Аврам Дэвидсон - Ellery Queen’s Double Dozen

A nerve twitched in Egan’s cheek. “It’s a miracle you got across. But now you’re here, Mister, you’re here to stay. No way in God’s world to get out.” He turned toward the man with the deeply lined face who had come up beside him. “Russ Toomey’s gone, George,” he said. “Washed away with the bridge.”

“I heard,” Uncle George Crowder said, pain in his pale blue eyes. He peered in the car at Stack and McVey. “You’re dead sure he went with the bridge?”

“Saw it with my own eyes,” McVey said. “He’s a goner, all right. Tossed him fifty feet in the air. Tough luck.”

“Somebody’ll have to tell his old lady,” Uncle George said. “It’s gonna cut Joey up pretty bad, too. He and Russ were good friends.”

“You fellows better go in the drug store and have a cup of hot coffee,” Egan said.

“We’ve got to get on,” McVey said.

“I wouldn’t kid you, Mister. You can’t That old covered bridge was the last way in or out, and we wrote that off hours ago. That’s why we sent Russ out there. You’re just dog lucky you got across, Mister. Now you pull up to the curb there and have yourself a cup of coffee. Hec Trimble’s got a radio in there and you can hear the emergency reports yourself. There’s no traveling in this neck of the woods — not till morning when they’ve seen what they’re up against and put some emergency crews to work.”

McVey and Stack stared at each other. “I guess a cup of coffee would taste good,” McVey said.

They pulled the Imperial over to the curb and got out, McVey carrying his brief case, the flap unzipped.

“In here’s the coffee,” Uncle George said, leading the way into the drug store.

Hector was back of the counter with Janet Graves. She was washing some coffee cups. Young Joey, sitting on the stool at the front end of the counter, turned around to see what was what.

“These gentlemen are the last ones in or out,” Uncle George said. “Covered bridge is gone — they saw it go.” He put a strong brown hand gently on Joey’s shoulder. “And they got bad news.”

“Coffee, gentlemen?” Hector asked in his crisp voice.

“Yeah, thanks,” Stack said. He looked at Janet Graves and moistened his lips.

“Bad news, Mr. Crowder?” Janet asked.

The brown hand moved around Joey’s shoulder. “Russ Toomey went with the bridge,” he said. “He warned these gentlemen off and they decided to risk it anyway. Right afterwards the bridge went — and Russ with it.”

Tears welled up into Joey Trimble’s eyes. “Poor Russ,” he said in a small voice. “But... but he was doin’ his job. He’d have liked it that way.” Joey struggled with his tears.

“This Toomey boy was a great friend of Joey’s,” Janet said in a gentle explanation to McVey. “He was maybe twenty years old, but he and Joey were real close.”

“Well, you can be proud of him, son,” McVey said to Joey with an air of kindliness. “Like you say, he did his job. He stopped us. He warned us about the bridge. We said we’d try it. He argued with us and argued with us, but we went ahead anyway. Then, right after that — pow! The whole works went.”

Joey turned quickly to McVey. “He argued with you?”

McVey nodded. “Told us over and over the bridge wouldn’t hold us, but we had to risk it. Had to get to New York. Still do.”

Joey’s eyes were very bright. “Then it couldn’t have been Russ!” he cried.

“Of course it was Russ,” Hector said. “Russ is the one Egan sent to the covered bridge. Everyone else is accounted for.”

“But it couldn’t have been Russ!” Joey protested. “Don’t you see—?”

“Joey!” Uncle George said sharply. His pale eyes were suddenly as cold as two newly minted dimes.

“But it couldn’t have been Russ!” Joey persisted. He smiled happily at McVey. “Russ couldn’t have argued with you, Mister, because he’s deaf and dumb!”

There was a deathly silence in the little store. McVey’s pudgy hand reached for the brief case he’d put down on the stool beside him. Joey, sensing something wrong, still couldn’t stop the flow of his relief.

“So it couldn’t have been Russ!” he explained again.

Uncle George turned slowly away toward the door.

“Hold it a minute, Pop,” McVey said in a new voice, a hard, cold voice. He’d taken the .45 from the brief case. He didn’t point it at Uncle George. The round, chill barrel was pressed against Joey’s head just above the left ear. “Before anyone goes anywhere let’s just get the facts straightened out here, shall we?”

Hector Trimble stared at his young son, McVey’s .45 held against his head; at McVey, whose round chubby face was suddenly a mask of smiling evil; at Ray Stack, who had moved around and taken a second gun out of the open brief case; at Uncle George Crowder, who stood by the door, tall, gray-faced, and motionless as a statue; and at Janet Graves, her pallor accentuated by the dark red halo of her hair.

Hector exploded. “What kind of melodramatic nonsense is this?” he demanded. “Put away those silly guns. We’re all too tired after what’s happened today to—”

“Just stand still, Dad,” McVey said with a smile that made Hector feel queazy, “and have a rag ready to mop up this kid’s brains off the counter in case anybody moves until I say so.”

“You were sore because I just mentioned the guy with a flashlight!” Ray Stack said in a cracked-sounding voice. “Then you have to go invent a whole story about an argument when it turns out the guy can’t even talk!”

“Shut up,” McVey said. He nodded his head toward the radio on the counter. “That thing work?”

Hector moistened his lips. “It’s a battery set I keep — just in case—” he said.

“You can get news about the flood on it?”

“Only thing you c-can get,” Hector said. “Conelrad station. All the network programs are off.”

“Tune it in.” McVey’s piglike eyes darted toward Janet. “Just keep your hands up on top of the counter where I can see ’em, sister. Ray, have a look around back of the counters. Sometimes in a hick store like this they keep a gun in back. Might be a holdup or something.” He gave Hector a wider smile. “And you lock up, Dad. I don’t want anyone coming in here to pass the time of day while we talk.”

“But I promised the sheriff I’d—”

“Un-promise him — and quick!” McVey said.

Uncle George’s voice broke in sharply. “Don’t move, Joey!” He’d seen something on the boy’s face that warned him Joey was thinking in terms of romantic heroism.

“Now there is a guy knows the time of day,” McVey said. “You do like he said, boy. Don’t move! You! I said turn on the radio.”

There was a sputtering noise as the battery set warmed up.

“—Change until late tomorrow morning. High water levels have probably not been reached as yet. Again authorities warn against any attempt at highway travel. It is not simply that it is dangerous, but there is probably not a bridge left in the northwest corner of the state. If you are safe where you are, sit tight. Boil your water. Repeat — boil your water. In the Hartford area—”

McVey reached forward with his left hand and cut off the machine. “Aren’t they reporting any other kind of news?”

“You mean like an account of your particular crime?” Uncle George asked in a flat voice.

“You’re a pretty wise old fossil,” McVey said.

“My Uncle George isn’t an old fossil!” Joey said in a shaky voice. “He’s the best lawyer in the State, and he’ll—”

“Lawyer, eh?” McVey said. “Well, explain to them, Uncle, that you go to the chair for one killing, so it don’t matter how many more you add to it.”