Kanouse’s front door opened and the silhouette of a tall, angular woman appeared in the frame. She looked around and slammed the door.
“I must seem like a bastard to you,” Kanouse said quietly. “But it’s not working out.” He gestured to his house. “With her. And there are no kids. And there is part of me that really loves teaching. I get a charge, you know, when I can get a kid that other teachers have written off to sit up and pay attention to something. Sarah shares that with me. In there,” he nodded to his house, “it’s push, push, push for advancement and standard of living.”
Powder said, “We are stricken to hear about your difficulties.”
He took the five envelopes addressed to Sarah Crismore. He threw them into Kanouse’s lap. “Deliver those to Miss Crismore tomorrow for us, please.”
Kanouse fingered the envelopes. “Yeah. Sure.”
“And tell her that her job at the school is probably still open for her.”
“It is?” Kanouse asked.
“Tell her to get in touch with me, or my colleague.”
“All right.”
Powder grabbed the man’s arm forcefully. “Make sure you do.”
When Kanouse had left the car, Powder said, “Just one more stop.”
“You look terrible.”
“I wouldn’t be healthy if I didn’t.”
Fleetwood said, “You could have made him tell you where she was. Just by asking one more time.”
“Sure,” Powder said. He closed his eyes.
“So why didn’t you?”
“I’ve got a way of contacting her now,” he said. “And if she’s not hiding, then she’ll be in touch with us.”
“And if she is still hiding?”
“Suppose he tells her that we know where she is. What would she do but pack up and go someplace eke? I don’t want that. I’m kind of tired of wandering around the countryside.”
“Mmmmm.”
“So let’s get a move on, huh?”
The stop was at the office of Albert Samson. In the comparative darkness of a residential area, Samson’s neon sign seemed out of place. And its Christmasy reflections off the high barb-topped fence made the detective’s premises seem out of season as well.
Powder got out of the car and banged on the front door.
After a minute, a light showed inside and the door opened. Samson recognized Powder. Surprised, he said, “You were shot. I was going to visit you. Bring you some flowers.”
“I’ve saved you the trouble.”
Fleetwood appeared and Powder said, “Let us in.”
“I want you to do something for me,” Powder said.
“I have been, all day,” Samson said lightly. “Tailing your crook son.”
Powder hesitated only a moment. “Well, now I want you to follow someone else. A guy who’s going to lead you to a lady.”
Samson recognized the degree of difficulty with which Powder was speaking. He nodded. “Let’s have it.”
At the hospital. Powder sought to reassure the night nurse by informing her that he had had more than three hours sleep while he was out. Fleetwood began to confirm what he said, but her presence seemed only to anger the nurse. She shook her head furiously. “A man in your condition. I am not impressed,” she said sternly. “If you were trying to impress me, you have failed completely.”
Powder rubbed his office.
“You get to bed immediately.”
Powder said, “If I didn’t hurt so much, I would laugh.”
Chapter Thirty One
X rays showed the bullet had moved more than two inches.
Powder felt puffed up through the middle and even achier than the day before. It was just as well he was fasting; he didn’t feel hungry.
The doctor greeted him somberly early in the morning to talk about the X rays.
Powder asked, “The bullet going to move more?”
“I wouldn’t have thought so. I’ve never known one to move this far, although I understand you had a more active day yesterday than was planned.”
“The police athletics day comes up in a few weeks and I’m training for the hundred.”
“Do you know what you risked?”
“No,” Powder said. “And please don’t tell me.”
The doctor looked at the film again. “I think we should go in and get it today,” he said.
“Can it be done with a local anesthetic?” Powder asked.
The medical eyebrows came up momentarily.
“I like to watch if guys poke around in me. Makes them more careful.”
“Oh yes?”
Powder said, “If I don’t go out completely, I’ll be mentally together more quickly, won’t I?”
“Not necessarily.What is it that so urgently needs your attention?”
Powder shrugged. “There are things I want to keep track of.”
“Do you know how lucky you were with the path of this wound?”
“I live a charmed life,” Powder said.
The doctor looked at his watch. “We’ll probably go in early this afternoon.”
When the doctor left. Powder took the telephone and called Missing Persons.
A male voice answered. Powder said, “Lorimer?”
“Yeah, that’s right,” the voice said.
“Is anybody else there? Sergeant Fleetwood or Agnes Shorter?”
“Uh, no. Not Lieutenant Powder, neither. He’s in hospital, all shot up.”
“This is Powder,” Powder said.
“Oh. Gee. How you doing. Lieutenant?”
“I want to know whether there are any messages for me.”
“Gee! Ain’t that something! I only just took two calls for you in the last few minutes.”
Powder waited.
Lorimer asked, “Do you want to know what they were?”
“Of course I goddamned want to know what they were!”
“Oh,” Lorimer said, “all right. The first one was from Sergeant Bull. He said to tell you that someone called Marianna Gilkis has turned up in St. Paul with her boyfriend.”
Lorimer hesitated.
Powder said, “What was the other one?”
“That was weird. From a woman. Funny damn message, but maybe it’ll mean something to you.”
“Get on with it!”
“Exactly what she said was ‘He passed me on. The bastard passed me on.’ Her word. Lieutenant. I don’t much care for bad language in a woman, myself.”
“Is that all she said?”
“Yeah. I asked who it was, but she didn’t say nothing to that. And she sounded hell’s upset that you weren’t here. Must not of read the papers or watched the TV, huh? Pretty famous guy you are now.”
“Has Fleetwood checked in there yet today?”
“No,” Fleetwood said from the doorway of Powder’s room.
“Uh, no, she hasn’t, I don’t think,” Lorimer said on the telephone.
“Any other messages for me?”
“Shall I look on your desk?”
“Look on my desk.”
While he waited. Powder said to Fleetwood, “Come in, come in. Don’t sit there like your battery was dead.”
Fleetwood rolled in.
“You look terrible,” Powder said.
“What’s that?” Lorimer asked.
“I said you look terrible, Lorimer. Must be the strain of the new assignment.”
Doubtfully Lorimer said,“Well, they said it was only for a while.”
“Messages,” Powder said.
“No. Nothing else I can see.”
“Terrific work, Lorimer. Keep it up, kid.”
“Uh, right. Thanks.”
Powder turned to Fleetwood. “You really do look awful,” he said.
“I had a late night,” Fleetwood said. “Followed by an early morning.”
“There’s room in here,” Powder said, patting his bed. “Take a load off your seat.”
“It’s a real tempting offer,” Fleetwood said heavily.
“So how did you do?”
“She’s at the Forrest, a hotel in town. Kanouse went out to her a little after eight.”
Powder nodded slowly. “Samson still there?”
“Yes. Awaiting further instructions. But if she leaves, he’ll follow her.”
“Is the Forrest the one on North Street?”
“Yes.”
“Samson’s where? In the lobby?”
“That’s where I left him.”
Powder nodded “OK. Good.”
Fleetwood cocked her head.
“Go on,” Powder said. “Give poor old Lorimer a hand.”
* * * * *
Powder was on the edge of his bed when Lieutenant Gaulden appeared.
“What an honor,” Powder said.
“We were all terribly upset to hear what happened.”
“I wouldn’t upset you for the world,” Powder said.
“I’m glad to see you sitting up. I gather you’ve got an operation later on today.”
“Yeah.”
“I also wanted to assure you that we were putting in temporary cover at the office and that things are in hand.”
“I’ve talked to Lorimer,” Powder said.
“You’ve talked to him?”
“I was thinking of skipping the operation and dropping into the office this afternoon to help him out. All the work goes through there is a little too much for him.”
“I don’t understand your concern,” Gaulden said sharply. “Chief Snyder said you were talking about taking retirement.”
“Ahhhh,” Powder said.
“I don’t want you to pack it in any more than he does,” Gaulden said, “but I can understand your feelings. You’ve got more than enough time in for full pension. Nice little payoff in a lump sum to get you on your way. More than most because you have a stack of unused leave time. I can understand you’d be thinking about it seriously at a time like this. You’d have to be.”
“I suppose you’ve brought the appropriate forms,” Powder said.
“I only know what Snyder said to me,” Gaulden said defensively. “He seemed to think that you were pretty positive. And we all know what a determined man you are, once you get your mind made up about something.”
“Leave them on my bedside table,” Powder said. “I’ll read them later on.” “I don’t want you to misinterpret this,” Gaulden said, as he pulled four sheets of paper out of his briefcase. “There is no chance of my doing that,” Powder said.
* * * * *
When Gaulden left. Powder rested by calling the sheriff of Owen County.
“I was just about to phone you,” the sheriff told Powder.
Powder was unconvinced.
The sheriff continued, “I’ve been coordinating with the local press and photo boys. And it’s only just about finished.”
“What exactly were you going to call me about?” Powder asked.
“Why, last night we found that lump of cement! Just like you said.”
“Did you now?”
“That’s right.”
“And what is inside it?”
“Well, we haven’t broke it open just yet. We’ve lifted it out whole this morning and the breaking will be supervised by the county coroner.”
“I’d be pleased to hear your results.”
“Course you would. And I’ll call you right away.”
“OK. I’ll be out for an hour or two. But anytime after that.”
Powder rested five more minutes. Then he heaved himself back to a sitting position. He dropped his legs over the edge of the bed and slid until his feet touched the floor.
There he waited for a slight dizziness to pass.
He got up from the bed and went to the closet where his clothes had been put, again.
The hardest were his shoes and socks. In the end he didn’t tie his shoes, just tucking the laces in the sides
Chapter Thirty Two
From outside, the Forrest Hotel looked like a small brick office building. Unlike several marginal downtown hotels, there was nothing in its architecture or decor to suggest that it had ever seen better times.
Albert Samson was lounging in the lobby in a suit that made him look inconspicuous. He saw Powder enter and immediately rose and came to him.
“What are you doing here?” Samson asked.
“What room is she in?”
“Three oh one.”
“I’ve come to cover till a relief man gets here,” Powder said. “There’s something important that you have to do.”
“And my granny plays for the Pacers,” Samson said.
“Gut the crap,” Powder said, mustering forcefulness. “Listen. A kid called Harold Sillit was shot and killed a couple of weeks ago. He had a friend. Someone he’d share special secrets with. I need to know who and where he is. I need it now. Fleetwood will help. She’s at the office.”
Samson looked dubious.
“Move, damn it!” Powder shouted.
Samson went.
Powder shuffled to the hotel desk. His progress was watched by a knobbly man of about sixty. The man’s voice, however, was rich and low. He said, “What can I do for you, mister?”
Powder showed the man his identification card.
Looking from the ID to Powder back to the ID, the man said, “Old picture, huh?”
“There’s a woman in 301.”
“So?”
“Is she alone?”
“How do I know?”
Irritably, Powder said, “You know whether the guy who checked her in is here.”
“He left,” the man said.
“And you know whether anybody besides the man I just talked to has asked for her room number.”
The hotel man narrowed his eyes. He said, “The PI gave me ten bucks for my help.”
Powder snarled. “Has anybody else asked for her room?”
“Nobody,” the man said.
“All right. Now, where’s the elevator?” For a moment he was afraid the place wouldn’t have one, not knowing if he could make it to the third floor.
“Through there, on the left,” the man said.
When he got out. Powder looked for directions to 301.
He had to guess. He went left, and it was the first door he came to. His lucky day.
When he knocked a voice from inside said immediately, “Come in.” A woman’s voice.
Powder tried the handle. He walked into the room.
In front of him, spread on top of the bed, was Sarah Crismore.
She was naked, save for a gun in her hand.
Powder rubbed his face.
Crismore was not apparently agitated. She trained the gun’s barrel on Powder. “What do you want?”
“What are you offering?” Powder asked, trying to find his ‘right guy’ light tone of voice. He looked for a table to lean on, feeling faint, but there was none high enough to help him.
“I offer death and destruction,” Crismore said.
“That’s nice. For anybody in particular, or do I get to play too?”
“You do if you try to stop me,” the woman said.
“Stop you? Why should I try to stop you? I’m already over the legal limit for lead in the system.”
She said nothing. The direction of the gun did not vary.
“I take it this has something to do with the message you left for me?”
“Message?” Her eyes were questioning.
“At headquarters. You left a message for me a few hours ago.”
“Oh . . . yes.” Vaguely.
“Something about being passed on. I take it the late unlamented Harold Sillit mentioned his escapade to a friend.”
Her lips drew taut.
The rest of her body grew tense.
The gun fired.
It surprised them both.
Powder didn’t feel the wind of the bullet, but a hole in the wall behind him showed that it must have passed close.
The recoil lifted the gun toward the ceiling for the mo
ment. When Crismore let it drop again, it went all the way to her thigh.
But it jerked up again. “Oh, it’s hot!” she said.
“Off to the side, please,” Powder said, waving his hand.
She lowered the gun to the bedspread. But she kept a grip, and her finger was still on the trigger.
“Where did you get this one?” Powder asked of the gun.
“It’s Paul’s,” she said.
“Helpful, sensitive guy,” Powder said.
Crismore watched him.
“How do you know you were ‘passed on’?” he asked.
“Note in the mailbox.”
“That one without a stamp?”
“Yes.”
“What did it say?”
“It said, ‘Harold told me all about you, and I want some too. Don’t think you can get away. I’ll spread it all around if you try, so better tell me where you are. Get your cunt ready. Edward.’” She recited the message as if it were a school exercise. And then she said, “It was a dirty, scrawly, scratchy scribble on a torn-off piece of paper.”
“From some friend of Sillit’s?”
“His brother.”
Powder rubbed his face again. He felt tired. “So,” he said gesturing to her, “what’s all this?”
Crismore said, “The kid says be ready. I’m ready.”
“He’s coming here?”
“I suppose so.”
“How does he know you’re here?”
“He said to tell him where I am. I told him where I am. I gave Paul a message to deliver on his way back to his wife.”
“And just what kind of reception party are you planning?”
Heavily, she said, “Harold was evil. His brother is evil. I’ve learned my lesson. There’s only one thing you can do with evil.”
She lifted the gun from the bed and pointed it at Powder. She closed one eye. She aimed, and said, “Pow!”
“All this because you made one mistake?” he asked.
“What mistake?” Airy, seemingly unconcerned.
“Failing to protect yourself that first time.” No reaction. Powder said, “Fine, you grew up not knowing how to recognize the bad guys. And not knowing how they spot the weak, and use the weak. But it’s not too late. It’s not a hole you can’t get out of. You can get your life back. You can.”
“Oh yes? How’s that?”
“The first thing to do is to give me that gun.”
She didn’t have time for due consideration.
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