you log on watch this afternoon,’ the First Deputy promised. ‘He just gave me a quick run-down, but’ll go into it at greater length for you.’
‘Whatever’s in the report,’ Alice said grimly, ‘that damned fool’s got to be stopped.’ She glared indignantly at McCall.
‘Why doesn’t P.R. make folks realize how dangerous he is. Way it’s being handled, nobody takes him seriously.’
‘We do,’ McCall insisted. ‘And other folks.’
‘You mean like Mrs. Traverson and her anti-violence crowd?’ Alice asked bitterly. ‘All the Owlhoot means to her is a chance to stand in front of a television camera and lay all the blame on violence in movies and TV shows.’
‘Wasn’t thinking about her,’ McCall corrected. ‘One of the rolling stake-outs saw a car on a turn-off. Something about the couple in it didn’t look right, so the shotgun [xi] checked it out. Instead of a couple doing the moon-and-June bit he found it was two fellers, one of them wearing a woman’s hat.’
‘They were waiting for the Owlhoot?’
‘Sure, Alice. One of them had a Smith & Wesson Mercox Dart Projectile gun on his lap, loaded with a hypo-syringe projectile.’
‘Who the hell were they?’ Brad growled.
‘Couple of the left-wing students from Cardell, fixing to show us brutal, dumb, Fascist lawmen how to take the Owlhoot alive.’
‘The loco bastards!’ Brad spat out. ‘Up close, the dart would go halfway through him. And at a safe distance, the tranquillizer wouldn’t be quick enough to stop him getting off at least one shot.’
‘Where did they get the Mercox from?’ Alice asked, knowing that such guns were not sold on the open market.
‘It’s one Cardell bought for a students’ game-conservation experiment,’ McCall replied. ‘The officers confiscated it and told the fellers to get the hell home and grow up.’
‘That was sound advice, even though they might not like it,’ Alice said. ‘The thing is, somebody else might get the same notion, only be holding a gun.’
‘Yep,’ conceded McCall. ‘And some hunter, or a feller who’s looking for help with a breakdown or accident, could get shot walking up to the car.’
‘What’ll you do about those two yahoos, Mac?’ Brad asked. ‘Comes morning, the sheriff’ll see the dean of men at Cardell. Jack’ll give him hell for not keeping the Mercox somewhere safe and leave him to deal with them. That way their hawg-stupid caper won’t get publicity. We don’t want to put the idea of baiting traps for the Owlhoot into folks’ heads.’
‘That’s for sure,’ Alice agreed.
‘P.R.’s got one helluva chore with the Owlhoot,’ McCall continued. ‘If they play too much on how dangerous he is, more damned fools might start toting guns in their cars. But they’ve got to warn the public about him. I’m damned if I know which way’d be best, but I’d rather not have private citizens going armed.’
‘What’s the plan now, Mac?’ Brad inquired.
‘Rolling stake-outs in his new area is about all we can do,’ the First Deputy admitted. ‘I’ve been calling stoolies all evening. According to what they said, if anybody knows who the Owlhoot is, they’re not talking about it.’
‘Could be he doesn’t have criminal connections,’ Alice offered. ‘He didn’t wear gloves the first night. If he associated with crooks, he wouldn’t’ve made a basic mistake like that.’
‘Way he only takes money could be a smart move, or because he doesn’t know where to fence jewelry,’ Brad went on. ‘If he doesn’t know any crooks, he’d not know any fences. I’d say we’re dealing with an amateur, doing it for kicks.’
‘Whoever he is,’ Alice said. ‘He has to be stopped. If he isn’t, as sure as I’m sitting here, he’ll kill somebody, or get somebody killed before he’s through.’
Eight
On Friday, despite her determination to stay calm, Laurie found her agitation increasing. There was no doubt that the deputy car from the alley followed her to Euro-Tex that morning. Watching for it, she soon saw its black-and-white shape trailing along behind her. While parking her convertible, she recognized its crew. One had red hair, stood six foot three and had a heavy build. The other was around three inches shorter, had black hair and a lean, wiry frame. Without any doubt, they were the men she had seen on Thursday morning.
All through the morning Laurie’s worries increased. Twice she left the office, visited the women’s powder-room and returned by a way that let her look across the parking lot. Each time, she saw that the deputy car was still in position. Laurie shuddered as a new thought hit her. For the S
heriff’s Office to use so many deputies and have them spend time just sitting around watching her, Jack Tragg must be very sure of her connection with Sandwich.
Seated at her desk, typing a long list of names and addresses for the Sales Department, Laurie noticed that three people had come in. Accompanied by the office’s supervisor, the two deputies who had carried out most of the inquiries into the crime walked slowly down the aisle between the desks. Joan Hilton wore her uniform, which showed off her buxom, firm-fleshed figure to its best advantage. At her side, also in uniform, Sam Cuchilo had the stocky build and slightly Mongoloid features which, with his coppery-brown skin, told of his Comanche blood.
However, Laurie was less interested in the deputies’ appearances than in the reason for the visit. To her it seemed that their eyes never left her face. Even when she bent her head forward, pretending to be reading what she had typed, she still felt that they watched her. Yet they came level with her desk without speaking to her. Instead the blonde deputy continued to talk to Miss Othmar, the supervisor, and her words reached Laurie’s ears.
‘I know it’s going to disrupt your work, but it has to be done. We’ve picked up a whisper that Sandwich was playing around with one of the girls from the company. So we figured that we’d question them all. If we can use your office, you can start sending them in.’
‘Feel free,’ Miss Othmar replied, for she had received orders to give the investigating officers every assistance. ‘Shall I start from this end of the room?’
For what seemed like hours, although it could hardly have been more than a few seconds, neither deputy replied. Laurie’s fingers still continued to move on the typewriter keys, but she had no idea of what she was typing.
‘We’d rather have them in alphabetical order,’ Joan replied at last. ‘It’s easier for us when we come to make out our reports.’
‘Is our talk distracting you, ma’am?’
Laurie could barely hold down a gasp as she realized the Indian deputy’s question was directed at her. Jerking her head around, she looked at the impassive brown features and cold black eyes for a moment before she managed to croak, ‘Wha—?’