Night Walker

by Donald Hamilton

  “Uhuh. The reports of your husband’s death were greatly exaggerated. By him.” As he said this, it occurred to Young that the woman in his arms was now a married woman again, with a husband very much alive. Somehow this did not seem to change the situation greatly. He said, “Congratulations on being a lousy shot, Mrs. Wilson.”

  She shook her head quickly. “Honey, don’t. It — isn’t funny.”

  He grimaced at this. “You seemed to find it hilarious,” he pointed out. She did not smile. He said, a little annoyed, “Sorry, just kidding.” He turned to the closet and searched through the jumble of clothes until he found a housecoat. It was quilted and too warm for the weather but he did not want to see her again in the soiled negligee that made her look like a tramp, which was the only other garment of the sort he could find. He threw the housecoat on the bed. “You’ve got time to take a shower, if you want to, but make it snappy,” he said. “We’re moving out of here.” He looked down at her for a moment. “That is, if you still want to, now that you’re no longer a murderess.”

  She asked, “Do you — still want me to, David?”

  He said almost stiffly, “Of course. But it’s hardly fair to you, now. There’s no reason you should give up all this to trail along with a — with me.”

  “Give up what, honey? All I have here is a kitchen and some clothes.”

  “You may not have either where we’ll have to go.”

  “I’ll have you,” she said, smiling.

  “That,” he said, “is an item of dubious value. I’m not much of a bargain to anybody, Elizabeth. In fact, certain people probably already figure me a total loss—”

  She smiled. “Honey, that makes two of us. We’ll both be total losses together, hear? Now get out of here so that I can get out of bed... David?” Her last word checked him at the door.

  “Yes?”

  “David, is something wrong? Why did you take off the bandages? Did anything happen while I was asleep?”

  He hesitated. “Yes.” he said. “We had a visitor. With red hair. Elizabeth, what did you do with that uniform?”

  “Uniform?”

  “Yes,” he said impatiently. “The uniform. My uniform, that you told me your husband was wearing when he came here. You said he was strutting around—”

  “Why, what difference — We burned it, honey. In the fireplace. Bob thought it was better, because of the buttons.”

  “And what about the buttons? What happened to them?”

  “Why, we picked them out of the ashes and Bob took them down to the dock and threw them into the river.” She reached for the housecoat and started putting it on as she sat there. “Honey, why? And do you mean to tell me the Decker brat had the nerve to come here again? What did she want, and what did you—”

  Young said, “Darling, it’s a damn good thing you’re no better shot than you are, because you certainly fouled up this operation, you and your medical accomplice. God, to pick a chain that was practically a local landmark to sink the body with! The kid spotted it missing and drew the obvious conclusion; I don’t know whether I managed to talk her out of it or not. Probably she won’t believe the guy’s alive until she sees him; she’s not what you’d call a trusting little soul. And those damn buttons — It seems that friend Henshaw just happened to drop one, darling, and our little red-haired pal found it under the dock. With soot on it! Like an engraved announcement that a uniform had been burned! She waved it triumphantly under my nose, and I don’t blame her. Hell, the doctor might as well have handed her my name, rank, and serial number!”

  Elizabeth was quite pale. “You mean — You mean, she knows?”

  “Knows what?”

  “That — that you aren’t—”

  “Oh, that,” Young said dryly. “You underestimate the kid, Elizabeth. She’s apparently known for days who I’m not. I just want to get the hell out of here before she checks with Washington or Norfolk and figures out who I am. There can’t be too many Naval Officers missing around this area for her to figure out which one of them is me.”

  Elizabeth licked her lips and started to speak. Then, careless of modesty, she jumped out of bed instead.

  “Honey,” she said, “honey, the keys of the station wagon are on the telephone table. You get the bags into the car. I won’t be a minute, hear?”

  She was already dressing when he left the room. When he returned to the house from the garage she came running down the stairs, wearing the pink slacks and sweater of the night before. She stopped in front of him.

  “Yes?”

  “David,” she said, “we’re going to have a wonderful time, aren’t we?” and suddenly she threw her arms about his neck and kissed him hard and urgently. Releasing him at last, she laughed softly at his appearance, brought a crumpled tissue from her pocket, and wiped the lipstick from his mouth, speaking somewhat breathlessly: “It’s nice to be able to do that without worrying about smearing up those stupid bandages... I declare, honey, I’m going to have to get used to you all over again.” She turned him so that she could see his face in the daylight from the door, and touched it lightly with her fingertips. “Your poor face! It must have hurt just dreadfully, but it’s healing up nicely, isn’t it?”

  He was impatient to be gone now, and he listened to her voice in a detached way, as he had responded to her kisses; he seemed to be standing at the head of the stairs watching the two of them. They made a peculiar pair: the big man badly beat up about the head and with a furtive and preoccupied look in his eyes, wearing slightly too-small clothes belonging to someone else; the slim girl breathless and uneasy, her hasty lipstick somewhat streaked now, in light slacks that were a little too tight in the obvious places, as was the thin sweater. The string of pearls was about her neck, and there was today a collection of metal bracelets about her wrist that clashed softly when she moved; it was too much jewelry to wear with slacks that were neither quite clean or particularly well pressed.

  He said abruptly, “Let’s get out of here, darling. We started leaving this place around two o’clock last night, and we’re still here.”

  “David.”

  Her voice checked him again. “Yes?” he said impatiently.

  “David, you love me, don’t you? You wouldn’t—”

  “What?”

  She caught his arm, looking up at him searchingly. “Honey, if you should learn — something about me—”

  Her voice trailed away. He studied her face, and suddenly found himself remembering all the things that she had done: the list that she had destroyed, her midnight expedition with a flashlight, her efforts to keep him from knowing about the boat that had entered the cove the previous night. He remembered also that when she thought she had killed her husband, she had not called the police, although the circumstances — if she had described them correctly — would certainly have justified her action in the eyes of the law. There had been no need for concealment — if she had told all the truth.

  Looking down at her, he realized that there had to be some good reason why she was willing to leave this place which, with all its drawbacks, seemed to offer her a security that she was certainly not going to find with him. She was not a girl you would expect to share the fate of a nameless fugitive for love alone.

  He took her by the shoulders and said, “You were mixed up in it, too? Whatever was going on here. Not only your husband, but you. That’s why he knew he was safe in coming here that night?”

  She hesitated, and licked her lips and, after a moment, nodded minutely. Her eyes had a furtive look that he did not like, as if even now she did not intend to be quite candid with him.

  He asked, “Elizabeth, what the hell has been going on around here? What is all this boat business, anyway?”

  There was another brief hesitation. She looked away from him. “Why,” she said, “why, honey, it’s a kind of — of courier service, I think. Stuff from Washington, mainly... Honey, I don’t know!” she breathed. “I don’t know anything about it. All I know is that
— that I’d be given things to pass along, and there’d be signals, and I’d go down to the shore when one of the boats came in and give them — Or sometimes they gave me things.”

  “And Wilson passed the stuff along to Washington?”

  After a moment she nodded reluctantly.

  Young said, “And last night when you went down there—”

  “I had to tell them to leave. I wanted to get them out of here quick, because of you.”

  “But they didn’t leave right away,” Young said. “Not even after I had my nightmare.”

  She glanced at him, and licked her lips, and looked away again. “I think,” she said, and hesitated. “I think they had to meet — somebody. About something important that was expected — Honey, I don’t know!” she cried. “What difference—”

  “If you and your husband were accomplices,” Young said, “Why did you shoot him, Elizabeth?”

  She was silent for a moment, then she swung about to look up at him directly. “Why, because I hated him, honey!” she cried. “Because I hated what he was making me do. Because I wanted to — to break away and he wouldn’t let me! I told him I wasn’t going to have any more to do with it; that’s when he hit me and I grabbed the gun; that’s how it really happened!”

  Young said, “But if you really wanted to break away, why didn’t you get in touch with the F.B.I. long ago and tell them what you knew?”

  She said sharply, “And go through all that, and be marked as an ex-Communist for the rest of my life, as if I cared a hoot about their stupid politics? Honey, don’t you believe me?” she demanded. “You should be able to understand. I declare, you’re a fine one to criticize.”

  “I’m not criticizing, Elizabeth.” He went on quickly: “Tell me, this boat last night. You haven’t any idea at all what they were up to? Something important, you said.”

  She made a face. “Oh, they’re always getting hold of something fantastically important, to hear them talk. Every time one of them manages to get anything at all, it’s important and he starts screaming for a boat to take it off his hands, as if we could move those silly little put-puts around like checkers. What difference does it make, anyway?”

  Young asked, “Did they get it, whatever it was? The people on the boat, that is.”

  “No, I think there was some hitch. They’re going to try to make the contact again tonight, somewhere down the Bay; they decided it was safer than waiting around here with you screaming your head off.”

  “Do you know where they’re meeting tonight?”

  “Why, I reckon they’ll use the usual emergency rendezvous near Elder Island... Honey,” she said quickly, “what are you driving at?”

  Young hesitated. “We could —” he said. “We could make a phone call before we pulled out, couldn’t we? I mean, damn it, Elizabeth, maybe it is something important—”

  “Are you crazy?” she demanded. “Do you want to ruin everything, David? If you call from here — from anywhere — they’ll trace it and we won’t get twenty miles... We’ve got to have time, honey. We’ve got to get rid of that station wagon and buy a little secondhand car of some kind. We’ve got to get away, maybe out of the country. We’ve got to got to get more money out of Larry’s accounts, and how are we going to do that if anybody gets suspicious... Honey, be sensible!” she cried. “I declare, this is no time for you to get an attack of patriotism.”

  “But—”

  Her voice sharpened. “I declare, honey, anybody’d think you didn’t want to go away with me! Anybody’d think you wanted to spend a term in Portsmouth for desertion instead. Do you think they’ll appreciate your calling them up? Do you think they’ll pin another medal on you and let us go? Don’t be a fool, hear? They’ll give you a court-martial and probably try you for being a spy as well, not to mention what they’ll do to me; and some fathead in Washington will take the credit for breaking up the ring while we both go to jail.” Her voice broke, and she swayed against him with a movement, clearly deliberate, that made him conscious of the shape of her breasts beneath the thin sweater. “Honey, don’t throw our lives away for a silly notion!” she gasped. “We can have such a wonderful time together. I’ll make it so you never regret it for a minute!” The bracelets on her wrist clashed softly as she put her arms about his neck.

  He felt the frank promise of her body — and of her lips when she kissed him — and when he looked at her again he was aware, for the first time, of a real excitement and anticipation. The future might not be entirely black, after all. At least, he thought, it would be better than disgracing himself on shipboard in front of a lot of men who depended on him; and as for the situation here, there were people who were paid to take care of things like that. He had made a certain contribution in blood and courage once; they had no right to keep coming back for more. A man had only so much to give.

  He freed himself from Elizabeth’s arms, swung her around, and slapped her smartly where the pink slacks were tightest. “All right,” he said, “all right, let’s put the show on the road, damn it.”

  She laughed breathlessly, rubbed herself, hurried ahead of him toward the door, and stopped. She pried two keys from her pocket and threw them across the floor. “Front and back doors,” she said. “If I never see this place again — You’ve got the car keys?”

  “They’re in the station wagon.”

  “I’ve got the money. Oh, David, honey, I declare it’s like getting out of prison.”

  “Do you want me to slip the latch?” he asked prosaically.

  “I don’t care what you do. Let the place burn down, for all I care!”

  He pressed the button, took hold of the knob, and started to pull the heavy door shut behind them; and he could not do it. This was the strangest thing that had happened to him yet. He was aware of the bright sunshine, and of the steady southeasterly breeze still blowing, and of the girl pausing to wait for him at the foot of the steps. He felt ridiculous and a little dizzy; and he was no more capable of shutting the door of the house irrevocably behind him than he would have been capable of putting the muzzle of the gun in his pocket into his mouth and pulling the trigger. The door had become a symbol of something; if he shut it he would have to go, and he knew suddenly that he was not going anywhere.

  He glanced at Elizabeth, below him. The wind was fluttering her thin slacks about her legs. Her thick, dark hair, dividing itself, had blown forward along each side of her face when she turned to look back at him questioningly. She looked, in that moment, pretty and desirable beyond belief; she represented affection of sorts, and an escape from responsibility. She was, he knew, the one person in the world before whom he would ever be able to appear as himself. She knew him for what he was, as he knew her; and she would never demand anything of him that he could not perform. All other women he would meet would expect him to live up to certain arbitrary standards of courage and loyalty; and the trouble was, he would be fool enough to try.

  He turned abruptly and walked into the house, moving directly to the telephone. More quickly than he could have hoped, he was connected with the Washington number for which he had asked. He spoke clearly and slowly to the man who answered, enunciating his words carefully so that he would not have to repeat himself.

  “This is Lieutenant Young,” he said. “Lieutenant David Young, United States Naval Reserve. I am calling from a place near Bayport, Maryland. I have certain information...”

  As he spoke, he was aware of her in the doorway, listening. Presently she was gone, and he heard the sound of the station wagon starting up, backing out of the garage, and heading out the road at rapidly increasing speed.

  Chapter Sixteen

  He awoke, breathless, in total darkness, waiting for something, and it came: a dull, reverberating sound like the note of a cracked and muffled bell — the sound that had summoned him back to consciousness. He had a memory of stumbling upstairs after his conversation with Washington and falling on the bed with his clothes on. Reaction had apparently hit him hard
enough to make him fall asleep instantly and sleep the whole afternoon away and, judging by the dim, striped rectangle of the window, most of the evening as well. It surprised him, after what had been said over the phone, that no one had come for him yet.

  The bell-like sound came again. Bell, hell, he thought, and sat up, reaching for the gun under the pillow. With the weapon in his hand, he slipped off the bed, approached the window cautiously, and looked out between the slats of the blind. Tonight there was no moon, and at first he could make out nothing but the dim circle of the drive, the blackness of the trees, and the dull sheen of the river at the foot of the bluff. The lights in the cottages on the far bank had a dim and misty look. The fresh wind that had been blowing earlier had dwindled to a faint and erratic breeze. He could feel it cool on his face. After the days of having his head totally wrapped in bandages it was pleasant to have a face again.

  Then a man stepped out of the border of bushes at the corner of the house and tiptoed out into the drive, bent to pick up some pellets of gravel, and straightened to toss them gently at the second-story window at that end of the house: the window of Elizabeth’s room. They struck the screen with the dull, ringing noise that had awakened Young. The man waited, poised, with his arm half-raised; a large man wearing a light topcoat and a hat pulled down over his eyes as if he was afraid of being recognized, a man who was supposed to be dead....

  Young gripped the pistol tightly, feeling a violent mixture of fear and hatred. He reached for the cord of the Venetian blind and shoved the gun forward.

  “Wilson,” he shouted.

  His voice seemed to shatter the quiet, shockingly loud. He had forgotten that the cord was broken. In answer to his pull, one side of the blind rose part way; then the mechanism jammed. He jerked again, something gave way above, and he had to jump back, instinctively shielding his wounded head, as the whole blind came crashing down, with a tremendous, clattering noise. When silence returned, and Young, shaken, stepped back to the window in a gingerly fashion, no one was visible outside.