“No, not as a rule. Nearly everybody in town, though, drops in on me at one time or another.”
“What did Manley do after he got his gas?”
“Paid me and drove off, that's all. Say, couldn't you give me an idea what this is about?”
“In a minute. When was the last time you saw Manley before tonight?”
I made a show of thinking. “I can't remember, Sheriff. I might have seen him in town, but not to speak to.”
“I see. Joe, could you give me the time?”
“Sure.” Then I looked at my wrist and my watch wasn't there. “I must have left my watch lying around somewhere,” I said, and started toward the dresser. But Otis stopped me.
He held up a watch and said, “Is this yours, Joe?”
That was when the roof fell in. That watch! I didn't know just what part it was going to play in my future, but I knew it wasn't going to be good. I could see it in the Sheriff's eyes, in the tight lines at the corners of Ray King's mouth. There was absolutely no use denying it was my watch. On the back was the legend “Joseph Hooper, Jr. May 16, 1938,” engraved in the gold. My dad had given me the watch when I was graduated from high school, and if that engraving wasn't enough to settle it, the local jeweler had the records.
It was my watch, all right. But where had it come from? How had the Sheriff got hold of it? I remembered having it on my wrist only a short time before, because I had been counting the seconds while waiting for that train.
Otis Miller said again, “Is this yours, Joe?”
“Yes, it's mine.” That was all I could say.
“Could you guess where we found this watch, Joe?” he asked, his voice silky-smooth, his face bland.
It was like playing barehanded with a swamp moccasin, but I had to play with him until I found out where he was headed. “No, I have no idea where I lost it.”
The Sheriff stood up, a rare smile touching the corners of his thick mouth. “You sonofabitch!” he said softly. “You know, all right.”
Ray King came out of his chair. “Hold it, Otis. Take it easy.”
“Stay out of this, Ray. I swore I'd get the bastard that killed Otto Finney, and by God, I'm going to do it.” He stepped in front of me and shoved the watch in my face. “It's yours, isn't it? You admit it?”
“I told you it was mine.” My heart sank. I could feel the ground falling out from under me.
“AH right, now I'll tell you where we found your watch. Just about an hour ago we picked it up near the railroad tracks where Bunt Manley was murdered. See this leather strap? The stitching is rotten. That's how you lost the watch. You killed Manley, probably while he was here at the station, then you put him in his own car and put the car on the tracks to make it look like an accident. But while you were fooling with that car you caught your watch strap on something and the stitching pulled loose and you lost it. That's the way it happened, isn't it?”
That was exactly the way it happened. But the first shock had worn off and now I was more angry than afraid. I said, “Otis, that's the craziest story I ever heard of. Are you actually accusing me of killing somebody?”
“I'm not accusing you, I'm telling you!”
I turned to the deputy. “Ray, for God's sake, what's got into him? Has he gone out of his mind completely?”
Ray only looked at me. This was Otis Miller's play and he wasn't going to try to take it from him. I wheeled back to the Sheriff.
“Tell me one thing,” I said, “just one thing, before you make any more of these crazy accusations. Why in the world would I want to kill Bunt Manley when I hardly even knew the man?”
“Maybe you didn't want to kill him,” the Sheriff spat. “But maybe you had to kill him. Maybe he came around wanting a bigger share of the money and you decided you had to kill him.”
“What money are you talking about? This gets crazier all the time!”
“You know what money, Hooper. The same money you and Bunt Manley took from old Provo's box factory. If I have to spell it out for you, by God, I'll do it. I've been keeping my eye on Manley ever since he got out of the pen. He's never been any good and I knew sooner or later he'd get himself in bad trouble. So Manley was the one I thought of first when you broke into the factory and killed the old watchman. But Manley couldn't have done the job alone. Somebody had to be in it with him, so when I started looking for a partner I found you.”
The Sheriffs voice was still, soft, and sure.
I was practically yelling. “What the hell do you mean? I thought you were a responsible man, Otis, but here you are building a case on nothing but thin air and making these insane accusations! Well, I've had enough of it! I demand that you offer some proof or shut up and get out of here!”
He grinned. “That suits me fine. We'll start with that bogus bill that you brought around to my office right after the robbery. I knew at the time you were lying through your teeth about just getting it, because that kind of paper hasn't been seen in more than a year. That was a mistake, Hooper, because I started to wonder why you'd go to that much trouble to pump me about the robbery.”
I snorted. “I didn't pump you. I might have mentioned it casually. Hell, the whole town was talking about it. If I mentioned it, do you call that proof that I had a hand in it or killed Manley?”
“And Otto Finney, too,” he said softly. “Don't forget Otto. No, it doesn't prove anything in particular, but it all adds up to a jury.”
We stood there glaring at each other and nobody had to tell me that he had me by the throat and I was fighting for my life. From here on out it would be brass knucks, and I knew it. I tried to get set for it.
“All right,” he said, and his voice was hard now, hitting like a hammer. “Here's something maybe you didn't know. We knew Manley got some ideas during his stay in Leavenworth. We figured he'd try something like this before long. But Manley was smart, we didn't learn a thing from him, so we figured our best bet was to find the man who was in it with him. That turned out to be easier than I had hoped, when we found Otto's body in the lake with that flywheel tied to him. That was your big mistake, Hooper, that flywheel.”
It wasn't “Joe” now, it was “Hooper,” and he said it as though he had a mouthful of quinine.
“That flywheel is the thing that cooked you, Hooper. We have Ike Abrams' word that he took it out of your father's car and left it in the back of your station. No mistake about it, it's the same flywheel. The jury will take Ike's word for that. You and Bunt Manley robbed the box factory and killed the watchman; then you smeared Otto's fingerprints all over the safe to throw me off the track. Finally you brought the body out here, weighted it with that flywheel, then took it out to the lake and dumped it. It's as simple as that and I can prove every damn word of it.
“Have you heard enough? Well, I'm not through yet. There's plenty more. There's something else that started me thinking about you, Hooper. That visit of yours to the box factory. You hadn't been near that factory for years, not since you used to work there, but on the day before the robbery you made the trip just to pay a five-dollar debt. I ask you, does a story like that hold water? Like hell it does! You went out there to get the exact layout in your mind because the robbery was all set for the next night, when you knew the entire payroll would be in the safe. You prowled around the front office, where the safe was, then you went back to the warehouse and talked to some of the workmen.”
I was almost ready to explode. “All this talk doesn't prove a damn thing and you know it!”
Otis grinned tightly. “It proves plenty, and I can see your guts crawling. Do you know how long the factory burglar alarm had been installed, Hooper? Just two days! That means that whoever took the money and killed the watchman gave that place a thorough going-over not more than two days before the job. And you're the man, Hooper. I can put my hands on at least twenty people who will testify to it. How does it look to you now, Hooper? The jury will throw the book at you. When the story gets out, you'll be lucky if they don't lynch you
on the courthouse lawn.”
My voice deserted me. I couldn't make a sound.
“I'm not making any promises, Hooper, but if you'll sign a statement I'll at least see that you get a fair trial.”
My brain was numb. I just stood there too sick to move.
Then a light stabbed the darkness outside the cabin, and I heard the sound of my father's old Dodge pulling up in front of my door.
Ray King said, “It's your father, I think, Joe.”
“Look,” I said. “Don't say anything to him about this. Not now, anyway. He has a patient next door. That's the only reason he's out here.”
Otis Miller said nothing. The two of them looked at each other and finally Ray nodded. I went to the door and said, “Dad, is that you?”
“Yes, Joe. It's pretty late for you to be up, isn't it?”
“Some friends of mine dropped in. Anyway, I wanted to stay up till you got here. I don't know how important it is, but his wife seems to think he's getting worse.”
I could see him standing there, a stooped, bone-tired old man. After a moment he turned and walked heavily toward Number 2.
“How about it, Hooper?” Otis said. “You ready to sign that statement?”
The brief escape from the Sheriffs hammering had given me a chance to get things straight in my mind. At first I felt empty and helpless. I knew they had me. There was absolutely no doubt about it, and I might as well do what they said. So this is the way it ends, Hooper.
After a moment I turned to the Sheriff and looked dully into those eyes of his.
That was the thing that saved me.
I had expected to see the iron-hard glint of victory in those eyes. But it wasn't there. There was anticipation, anxiety, expectation, but not that glint of complete victory. At last I recognized what I saw there. Otis Miller's eyes were the eyes of a gambler who had just run an outrageous bluff and was waiting for his opponent to call.
The implication struck me like an icy shower. It jarred me awake, it released the numbness in my brain. Otis Miller didn't have a damn thing on me! Maybe he had tried to run the most fantastic bluff in history, but he still didn't have a leg to stand on and he knew it.
Oh, he knew I was guilty, all right. He was mixed up about Manley, but he had me pegged every inch of the way. But he couldn't prove a bit of it. All that loud talk of his had been so much hogwash in the hope that he could panic me into a confession.
I felt like a teen-ager on his first drunk. I wanted to laugh right in Otis Miller's face and then kick him and Ray King out of my cabin. What I did was look at Otis and grin.
“Now,” I said, “are you through, Otis?” The glee of the top dog was bubbling inside me. “Are you finally through shooting off that fat mouth of yours? Because if you are, I've got a few things to say that might interest you.”
He reacted just the way I had known he would, as though I had whipped him across the face with a pistol butt.
I had to laugh then; I couldn't hold it back. “Who the hell do you think you are, Otis? None of your talk means a thing. That flywheel story, for instance. There's no way in the world you can prove the flywheel was in my station on the night of the robbery. It was hauled away to the dumping grounds almost a month before, where anybody could have picked it up. As for the bogus bill, I always thought it was a sheriff's duty to take care of things like that. You can suspect anything you please, Otis, but you'd better be damn sure you have proof to back you up before you accuse people of robbery and murder.”
He opened his mouth but I didn't give him a chance to say a word.
“That visit to the factory,” I said. “No jury is going to convict a man for going out of his way to pay an honest debt. That burglar alarm doesn't prove a thing, either, because any top law officer will tell you that any burglar worth his salt takes care of burglar alarms as a matter of course. That just about blows your conviction sky-high, doesn't it, Otis?”
I wasn't through yet. When you got Otis down, it was a good idea to kick him, just to be safe.
“What else is there?” I said. “Oh, yes, the watch. Well, listen carefully, Otis, because this is what happened to my watch. I missed it tonight just before Bunt Manley drove up for gas. I figured at the time the strap had broken and I'd dropped it somewhere, and I intended to look for it when I wasn't busy. While Manley was here I saw him pick something up, but I didn't think anything about it at the time. Manley wouldn't be above picking up a watch, of course, but I didn't think about that until it was too late. So that's what happened to my watch. Also, while Manley was here I noticed that he had been drinking and mentioned that he shouldn't be driving in his condition, but he wouldn't listen to me. Half drunk, he stalled his car on the railroad tracks and got himself killed by a train. Later, you found my watch near the scene of the accident, which isn't surprising. I'll bet you found a lot of other things, too, didn't you, Otis, scattered clear to hell and gone, probably?”
I had shown the cape to the bull but he hadn't charged. He got red in the face, his throat swelled, veins stood out on his forehead, but he didn't charge because he knew that he couldn't win. Ray King stood stiffly, looking grim, but Otis was almost crazy with rage and frustration. Maybe a full minute went by before he made a sound, before he trusted himself to open his mouth.
Suddenly he wheeled and went to the door, then he turned and came back. “You think you're smart, don't you, Hooper? Well, listen to me.”
“You listen to me!” I said. “If you think you've got something, you're welcome to use it. Take me down to the courthouse, lock me up, bring me to trial. You try that, Otis, and you'll be the laughingstock of the country. The jury wouldn't be out thirty seconds before they come in with a verdict of not guilty.”
That was the reason I was so sure that nothing was going to happen. Otis wasn't going to bring me in until he had the evidence he needed, and he didn't have it. The law of double jeopardy worked in Creston as well as it did in other places, and once they found me not guilty it would be over, no matter what Otis might turn up later.
Ray King touched his boss's arm. “Well, Otis?”
I could see the angry blood pumping in the Sheriffs throat, but he took a tight rein on his voice. “You're guilty, Hooper,” he said softly. “You're guilty as hell and I won't let up on you until I see you cooked. You can bank on it!”
Then he tramped out, stiffly, like a mechanical man operating on overwound springs. Even the back of his neck looked angry as he went out.
I stood at the door as the two men got in the car, circled the cabin, and headed toward the highway.
Well, I had won that round, but he was a bulldog, that Otis Miller. He had his teeth in my throat and he wasn't going to turn loose until I was dead. There was only one answer—I had to get out of Creston, far away from Creston, before he scraped together a real case against me.
I heard the door slam at the Sheldon cabin, and when I looked out the window I saw my dad heading for his car. I went to the door and started to speak, but he didn't even look in my direction. He leaned against the car for a moment. Then he looked up at the white clouds sliding under the pale belly of the moon and I thought I heard him say something, but I couldn't catch what it was. Finally he got into his car and drove away.
I kicked the door open and headed for Number 2.
I ran into Paula at the door of the Sheldon cabin; she was just coming out. “Joe,” she said quickly, “I'm afraid we're in trouble.”
“You can say that again. Do you know who I've been fighting with for the past half hour? The Sheriff!”
“At this time of night!”
“The time of day or night doesn't mean a thing to Otis Miller. Didn't you hear the car?”
“I heard it, but I thought it was your father. I thought he had stopped to talk to you before looking at Karl.”
“It was the Sheriff, all right, and he threw the book at me. He hit me with everything he could get his hands on. Luckily, it wasn't enough to panic me into a confession, the
way he had hoped.”
Her eyes widened. “Do you mean he actually suspects you of that robbery?”
“He doesn't suspect, he knows. There's absolutely no doubt about it in his mind. But he doesn't have the evidence to convince a jury, and that's the only thing that saved me. Paula, we've got to get out of here, and we've got to do it in a hurry!” I went inside, dropped on a chair, and looked at Sheldon, who seemed to be asleep. “What did Dad say about him?” I asked.
“He has a high fever, but he should be all right tomorrow. We'll leave tomorrow night.”
I was too tired to argue. Anyway, I needed some rest. All of us did, before starting the trip to Arkansas. Then I remembered something. “You said something about trouble,” I said, looking up at her. “What is it?”
“Your father. He knows everything.”
I felt the nervous tingling of my scalp. “The factory, the killing? How could he know?”
“He saw those sketches you made for Karl. I had meant to burn them, but so much has happened.... Anyway, he saw them, and the minute he looked at them he knew everything.”
A cold void opened in my bowels. This was the beginning of a sickness that I knew would never be cured. Paula sat on the arm of the chair, then put her hands on my shoulders and gently massaged the back of my neck. “He can just guess,” I said. “He doesn't really know.” “He knows,” she said, “because I told him. I thought if I laid it on the line for him, it would scare him so that he wouldn't dare go to the police. Now I don't know.”
“What do you mean?”
“Your father has a conscience,” she said. “A strong one. It will eat at him until he'll finally have to do something about it.”
I got out of the chair so suddenly that I almost knocked her off the arm. I went to the door and looked out at the darkness, remembering how he had looked standing there beside his car, his face turned up to the black sky. Paula came over and stood beside me.
“What are we going to do, Joe?”
“What can we do?”
Her voice was suddenly brittle, and it was one of those rare times when I felt that she actually understood what it was to be afraid. “Don't you understand?” she said. “He knows everything! Sooner or later—maybe not tomorrow or the next day, but pretty soon—he won't be able to hold it inside him. He'll start talking and he'll tell everything he knows.”
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