Race with Death

by Gilbert, Morris

  Dani eyed the bridge nervously, for the bulk of the boards that made up the structure had warped so badly that the ends had wrenched the spikes free. On the far side of the bridge, she saw that the road forked, and remembering the instruction she’d received, “Take the right fork, the one less travelled,” brought the line by Frost to her mind: Two roads diverged in a yellow wood. . . . I took the one less travelled by.

  Carefully she eased the Cougar over the bridge and was relieved when she reached the other side. Just as the rear tires rolled off the rough planks, she caught a glimpse of movement to her left. Instantly she turned her head, leaned forward, and reached back for the .38 she wore.

  But she relaxed at once, for what she had seen was a young boy, no more then ten or twelve years old. He was sitting on the stump of what had been a huge tree, watching her carefully. He held a long cane pole, and a red and white cork bobbed rhythmically in the dark water to the beat of the small stream.

  Dani hesitated, then stopped the car. Cutting off the engine, she got out and walked to the side of the road, then spoke casually. “Catching any fish?”

  The boy was very dark of skin, and had the blackest possible hair. He was not, it seemed, much of a talker, for instead of answering Dani, he reached down and pulled up a cord stringer that held ten or twelve fat sunfish.

  “My, that’s a nice stringer!” Dani exclaimed. “What bait are you using—worms?”

  “Crickets, mostly.” The dark eyes were curious, and after a moment’s pause, the boy added, “The little ‘uns steal the worms. When you get a bite on a cricket, it’s usually a keeper.”

  At that instant, the colorful cork disappeared with a sudden plop! The boy’s head swiveled quickly, and he gave the pole a sharp twitch to sink the hook. The line ran frantically across the water, jerking spasmodically. The youthful fisherman, however, played the fish skillfully, his face intent and filled with pleasure. He let the fish run, then lifted the pole sharply. A flash of red and gold and green flickered from the huge redear sunfish. With an easy movement, the boy swung the fish toward him, caught it with one hand, expertly avoiding the sharp fins, and dropped the pole. Carefully, he took the hook out, then reached down and pulled up the bulging stringer. As he slipped the fish onto the stringer and lowered it back into the water, he nodded with satisfaction. “That ’un was a real pole bender!”

  “Sure was,” Dani nodded. “You’ve got a nice mess of fish. How does your mother cook them?”

  “Ma’s dead,” the boy announced. “Me and Pa, we cook this kind whole. Give ’em a good coat of cornmeal and drop ’em in hot grease.” He seemed to be in no hurry to resume fishing, and turned to face Dani. He was, Dani thought, probably a Cajun. “You lost?” he asked curiously.

  “No, I’m not lost,” Dani smiled. “Well—maybe a little. Did you ever hear of Daniel Boone?”

  “Course I did!”

  “Somebody asked him once if he’d ever been lost. He said, ‘No—but I was pretty confused once for three days.’” Dani shook her head, smiling. “I’m looking for a place, but I’m not sure where it is. Do you know this road?”

  “Sure. Me and Pa live just half a mile from here.” He studied her, then asked, “You looking for the place where the lady was killed?”

  Dani was surprised. “Yes. How’d you know that?”

  “Lots of people came down here right after it happened. Police and reporters, mostly. Some people came just to see it.”

  “Can you tell me where it is?”

  “I guess so.” He hesitated, then added, “My name is Tommy Cohoon.”

  “I’m Dani Ross.”

  “You a reporter?”

  “No, Tommy. I’m a private detective.”

  The dark eyes widened, then grew careful. “For real?”

  “For real.”

  The boy got to his feet and walked over to stand closer. He wore only a pair of faded jeans and a thin blue cotton shirt despite the cool air. “I’ll show you where it happened,” he volunteered.

  “I’d appreciate that, Tommy. But what about your fish?”

  “Aw, nobody’s gonna bother them fish,” he shrugged. He was a handsome boy with a thin face and fine features. “Do you have a gun like the detectives on TV?”

  “Sure do.” Dani had long ago discovered that children always asked this question. She thought it was unhealthy, the interest they had in weapons, but had more or less given up trying to fight the trend. Reaching behind her, she pulled the .38 from the holster at the small of her back, and held it up for Tommy to see.

  As she had expected, his eyes fixed on it with an intensity she had not seen in him. “Gosh!” he whispered. “Can you shoot it?”

  Dani was enjoying the small moment of triumph. “Well, I’ve had a good teacher, Tommy, but I’m still learning.”

  Tommy looked around at the landscape, then spotted something. “Can you hit that beer can over there?”

  Dani spotted a silver beer can on the bank of the stream, caught in some weeds. “I don’t know, Tommy,” she said. She had fired the .38 regularly when she’d first gotten it. Then after being forced to shoot a man in defense of one of her clients, she’d hated the sight of the weapon. But as months had passed, the guilt had slowly faded. Now she looked at the gun, thinking of how hard it had been even to wear it for a time.

  As much to prove to herself that the gun was no longer a threat as to please the boy, she swung the muzzle up, gripping the .38 with both hands as Ben had taught her. When the sight leveled on the silver can, she squeezed the trigger. The glade was filled, it seemed, with the explosion, and the .38 kicked back in her hand. She smelled the acrid odor of burning gunpowder, then saw the can flying out of the water. It hit the bank and rolled a few feet. She could see the jagged hole the slug had torn through the thin metal.

  “Gosh!” Tommy breathed as he stared at the can. Turning his face toward her, he said in awe, “You really can shoot!”

  “Oh, I’m just fair, Tommy,” Dani disclaimed. “You should see my friend, Ben Savage, shoot.”

  But Tommy had seen enough. He watched her put the .38 away, then said, “I wish I had a gun and could shoot like that!”

  It was a sore point with Dani, for she basically didn’t like guns, and she was totally convinced that the fixation that most young boys had for guns was not healthy. However, she muffled her impulse to give the boy a lecture on the danger of firearms. He wouldn’t listen anyway—not after I’ve shown off like a real member of the Gunlover’s Association!

  “Why don’t you get in the car, Tommy?” she asked. “I don’t want to get lost in these woods.”

  “Sure!”

  Dani smiled as the boy scrambled up on the road, then plopped himself down beside her. She thought vaguely of a lecture about taking rides from strangers, but abandoned that one at once. She started the car, and as they bounced along the corduroy road, she drew the boy out. He was, she discovered, a very bright young man indeed. His grammar was rough, but his speech itself was spiced with Cajun expressions that made it richer than most. She thought of Emerson’s essay on language, in which he said that country people speak a much richer speech than city dwellers.

  Tommy told her about the finding of the girl who’d been killed, and Dani perceived that it had been the highlight of his life. Nothing like that happened in the backwoods where the boy lived, and she discovered that he’d been on the site almost as soon as the police. She also found out that he’d almost taken up residence on the scene during the investigation.

  Tommy told the story of how he’d seen the police cars come down the road early in the afternoon. His dark eyes glowed as he related how he’d followed them and watched them find the car. He described how they’d gone over it, and how more cars had come. Then he said, “They tried to keep folks away, but I hid in the woods and watched. Climbed a big ol’ pin oak, me! And I seen ’em when they dug her up!”

  Dani felt a wave of revulsion as the boy described the grisly details of the recovery
of Cory Louvier’s body. She knew that young people had an active interest in death, that they were driven by an avid curiosity—and now she listened carefully. The boy was matter of fact about the episode, giving the details without any sign of disgust.

  Just as he was ending his tale, he said, “There—that’s where the car was. Right by that big ol’ cypress.”

  Dani stopped beside what seemed to be the backwaters of a swamp on one side of the road. The area Tommy pointed out, as they got out of the car and walked around, was part of the road apparently used by loggers as a spot to pile the logs for loading onto the trucks. The logging, evidently, had taken place some years ago, for saplings had taken root and were now shoulder high in the area. The ground was rutted still, for in damp weather, the trucks and dozers had torn the earth into small canyons. But time and weather had done much to level the ground, so that now a car could get through in dry weather.

  “This is it,” Tommy announced. He led Dani to a spot underneath twin cypress trees, and turned to face her as he pointed at the ground. “The car was right here—but it was wet then, so it was stuck. They had to git a wrecker in to winch it out and haul it off.”

  Dani stared at the spot, but had no idea what to do next. I wish Ben or Luke were here, she thought suddenly. They’d know what to look for.

  She was aware that Tommy was watching her expectantly, and knew she had to do something. “Think I’ll just look around, Tommy.”

  “Looking for clues?”

  “Yes.” Dani walked around the site, glad that she’d changed into jeans and a soft cotton shirt at a rest room. She’d exchanged her high heels for low quartered walking shoes, and thought how ridiculous she’d have looked trying to walk around in the mud. Cigarette butts and empty soft drink cans littered the ground, but what use were they? As she walked aimlessly around, she stopped from time to time to pick up a paper, more to convince Tommy that she was a detective than for any legitimate reason.

  Finally she could see no reason to bluff any longer, but at that moment Tommy said, “Wanna see where they found her?”

  Dani did not want to see that particular spot, but nodded. “Is it far?”

  “Nah—just over in that thicket.”

  Dani followed the boy through saplings, getting scratched by some briars in the process. Once Tommy pushed a branch forward, and when he released it, it caught her full in the face. With one eye weeping, she pushed her way through the thicket, coming to stand beside Tommy, who waved his hand dramatically at a small open spot. “That’s it—right there. See the hole? She was right in there.”

  A grisly vision of the young woman’s body rose in Dani’s mind. She tried to avoid it, but staring down at the slight depression, she could not completely ignore the facts of the homicide. Aware that Tommy was watching, she shook her head. “I guess the police looked at everything pretty closely.”

  “Oh, yeah, they messed around here a long time,” Tommy nodded.

  Dani went through the motions of looking around, but soon said, “Well, I guess that’s it, Tommy.”

  When the two of them were clear of the thicket, she said, “Hop in. I’ll take you back to your fishing hole.”

  On the return trip, Dani was depressed. The trip had been fruitless and she had no idea why she’d come in the first place. What could she have been thinking she’d do that the police hadn’t?

  Tommy asked suddenly as they approached the bridge, “Do you have any little boys?”

  Dani laughed. “No, I don’t, Tommy. But one day I hope I’ll have two or three—just like you!”

  She stopped the car, but he didn’t get out. “Well, thanks for your time,” Dani smiled. “Hope you catch lots more fish.”

  Tommy sat still, and Dani was puzzled by the expression on his face. He looked troubled, and she asked, “What’s the matter, Tommy?”

  “Well—” The boy squirmed in his seat, his head down as he stared at the floor. He halted his speech, and finally lifted his head to give her a troubled look. “I think I done a bad thing—and I’m afraid I’ll go to jail if I tell.”

  Startled, Dani blinked at the boy, then said, “Oh, Tommy, I’m sure you haven’t done anything so very bad.”

  “I didn’t mean to,” he said quickly. He bit his lower lip, and Dani had the wisdom to say nothing. She saw that he was in the throes of making a hard decision and felt that pressure could only confuse him. She sat patiently, wondering what the boy could be hiding.

  Finally, Tommy came to a decision. “Miss Ross, will you not tell on me if I tell you something?”

  Dani wanted to assure him, but had learned that honesty is best with children—or with anyone, for that matter! Carefully she said, “I can’t quite promise that without knowing what it is, Tommy. It might be something I’d have to tell—for your own good, maybe.” She saw his lips grow tight, then put her hand on his shoulder, which was tense as a board. “But I’ll help you all I can. No matter what it is, I’ll stand by you, Tommy.”

  His dark eyes came up to meet hers, and she saw the relief come into his face. “Well, all right,” he said. “You’ll have to go to my house.”

  “All right. You tell me the way.”

  She put the fish in the trunk and he hid the pole behind a tall pine tree, then they both got back into the car. All the way, as Dani drove slowly toward the almost invisible fork that Tommy pointed out, she wondered what the boy was so troubled about. She spoke about the woods, getting him to talk so that he wouldn’t let fear make him change his mind.

  The house was set back under some tall pines—a weather-beaten cabin that had never known a drop of paint. Dani stopped the Cougar, and when they were walking up to the house, she asked, “Is your father here?”

  “No, he’s working.”

  “Why aren’t you in school, Tommy?”

  He gave her a short look, then answered, “I’m sick. Pa said I needed to stay in for a couple of days.”

  Dani wondered about that but said nothing. Tommy didn’t go into the house. Instead, he took the worn path that led around to the back, stopping in front of a line of rabbit hutches. “These are my rabbits,” he announced. “I raise ’em and sell ’em to people.”

  “Do you? That’s nice to have a job like that.” Dani stuck her finger between the wire of one of the hutches, and at once a fat white doe with startling pink eyes hopped to take a taste of it. She rubbed the silky fur, and said in an admiring tone, “What’s this one’s name?”

  “Marie. I named her after the woman who invented radium. It was in my schoolbook.”

  Dani scratched the doe’s ears, then turned to face Tommy. “What is it you want to show me, Tommy?”

  The boy hesitated, teetering on the brink of a decision. Dani saw the doubt in his eyes, but could not do anything to prove her good faith. Finally Tommy seemed to surrender. “It’s over here,” he said. Dani watched as he opened one of the cages containing a small black rabbit. He reached past the animal into what seemed to be a sleeping compartment and came out with a box in his hand.

  He closed the door of the cage, then held the box carefully as he faced Dani. “This is my treasure box,” he said. “It’s my secret place. I figure nobody will ever figure to look out here in the hutches for anything.”

  “That’s very wise, Tommy,” Dani said, her eyes on the box. It was a cigar box, she noted, tied with a red string. She watched as he untied it, then slowly opened the box. Dani got a glimpse of some bills and silver, some glass marbles, and a small notebook.

  Tommy reached inside and took something out. He closed the box, then held his hand out. “I found this out where the lady was killed,” he whispered.

  Dani felt a sudden lurch in her breast, as if her heart had skipped a beat. She knew that sometimes cases were broken by such small things as this—though not often. She reached out and took the item the boy was holding, then stared at it.

  It was a gold cigarette lighter, she saw, but it was like none she’d ever seen before. She held it up c
arefully, noting that it was shaped like a rifle shell. She didn’t know enough to be able to name the caliber, but Ben would know, or Luke. She could tell that it was too large to be used in a pistol or an automatic.

  “It’s got writin’ on it,” Tommy volunteered.

  “I see that.”

  “It says, ‘To Skip—from Lila’—and it’s got some numbers, too.”

  Dani read the numbers 5-24-91 written in curling script around the base of the shell. The inscription was carefully done, not an amateur job, she realized. She flipped the top to one side, and instantly a flame glowed.

  “It’s pretty neat,” Tommy observed. “My pa, he’s got a cigarette lighter, but you have to roll the little wheel with your finger to make it light.”

  Dani clicked the top back into place, muffling the flame, then studied the lighter. It was a beautiful piece of work—but whose was it?

  “Tell me about this, Tommy.”

  “Well, I seen them when they was bringing the dead woman out, and I wanted to see where she’d been buried. So I snuck in while they was puttin’ her into the truck. They were all going to do that, so I moved real quiet through the bushes—and I seen the hole they’d dug her out of.”

  “What about this?” Dani asked.

  Tommy dropped his eyes and dug into the ground with the toe of his worn sneaker. “I found it,” he muttered.

  “Tommy—where!”

  He glanced up, struck by her tone, and looked scared. “It—it was right there, close to the hole. It was kinda hid by some weeds, but it wasn’t far from the hole.”

  “Did anybody see you?”

  “No!” He shook his head quickly, then added, “I heard them comin’ back, so I run off.”

  Dani stood there, staring at the lighter, thinking hard. It’s possible one of the officers might have dropped it, she thought. But it could have been the killer. I’ll have to find out who made it—

  “Will I have to go to jail, Miss Ross?”