Death's Sweet Song

by Clifton Adams

  I took a shower and felt a little better. I opened all the doors and windows of my cabin to let in what little breeze there was. I lay across the bed in my shorts and tried to think about my life before Paula came into it, but the picture wouldn't come. It was hard to believe that I had ever been such a person.

  Relax, I told myself. Relax and get some sleep.

  Easier said than done. Paula had played hell with me. I could feel myself winding up tighter and tighter, and pretty soon I'd be ready to get up and start kicking holes in the wall.

  That was when I heard it. A quick, soft shuffling outside. Then my door opened and Paula was standing there in the doorway, framed in moonlight, as pale as the moon herself. I sat up in bed as she came toward me.

  She didn't say a word. She slipped onto the bed and her fingers were like a hundred snakes crawling over my body. “Goddamn you,” I said, “I ought to beat your brains out!”

  She laughed softly. That hot mouth found me in the darkness and I pulled her down with me.

  “Joe?”

  “Yes?”

  “What were you thinking about before I came?”

  “Nothing.”

  She laughed again.

  Chapter Twelve

  It was about two the next afternoon when Ike Abrams came back with the news. His drowsy eyes were bright with the excitement. “By God,”, he said, “Creston's about to bust loose at the seams! They just found old Otto Finney's body in the lake!”

  “They what!”

  “The old watchman at the box factory. They just found his body.”

  I couldn't believe it. Otto Finney was at the bottom of the lake, where I had dumped him. He had to be!

  “A funny thing,” Ike said, “the way it happened. You know that upper part of the lake has always been bothered with garfish and big cats. Well, the city opened that part of the lake to commercial fishermen, hoping they'd clean out the scavengers before they ruined it for game fish. Well, this morning these fishermen brought up something that damn near tore their nets to pieces, and it turned out to be a body. It was pretty much of a mess, I guess. All they had to go by for identification was his clothes.”

  “Is it a positive identification?”

  “According to the Sheriff, it is. And you know what kept old Otto underwater all this time? They had him wired to a flywheel.”

  I couldn't think of a thing to say. I was stunned.

  “They say Otis Miller is fit to kill about it. I sure wouldn't want to be in the killer's shoes, with the Sheriff in that frame of mind.”

  “Does he have anything to go on, any clues?” Ike shrugged. “You know the Sheriff. He doesn't say a thing until he's ready to slip the noose around somebody's neck.” Then he noticed the blue Buick in the carport next to Number 2. “I see our star boarders are still with us.” He grinned.

  That Buick! I should have got rid of it somehow, but it was too late now. I said, “Mr. Sheldon picked up some fever in Texas and doesn't feel like driving. They'll probably be staying over for a day or two.”

  It didn't sound too good, but Ike took it in stride and was already beginning to sweep the driveway. Then he stopped. “Now that you mention it,” he said, “Sheldon didn't look so hot when they came in yesterday. His wife was driving, if I remember right.”

  I didn't want to talk about the Sheldons; I wanted to hear more about the body. “You say the Sheriff hasn't got any clues to go on?”

  “Who knows what Otis Miller has in his mind? All I know is they've got a body and a flywheel. If he could trace the flywheel, it might mean something, but that don't seem very likely. Lot of flywheels around. I think we've got one ourselves in the back of the station.”

  A coldness was gathering in the pit of my stomach, and I didn't like it. “We had that hauled away the last time the junkman was around,” I said quickly.

  “Oh?” Ike paused in his sweeping. “I don't remember. The flywheel came out of your dad's old Dodge, though— I remember that much. You don't see them very often these days.”

  I'd heard enough. I turned the station over Jo Ike and went to my cabin. Then, when the way was clear, I made it over to Number 2. Sheldon was awake but he looked like hell.

  “How do you feel?” I asked.

  “Lousy.” It was barely a whisper.

  I went into the kitchen, where Paula was warming some canned soup on the apartment-sized range. She looked at me blankly and it was almost impossible to believe that she was the same woman who had been in my cabin the night before.

  “We're in trouble,” I said. “They found the body.”

  She took the pan off the stove. “We had guessed that much, hadn't we?”

  “But I hadn't guessed they'd find it this soon. Some commercial fishermen found it this morning, caught that flywheel in their nets.”

  She didn't seem worried. “It served its purpose. The trail is cold now, just the way you said it would be. They'd never think of looking for the killer in Creston.”

  “It's the flywheel!” I said. “That goddamn flywheel that we tied the body to. There's just a chance they might trace it back to me. It came out of my dad's old car and I just learned that there aren't many exactly like it.”

  She thought about it. “That seems pretty farfetched.”

  “My robbing a payroll and committing murder is pretty farfetched, too, but I did it.”

  “Has anybody said anything to you, anything at all?”

  “No.”

  She poured the soup into a bowl. “Then stop worrying about it.”

  “I was just beginning to worry. But I let her take the soup in to Sheldon and watched him sip from the spoon a few times before he fell back to sleep. I took Paula's arm when she came back to the kitchen.

  “This is too damn risky,” I said, “sitting here right under Otis Miller's nose. You two have got to get out of here, out of Oklahoma.”

  She smiled wryly. “You weren't so eager to get rid of me last night.” She jerked away from me and rinsed the bowl at the kitchen sink. “Besides,” she said, “Karl can't be moved.”

  “He'll have to be moved. My helper at the station is beginning to wonder what the hell is going on back here.”

  “Let him wonder. He's just a stupid farmer.”

  “Your husband thought I was a stupid farmer, too, but I cut in for half of that payroll. Get this through your head: We're not as stupid out here as you people seem to think. And we've got a sheriff that's tough, as tough as they come.”

  She smiled teasingly, and those white arms of hers went around my neck. “You don't really want me to go, do . you, Joe?” She knew the effect she had on a man when she plastered herself against him like that. I grabbed her, holding her tight enough to crush her, but she only smiled.

  “Not now, Joe.”

  “You started it, I didn't!” I forced her head back, and when our mouths came together the contact shocked both of us. Everything went to hell when I touched her. I didn't give a damn about anything or anybody.

  I don't know how long we stood there wound up in each other, and I don't know how long Ike had been hollering before I finally heard him.

  “Joe! Joe, you in there?”

  I almost ignored him. I was tempted to tell him to get away and leave me alone, because that's the kind of effect Paula Sheldon had on me.

  “Joe, the Sheriff wants to talk to you.”

  That jerked me out of it. It was like having ice water poured on you. Paula hissed, “The Sheriff?” and she couldn't have got away from me faster. “What does he want?”

  “I don't know.”

  “Get out there and see. We can't have him coming in here.”

  I felt sick. I couldn't imagine what Otis Miller wanted with me, but every bad thing in the world flashed through my mind as I stepped to the door, where Ike was waiting.

  “Who did you say wanted me?”

  “The Sheriff. He and Ray King are over by your cabin.”

  Ike was beginning to think things. There were questio
ns behind those sleepy eyes of his that I didn't like at all. Just before I opened the door I thought of something. “Just a minute, Ike.” I went back to the kitchen, where Paula was standing like a statue.

  “Joe, get out of here!”

  I headed straight for the kitchen stove, lifted the grating from one of the cold burners, and smeared my hands good with the collection of burned grease at the bottom. Then I got out.

  Ike had already gone back to the station when I came out of Number 2, and the Sheriff and Ray King were standing beside their car, which was parked in front of my own cabin.

  “Hello, Sheriff. Hello, Ray. Always something breaking down in a place like this—I just had a kitchen stove to fix for those people.” I made sure that they saw the grease on my hands. The Sheriff was sweating, and so was Ray, but I had never felt colder than I was at that moment.

  “Just wanted to ask a few questions, Joe,” Otis said, “if you can spare us the time.”

  “Sure, but let's go inside where I can wash up a little.” I needed the time to get set for whatever was coming. We went inside and I went into the bathroom and washed my hands. When I came out I felt that I was as ready as I would ever be.

  “All right, fellows, what can I do for you?”

  Otis sat on the edge of the bed, Ray took a chair, and I stood there in the doorway. “Well,” the Sheriff said slowly, “it isn't much, but I can't afford to overlook a thing. You've heard that they found Otto's-body in the lake.”

  Not trusting my voice, I nodded.

  “He was a fine old man,” Ray King said softly, and I nodded again, watching the Sheriff. Otis was staring down at his hands, and I couldn't tell what was going on in his mind. Ray King went on: “The picture's pretty clear now, Joe. Old Otto was killed during the robbery and his fingerprints were planted all over the place to throw us off the trail. The whole town's worked up about it. So is the Sheriff, and so am I. We want that killer, Joe, we want him bad!”

  “I know how you feel,” I said. “I liked Otto, too. I guess everybody did.” My voice sounded all right. It was calm enough.

  The Sheriff raised his head. “The point Ray's trying to make, Joe, is that we can't overlook a thing, no matter how small, if there is a chance in a million it might help us. That's the reason we're here.”

  “I understand, Otis.”

  “Well, here it is. The day before the robbery you were out to the box factory, weren't you?”

  So that was it. “That's right,” I said. “I stopped by to pay Pat Sully some money I owed him.”

  “So Pat told me. Joe, were you going somewhere else and just happened to drop by, or did you make a special trip just to see Pat?”

  “Why, I guess I made the trip special. I was downtown and just happened to think of it—that's the way I do things sometimes.” I didn't like the way this was going. I couldn't tell where it was leading or what they were thinking. They just sat there dead-faced, their eyes expressionless.

  “Now tell me this, Joe. Did you notice anything out of the way while you were out there that day?”

  I could hear my heart pounding. “What do you mean, Sheriff?”

  “I mean you used to work at the box factory and were pretty familiar with the place. You knew all the people, the buildings. It occurred to me that a person who hadn't been out there for a while might notice something that people who work there every day might pass by. I just want to know if you noticed anything out of the way, no matter how small—something that might help us.”

  I made a show of thinking it over. “I'm sorry, Sheriff, I can't think of a thing.”

  “Tell me just what you did while you were out there.”

  “Did? Well, not much. I just went in and gave Pat the money I owed him and left. I wasn't there more than two or three minutes.”

  “I see.” Otis took off his Stetson and wiped the sweat-band with his handkerchief. “Well, it was just a chance. I've talked to everybody at the factory, and they're not much help. There's one more thing, Joe, if you don't mind.”

  “Sure.”

  “It's out there in the car. I want you to take a look at something.”

  What was he getting at now? Was it a trick? Was he beginning to suspect something or was it just routine? I felt as though my nerve ends had worked to the top of my skin. If anybody had touched me I'd have yelled.

  But I managed to keep a straight face as we filed out of the cabin. Ike Abrams was standing at the corner of the station, watching us, and Otis called to him. “Come on back here, Ike, if you're not busy.” And then he opened the car door and there it was, on the floor.

  The flywheel that I had tied to the body.

  “Have you ever seen this before, Joe?”

  At that moment I was completely defeated, crushed. My tongue was thick and my throat tight, and I knew I couldn't utter a word if my life depended on it. To gain time, I pushed my head and shoulders into the back of the car and pretended to take a close look at the flywheel. My God, I thought, he knows everything! He must! Why else would he bring that thing straight to me?

  It was a bad moment. But it passed. I made my hands stop trembling. By sheer force of will I made myself stand up and say calmly, “Is this the flywheel that was tied to the body?”

  “That's right. Did you ever see it before?”

  “I don't think so. Of course, I can't be sure. Ike works on cars sometimes, back of the station, and leaves extra parts around.”

  “What do you do with those extra parts?”

  “Have them hauled away with the tin cans and other trash that piles up in a place like this. Maybe once a month I call a truck and have the stuff taken out to the dumping grounds.”

  “I see.” Then he said, “Ike, how about you? You ever see a flywheel like this before?”

  “Sure,” Ike said, and my insides seemed to shrivel.

  “Have you ever seen this one before?”

  “Can't be sure about that. But it looks like one that used to be back in the station.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Well...” Ike pushed closer and had a good look. “Well, the ring gear is still on it, for one thing. See how chewed up it is? It looks like the assembly I took out of Dr. Hooper's old Dodge not too long ago. He had a bad habit of pushing the starter while the engine was running— absent-minded, I guess—and that's the reason the ring gear is chewed up the way it is. Had a hell of a time with the pinion gear jamming.”

  “Is that the reason you replaced the flywheel?”

  “Hell, no. Just a new ring gear would have fixed that part of it. That old car of his had a bad clutch that scored a flywheel. Had to replace the whole assembly.”

  “When was that?”

  “Maybe a month ago. A little longer.”

  Otis turned to me. “Have you had the trash hauled since then?”

  That was the big question. That was the jackpot question, and it could kill me if I didn't come up with the right answer.

  That clutch, that flywheel, they had been taken out together, and it was reasonable to assume that they had been hauled away together. If they had been hauled away. If both of them were still in the station, everything would be fine. But I knew they weren't. If both of them were gone, that would be fine, too. But that clutch was still there.

  You'd better think fast, Hooper.

  And I couldn't think at all. I stood there with my forehead screwed up, trying to look as if I was thinking, but there was just a roaring emptiness in my brain. There was only one thing to do. I had to bluff it. I had to lower my head and bull my way through, and hope that Otis Miller would take it.

  I heard myself saying, “Sure, all that stuff was hauled away almost a month ago. It's about time I called the truck again.”

  “Ike would remember the hauling, wouldn't he?”

  That was the end. I might as well get set for it. I looked at Ike and knew that he would be no help at all. “Sure,” I said, surprised to hear that my voice was still normal. “I guess Ike w
ould remember.”

  Ike was scratching his head, looking a bit sheepish. “Sheriff,” he said slowly, “I can't be sure when the last hauling was done, but I think I know what you're getting at. You're trying to trace that flywheel, is that right?”

  “It's the only clue we have. That's right, Ike.”

  “The flywheel I mentioned we had in the station, do you figure it's the same one you have in your car?”

  The Sheriff said nothing. He just waited.

  “Well,” Ike went on, “like I said, I don't remember exactly about the hauling. But I do remember that clutch assembly, because I took it home with me.”

  The Sheriff's eyes widened. He looked as though he had reached for his gun and discovered it wasn't there. “What do you mean, Ike—you took it home with you?”

  “Well...” Ike was sweating now. He knew that he had just kicked one of Otis Miller's ideas full of holes. I felt like the man who got a reprieve after they had already strapped him to the chair. I could hear relief whistling through my teeth. Suddenly I could smile. I could breathe again. Riding this kind of luck, nothing could stop me. Nothing! It was all I could do to keep from laughing.

  The Sheriff was waiting.

  “Well,” Ike said again, “I figured Joe wouldn't mind. I had an idea I could use some of the parts sometime.”

  “Have you still got that clutch assembly?”

  “Sure. At home.” Then Ike got smart, as he sometimes did. He stopped talking.

  The Sheriff looked at Ike, then at me, then he took off his hat and wiped his face. Then, surprisingly, he grinned. “Well, I guess that's all. Sorry to have bothered you, Joe.”

  “Not at all, Sheriff.” He could never in the world pin anything on me now, no matter what he was thinking behind that grin.

  Then Otis turned to Ray King. “We'd better be going. I want to check with all garages and salvage yards on this thing.”

  Ike and I stood there as they got into the car and drove out to the highway. My feeling of elation began to melt as the car disappeared. It had been a close thing—too close for comfort. If Otis had caught me in that lie about the flywheel, it would have been all over.