The Running Man

by Ben Benson

  “Yes, sir. He has a sex record. And he’s a hitchhiker.”

  “I’ve seen his file. He also has an alibi on the Somers case.”

  “To my way of thinking, it’s not much of an alibi, Lieutenant. It was his mother who swore he was home at the time of the Somers murder. You know mothers, sir.”

  “Sure. But you’ve nothing to hook him to the murder, either.”

  “No, Lieutenant,” I said. “But he fits it better than anyone else. And we’ve picked up suspects on less.”

  Newpole said nothing for a moment, running his tongue thoughtfully over the stem of his pipe. “This Congdon is young, isn’t he? Nineteen, twenty?”

  “Yes, Lieutenant.”

  “Hard?”

  “Yes, sir. He thinks he is.”

  “It’s a long shot, of course,” Newpole said. “And I hate to jump the gun by picking him up and asking questions. I’d just as soon wait until Mrs. Goodcliffe is well enough to make an identification. Right now she’s under sedation and running a temperature. Might be a day or two before we can talk to her.”

  “What if he’s our man, sir? And what if he decides to run?”

  “I know. But it wouldn’t be wise to pick him up merely on S.P. A suspicion charge is weak and, if he’s a hard baby, all you do is alert him and his lawyer. It helps them set up their defense.” Newpole looked at me. “You’re a little impatient, aren’t you?”

  “I guess I am, Lieutenant.”

  “You can’t always rush into these things. It’s not that simple.”

  “Then what do we do, Lieutenant?”

  Newpole tapped the pipe stem against his teeth. “Well, I think we can put the boy under surveillance. You, Littlefield and Tompkins can watch him until we want him.”

  “Ashendon’s a small town, sir. He’ll spot us.”

  “That can’t be helped. If he’s guilty, he may get nervous, but he won’t be sure. If he’s clean, it won’t bother him. Just keep a loose tail on him. Naturally, if he shows signs of packing and running, you’ve got no course but to pick him up. Otherwise leave him be.”

  “I have a suggestion, Lieutenant,” I said.

  “I’d sure be surprised if you didn’t,” he said mildly. “What is it this time?”

  “There’s a railroad gatetender’s shack near the Congdon house. Danny Tompkins and Bob Littlefield can watch from there. I can handle the rest of it.”

  “What do you mean, you can handle the rest of it?”

  “I can watch him in the open—from the outside. He’s used to seeing me around Ashendon.”

  “Go ahead,” Newpole said. “Set it up. Unless, of course, your boy has already run.”

  But Congdon hadn’t run. When I came into Ashendon that evening, I saw him lounging outside the drugstore, easy and relaxed. I had a qualm then that I was off-base.

  Tompkins started his shift that evening at six. In civilian clothes he sat in the gatetender’s shanty where he had a good view of the Congdon house. He would leave the shanty at dawn. Bob Littlefield would cover the other twelve hours. That was the way it was set up—with me on the outside. It could not have lasted too long. But it did last for the one day until Mrs. Goodcliffe was able to talk.

  In the meantime, George Goodcliffe remained in a coma with a bullet through his head. The doctors were trying to decide if they could safely remove it.

  And ballistics was waiting for the same bullet so that they could make a microscopic comparison with the ones removed from the body of Eugene Somers.

  Chapter 15

  I had it also set up to use my own car. That wasn’t too bad. But the other part wasn’t the easiest thing to do. I had to swallow a couple of times and go down to the lake the following morning to meet Lorelei and her pudgy-faced, platinum-blond, slatternly mother.

  I went there about 9:30 A.M. It wasn’t that Lorelei was so hard to take, even though in the morning her moist blond hair looked too artificial. But I had to play up to the girl and I had no stomach for it and I felt sorry that I was using her.

  It worked pretty well, though. First there was a shriek of surprise when Lorelei saw me, then some raucous laughter. After we chatted a bit, Lorelei and her mother invited me to stay with them for the day. I was invited to lunch, too.

  Sitting on the screened porch overlooking the lake, I said it would be fun if we could invite Karen Morgan and Billy Nesbit over. And maybe even Ernie Congdon and a girl.

  “Have a real ball,” I said. And, because I had a few days’ vacation and the Winchesters were so nice to me, I wanted to start it off by giving a big barbecue for everybody. My treat, of course.

  “Not Ernie Congdon,” Lorelei said, her nose wrinkling. “Him and that Melissa trash—”

  “He’s a friend of Billy’s,” I said. “And you know how things are in a small town. You sort of have to ask Ernie.”

  “Well—” she said, deliberating. “I guess so. I don’t want any hard feelings on account of me. I invited Karen and Billy here yesterday but they couldn’t make it.”

  “Why not?”

  “Billy had to have his car fixed in the morning. It’s that special place in Billerica, you know, for foreign cars.”

  “Did you invite Ernie, too, yesterday?”

  “I never invited Ernie here,” she said. “I’ll go in and phone Karen now. Won’t she be surprised. As soon as I tell her you’re here, they’ll come in a minute.” She stood up and walked toward the inside. At the doorway she stopped and turned around. “If you want to make it a real party, we ought to have a case of beer, too.”

  “Sure.” I grinned. “I’ll get two cases.”

  She disappeared inside the house. I smoked a cigarette and waited. When she came out again, she said she had spoken to Karen and they were all coming.

  I drove into Ashendon and bought all the fixings for the barbecue. While I was there, I went into the drugstore and telephoned the barracks. I asked them to check the Volkswagen garage in Billerica for the time of servicing Nesbit’s car yesterday.

  At twelve-forty-five, Billy Nesbit and Karen arrived in the little Volkswagen, churning up the dust of the dirt road behind them. When they got out of the car and started up the cottage stairs, I saw there was nobody else with them. I knew then I had made a mistake. Ernie Congdon was not under my surveillance as he should have been.

  We met on the screened porch. As the greetings were passed around, Karen looked at me with narrowed eyes. I took Billy away and we went out onto the back lawn. We busied ourselves with the hickory charcoal and got a fire started in the fuel tray under the portable barbecue stand.

  I said to Billy, offhandedly, “Why didn’t you bring Ernie and a girl?”

  He looked at me with complete surprise. “For the simple reason that Ernie wasn’t invited.”

  “I thought Lorelei asked him,” I said casually. “She mentioned she would. What’s the matter, isn’t he around town?”

  “Ernie’s around,” Nesbit said. “But it’ll be a cold day in July when Lorelei invites him.” His eyes were watching me. “All right, old boy. What’s the gag?”

  “Gag? What gag?”

  “This sudden play for Lorelei smells to the heavens.”

  “Why should it?”

  “I could give you several reasons.”

  “Let’s put it this way,” I said. “You did me a favor. Remember the Topp case? You were the one who gave me the tip on the girl hitchhiker.”

  His eyes sparkled. “Don’t tell me my tip helped break the case?”

  “It sure did,” I said. “And they gave me a few days off. I thought we could have some fun together. Not just the three of us. An extra man is like a hole in the head. I don’t mind being with Lorelei, and I thought Karen would like it. A foursome is better than a threesome, isn’t it?”

  He nodded, but the sparkle had faded from his eyes. I knew, from his expression, that wheels were turning inside his head and he wasn’t entirely convinced.

  Next was Karen. She came out to the yard
and backed me into a corner of the fence. She was very angry. “To you this might be a big joke, Ralph,” she said. “But Lorelei might take you seriously.”

  “All it is,” I said, “is a friendly little social call. Why should anyone be serious about it?”

  “Because girls take things differently than boys. It’s not very fair, unless you really like a person. Being together in a group is one thing. But to call on a girl, and to spend the morning alone with her and her mother, is another. It gives a girl ideas.”

  So I confessed my ignorance and made my apology. The Lindsey surveillance plan, so far, was not very effective.

  But the barbecue was a culinary success, and Mrs. Winchester drank eight cans of beer. At first she had been very cheery and effusive with me. But now that Billy Nesbit was around with his easy, gallant manner, I think she looked upon me, in comparison, as rather a lout.

  Afterwards we went swimming in the lake. Mrs. Winchester sat on the screened porch, burping noisily, calling out to us not to go too far out, the lake was tricky. I was uneasy because Lorelei had crossed me up and Ernie Congdon was not near me. And although I knew Littlefield would pick up Congdon at the first signs of flight, I was anxious for the afternoon to end.

  A little later, Billy Nesbit and I floated out to the small raft which was buoyed up by empty steel drums. We climbed onto it and let the water drip off us.

  Billy tilted his head and shook drops from his ear. He said, “I meant to ask you. How are you making out with that case in Easterville?”

  “I don’t know much about it,” I said. “It’s not my case.”

  “Your name was in the Lowell papers, old boy.”

  “They probably mentioned anybody who was around the scene.”

  “That was a nasty one,” he said. “A violent and despicable crime. I’d like very much to break a case like that.”

  “Well, you’ve been very good so far. Maybe you have some ideas on it.”

  His brow wrinkled. “Not yet. But I’ve been thinking about it.”

  The two girls came paddling out to us then. There was the usual horseplay and a lot of water splashing by the kittenish Lorelei, and that ended the conversation.

  The four of us drove back to Ashendon about five in the afternoon, the Volkswagen in the lead, my car following. Lorelei Winchester sat beside me wearing a pink summer frock, because Billy Nesbit was taking us to his country club for supper and dancing.

  I followed the Volkswagen to Grasshopper Lane, where Karen got out. Lorelei went in with her while she changed, and I was to follow Billy Nesbit to his house, where he would put on fresh clothes, too.

  I drove behind the Volkswagen through the square. Outside the town hall I saw Ernie Congdon. He was leaning against the side of the building, smoking a cigarette.

  Ahead of me the Volkswagen stopped. Ernie Congdon flipped his cigarette away, went over to the car and poked his head into the window. From his motions I knew a considerable argument was going on. A few moments later he withdrew his head and looked back at my car. Then he walked over to me.

  “I heard you were out to the lake with the gang,” he said. There was a great anger in him and he had difficulty in controlling his voice. “You’re really getting buddy-buddy.”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “How’d you make out with Lorelei?”

  “All right,” I said. I got ready because, from his manner, I thought there was going to be trouble. I heard the door slam on the Volkswagen. Billy Nesbit got out and headed toward us.

  “I don’t think you made out at all,” Congdon said. “Lorelei is nothing but a cheap tease. She makes a big production with her hot eyes and her hot wiggle, but when you call her bluff she backs away quick.” His eyes were challenging. “If she’s your girl friend, Trooper, you can take that for what it’s worth.”

  I put my hand on the door handle. “She’s not my girl friend,” I said, watching as Billy Nesbit came up. “But I wouldn’t let a cheap punk like you talk that way about any girl.”

  “I can talk any way I goddam please,” he said in a thick, rasping voice, ignoring Nesbit’s warning hand on his shoulder. “No cop is going to tell me what to do.”

  I pushed the door open. “Well, Congdon, you’ve been itching for a scrap and I’m going to accommodate you.”

  Nesbit nudged in and yanked Congdon away. “Cut it out, Ernie.”

  Congdon turned to him. “What’s the matter? You afraid your cop friend is going to get hurt?”

  Nesbit laughed shortly. “Don’t be a fool, old boy. He’s been trained to use his hands. He’ll flip you over and chop you to mincemeat.” His fingers seized Congdon’s shoulder. “Come on, I’ll drive you home.”

  Congdon shook him off, breathing heavily. “I don’t need a ride from you—or your cop friend—or anybody else. I still have two good feet.”

  He turned abruptly and stalked away. I looked out at Nesbit and saw his troubled, worried eyes. I said, “I don’t know about your rehabilitation program, but I don’t think you should have stopped us.”

  “I couldn’t let you fight,” Nesbit said.

  “It wouldn’t have been exactly a fight and it might have cleared the air.”

  “No, let him go. And I’m grateful that you showed restraint.”

  “That was the very end of my restraint,” I said. “I’m afraid, next time, he’s going to get some lumps.”

  “Don’t be too hard on him, Ralph. You see, you’re the law and he doesn’t like the law. He feels uncomfortable when it’s near him. It’s just a complex of Ernie’s and he’ll have to get over it.”

  He went slowly back to his car.

  Chapter 16

  We came into the circular driveway of the Nesbit house, and I parked my car behind the Volkswagen and followed Billy Nesbit up onto the flagstone floor of the portico. There was an old white-haired man in coveralls working on the flower beds. Nesbit waved to him. The man waved back.

  Nesbit pressed the bell button. Inside, the chimes pealed and moments later the door opened. A thin, white-haired woman of sixty stood there. She wore a starched, gray uniform dress.

  “This is Mrs. Fleming, our housekeeper,” Nesbit said to me. “That was Mr. Fleming in the garden. Alice, this is Trooper Ralph Lindsey.”

  She bowed her head and smiled, showing a perfect set of false teeth. “Billy has spoken of you, sir.”

  We went inside. The house was spotless and the walnut woodwork was polished and shiny. But the furniture seemed too heavy, ornate and somber, from the Oriental rugs to the crystal chandeliers which were suspended from the high ceilings.

  “It could be more cheerful,” Nesbit said, as he followed my gaze. “But my father inherited a lot of old heirlooms.”

  “No, the house is very impressive,” I said.

  “Thanks. Come into the bar and I’ll make you a drink before I go up and make a quick change.”

  “No, thanks. I don’t care for a drink.”

  “Then wander around. The house is too big for us. It’s a mausoleum and I hate every inch of it. But you, in a detached, clinical way, might find it even amusing.”

  When he came down the curved, red-carpeted staircase a half-hour later, I was in the library, sitting behind a gigantic mahogany desk, reading Keats from a leather-bound volume.

  He pushed the book ladder away on its rollers as he came to the desk. “You reading poetry, Ralph?”

  “It’s a long time since I’ve read any of this stuff,” I said, closing the volume. “Not since college.”

  “We’re loaded with it here,” he said, waving at the shelves of books that ran from floor to ceiling. “A very cultured family, the Nesbits. My father is an avid collector of first editions. And my mother inherited a lot of books. She was a Cartwright.” A shadow flickered across his face. “I never knew her. She died when I was a baby.”

  “Yes, I know,” I said.

  “Your mother alive, Ralph?”

  “Yes, I’m very lucky.” I stood up. “Billy, you
have some house here. I’ve lived all my life in a little bungalow in Cambridge.”

  “And very happy, too, weren’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s what really counts,” he said. “Shall we go?”

  We left the house and drove in my car through the center of town on the way to pick up Karen and Lorelei. It was 6:30 P.M. now, but, with daylight-saving time, the sun was still high in the west. Outside the drugstore I saw a shiny, black detective sedan. Lieutenant Newpole was behind the wheel, his pipe in his mouth. Lieutenant Gahagan was sitting beside him.

  I stopped my car, turned to Nesbit and said, “Wait a minute, I want to get some cigarettes.” Then I stepped out and crossed the street diagonally in front of the detective sedan. If they did not want me, they would make no move and we would ignore one another. But I had to let them know I was there.

  I had reached the opposite sidewalk when Newpole called out to me.

  Going over to the detective sedan, I leaned in the window. Newpole said, “Somebody with you?”

  “Yes, Billy Nesbit,” I said.

  He looked across the street with interest. “I can’t see him very well. Wouldn’t recognize him, anyway. It’s been fifteen years since I was stationed at Concord.”

  Gahagan said, briefly and without humor, “He’s probably changed, Ed.”

  “Now, listen,” Newpole said to me. “The Goodcliffe case has broken. Mrs. Goodcliffe regained consciousness about an hour ago. She made a picture identification of her assailant. Ernie Congdon, all right.”

  “Yes, sir,” I said, letting my breath out slowly.

  “Where is the boy?”

  “I saw him leave for his house about a half-hour ago, Lieutenant.”

  Newpole took the pipe out of his mouth. “You should have been near him.”

  “Daytime in a small town, Lieutenant. He’d get suspicious if I dogged him too closely. Bob Littlefield is watching the house.”

  “Well, let’s go take the boy,” Newpole said.

  “Yes, Lieutenant.”

  “Get rid of Nesbit first,” Newpole said.