The Owlhoot

by J. T. Edson

  ‘Are we stopping you typing, ma’am,’ Cuchilo went on, pointing at the sheet of paper in the machine. ‘That looks like something I do all the time.’

  Staring in the direction he indicated, Laurie found that she had mistyped the last three words. Before her numbed mind could think up an answer, Joan suggested that the interrogation was commenced.

  Hardly daring to look at the peace officers, Laurie fumbled with an eraser and started to rub out the mistyped words. In her agitation she rubbed through the paper. Snatching it out of the typewriter, she still avoided the deputies’ eyes but felt sure that they watched every move she made. Only by fighting down the inclination did she prevent herself from leaping out of the chair and fleeing from the room. After what appeared to be hours, Miss Othmar and the peace officers moved away. Their voices drifted back to the little blonde and the supervisor inadvertently asked the kind of question that the deputies had hoped she might.

  ‘Do you think that you’ll be able to discover the girl’s identity, Miss Hilton?’

  ‘I reckon we will,’ Joan answered, speaking just a shade louder than necessary so that her words would be overheard by Laurie. ‘We know a few things about her and she’ll give herself away.’

  Girl after girl disappeared into the supervisor’s office and emerged after a few minutes. Laurie watched them come and go, darting anxious glances at the clock on the office wall. There were ten girls in the office and, taking them alphabetically, Laurie would be the last of them. Yet she knew that it would not save her. That fat, middle-aged blonde bitch had seemed a whole heap too certain of success to be bluffing. Thinking back to other brushes with the law, Laurie remembered how female peace officers had known when she spoke the truth or tried to lie.

  Seeing the sixth girl returning, Laurie asked, ‘What’s it all about, Lily?’

  ‘They’ve got an idea that Sandwich played around with a girl from the company.’ Lily replied. ‘They asked me a lot of questions. Where I was on the night of the robbery. Did I have a steady boyfriend and who he was. Did I know Sandwich. Did I find him attractive, like that. Just as I was leaving, the woman asked me the wildest thing.’

  ‘What was that?’

  ‘She said, “Do you go bowling?” Can you beat th—Oh-oh! Old Eagle-eye’s looking this way.’

  At the sight of Miss Othmar eyeing her with disapproval, Lily scuttled to her desk and made a show of continuing her interrupted work. Laurie could not concentrate and barely managed to keep her fingers moving as she watched the number of girls diminishing between herself and the forthcoming interrogation. When she went in, they would remember her agitation as they had stood by her desk. Feeling as if an icy hand ran along her spine, she realized that she could not offer an alibi for the night of the crime. Certainly she could not admit that she had been to the Acme Bowling Alley. From what they had said, the deputies knew that Sandwich was going with a girl from the company and had an idea that the clandestine meetings took place at a bowling alley. If they suspected her, they would take her to every bowling alley in town until finding the right one. Laurie knew that somebody was sure to recognize her at the Acme.

  There seemed to be no way of avoiding the interview. Certainly running away would not help, but be considered a sign of guilt. All she might hope was that she could bluff her way through. Even if they did find out that she was Sandwich’s girl, they still could not prove that she had been involved in his criminal activities.

  Or could they?

  If they searched her handbag, they would find enough to hold her as at least a material witness. Once Arnold read or heard that she had been arrested, he would start running for safety.

  ‘You’re next, Miss Zingel,’ the supervisor warned as the ninth girl went from the office.

  Three long, agonizing minutes dragged by before Virginia Young left the office. Forcing herself erect, Laurie began the long walk down the aisle. On either side of her, the other girls continued to work. They had long since tired of waiting for some dramatic development, so had lost their interest in the deputies’ activities. Even Miss Othmar did no more than glance at Laurie, to make sure that the blonde went immediately the young girl left the interview, then gave her attention to an inexperienced youngster on the other side of the room.

  At last Laurie approached the door of the supervisor’s office. She wondered if she should pretend to collapse and faint. That would only postpone the interrogation for a short time. The Lord only knew what the deputies would make of her actions if she tried. Probably the faked faint would only increase their interest in her. Laurie gulped, feeling trapped, naked and vulnerable.

  To her horror, she saw the door opening. Having watched carefully, she knew that all the other girls had let themselves into Miss Othmar’s room. Why had she been selected for different treatment?

  Desperately fighting down an impulsion to turn and run, Laurie watched the two deputies emerge from Miss Othmar’s office.

  ‘We’ve just had an urgent call,’ Joan told the supervisor, indicating the Voice Commander radio in her partner’s hand. ‘It can’t wait. We’ll finish the interviews tomorrow.’

  ‘We don’t work Saturdays in the secretarial pool,’ Miss Othmar warned. ‘And there’s only Miss Zingel left for you to see.’

  ‘Well—’ Joan said hesitantly and Laurie’s heart resumed its heavy pounding.

  ‘The sheriff said for us to check in right away,’ Cuchilo reminded. ‘We’d best do it.’

  ‘You’re right,’ Joan agreed, her eyes never going to the little blonde. ‘In that case, Miss Othmar, we’ll leave seeing her until Monday. She can come in with the factory hands, unless we get Sandwich’s girl before then.’

  With that the deputies turned and went through the double doors of the main office. Laurie might not have existed for all the notice they had taken of her. Once the doors swung together behind the peace officers, the little blonde let out her held-back breath in a long sigh of relief.

  ‘Are you all right, Laurie?’ Miss Othmar asked.

  The words jolted the blonde back to a realization of her surroundings. For a moment she stared at the supervisor, then managed a weak smile.

  ‘Yes. It’s just that I was over-excited. I’ll have to go to the powder-room if I can.’

  After the office doors had closed, the deputies had halted. They stood looking through the glass panels in the doors, studying Laurie’s reactions. What they had just done was part of the ‘psychological tailing’ process. Having the girls sent to them in alphabetical order had ensured that the blonde came last. If her name had begun with an earlier letter in the alphabet, the deputies would have found some other way of bringing it about. They had let her sweat, building up fear of being caught and anxiety as to how Sandwich would react when he learned of her capture. Not that they had wanted to arrest her. At least, not until after she had led them to Sandwich.

  There had been no call from the sheriff. Having known that Laurie was the next girl, they had carried out their plan to avoid interviewing her. Turning from the door as the little blonde disappeared into the powder-room, they left the building and went to where Alice and Brad waited in Unit S.O. 12.’

  ‘I tell you, that’s one tough paleface naivi,’ Cuchilo declared, after Joan had told the other deputies of the by-play in the office. ‘She held up a whole heap better than I expected.’

  ‘She’s a tough paleface what?’ Alice asked.

  ‘Naivi. It’s Comanche for an adolescent, unmarried girl,’ Brad translated.

  ‘Danged Injuns!’ Joan sniffed. ‘Why don’t you go try to buy back Manhattan Island for what your folks were paid for it.’

  ‘We’re been trying for years,’ Sam grinned. ‘Which don’t change things here and now. That was a tough little gal.’

  ‘She was sweating her guts out, even if it didn’t show to you,’ Joan stated. ‘And she’ll keep on sweating, knowing that she’ll have to face us on Monday. I’m willing to bet that she’ll break before then.’

/>   ‘I hope she does!’ Alice said fervently.

  ‘Is the Owlhoot still bothering you, Alice?’ Joan asked.

  ‘More than ever,’ Alice admitted.

  ‘There’s nothing to go on?’ Cuchilo inquired.

  ‘Not a thing,’ Brad answered. ‘S.I.B. still haven’t turned up a foot- or wheel-print—’

  ‘Which means there’re none to be found,’ Cuchilo put in. ‘Bill Hunting-Bear’s a damned good sign-reader.’

  ‘There’s none better,’ Brad conceded and it was not sycophantic praise, but a genuine tribute to the Comanche detective lieutenant commanding the S.I.B.’s search specialist squad. ‘Not even Buck Shields.’ [xii]

  ‘Berns-Martin’s list arrived,’ Alice continued. ‘Ric’s having all the addresses on it checked out by their local officers. Maybe something will come of it.’

  ‘I wouldn’t bet on it,’ Brad drawled. ‘Ric’s got the fuzz from the Division houses checking on theatrical costume rental stores and shops that sell copies of old-West range clothes. It’ll take time, but something may come up.’

  ‘It’ll take time, but something may come up.’

  That brief sentence explained the essence of a modern peace officer’s work. Unlike the detectives of classic crime fiction, they rarely found themselves involved in a case which could be solved by a master-stroke of deductive genius while questioning a handful of readily-available suspects. Often a criminal was caught through a deliberate lie, or wrongly-worded comment in answer to a question, but before that could happen, the peace officers had to have their suspect in a position where he, or she, could be questioned. So they patiently checked out vague possibilities, followed up apparently unimportant lines of inquiry, most of which would come to a dead end. By doing so, they hoped that eventually they would catch the criminal—and in many cases they succeeded.

  ‘It’s what Doctor Hertel told us that’s got me most worried,’ Alice told Joan and Cuchilo. ‘We logged on early so that we could talk to him. He agrees with us that the Owlhoot it a nut.’

  ‘You mean that he’s an ordinary, clean kid who started pulling stick-ups dressed like an old-West outlaw because he’s been reading Western novels and watch violence on movies or television?’ Cuchilo grunted, sounding disgusted.

  ‘Something like that,’ Alice agreed. ‘Only it’s not quite so simple. Doctor Hertel doesn’t go along with the watching-violence-breeds-violence theory. He says that his own experiences have shown that children tend to be less violent if they are allowed to watch it at second-hand in a movie, or television show, like that.’

  ‘I’ll go along with him on that,’ Cuchilo stated. ‘Hell, since this non-violent television bit started, actual violence between minors has increased. You can check the statistics to see that.’

  ‘Thing is,’ Alice put in, ‘Doctor Hertel reckons the Owlhoot has been watching Western movies.’

  ‘Which kind of spoils the doctor’s theory,’ Joan remarked.

  ‘Not entirely,’ Alice corrected. ‘He says that the Owlhoot may have been forbidden to see them by his parents, but sneaked off and did it regardless. So, by going against his parent’s wishes, he identifies himself with the bad guy—’

  ‘Who always loses,’ Joan pointed out.

  ‘Sure,’ Alice agreed. ‘At the back of his subconscious, the Owlhoot knows that. So he wants to lose, to be caught and punished for disobeying his folks. At least that’s Doctor Hertel’s theory. He admits there could be any number of other reasons motivating the Owlhoot—’

  ‘That’s the one he’s betting on,’ Brad interrupted. ‘He says that if he’s right, the Owlhoot’ll be a plain-looking, unimpressive man who’s never been able to excel at sports through lack of ability or parental repression. Doc favors the latter. So he’s picked this way to draw attention to himself.’

  ‘And instead of inspiring fear, or grudging admiration, he’s being treated as a joke,’ Alice went on. ‘Sooner or later, he’s going to get so riled that he tricks a victim into trying to take him. When that happens, he won’t be a joke anymore.’

  ‘Hertel’s a smart psychologist,’ Joan said soberly. ‘He’s not often wrong in his judgment. Look, Alice, if the Zingel girl hasn’t broken by Monday morning, I’ll have your team taken off the assignment.’

  ‘Thanks, Joan,’ Alice replied. ‘I know that everything possible’s being done. But I’d feel a whole heap more contented if I was in there helping in some way.’

  ‘We all feel like that,’ Cuchilo told her. ‘That’s why we took the badge in the first place.’

  ‘I’d let you go sooner,’ Joan stated. ‘But you know how it is with a “psycho-tail”, having the same officers watching all the time’s what creates the tension.’

  ‘I know,’ Alice admitted. ‘Seeing the team there worries her. To change us now might queer the whole operation. We’ll stick it out to the end.’

  ‘Which won’t be long,’ Cuchilo guessed. ‘Jack can’t keep three teams tied up indefinitely. If she hasn’t broken by Monday, I’ll bet we’re told to pick her up and try to sweat it out of her. I hope it doesn’t come to that. Like I said, she’s one tough paleface naivi. If she cracks at all, it won’t be at the Office.’

  ‘I’ll go with you on that Sam,’ Joan went on. ‘We’d best get moving. See you later, Alice, Brad.’

  ‘Well be around,’ promised the big blond.

  For the visit, Joan and Cuchilo had used their official vehicle. They did not wish to take the chance of Laurie seeing the unmarked [xiii] Plymouth undercover car in which they hoped to follow her when she finally broke and went to meet Sandwich. Going to their Oldsmobile, Unit S.O. 6, they boarded it and drove away. Alice and Brad remained in position, waiting to follow Laurie when she left work.

  Nine

  A very perturbed, frightened Laurie drove home from work that Friday evening. Behind her, no matter how thick and heavy the traffic, she could see the black-and-white Oldsmobile with the red-haired female deputy at its wheel and the handsome blond by her side. Laurie hated the car, its occupants and the other peace officers who watched her. The constant surveillance was getting to her, just as the sheriff and Joan Hilton had hoped it would when organizing the ‘psychological tailing’ operation. If only one of the watchers had done something, intercepted her and asked questions, anything, it would have relieved the mounting tension. But they did not. Instead they just hovered in the background, watching and following everywhere she went.

  What with one thing and another, Laurie suffered a hair-raising ride home. Three times she came within inches of a collision and her head swam with a mixture of distracting thoughts. Nor was her condition improved when she arrived to find a number of strange cars in the Temple House’s parking lot. She managed to put the convertible in its usual place, watched by Deputy Valenca. Following his orders, he drew back into ‘hiding’ when she looked his way, making sure that he did not go before she saw him. However Laurie was less interested in him than in the presence of the unfamiliar vehicles in the lot. Pausing at the side door, she glanced at the fire-escape which zigzagged down from the upper floors to end in the parking lot. Neither it nor the lot was illuminated at night, a point which she had already checked and taken into consideration. Entering the building, she saw the superintendent standing in the hall.

  ‘It’s the wedding,’ Kroon explained when she asked about the cars. ‘Mrs. Albert’s daughter, you know. Some of her friends are having a bridal-shower for her tonight. I hope they’re not as rowdy as their other parties.’

  ‘So do I,’ Laurie said absently, making the conventional reply almost without thinking what she was saying. She began to realize the possibilities offered by the presence of so many strange vehicles in the parking lot.

  All the way up to her apartment, she thought fast and furiously. If she knew Sally Albert, the bridal-shower would be anything but a temperance affair or end too early; but when it did, several women would be leaving at the same time. There would be noise, confusion, the cha
nce for her to slip away unnoticed. She had seen two convertibles of the same model as her own, to increase her chances. It was unlikely that a better opportunity would arise before Monday.

  Stripping to her bra and tights, she paced the room for a short time and turned over various plans for escape in her mind. Knowing that she always thought better while eating, she went into the small kitchen. The deputies’ presence had prevented her from going shopping, but she found enough food in her refrigerator to make up a meal.

  Seated at the table, she plied a knife and fork while considering how best to make use of the advantage presented to her. There was no way that she could discover when the Alberts’ party would end. Certainly not before nine-thirty or ten. Of course, the guests might decide to go sooner and take their hostesses to a night-spot or show. Laurie decided that she would leave as soon as it was dark, then wait in her convertible until the women took their departure.

  Halfway between the plate and her mouth, the fork came to an abrupt halt. Suddenly she remembered the occupants of Apartment Eighteen—and the reason she had been given for the deputies’ surveillance of Temple House. Lowering the fork, she stared blankly at the window. It seemed highly unlikely that the big blond would risk telling such a story about a pair of innocent, law-abiding strangers. Certainly not to an obvious blabber-mouth like Kroon, who might easily repeat it to the women concerned or spread it around the building so that they heard it from one of the apartment owners.

  Before the blond deputy would tell the story, he would have to be sure that there could be no complaint from the two women. Which meant that he knew them. Most likely they were peace officers themselves, part of the circle of watchers around her. Maybe they had found some way of keeping her under observation. Come to think of it, on two occasions when she had looked in that direction, she had thought the apartment door was on the point of being closed.