Go Home, Stranger

  He removed the gun, caught the action in his other hand, slid it back and then forward, jacking a shell into the chamber, then shoved it back in his waistband.

  “Just couldn’t leave things alone, could you?” he asked, without any emotion whatever. “Suppose you get over there with your lady friend and sit down. And throw away that stick.”

  Reno had seen deadliness before, and he knew he was looking at it now. He let the stick slide from his fingers, and walked slowly over to Patricia. Easter watched them with the unwinking stare of a cat, saying nothing.

  He could feel the sweat on his face and the tightness in his chest. Without looking around, he groped for one of her hands, and squeezed it. He could hear the shaky intake of her breath.

  “All right,” he said at last. “Who is it?”

  “Just have to know, do you?”

  “That’s right,” Reno said. “And we will, as soon as they get him out.”

  “No,” Easter said softly. “I don’t think anybody’s going to dig him up. But since there’s not much chance you’ll blab it around, I’ll tell you. His name was Robert Counsel.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  THERE WAS TOO MUCH of it to take hold of all at once. At first Reno could grasp nothing except the incredible fact that he had finally caught up with Robert Counsel. The elusive phantom he had pursued so long was buried under the tangled branches of that tree. The questions were answered. Robert Counsel had been dead all the time, and this big, cold-eyed man with the gun in his belt was the one who had killed McHugh.

  “You got away with it for a long time, didn’t you?” he asked.

  “That’s right,” Easter said coolly. “I thought you’d get wise to yourself and mind your own business after that trailer disappeared, and you got conked that night.”

  “Well, isn’t that too bad?” Reno asked. “So we could just go ahead and let my sister take the rap for killing McHugh.”

  “McHugh?” Easter looked puzzled for an instant. “Oh, you mean the guy that actress shot. What’s he got to do with it?”

  Reno stared. Was he dealing with a lunatic as well as a murderer? “Oh, nothing. Nothing at all. Except you killed him because he found out you killed Counsel.”

  “You seem to be a little mixed up, friend,” Easter remarked calmly. “I haven’t killed anybody—yet.”

  “So I suppose the pixies buried Counsel there, and wrote you a letter?”

  “No. I buried him. And I enjoyed every bit of it, even spitting in his face. There’s only one thing I’d have enjoyed more, and that’s killing him. Somebody beat me to the honor.”

  “You expect anybody to believe that?”

  “Of course not,” Easter said simply. “That’s the reason I buried him.”

  Reno stared. “You put him in there—but you don’t have any idea who killed him?”

  “Now you’re catching on,” Easter said. “A little late, but you finally got it. You see what I mean about nobody digging him up? And they won’t dig you up, either.”

  Reno shot a sidewise glance at Patricia. She was silently watching, her eyes big with horror. She knows it, too, he thought; Easter’s a maniac, and any minute now he’ll pull out that .45 and let us have it.

  “Listen,” he said desperately, “if you didn’t kill Counsel, what have you got to worry about?”

  Easter regarded him with cool contempt. “Why, not a thing. Except the jury wouldn’t be out five minutes. Everybody in this county knows Counsel ran off with my wife in 1942. And a few of them even know what happened after that.” He paused, and for a moment his eyes were the most terrible Reno had ever seen.

  “He left her after three weeks, and she committed suicide in a crumby, fourth-class hotel in New Orleans. She hanged herself.”

  The awful silence dragged out for a full minute before Reno said, “But, damn it, that still doesn’t mean—”

  “Oh, of course not,” Easter broke in coldly. “Especially the way it happened. They’d never think I had anything to do with it.”

  “How did it happen?”

  “It was one night a little over a month ago. I was bringing a load of fish down to the highway in my boat. I guess you know why it was at night. Anyway, I tied up in the brush close to that old camp ground a little after dark and was waiting for Malone to bring the truck. And just about that time I heard three shots a long way off, over on the ship channel. About twenty minutes later some car lights showed up, and I thought it was Malone, until it was too late and the guy had spotted me in the road. It was the game warden. To make it worse, I had this gun in my belt, and he saw it. He wanted to know what I was doing, and just about that time we both saw the other car in his headlights. It was a Cadillac, parked there in the camp ground, and there was an empty boat trailer over by the water. I hadn’t noticed ’em before.

  “I had to get him out of there some way before Malone showed up with the truck, so I told him I was guiding for the fishermen who owned the Cadillac. That seemed to satisfy him, so he left.

  “About thirty minutes later Malone showed up, we loaded the fish, and he left. I started back to my boat, which wasn’t far from that trailer, and right there in the road by the Cadillac I stumbled over something. I switched on the flashlight and looked. It was a man lying there as if he had been trying to crawl back to the car. His clothes were wet, and when I turned him over I saw blood on his shirt, mixed with the water. He’d been shot in the belly. I turned the light on his face then, and knew that if I didn’t think of something real good and think of it fast I was going to hang. It was Robert Counsel.”

  Reno could only stare. The horrible part of it, he thought, is that he’s telling the truth. The whole thing was beginning to fall into place in his mind now, and he knew why Counsel had come back, but there wasn’t anything he could do. Easter was backed into a corner, and he had to kill them.

  “Listen,” he said desperately, “Counsel was shot over there on the ship channel, and I know why. It can be proved. Didn’t you ever stop to wonder why he came back here when he knew you’d kill him if you saw him?”

  “I’ve never tried to figure out why Robert Counsel did things,” Easter, said coldly.

  “Well, I have,” Reno snapped. “I’ve done nothing else since the first time I heard the name. And now I know. He came back after something over there in the ship channel, and I know where it is. If we can get our hands on it, I think it’ll prove you didn’t have anything to do with killing him.”

  “How stupid do you think I can get?” Easter asked bitterly. “Prove I didn’t kill him when a witness saw me right there that night, with a gun? When I ran the trailer out in the bayou, brought him up here and buried him, and drove his car into town and left it? Cut it out.”

  Reno knew it was hopeless. Easter was entangled in a web of circumstantial evidence grown more damning with every move he had made to extricate himself, until now he had reached the point where he had to kill. And it was hopeless the other way. Easter was a giant of a man, in superb physical condition.

  There was no chance for either of them if they sat and waited for it, but if he could give Pat a few precious seconds it might save her. And Vickie, he thought.

  Slowly, still talking, he gathered his feet back under him, shifting his weight a little forward. He wanted to look around at her just once more, but didn’t dare. He still had her hand in his, and now he squeezed it, twice. All right, he thought. Now.

  He went in low, hard, and driving. He heard Pat scream, and saw Easter’s hand come down for the gun, all of it in slow motion. Everything was focused on the hot, oily shine of the gun, coming clear, turning … It went off, the sound crashing against his ears, as he slammed shoulder first and hurtling with all his weight into Easter’s stomach. They went down and rolled. His face plowed into dirt and leaves. He groped for the arm that had the gun, found it, and felt the awful strength and it jerked free. Something crashed against his head, and blood ran down into his eyes.

  They rolled again,
neither of them uttering a sound except the hoarse, animal noises of their breathing. He had both hands on Easter’s gun arm now, fighting with all his strength to hold onto it. Then, through all the violence, he was conscious of something else. Patricia was leaning over them, swinging a stick, and he could hear it beating against Easter’s hand and wrist.

  He got his mouth open, found breath somewhere, and screamed, “Run! Get away.” Then the gun went off again. He felt Easter’s arm thresh wildly. The gun had kicked out of his hand and was lost somewhere under them. His own hand bumped it; he felt it slide, and it was lost again. He groped frenziedly. He had it now, and was scrambling to get out of reach of those terrible arms. He was up to his knees, moving backward, when Easter swarmed off the ground and smothered him. He fell back, under the tremendous weight, and felt pain stab into his ankle. Just for an instant the big head was in front of his face and his right arm was free. Biting his jaws together against the pain, he shifted the gun over to his right hand, and swung. There was a crunching impact, and he lifted and swung again. Easter jerked and went limp. Reno pushed him off and slid backward across the ground to get his own weight off the twisted ankle.

  He struggled to his feet, tried to put his weight on the leg—the left one—and collapsed. Easter was writhing on the ground, only momentarily stunned, and trying to get up. Through the roaring in his head, Reno thought: I’ve got to get away from Kim. I can’t take any more of that guy. I’ve got to get far enough away so I can stop him with the gun.

  He suddenly realized he was speaking aloud, and wondered if the blow on his head had made him wild. He rolled; then rolled again. Pat was bending over him. “Pete! Pete! Are you all right?” She was crying.

  He was against the log now. He shoved backward, inching his shoulders up until he was sitting upright with his back propped against it. Blood ran across his face, getting into his eyes again. He brushed savagely at it with his left hand. I can stop him from here, he thought. I can gut shoot him twice before he can get this far.

  She was down in front of him, mopping at his face. He shoved her roughly to one side. “Move back, Pat!” he said savagely. “I’m all right, but stay out of the way.”

  Easter was sitting up now. He got slowly to his feet, bleeding from the cut on his head, and his eyes were terrible to look at. I went farther than that and got him, Reno thought, with cold calculation; but he had the gun in his belt. He won’t come—maybe. But if he does, he’ll get here dead.

  He checked the safety again, and leveled it. “All right, Easter,” he said. “If you move one foot, come all the way at once.”

  The big man’s chest heaved, and he shook his head a little to clear it. The eyes were cold, weighing the factors.

  “I’m not Counsel,” Reno said. “You don’t want me that bad. But if you do, let’s have it now and get it over with.”

  “And if I don’t?” The voice was only a whisper.

  “You can run. I don’t want you. They’ll get you, because you’re too damn big to hide, but I don’t think they’ll get you for murder. If I have any luck, they’ll know who killed Counsel.”

  “And if you don’t?”

  “They’re still going to know where he is. I’m going to tell ’em. But trying to kill me is stupid. I’m the only person in the world who knows enough about this mess now to get it off your back. Get wise to yourself! They can stick you for burying him up here and trying to cover up the murder, but you may beat it when they know the circumstances. Do anything you like, but get this! Don’t try to jump me. I’ve got something to do, and I’ll kill you if I have to.”

  Easter stared wickedly at the gun. “You had a lot of luck.”

  “I know I did. And I’ve still got it. Now, how’s it going to be?”

  For a long moment Easter continued to watch him. Counsel either had a lot of guts or he was crazy, Reno was conscious of thinking, to come back here with that looking for him. Then the big man shrugged slightly, turned around, and walked straight away from them through the timber, going toward the bayou.

  “Keep an eye on him, Pat,” Reno whispered. “As far as you can see him.”

  She moved over a little and stood watching silently. In a little while she came back. “He’s gone,” she said simply. Then she sat down and took a long, shaky breath.

  “I’m sorry I barked at you, Pat,” he said gently. “But it was a near thing there for a few seconds.”

  “It’s all right,” she said. She reached over and wiped his face with her handkerchief. “But we’ve got to get you out of here, right now. That needs stitches.”

  He pulled up the leg of his trousers. The ankle was swollen and becoming discolored, too painful to touch.

  She started to say something; then stopped and listened. He heard it too. It was an outboard motor starting. Easter, he thought. He won’t be back.

  He tried to stand, white-faced with the agony of it. The leg would bear no weight at all. He sat down on the log, and looked around. Taking put his knife, he pointed. “See that sapling over there, Pat? Cut it down, just above the ground, and bring it over here.”

  She understood, and hurried over to hack away with the knife. When she dragged it over he trimmed it up, took off his shirt and wrapped it around the fork at the top for padding, and tried the crutch. He could hobble on it.

  “I’ll go down and get the boat,” she said. “And bring it straight out there, to the nearest place. You can walk that far, with the crutch, and my helping you.”

  “Wait,” he said. “Keep listening for that motor. I want to hear it get clear out of the country before you try it.”

  They could still hear it, growing fainter in the distance. Then suddenly it stopped, somewhere near the bend below them. In a moment they heard it start again.

  Reno thought of the three miles back to camp and the fact that everything now depended on their being down to the ship channel as soon as it was dark. He swore softly.

  “Pete,” she said wonderingly. “What is it?”

  “Easter’s just picked up the boat. We walk.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  “HE DID IT TO gain time,” she said. “He knew your ankle was hurt. It’ll give him that much longer to run before we could report—” She stopped and gestured mutely toward the tangle of branches.

  “Probably,” he agreed. “But we don’t know.”

  “Wait, Pete,” she said quickly. “I’ve got it. That boat you left up here the other day—It’d still be along the shore somewhere. I could find it.”

  He shook his head. “That’s what I meant. No motor, and only one oar. Take hours to paddle it back. He’d have plenty of time to get his rifle and wait for us.”

  She stared. “You think he would?”

  “That’s just it. We don’t know. But paddling down that channel in the open would be the hard way to find out. We stick to the timber.”

  “It’s three miles,” she said doubtfully. “And we have to get across the bayou down there.”

  “I know. But there’s no other way.”

  She lit two cigarettes and handed him one. “You have to rest a minute before we start.”

  “All right,” he said reluctantly. He was goaded with a wild impatience to be gone, but he was still weak. They could still get down to the ship channel by dark, he told himself. They had to.”

  She was watching him quietly, with something expectant in her eyes. “Pete, do you really know why Robert Counsel came back?”

  He took a deep drag on the cigarette, dreading part of what he had to tell her. “Yes,” he said. “Counsel came back after something put there in the ship channel: Something he brought from Italy.”

  She was kneeling in front of him. “What?” she asked softly.

  “I don’t know,” he answered. “We’ve got to find out. But I began to see it when Easter told me when and where he heard those shots. It’s all there now. In the first place, Counsel wouldn’t change his reservations and fly back from Italy with Mrs. Conway. She cou
ldn’t understand that, but I think I do now. He was bringing back something that could only be brought in on a ship. Remember what that long-winded pilot said about those splashes he heard? He couldn’t remember the name of the ship, but it was the same line, the Silver Line, and it has to be the one Counsel was on.

  “And then there’s the dredge. That’s the tip-off. It was something Counsel read in the Waynesport paper, remember, that made him come back. I’ve been going through the paper and beating my brains out for days, trying to figure out what it was. And now I’ve got it. It was that little blurb saying contracts had been let to begin dredging the channel. You see? Whatever he had thrown overboard was still there, and if he didn’t come back and get it the dredge would pick it up and carry it out to sea.”

  “But,” she whispered, puzzled, “why did he wait so long? Why didn’t he come back and pick it up after the ship docked, assuming it was contraband he couldn’t take through customs?”

  He hesitated, hating to tell her. “Remember what the pilot said, Pat? There were two of those splashes. And the second one was right there above the old Counsel landing, where the cabin cruiser exploded. And remember the explosion came from inside the boat. Right there’s where you run up against the cold-blooded genius of Robert Counsel. All the men who were in that thing with him were supposed to go pick up that second thing he threw overboard. And I think I’ve got it now. One of them was too smart, and didn’t. Counsel, had to run.”

  He could see the awful unhappiness in her face. But she’s suspected it all along, he thought, taking her hand in his. She knew it even if she didn’t want to admit it. Her brother and Morton were mixed up in those Army thefts along with Counsel.

  “But,” she said softly, “who was the other one? The one who didn’t go out to pick it up?”

  “Griffin,” he said simply. “It was Griffin who killed Counsel and then killed Mac.”

  She gasped, and looked at him incredulously. “But—I don’t see, Pete … How do you know it’s Griffin?”