He took the bottle of scotch and uncapped it, then took a quick swig. He handed it back to Charlie. “You wait here,” he said.
He opened the door quietly and stepped out. He pulled out a cigar and clipped it, then lit it. When it was well lit, he walked softly back toward the pump house, but angling off to the right. About thirty feet away and well to the right of the door well, he took up a position next to a mature pine tree. It gave him excellent cover. He stood and waited, puffing occasionally on the cigar. He hoped this wouldn’t take long. Charlie was almost bound to alert the troopers out front if Mulheisen didn’t return soon. He was counting on the hidden fugitive realizing that a quick move was in order.
As he’d expected, he hadn’t long to wait. First there was a soft scrape as the door was opened. Mulheisen cupped the cigar to hide the glow of the lit tip and drew out the .45 that Wunney had given him. In a moment, the head of a man appeared above the rim of the door well. In the darkness, Mulheisen could not identify him, but he appeared to have a full head of black or dark hair. If it was Joe, Mulheisen hoped he wasn’t foolish enough to shoot first.
The man crept up the stairs. He didn’t appear to be armed, or at least no weapon was evident. At the top of the stairs, the man moved around the pump house in a crouch, toward the river—away from Mulheisen.
Mulheisen stepped quickly toward him, using the roof of the pump house for cover. The roof was low enough that Mulheisen was able to look over it when he got close.
Captain Hook was crouched beyond, his back to Mulheisen, peering intently toward the house. Mulheisen leaned on the roof of the pump house, resting his hand on the ridge and holding the .45 in plain sight.
“Stay still,” Mulheisen said quietly.
Hook spun around. His face was smeared with soot. When he realized who it was, he straightened up and lifted his arms slowly.
“I am unarmed,” Hook said. He smiled wryly. “So I was right. You are not a retired policeman.”
“You have the right to remain silent,” Mulheisen said.
Fifteen minutes later, Wunney arrived.
When Hook had been bundled away in a trooper’s car, Wunney and Mulheisen stood in the yard, talking. Mulheisen said, “I wonder if these warrants will work on Tucker.”
“What an interesting idea,” Wunney said. He sniffed the night air. “Love the smell of pines, even when they’re a little scorched. When I got the call, I figured you had run your faithful hound to ground. But Hook’s better. I guess Joey tucked his tail between his legs and ran, probably as soon as you said you were on your way.”
“Think so?” Mulheisen looked around. “He’s a wary pup, for sure. But he’s no man’s dog.”
No Man's Dog Page 35