“I’m Devlin Jamison, Susan,” he said. His voice was deep and soft. Furry, sort of. It seemed to go right through her and echo in her chest.
“I’m glad to know you,” she said, and her voice sounded meek and little. She looked at the bandage on the side of his face and his ear, and the funny thing on his hand. She tried to smile. “They got us both all bandaged up.”
“Susan, I don’t know how to say this. It’s futile to say that I’m sorry. I just… would give anything to take back what happened.”
He seemed to feel just awful. “That’s all right,” she said.
He gave her an odd look. “It’s hardly all right. I don’t believe you know what you’re saying.”
“Yes I do. I mean I feel terrible, naturally. But I’m not a little kid any more. It happened, Mr. Jamison. Things like that do happen. I mean you’ve got to figure that an awful thing like that can happen. That doesn’t mean you’ve got to go around blaming yourself.”
“It could have been prevented. I could have prevented it.”
“Gosh, how?”
“I had a bad tire and I knew it. I could have had it changed.”
He looked so acutely miserable she didn’t feel shy of him any more. He was like a little boy. He even reminded her—just a little bit—of Barney when he’d done something wrong and felt bad about it and wanted to be forgiven.
“Mr. Jamison,” she said firmly, “my father was a terrible driver. Honest. He was going eighty, I bet. He’d always get so mad when he was driving. He was always getting speeding tickets, and he cracked up three cars. I bet a good driver could have kept from hitting you. He had a terrible time getting insurance. He had to pay awful rates. He was all the time crabbing about it.”
She watched his face carefully and saw some of the strain disappear from it. He looked beyond her at the wall. This could come out like the dreams, she thought. Like the movies. The real sad kind, but where it came out all right in the end. The accident had killed her whole family, and that tragic thing threw them together. He’d look on her as just a little kid, but one day he would look at her again and see that she was a woman.
She saw the gold band on his finger. Dreams tottered. She said, “Was your wife hurt too?”
“What? Oh, no she wasn’t, Susan. She died not long ago.”
“You must be pretty lonesome, Mr. Jamison.” He’ll have a big house. I could get well there. I could cook and clean and do the marketing. He’ll come home from work and I’ll have a drink made the way he likes it, and there’ll be candles on the table, in a patio. I’ll wear my hair up and look older. Neither of us have anybody left.
“I guess I am, Susan. I wanted to see you because I want to tell you something. I understand your uncle is here.”
“Uncle Bernie. He’s my mother’s brother.”
“He’ll probably be dealing with my insurance company. I don’t know what kind of a settlement will be made. It may go to court. I don’t know. I want you to listen to this closely, Susan, and understand. From now on, I want to help you. I don’t mean just right now. I mean until you’re grown up. When you’re in any kind of trouble, or need anything, I want you to come to me, to get in touch with me. I guess I could have had a daughter almost your age. I have no children. I want you to let me be sort of a… substitute father.” He smiled at her.
The smile made Suzie feel breathless. It twisted her heart “I… I don’t want to put you out any.”
“It will make me feel a lot better.”
“I guess, in that case…”
“We can start right now, Susan. Is there anything I can do for you now? Anything you want?”
She bit her lip and looked at him warily. She didn’t want to try to move too fast. But this might be the very best chance. “There’s one thing. It’s kind of hard to say.”
“Yes?”
“Well, it’s Uncle Bernie. I guess he’ll be taking care of me. I guess it looks like I would have to live with him. I’m scared about that.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, he’s creepy. You know what I mean?”
“I don’t think I do.”
“I don’t think a young girl ought to live alone with him. He hasn’t got any family. Even if he is my uncle, I don’t think a young girl ought to live with him. You know what I mean?”
“I think I know what you’re trying to say, but are you sure?”
“Sure I’m sure. The way he looks at me. And when he’d come to our house he was always kissing me. You know, it was supposed to be like an uncle, but it wasn’t.”
Mr. Jamison looked so shocked and disconcerted that Susan wanted to giggle. She kept her face straight. After a while he said, grimly, “I think I have a solution to that, Susan. Yes, I think I have the answer to that. I think I’ll have a little chat with Uncle Bernie.”
“Don’t make him mad. He’s got a terrible temper.”
“I won’t make him mad.”
“I’ll be awful grateful to you if you could… fix it.”
“I’m glad you told me this, Susan.” He took her hand. She squeezed his tightly and glowed at him. He released her hand hastily. “I better see if I can find him.”
They told him at the desk that Mr. Krissel was also stopping at the Hotel Blanchard. Jamison got the room number and phoned upstairs. Krissel told him to come right up.
Krissel’s room was a duplicate of Jamison’s. They shook hands and Krissel said, “I’m so glad you came to see me, Mr. Jamison. That poor child on her bed of pain. A tragic thing. It must weigh heavy on your conscience. I would hate to have such a thing on my conscience, sir.”
Jamison repressed his immediate annoyance. “I’m sorry about it, of course.”
“Now I must care for the child. She has no one else. It will be hard for me, Mr. Jamison. I agreed to a figure with Mr. André. Now I feel I was too hasty. He took advantage of my grief. I was not thinking clearly. All I could think of was I did not want to have the poor child have to appear in court. In court the attorneys would crucify her. So I have agreed to a small figure.”
“May I ask how much?”
“Sixty thousand dollars, sir. Said quickly it sounds large. But when it must be spread over the years of her education, it is small indeed. A home must be provided for her. I live in a very tiny apartment by myself. It would not be suitable, of course. She must have advantages, a nice address, nice friends. I am a poor man. I will do all I can, of course. But… who can ever compensate her for the loss of her happy home life, her little sister, a mother’s loving care, a father’s pride and devotion?”
“I came here to talk to you about her future, Mr. Krissel.”
“So?” The man’s voice was quick with interest.
“I would like to be permitted to help.”
“Financial help over and above the settlement?”
“Yes.”
“That is very generous of you. Very, very generous. Though I have my pride, sir, it is good to know that I will be able to call on you for assistance throughout the years.”
“That isn’t exactly what I had in mind.”
“Mr. Jamison, before we start planning for the poor child, I do not wish to sound too businesslike, but after all I am a businessman. If you could make out a small personal check payable to the child—a token check—then we can proceed to discuss the extent of the help you will give her.”
“Before I give her any help whatsoever, I am going to have my attorney draw up an agreement for your signature, Mr. Krissel. He has already advised me about that.”
Krissel sighed. “A sensible precaution,” he said. “An unscrupulous party might take advantage of your generosity.”
“Exactly. And in addition I want you to agree to allow me to make the decisions regarding her education.”
“That is most unusual.”
“Without that agreement there will be no financial help.”
“If I should agree, what would you recommend?”
“A good camp th
is summer. A good private school until she completes her secondary school education. And then one of the better woman’s colleges. I will give you no cash directly. I will pay all of the tuition and school and camp expenses involved. That will leave the cash settlement relatively intact. You will not have to provide a home for her. It will take the… heavy responsibility off your hands, Mr. Krissel.”
Krissel shook his head sadly. “I am sorry. She is too young. She needs the comfort of a home. Later, maybe.”
“Now or not at all.”
“That sounds like an ultimatum, Mr. Jamison. I do not like that.”
Jamison smiled. “It is an ultimatum. As executor and as legal guardian you are responsible to the courts. I am going to tell Susan about this offer. I believe that you are going to find it necessary to explain why you refuse to accept it.”
“Susan will listen to me, sir.”
“Susan told me an hour ago that she will not listen to you.”
Krissel’s face got very white. “What right have you to go to that poor child and turn her against me?”
“I understand that the court can take over the guardianship of a minor, and appoint someone else, if it appears that the responsibilities are not being carried out.”
“You threaten me, Mr. Jamison.”
Jamison thought a moment, then smiled again. “Yes, I guess I do.” He got up and went toward the door. As he opened it, Krissel said, quickly, “I am upset. Give me a chance to think it over. Maybe your plan is best. I don’t know.”
Jamison went out into the corridor and closed the door. He knew that Krissel would accept. It made him feel good. He thought that it would be quite interesting to watch Suzie grow up. At seventeen she certainly was a rather blatantly sexy little wench. A different environment would refine and subdue that sexuality. She might turn into a thoroughly exciting woman, provided she accepted the program he had conceived. He quickened his step. He would return to the hospital and explain the program to her and impress upon her, somehow, how important it was for her to follow through, and not run off to get married too quickly. He hoped her mind would be good enough.
He had a vision of himself in some distant year, driving to a very good girls’ school, picking up a new Susan Scholl, a young lady of charm and assurance, tastefully dressed, and driving her into, say Boston, for dinner and the theater.
The vision was so clear that he became amused at himself and then quite suddenly ashamed. The girl had been orphaned in an excessively brutal manner, and he was using that as a basis for egocentric dreams. Carry such nonsense far enough and it would degenerate into a Pygmalion script, with Devlin Jamison superintending the development and education of the young lady until she was at last of fine enough fiber to become his wife. When she was twenty, he would be thirty-seven. He wrenched his mind away from that, wondering if he were going slightly mad. Of the two, Kathryn Aller was by far the more likely Galatea.
“Would you hold the line for a moment and I will see if Mr. Houde will speak with you, Mr. Lanney.”
“Make it fast, sister. I’m paying for this and I’m on a toy-sized expense account.”
“Mr. Houde, Mr. Lanney, phoning from Blanchard, is on the line.”
“Hello? Houde speaking.”
“Mr. Houde, did you have a girl named Kathryn Aller working for you?”
“Yes! Why? Are you thinking of employing her? I gave her a letter of recommendation that…”
“It isn’t that, Mr. Houde. She’s been in an accident.”
“What? Where? Is she hurt? Who are you, anyway?”
“Now don’t get excited, Mr. Houde. I’m a newspaper reporter. The police have been trying to get a line on the next of kin. I thought I’d try her ex-boss.”
“She’s dead!”
“Look, I can tell you quicker if you stop butting in, mister. She got a good knock on the head. She’s unconscious. There’s no fracture. It may take quite a while before she comes out of it. Now who has she got that the police should get in touch with? That’s what I want to know… Have we been cut off?”
“No. I’m still here, Mr. Lanney. She hasn’t got anyone. She had an aunt in Philadelphia, but she died a few years ago. She hasn’t got a soul.”
“That’s pretty rugged.”
“Yes, I guess it is.”
“You sounded pretty upset. I just wondered if you had any personal interest.”
“I don’t think I know what you mean. She was my private secretary for some years. Very capable girl. Naturally I’m upset about it.”
“She have a boy friend?”
“I don’t know of any. I… never knew much about her life outside the office, frankly.”
“Well, thanks.”
“You’re entirely welcome, Mr. Lanney. Sorry I can’t be of more help. If you see her after she recovers consciousness, please tell her that I… I’m concerned about her, and would appreciate hearing from her.”
“I’ll do that.”
Lanney hung up. Bowers, sitting on the corner of Lanney’s desk, raised one eyebrow. Lanney shook his head. “No dice. The way he sounded, I’d guess they maybe kept late hours in that office. But nothing you could prove. That guy is cute. And Aller hasn’t got anybody in the world who cares whether she lives or dies. Not a bad-looking dish either. What do you want me to do?”
“I guess it’s dead then. I’ll hang onto it. If she’s still out like a light a week from today, I’ll give it to Helen and let her squeeze a few tears for the Sunday edition. You got any ideas on any of the rest of them—I mean outside of the hot car angle?”
Lanney shook his head. “Not a thing, Billy. All the rest of it is routine.”
“By the way, they got an identification on that guy who ran out.”
“Hey! Is that right?”
“They had that Dr. Prace looking at mug shots. The guy he identified had used the same M.O. and there was a pickup out on him for parole violation. Guy named Frazier, from Boston.”
“We running it?”
“No. Nobody is. They think he may still be around Blanchard someplace. Why, I wouldn’t know. So we’re what they call co-operating.”
“What are we running to keep it alive?”
“The girl that got burned. Identification. Here’s what the county coroner’s office gave out. A blonde five feet seven, about a hundred and thirty pounds, about twenty-five. One crooked front tooth. Gold wedding ring in her purse with the initials L.C.A. and F.X.M. engraved on the inside of the ring.”
“That ought to turn her up.”
“And we’re running a map, with an X where the first car was stolen, and one where the bank was robbed, and another where they got the car that was cracked up. Dusty made a dotted line along the probable route up to the final X where they cracked up. Chances are the girl came from somewhere along that route.”
“Or they took her south with them.”
“Not likely. No clothes. They think she was a pickup. Probably some roadside joint they stopped at. Maybe she got a look at some of the money.”
“So where is the money?”
“Good question.”
The three men from the Federal Bureau of Investigation finished counting the money. One of them packed it neatly in a cardboard box, wrapped the box in brown paper and heavy twine. He wrote the figure $38,770 on the brown paper and initialed it. The man from Washington initialed it too.
They were in an office in the county courthouse. The sheriff cleared his throat and they all looked at him. “I can let you have the lend of some real good boys.”
“Thanks. We’ve got it pretty well covered.”
“Is Tommy Fay going to be helping you fellows?”
“Who is Tommy Fay?”
“That State Police lieutenant. The one found the money.”
“Oh, the redhead. No. The SAC in the city has released enough agents to me so that we can handle it adequately, thanks. Now if you’d excuse us…”
The sheriff heaved a sigh and left the office.
When he was gone the three men pulled their chairs closer together. The man from Washington unrolled the scale drawing of the Ace Garage and surrounding area. He made little dots with the point of a very sharp pencil.
“The cars are here, here and here. The radio is in this office here. The man stationed in this office is the key to the whole thing. Williams, you’ll relieve him at seven this evening. If Frazier makes a try at night, these spots over here will floodlight the whole yard. You’ve got the control switch for those spots in the office. And with the night glasses you can keep a very close watch on that car. Harrington, you relieve Williams at eight in the morning. If he makes his try during daylight, during working hours, don’t depend too much on the two men we have planted in the garage. Just alert the cars. The owners and the service manager are the only ones in on this. I want the area to look normal.
“Frazier won’t know the money is gone out of that tire. He won’t know he’s been identified. I’m banking on his making a try. Logical that he should. And you’ll have the rifle in the office if he tries the fence. When that loud speaker blasts loose, he will probably freeze. He may try the fence, but I doubt it. Set now?”
The two men nodded.
“If a trap smells like a trap, it isn’t any damn good,” the man from Washington said.
chapter 16
WHEN Frazier left Donna Heywood’s cabin, he stopped halfway across the baked dirt of the yard in front of the cabins and listened. The false dawn had paled the east. A truck made a thin insect whine in the distance, coming closer. He stood and listened to it. It went by at last, trailing a long sonorous unending burp. Frazier ran his hands through his hair and shuddered.
He took the restaurant key out of his pocket. It felt cool in his hand. Aside from himself and the girl, there were two other customers in the cabins. Their cabins were dark. A man snored heavily.
Frazier, keeping to the darkest shadows, moved soundlessly to the rear door of the restaurant. Getting each little bit of information from her had been like trying to pick up needles with his bare toes.
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