The Owlhoot

by J. T. Edson

  If so, she must find some way of avoiding being seen by the watching women. Luckily they were on the opposite side to the window that opened on to the parking lot and fire-escape. To reach the window, she would have to pass the elevator and the stairs. Given a little careful thought, she might be able to evade their scrutiny. First, though, there were things she had to do.

  Wishing to put her theory to the test, she donned her black stretch pants, a white satin blouse and heelless black pumps. Collecting some clothes, she put them into a plastic bag. Before leaving the apartment, she removed a mirror from her handbag and held it in the palm of her left hand. With the two bags in her right hand, she stepped into the hall and glanced at the door of Apartment Eighteen. Sure enough, it moved slightly and was closed.

  While walking along the passage, she held the mirror so that it reflected the door of Eighteen. It opened slightly. Not much, but enough for one of the women to keep her under observation. Bringing the elevator up, she stepped inside but did not set it into motion. Instead she waited for almost thirty seconds. Then she opened the doors again and, holding it between the tips of her thumb and forefinger, extended the mirror. The door to Apartment Eighteen was closed. Behind it, the policewoman would be reporting Laurie’s departure to the waiting deputies.

  With a sigh of relief, Laurie rode down to the ground floor.

  Determined to leave nothing to chance, she approached the front entrance. Through it she saw the red-headed woman deputy strolling apparently aimlessly along Longley Street. Turning, Laurie made for the rear door. Just as she had expected, the Mexican deputy was on the other side of Danville. Ignoring him, she walked along the street in the direction of the neighborhood laundro-mat.

  ‘I hope it starts raining and you get soaked to the skin!’ Laurie hissed viciously as she fed her clothes into one of the machines, glancing across the street to where Valenca stood watching her.

  The hope did not materialize. Finishing her laundry, Laurie returned to the Temple House. She ignored the following deputy and rode the elevator to the first floor. Stepping out, she turned her head towards the door of Apartment Eighteen and watched the tiny crack disappear. As she unlocked her own door, she used the mirror and grinned as she saw the surveillance resumed.

  Inside her apartment, Laurie tossed the bag of laundry on to the divan. She had arrangements to make before leaving and took time to think them all out. Going into the bedroom, she stripped off the white blouse. Taking one of black from a drawer of the dressing-table, she slipped it on. Then she replaced the white garment, making sure that the other did not show. For the rest, she had few things to worry about. All the money she possessed was in her handbag. A case full of clothes had been placed in the boot of the convertible on the night of the crime and never removed. There was only one more item to be attended to—well, not quite. From the dressing table’s drawers, she produced a light and a dark scarf. First she fixed the latter so that it covered her blonde hair. Then she carefully concealed it under the light-colored scarf.

  With that done, Laurie returned to the small sitting-room. Picking up the telephone’s receiver, she dialed a number.

  ‘Tap-Op to U.C.!’ Alice and Brad’s radio came alive. ‘Activity on the part of suspect.’

  ‘Call?’ Joan’s voice asked.

  ‘Nope. She dialed, hung up, dialed again, hung up and dialed a third time, then hung up without speaking or getting an answer.’

  ‘Play it ba—’ Joan began.

  ‘Hold it U.C.,’ advised the man operating the telephone tap. ‘Somebody’s dialing her number. Hung up. Dialed again. Hung up. Dialed again. Hung up.’

  ‘It’s a signal!’ Alice breathed when the tap-operator did not report further activity.

  ‘Nothing surer,’ Brad agreed.

  Further confirmation of the idea came from Joan. ‘U.C. to Psycho Two. Did you bug the heap, Lars?’

  ‘Just now come back from doing it,’ answered Larsen’s mild tones.

  ‘U.C. to Tracker,’ Joan continued. ‘Are you reading the signal?’

  ‘Reading steady at Temple House location,’ the control unit of the tracking trucks replied. ‘Will notify immediately it moves.’

  ‘All units, all units,’ Joan announced and her voice held a brisk note of controlled excitement. ‘Stay alert. This may be our night.’

  ‘I hope she goes early,’ Valenca growled, his words carrying over the air. ‘She’s already made me miss seeing Doc Hertel face Mrs. Traverson and her Anti-Violence League on the Local Views show. If she runs soon, I’ll be able to catch the late-late movie.’

  ‘I’d’ve liked to see Local Views myself,’ Joan admitted.

  Every Friday at seven in the evening, the Rockabye County television network brought together local personalities to discuss topical issues. That night the debate had been inspired by the Owlhoot and was on the subject of how movie and literary violence affected those who watched or read it. Knowing Doctor Hertel to be peppery and a very good debater, the deputies figured that the confrontation with members of the Anti-Violence League would have been worth watching.

  ‘We’ll be able to read about it in the Mirror tomorrow,’ Alice consoled.

  After that conversation came to a stop. Despite the silence, Alice could sense the added alertness and tension felt by every member of the ‘psychological tailing’ detail. At last the suspect had done something out of the ordinary and their long, boring, uneventful vigil might pay off.

  Sixty minutes dragged slowly by, then the radios came alive.

  ‘Stake-out to all units. Suspect has just left apartment, dressed for going out. Is taking stairs, not elevator.’

  ‘Psycho teams, tail from cars,’ Joan ordered. ‘This may be it.’

  Another five minutes crept away. Behind the wheel of Unit S.O.12, Alice kept her eyes fixed on the front entrance. At her side, Brad watched the parking lot and cursed the management for not having it adequately illuminated. Despite the end wall and side door being in heavy shadow, he could see well enough to know if Laurie drove out in her convertible. ‘Where is she?’ Alice breathed. ‘Where the hell is she?’

  Even descending on foot, the girl ought to have appeared by that time. In Alice’s opinion, Laurie would not go directly to the convertible. Aware that she was under observation, she would most likely leave on foot, try to lose her tail and if successful return for the car or find some other way to reach Sandwich. Yet she had not come into sight on Longley Street, nor had Larsen and Valenca reported her departure from the rear of the building.

  ‘Psycho Two to U.C.,’ Larsen called. ‘Suspect hasn’t showed yet. She’d have to come out this side or on Longley no matter how she left.’

  ‘She’s not come this way,’ Brad announced.

  ‘Maybe she’s gone downstairs to join the party,’ suggested the stake-out policewoman.

  ‘Hell yes!’ Alice ejaculated. ‘That party!’ She signaled to Brad who held the radio for her to use. ‘How was she dressed, Stake-Out?’

  ‘Pumps, black stretch pants, white satin blouse, white headscarf, carrying her handbag.’

  ‘She shouldn’t be hard to pick out in those,’ Joan declared. ‘Psycho Two, make a quick prowl, see if you can pick her up. Sam, raise Central Control and have an A.P.B. put out on her. Locate, notify, follow, but don’t intercept.’

  ‘It’s done,’ Cuchilo replied.

  ‘Psycho One to U.C.,’ Brad said. ‘Could be she’s come out this way, is in her convertible and waiting for the party guests to leave, so she can slip away among them.’

  ‘Stay on watch from your position, Psycho One,’ Joan ordered. ‘If she goes, follow her. If she’s gone and we don’t find her, there’ll be hell to pay in the morning.’

  Closing the door as she left, Laurie used the mirror to watch Apartment Eighteen. She went along the passage and halted before the elevator, staring at its indicator for a moment. Then she gave an exasperated gesture and made for the stairs. Going down three steps, she halted and
made use of the mirror. As she had hoped, the door of Eighteen was closed. That figured. The policewomen would not want to risk having their messages to the watchers overheard by somebody who happened to be passing.

  Swiftly Laurie peeled off the white scarf, then removed the satin blouse. With them bundled around her handbag, she peeped around the top of the stairs. Satisfied that the stake-out could not see her, she returned to the passage and darted along it. Giving access to a fire-escape, the window was not fastened. She raised it and slipped out. For a moment she was in a patch of faint light, then descended into the shadowy blackness below. Going down the iron ladder, she could see the Oldsmobile. Its crew gave no sign of having noticed her departure. Either they both watched the entrance of the building, or the one watching the parking lot had his attention on the side door.

  Dropping to the ground, she darted over and entered her convertible. Placing her handbag on the passenger-seat, she settled down. The cars belonging to the party guests were still all around her. She had left in time.

  The fingers of Laurie’s wristwatch showed ten-thirty before the side door opened. Led by Mrs. Albert, the girls from the bridal-shower flooded out. As Laurie had guessed, the drinks had flowed freely. Amid laughter, squeals and loud conversation, the women climbed into the cars. Engines started, Laurie’s among them. She let three of the cars leave, turning on to Longley Street, and slid in behind one of the convertibles similar to her own. While she had hoped that they would depart by the Danville Street exit, she followed the other cars. Held firmly in place by its magnetic force, the tiny transmitter continued to send out its signal.

  ‘Tracker to U.C.!’ came an excited voice over the triplex radios of the peace officers. ‘Suspect on the move. Turning left along Longley.’

  ‘She did like you said, Brad,’ Alice whispered, watching the cars emerge from the parking lot. ‘Came down the fire-escape and waited for them to pull out.’

  Shortly after realizing that Laurie had eluded them, one of the policewomen had gone along the passage, seen and reported the open window.

  ‘And that’s how she did it!’ Brad went mi, indicating Laurie’s convertible as it went by. ‘She had a dark scarf and blouse under the others. I wondered how she managed to come down without attracting my attention, wearing so much white.’ Even as he spoke, Alice was moving the Oldsmobile forward. Deftly she inserted it between the first and second vehicles to follow Laurie’s convertible. Brad put aside his thoughts on how the little blonde had avoided being detected and carried out his duty as the team’s shotgun.

  ‘Psycho One to U.C.,’ he announced. ‘We are in pursuit of suspect. Going left on Longley.’

  ‘Follow until she makes determined attempt to lose you,’ Joan told him. ‘We are moving in behind you ready to take over. U.C. to Tracker. Keep us informed of suspect’s location.’ While the operation appeared to be running smoothly, Joan knew all too well how easily a tail-job could go wrong. So she wanted a constant check kept on the direction taken by Laurie’s car. Then, even if some unforeseen circumstances caused them to lose her, the tracking truck’s reports would guide the deputies on the little blonde’s trail.

  Staying with the procession of cars until it reached a busier area of town, Laurie swung away from them at an intersection. The vehicle behind her went straight on, but she noticed the next car turning after her. With a sudden, cold shock, she realized that it was the Oldsmobile deputy car which had become such a part of her life during the past two days.

  Momentarily Laurie came close to panic. Her convertible weaved briefly before she stiffened herself in a determined effort of self-control. After fooling the stake-out, it came as a blow to discover that the deputies had still managed to get on her tail. However, she had fooled one set of peace officers and believed that she could repeat her success, despite the set-back. Maybe she could not lose the Oldsmobile on the well-lit streets through which she was passing, but ought to do so in the dimly-illuminated area towards which she headed.

  Instinct told Laurie that the later she lost the deputies, the better for her plans. It would give them less time to organize a search by other official vehicles. Once she reached her destination, only a few minutes work would render her convertible into a useless piece of identification for the peace officers. Setting her teeth grimly, the little blonde kept her car moving. Whatever she did, she must not let the deputies know that she was aware of their presence. By doing so, she hoped to lull them into a condition of complacency which would make losing them so much easier.

  ‘She’s on to us, U.C.!’ Brad commented as he saw the convertible swerve and straighten without having any reason for doing so.

  ‘Keep after her until she makes a determined attempt to lose you,’ Joan replied. ‘We’re on your tail, about three cars back.’

  So the pursuit continued, with Brad reporting their route and the controller of the tracking trucks confirming it by his instruments’ readings. Laurie led the peace officers through the south-east side of the Business Division and into Gusher City South’s industrial area.

  At last Laurie knew that the time had come. She swung the convertible on to a long, straight street that was almost canyon like with its flanking tall buildings. It was a sparsely-lit area, with the buildings holding out what small illumination the half-moon gave. Alleys and side-streets separated the buildings, offering numerous avenues of escape. Laurie knew the area well. During the time she and Sandwich had been planning the crime, they had taken other things into consideration. While sure that nobody knew about them, they had made arrangements in case their secret should be discovered. In addition to the agreement not to speak on the telephone in her apartment, and working out a system of untraceable signals, they had planned against the situation in which Laurie now found herself.

  Although Laurie saw a figure on a motorcycle come from one of the side-streets ahead of her, she ignored him. Even his rather unconventional dress did not strike her as significant. All that mattered to her was that he was not a badge-bandit. [xiv] Passing from the pool of light thrown by a street lamp which had escaped damage by vandals, she gave thought to her escape from the following peace officers.

  The two deputies did not share the little blonde’s disinterest in the man on the motorcycle. In fact it could be truthfully claimed that he handed them one of the worst shocks of their lives as he entered the circle of light.

  ‘My god!’ Alice gasped.

  ‘Psycho One to U.C.!’ Brad snapped into the radio and his voice throbbed with emotion.

  ‘U.C. by,’ the blonde deputy answered.

  ‘Joan!’ Brad went on. ‘The Owlhoot’s on the street ahead of us!’

  ‘Repeat!’ Amazement rang in Joan Hilton’s voice.

  Looking at the figure in front of them, Alice and Brad knew their eyes had not played tricks on them. Mounted on a trail motorcycle, he was tall, slim, clad in a low-crowned, wide-brimmed black Stetson, calfskin vest, open-necked shirt, Levis pants and high-heeled boots. More than that. Around his waist was a gunbelt which, even from their position behind him, the deputies could see carried a white-handled revolver with a long barrel in its holster.

  ‘So help me, Joan,’ Brad replied. ‘It’s the truth. The Owlhoot’s on the street ahead of us. Zingel’s just passed him. What the hell are we going to do?’

  Ten

  Inadvertently Laurie solved the deputies’ dilemma for them. Once through the light, she reached to the convertible’s dashboard. Throwing the switches, she darkened her vehicle. A turn on the steering wheel, pressure on the accelerator, and the little car shot across the road into the even deeper blackness of a side alley. Halting the convertible, she killed its motor and twisted around in her seat. First the man on the motorcycle went by, then the Oldsmobile followed. The deputies had not noticed her make the turn. By the time they realized what had happened and started to check back, she would be gone.

  Grinning in wild delight and excitement, Laurie started the engine and set the car moving.
She passed along the alley, across the next street, between two more buildings and turned right beyond them. Looking back, she almost screeched in elation at finding that no car came after her.

  What Laurie did not know was that the transmitter clinging to the forward right fender of her car sent out a signal that allowed the peace officers to follow even though they were not in sight. Nor did she pay sufficient attention to a vehicle which came from a side-street. She noticed it briefly in passing and dismissed it as of no importance. All the deputy cars she had seen, including that used by Joan Hilton and Sam Cuchilo, had been distinctively-colored Oldsmobiles. So she failed to connect the plain black Plymouth hardtop with the law. Even its occupants gave her no clue to their identity. They had changed from their uniforms after leaving Euro-Tex. Joan wore a gray sweater and slacks, while Cuchilo dressed in a leather windcheater, tee-shirt, jeans and hunting boots. With his Smith & Wesson .41 Magnum revolver concealed beneath his jacket, Cuchilo had nothing to show his official standing. Although Joan had her Pete Ludwig shoulder-bag along, it rested on her knees. She kept the Voice Commander radio held low on seeing the convertible ahead.

  ‘Got her, Joan—’ Cuchilo growled, face impassive but eyes glinting with the excitement of the chase. At that moment he looked more Indian than ever. Not just Indian, but Comanche; a Nemenuh, one of the People, the nation of savage warriors who had once ranged over and ruled most of Texas.

  ‘Keep well back,’ the blonde counseled. ‘Damned if you don’t look like a Kweharehnuh [xv] buck on a scalp hunt.’

  ‘Huh, paleface!’ Cuchilo grunted. ‘Us Comanches had the best idea. Used to keep women where they belonged, in tipi not on war-trail.’

  Despite the comments, which served to take the tension out of the situation, Cuchilo and Joan kept their attention on the work at hand. They watched Laurie’s convertible draw away from them.

  When the Plymouth made no attempt to keep behind her, Laurie forgot it. By that time the red-headed deputy and her partner would know for sure that they had lost the convertible. They would be radioing for assistance from other peace officers. Not that she cared, for she rapidly approached the rendezvous. Within five minutes she would be safe.