Race with Death

by Gilbert, Morris

  Dani had been so excited and deep in thought that she had forgotten Tommy. She saw the fear in his eyes and impulsively moved forward and put her arm around his shoulder. “No, Tommy, you won’t go to jail.” His shoulders felt thin, and he was still afraid, she knew.

  “I’ll be sure that nothing like that happens,” she said.

  “You promise?”

  “Yes, I promise.” Dani saw the relief wash over his face, and added quickly, “It may be that you’ll have to tell the police or a judge. But I’ll be right there with you, telling them how it was.”

  Tommy gulped and expelled a deep breath. “I ain’t slept good since I took it. I wanted to give it to the police—but I was too scared.”

  Dani smiled at him sympathetically. “We all get scared when we don’t do the right thing, Tommy.”

  “You, too?” The boy was shocked at this confession. “Really?”

  “Yes, really.”

  Her confession seemed to give Tommy some relief, and he nodded. “I feel better now. Sure am glad you came along!”

  “I’m glad, too, Tommy. Now, I’m going to take this with me, all right?”

  “Sure. You gonna see if it’s a clue about who killed that lady?”

  “Yes, I am. And when I find out, I’ll come back and tell you about it.”

  “Will you for sure?”

  “For sure! And then you might have to tell about how you found it.”

  “But you’ll tell them about it, won’t you?”

  “Yes, I’ll be right there. Now, don’t talk about this to anyone, all right, Tommy?”

  “No, I won’t, honest!”

  Dani took out her handkerchief, wrapped the lighter carefully in it, then said, “I’ll be going now. Thank you for trusting me, Tommy.”

  She left then—remembering to take the fish out of the trunk. On the way back, as the Cougar bucked and plunged over the ruts, she was thinking of what a difference this might make to Eddie Prejean.

  When she reached the main highway, she stepped on the gas. Got to find out who made this lighter. It looks like a custom job. Can’t be too many of them around. And if I can find a “Skip” or a “Lila”—that’ll be enough to force the Governor to postpone the execution!

  And she was thanking God—for boys that fished beside the road!

  12

  Two Tough Men

  * * *

  Downtown Baton Rouge, Dani thought as she plugged a parking meter with three quarters, is one of the most beautiful and tasteful inner cities in America. Huge live oaks lined many of the streets, lending a gracious air to the scene.

  But as she walked down the sidewalk toward the police station, she thought, Too bad there’s nobody here to enjoy the downtown. They’ve all gone to Cortana Mall. It was a regret to her, for she disliked malls and liked the variety of businesses found downtown. But Americans had voted malls in and downtowns out—and no city in America had succeeded in reversing the trend. Not much use traveling across the country—it’s all the same, no matter if you’re in Conway, Arkansas, or New York City: JC Penney, Sears Roebuck, and B. J. Dalton’s Bookseller are in the mall.

  She spoke to Sergeant Williams, who’d given her directions earlier, asking to see one of the detectives who’d handled the Cory Louvier case.

  Williams, a short, heavyset man of forty with a new set of false teeth that were not seated so far, grunted, “Lieutenant Catlow—second floor.”

  Dani located the lieutenant by pushing open a door marked Detectives and found Catlow sitting at a green metal desk in one of the small offices, across from another officer. Both men looked up when Dani walked in. When she asked, “Lieutenant Catlow?” the smaller officer nodded. “I’m Catlow.”

  “My name is Dani Ross.”

  Instantly the room grew tense, or in any event, the larger man began to bluster. “You the PI from New Orleans Savage works for?”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “I’m Lou Oakie,” the big man said, his eyes narrowing. “You come to cry over your baby boy’s getting his lumps?”

  “No, I’m here about another matter,” Dani said evenly. Ignoring Oakie, she turned to the smaller man, saying, “Lieutenant Catlow, you handled the Cory Louvier case?”

  “Yeah, I was on it.”

  “Could you give me a few minutes?”

  Catlow’s sleepy gray eyes sharpened. “Sure. Have a seat.”

  As Dani sat down, Oakie got up and came over to stand at Catlow’s desk. “What’s a good-looking dame like you doing hiring a wimp like Savage for?” He let his eyes run over Dani, grinned, and added, “You might even get a real man like me if you play your cards right.”

  “Lou, go over to Baker and run that guy Mattox down. Get a statement from him—but no rough stuff.”

  Anger brought a flush to Oakie’s face, and Dani thought he was going to give the smaller officer trouble—but when Catlow lifted his eyes and fixed them on Oakie, the big detective muttered, “Okay!” He grabbed his coat and left the office, slamming the door behind him.

  “Cup of coffee?” Catlow asked, and when Dani nodded, he got up and poured two cups from the Mr. Coffee machine—one of the first models ever made, Dani guessed. The result was better than she expected, for the coffee was not too strong and was not laced with chicory. When she commented on this, Catlow grinned slightly. “Can’t stand that stuff,” he commented. Leaning back, he considered Dani for a moment, then asked, “What’s your interest in the Louvier case, Miss Ross?”

  Dani gave him a straightforward account of how she’d gotten involved with Eddie Prejean, leaving out nothing. She omitted only Tommy Cohoon’s part in the investigation, and finally shrugged, saying, “It’s getting pretty late, Lieutenant. If anyone’s going to help Prejean, it’ll have to be soon.”

  Catlow asked idly, “Nobody’s paying you for this?”

  “No. This is on my own.”

  “You do a lot of charity work?”

  Dani felt uncomfortable under Catlow’s careful eyes. “Well—I’ve never done anything like this before.” When he said nothing, she added defensively, “I like the young man, Lieutenant. I felt that there was at least a possibility that he might be innocent.”

  “Never met a guilty man in the slammer,” Catlow grunted. He sipped his coffee thoughtfully, then observed, “They all scream that they’re innocent. Of if they were caught standing over the body with a smoking gun, they say the devil made them do it—or that they were temporarily insane—or that their mama didn’t get them a bicycle.” There seemed to be more fatigue than anger in Catlow, as though he’d given up any attempts to make sense out of the world.

  “I know, Lieutenant,” Dani nodded. “I run into it all the time. There’s not much justice, is there?”

  “Not a lot.”

  Dani hesitated, then smiled with a trace of embarrassment. She made an attractive picture to the policeman, who was accustomed to facing much cruder types in the chair across from his desk. He was a cynical man, having lost his innocence in Vietnam, and had not recovered much faith in his years with the department. He’d dealt with many Pi’s and had found most of them to be of average honesty and competence—but there was something about the young woman who faced him that he couldn’t find a pigeonhole for. She didn’t fit any of the categories he’d arranged in his mind, and he said, “I get the feeling you’re not telling me everything. You in love with this Prejean guy?”

  “Oh, no! I’d never met him before he sent for me.” Dani hesitated, not sure if she should speak the truth, then decided that it would do no harm. “I suppose you’ll think this is pretty wild, Lieutenant—” she lifted her clear gray-green eyes to meet his, then added, “I feel that God wants me to help Eddie Prejean.”

  Catlow’s sleepy eyes opened wide, for he had expected anything but this. He’d had his moments with would-be messiahs, none of them pleasant. He sipped his coffee to gain time, then said, “Well, I guess Eddie’s going to need help from God if he stays out of the chair.” It was
an observation made to create time for him to think, to consider the woman more carefully, and when she made no other remark, he said, “You really think God’s told you to help Prejean?”

  Dani wanted very much to make the policeman understand. She had always felt uncomfortable when someone said to her, “God told me to do this.” Now she longed to make Catlow understand, but felt inadequate for the job. “I know how it sounds, Lieutenant,” she said quietly, her hands folded in her lap. The sun from the window struck tiny reddish gleams from her hair, some of which turned gold as she moved her head.

  “I never heard a voice,” she murmured. “I’ve never heard anything from God that could be caught on a tape recorder. That’s what makes this thing so hard to explain.” She cocked her head to one side and smiled. “I don’t suppose you’re an Emily Dickinson fan? No? Well, she has this little poem that sort of sums it up:

  I never saw a moor,

  I never saw the sea,

  Yet know I what the heather is

  And what a wave must be.

  I never spoke with God,

  Or visited in Heaven—

  Yet certain am I of the spot

  As though a chart were given!

  Catlow moved his head slightly, nodding in approval. “Now that’s a good poem. Even an illiterate cop like me can understand it!”

  Dani was encouraged by this. “It is fine, isn’t it? I just think that we were made by God, and it would be strange if after making us, he didn’t let himself be heard from at times.”

  Catlow said unexpectedly, “My old man was a Baptist preacher.”

  Surprised, Dani stared at him. “Really?”

  “Yeah. Poor as a church mouse,” Catlow nodded. He picked up a Bic pen, balancing it thoughtfully on the tip of his index finger, then said with a frown, “When I got to be big enough, I decided he was the world’s biggest flop. Always talking about God—how good he was. And here we ate white gravy and stale bread for weeks at a time! Made no sense to me, so I got out as soon as I was sixteen. Then the army, and I saw enough in Nam to kill off any ideas of God’s mercy.”

  He tossed the pen down, rose in a sudden movement, and went to stand at the window, his back to her. When he spoke, there was a strange note in his voice, one that Dani couldn’t quite identify. “Yeah, I had it all figured out. I’m a pretty smart fellow, Miss Ross. None of that God stuff for me. I wanted more than white gravy and stale bread.”

  Dani made no answer, for she’d learned long ago that it was impossible to argue a man into believing in God. The thing was not a matter of intellect, but of the spirit. Academic methods could build a bridge, but they could not change a person’s heart.

  Catlow swung around, his mouth twisted in an expression of sadness. “Yeah, I had it all figured out. But the thing was—I’ve never come up against a guy as good as my old man.” He slumped down in his chair, took a swig of the black coffee, then looked at Dani with sadness clouding his eyes. “He wasn’t smart, but he never broke his word in his life. He never had much, but he worked his tail off to do the best he could for us kids and Mom. And when he died, he went out smiling and praising God.”

  “He sounds like a fine man,” Dani said quietly. “Like my own father.”

  Catlow moved restlessly, then said, “And he always said things like, ‘The Lord wants us to move to Mississippi’—stuff like that. I never believed it for a minute—not then.” He put the cup down, locked his thin fingers together, and stared at them, adding softly, “I’ve thought a lot about my old man lately. Maybe I’m the sucker, not him.”

  “We get a different view of things as we get older—some of us, anyway,” Dani said sympathetically

  “Yeah, I guess so.” Catlow tried to smile, then said, “So God’s told you to help Prejean. What can I do?”

  “Did you ever hear of anyone connected with the case named ‘Skip’ or ‘Lila’?”

  “No.”

  “Did the ruby ring Cory always wore ever turn up?”

  Catlow’s eyes narrowed in thought, then he shook his head. “Doesn’t ring a bell.”

  Dani took the cigarette lighter out of her purse and handed it to Catlow. “Have you ever seen this before?”

  Catlow took the lighter, examining it carefully. “No. I’ve never seen it. Pretty fancy lighter.” He struck a light, studied the yellow flame, then clicked it shut. “I take it this has something to do with the murdered woman?”

  “I—I can’t be sure, Lieutenant,” Dani said, “but could you find out if any of the police officers who were at the site where the victim was found had a lighter like this?”

  Catlow frowned, two lines making vertical creases between his eyebrows. “Hard to escape the conclusion that this came from that area. But we scoured that ground with a fine-tooth comb. I went over a lot of it myself. How’d you come by it?”

  “I can’t say at this time,” Dani answered. “It involves another person.”

  “We could call a thing like this withholding evidence.”

  “If we can find out that none of your people had such a thing,” Dani said quickly, “there’s a good chance it belonged to the murderer. And if necessary, my witness will step forward and testify.”

  Catlow studied Dani carefully for a long moment. The only sound in the room was the humming of the electric clock on a walnut shelf affixed to the wall. Dani knew that Catlow had the right to throw her out—or to give her problems about concealing evidence. She found herself breathing shallowly, and her lips felt dry.

  “Okay, I’ll ask around,” Catlow said brusquely, then grinned as a look of relief washed across Dani’s face. “Had you worried, didn’t I?”

  “Yes, you did. I know I’m on shaky ground, Lieutenant.”

  “Call me Riley,” he nodded. He leaned back in his chair, his thin face thoughtful and relaxed. “I asked myself what my old man would have done, and it didn’t take too long to figure that one out.” He stared at the lighter, then said, “I doubt it belongs to any of our guys. You got any thoughts about tracing it?”

  “It’s a special job, maybe one of a kind,” Dani answered. “It looks like it was made from a real shell.”

  Catlow nodded. “Yeah, it’s a Winchester thirty aught six, 180 grain powder, probably. Big enough for a deer or even a bear, I guess.”

  “A woman gives a man a lighter made from a bullet used for hunting,” Dani murmured. “Our man may be a hunter.”

  “You big-time PI’s are pretty sharp,” Catlow nodded with a grin. Then he sobered, adding, “Like hunting for a needle in a haystack if this thing isn’t made by a regular manufacturer. I can find out about that with a few calls—but I’m pretty sure it’s a one-time thing.”

  “I’ll go to a few stores,” Dani said. “Maybe some of them will be able to tell us something about the engraving, or maybe they’ll know who does specialty work like this on lighters.”

  “Better bring it back and leave it here—or at least put it in a safe place.”

  Dani smiled and got to her feet. Putting out her hand she said, “I’m very grateful for your father, Riley. He did me a big favor.”

  The policeman stared at her. “You think he might know about stuff like this?”

  Dani felt the pressure of his hand and returned it. “We are not unseen, Riley. I feel that very strongly. And somehow I think you’re going to do something with your life that’s going to make your father shout with joy.”

  Catlow released her hand and stood there, an odd expression on his face. “I’d like that a lot,” he murmured quietly. “I didn’t give him much to shout about when he was around. Be good if I could make up for that a little bit.”

  Dani left the station, happier than she had been for several days. The way ahead was still rocky and dark, but it always started some little bells ringing when she saw someone start a pilgrimage toward God—and she felt certain that Riley Catlow was making those initial steps that would bring him to Christ.

  She found a phone book, wrote down five add
resses of jewelers, the ones with the biggest ads in the yellow pages who also were specialists in inscriptions, and went out to her car. It was two-thirty, and by the time she’d covered three of the stores, she was discouraged. The jewelers had all been polite, but she thought wryly, Whoever saw an impolite jeweler. And they had been no help at all.

  She got lost finding the next shop, and was not encouraged to find that, despite the large ad, Blanchard’s Jewelry Store was a small, rather dingy shop on Government Street. That particular street was in the twilight years of business—having some fine stores, but also having many empty buildings with For Sale or Lease signs posted on the windows. She almost passed it by, then decided it would take too long to go to the next address.

  As she parked the Cougar, she spotted a group of young men grouped in front of a used furniture store next to Blanchard’s. Carefully she locked the car, and, ignoring the whistles and raw invitations that came from the group, entered the store.

  There were no other customers, and for one moment she thought there was no one at all in the store. Then a tall, thin man with only a rim of white hair around a rosy scalp stood up from behind a counter at the rear. He stared at her oneeyed, with a jeweler’s eyepiece fixed to the other eye. Slowly he rose, and in so doing reminded Dani of one of the blue herons she saw at the beach or in the bayous. He had the same stoop-shoulders and thin neck, and when he moved, he even moved his head forward and back as they did. She expected him to remove the eyepiece, but he kept it in place, staring at her with one black eye.

  “What can I do for you?” he asked, his voice as thin and reedy as his body.

  Dani removed the lighter from her purse and handed it to him. “I’m trying to find out something about this,” she said.

  Mr. Blanchard—for Dani assumed he was the owner—took it with a hand that seemed filled with bony fingers. They matched the rest of him—the long legs and arms, the face, the neck—all were longer than seemed necessary. She watched while he examined the lighter. He finally looked up and asked, “You want to sell it?”