by Vin Packer
twenty-four
He fired three times to be certain.
He watched while Leydecker slumped to the kitchen floor; he had hit him clean and accurately.
Quickly, he wiped his prints from the gun, and with his gloves, placed the gun back in Cloward’s hand, easing out the stick he had put in its place, while he drove Cloward’s corpse to the Leydecker house.
Cloward’s body was slumped across the porch, where Slater had dragged him, the hole in his head still oozing blood, which was smeared across Slater’s overcoat.
He had not wanted to kill Cloward; the gun had gone off in their struggle for possession of it. If he had not killed him, he would be dead, that was certain.
There was not even time to figure everything out, but he felt a certain thrill at his own quick thinking, and his thoughts were still spinning, weaving the story, coming in bullet-like succession. Cloward had insisted on keeping his appointment with Leydecker. Slater had noticed a certain sullenness as he drove him to Leydecker’s. No, he had not even been aware of Cloward taking the gun from his glove compartment; he always carried the gun, target practice… and Slater could see himself standing in the police station, logical and concerned, he had always liked the kid, sent him a Christmas card every year; yes, he would say, he was at my house for dinner… Jen and I… and then, starting down the walk as he went over all of it, he realized he would be put to the test sooner than he had planned… much sooner… Now!
“Mr. Burr?”
“Yes… Is it you, Chayka?”
They came into the circle of light from the street lamp, at the side of Leydecker’s house.
Chayka was out of breath. “I heard a gun. I came running. I was just at the corner.”
“It’s too late,” Slater said. Whoom! But he stayed steady, facing Chayka, letting the pieces fit into place. There, it was coming out, his words, clearly, not a shred of hesitation. “I’m afraid it’s just too late.”
“What happened?”
“Donald Cloward was at my house tonight. He had an appointment with Mr. Leydecker and—” but Chayka did not wait for him to finish. He ran toward the house.
Another lucky break. Slater thought of the blood in his car. He would have to get rid of the blood, and he hurried toward the car, realizing even as he went through the motions, that he could not wipe it away. He would have to explain it away. That was it. Let me just explain; let me just pull myself together and explain… and he leaned against his car, his heart banging against his chest, those crazy, mocking explosions of laughter aggravating his thoughts; oh God, let me just explain it… But there you were, Ted Chayka was walking toward him again, and he felt his nerves rev up, felt himself take hold.
“It’s too late, isn’t it?” he said. There was a sliver’s chance, of course, that Leydecker was still alive… but that sliver was removed with Ted’s answer. “Yes… too late. Do you want to tell me about it, Mr. Burr?”
“Certainly,” Slater said. “I suppose you were to be here at nine-thirty too, hmm?”
“Yes. I was supposed to be here.”
“Well, you’re right on time… Unfortunately we were early.”
“What happened, Mr. Burr?”
“Donald Cloward had this appointment with Leydecker. You know that. I think you delivered the message.”
“Yes.”
“Well, Cloward got nervous. I thought it was nervousness. He wanted to be a little early, he said. Kept asking me if my car could go any faster, you know?” the words were pouring out, easy, natural, and Chayka stood there watching him respectfully, listening. “I let him out. I thought he was a little sullen. I thought I’d wait for a minute and see how things went… Then maybe I’d get a fast one at Rich Boyson’s, and come back for him, if things seemed all right.”
“Yes… Well, we better start on to the police station. You can tell me about it in the car,” Chayka said. “We have to make a report.”
“Certainly. I’m glad to cooperate. There’s blood in my car. After Cloward killed Leydecker, he came running out to me. I said, ‘Donald, you have to turn yourself in. I can’t help you.’ They’d had some sort of argument.” That was bad… the part about blood on Cloward. There were ways of testing blood; that was a mistake. But if the police believed him, would they bother to check? Whoom again; all right, but wait… wait and watch me work this.
Chayka said, “We can take my car. I parked it around the corner.”
“Just leave mine here, hmm?”
“I think that’s best.”
“Certainly… Anything to cooperate.”… Jen… He could call Jen; tell her to pick up the car, wash it with ammonia… no, don’t ask questions; go and get it… meanwhile, he would cooperate.
They walked toward the head of Highland Hill.
Chayka said, “Then Cloward killed Leydecker, is that it?”
“Yes… Then he killed himself. I couldn’t stop him. He ran from my car, back to the porch. He killed himself.”
“I see.”
“He shot him through the window.” God, he had almost forgotten that; good, he had remembered… No, oh, God, it was full of holes. Let me think. Whoom! Whoom!, and in the street light’s amber glow, Carrie’s face, smoke spiraling up, curling around the leer on her face like a snake coiling to spring out at him.
Chayka said, “I made a call to the police.”
“They had a fight, you see. Leydecker ordered him out of the house, or something. I couldn’t understand the kid—he was so hysterical. But I heard them shouting at one another in there.”
“I see… My car’s over there.”
“He shot him through the window, on his way out of the house. I don’t know what was said between them. Did you have any idea what it was all about?”
“No,” said Chayka.
“I told him that he’d have to turn himself in… Well, I guess he took that way out—shooting himself… He ran back, and I heard the gun go off again.”
“Make sure your door’s closed, Mr. Burr,” Chayka said.
“Well, Ted,” said Slater Burr, “it’s pretty horrible, isn’t it? Are there any questions you want to ask?”
“No… I’m off-duty.”
“What did Leydecker want with the kid?”
“I think he just wanted to make sure Buzzy stayed away from Laura.”
“Then that’s probably what the fight was about.”
“Umm hmm.”
They turned onto Genesee, a silence between them for several long minutes, while Slater tried to think it through; no, it was best not to send Jen for the car. Leave the car; if they believed him…
He said, “It sounds pretty unbelievable, doesn’t it, Ted?”
“It’s a strange world, Mr. Burr.”
Good! “Yes, a strange world… You never know what will happen next… Poor kid, though, I feel sorry for him. I even feel sorry for Leydecker, and you know,” a brave little chuckle, “we never got along, Ted. I mean, we weren’t good friends.”
“I know that.”
“But I wouldn’t wish him anything like this. Shot in the back that way.” Oh my God, that was dumb! Whoom! Dumb! He said, “Donald told me he shot him in the back.”
“Umm hmm, well… It’s a strange world.”
He began to get a weak feeling as they pulled in at the police station… a suspicious air of calm enveloped the place as he walked in with Chayka. Chayka pointed to a chair and asked him to wait a moment. He sat down, blood all over his overcoat; explain that by saying he had run back at the gunshot, pulled Cloward to him, hoping the kid was still alive; why every year I sent him a Christmas card—whoom! and now he heard a man’s voice curt with anger. “… don’t just leave two bodies and come running with…” and he caught no more. Mumbling and another angry sound… Slater Burr waited. Then his face broke into a grin. Lieutenant Cheever! He knew Cheever very well; he used to buy Cheever drinks, take him across to Rich Boyson’s when Cheever stopped by the plant. Cheever was okay; good!
&nbs
p; He stood up and smiled at Cheever. “Hello, Lieutenant.”
“Hello, Mr. Burr. I hear there’s been some trouble.”
“Yes. It’s terrible!… There was this shouting argument between Leydecker and Cloward, and… has Ted filled you in? There was this really…”
Cheever interrupted. “Let’s go into my office,” he said.
Slater said, “Yes. Yes, I can help clear the whole thing up, I think.”
“You say you heard Leydecker and Cloward shouting?”
“I should have interceded, but…”
“To the left,” Lieutenant Cheever directed him. Slater smiled at the Lieutenant. It was reassuring to see Cheever, out of it all to see so familiar a face, one he could count on for sympathy, understanding; I thought the world of that kid… no, not too exaggerated. He had killed Carrie, remember, that kid… Watch me work it, Carrie, he thought, and as Cheever beckoned him toward his office, Slater felt a tickle of elation: oh he’d come through, he would… he would.
Then from the far end of the station, a figure hurrying through the door, scrambling like a cat with its tail on fire, toward Slater and the Lieutenant, and Slater stared at another familiar face, oh very, very familiar… The face of Kenneth Leydecker.
That was the biggest whoom of them all.
Table of Contents
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nine
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twelve
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thirteen
fourteen
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fifteen
sixteen
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seventeen
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eighteen
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nineteen
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twenty
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twenty-one
twenty-two
twenty-three
twenty-four