Роберт Колби - Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 17, No. 4, April 1972

Miles pulled up close to the house and stopped directly next to his bedroom window. He unhooked the mike of his two-way radio and stretched its cord through the car window so that it would lay on the sill of his bedroom window. Leaving it, he walked around to the door, went inside to the bedroom, and raised the window. Stretching out on the bed, he lifted the receiver of his phone and dialed.

“Hello.” Her voice was edgy.

“It’s me,” he said.

“Oh.” She was silent for a moment. “Did you catch the escapee yet?” she asked finally.

“No. Not yet.” He wondered about her voice. “You sound funny. Did I wake you up?”

“No. ’Course not. How in hell could I sleep with you acting the way you are?”

Drinking, Miles thought. Probably started as soon as she hung up from their earlier conversation. That was all he needed; for her to get stoned and shoot her mouth off to someone about him. That would really sew up the election for Able Cross.

“I’ve made up my mind about us, Frank,” she said thickly but firmly.

“Oh? In what way?”

“We’re leaving, Frank. We’re not going to postpone it any longer. We’re leaving tomorrow morning, early.”

“You’d better quit drinking in the afternoon, Gloria,” he told her. “You can’t hold your liquor that well.”

“I can hold it well enough to know what I’m saying,” she warned, “so you’d better listen. As soon as my dear, darling husband leaves the house in the morning, I am going to pack my suitcases, put them in my car, and come over to your house to get you. I should be there around ten o’clock. If you’re not there, packed and waiting, I’m going to come uptown looking for you—”

“You’re talking like a fool, Gloria—”

“I was a fool, Frank; a fool to let you keep putting off making any definite plans about us and our future! But not anymore. I’m through letting you treat me like some cheap slut!”

“You’re being unreasonable,” Miles said tightly. “We both went into this with no strings, no promises—”

“Well, I’m making you a promise now, lover,” she said. “If I have to come looking for you tomorrow, I’ll tell everybody on the town square why. Just think what that will do to your precious reputation.”

Miles sat up and was about to swear at her when he heard a voice outside. He glanced out and saw the red bulb fight up on the car radio.

“Hold on a minute,” he told Gloria. He dropped the receiver onto the bed and stepped over to the window to pick up the mike. He depressed the speaker button. “This is Miles. Go Ahead, Ag.”

“Sheriff, Commissioner Haley is in your office. He wants to see you as quick as you can get back.”

Miles sighed wearily. Haley was chairman of the County Commission. He and his two fellow commissioners approved the annual budget for the sheriff’s office, and controlled, among other things, the sheriff’s salary and expenses. They also controlled quite a few votes.

“Do you know what he wants, Ag?”

“No, but I know he was talking to Able Cross out in front of city hall before he came over here.”

That figures, Miles thought. “Okay, tell him I’m on my way in. Anything new on Dall?”

“Negative,” said Agnes Hiller.

“Okay. Ten-four.” Miles put the mike back on the sill and picked up the phone again. “Still there?”

“Aren’t I always?” Gloria said with feigned sweetness. “I suppose you have to hurry off somewhere, like always.”

“Yes, I have to go—”

“Don’t bother to explain; I’ve probably heard it before anyhow. Just remember what I said and be ready to leave at ten tomorrow morning. ’Bye, lover.”

She hung up, leaving Miles with a dead phone in his hand for the second time that day. He muttered a curse and put the receiver back in its cradle. Once again he could feel the hot acid churning in his stomach. Old Doc Scott had probably called it right: he was getting an ulcer, sure as hell. Why, he wondered, had he ever allowed himself to get mixed up with Gloria in the first place? He smiled sardonically. Oh yeah, he remembered — that red hair. He had to see that red hair spread out on a pillow.

Miles left the bedroom and started for the kitchen where he kept the seltzer. As he was about to pass in front of his big kitchen window he happened to glance outside and saw a movement. Instinctively he froze short of the window and remained concealed. What cautioned him was the fact that the window faced west and there was nothing west of the house except a vacant field. No one ever went out there; there was no reason for anyone to go out there; it wasn’t even a shortcut to anywhere.

Miles went back into his bedroom and got a pair of binoculars. Returning with them, he stood well back from the window and focused on the field. When he zeroed in on his objective, the sheriff’s hands tightened around the binoculars like a vise and his mouth went suddenly dry.

The movement in the field was a crouching man. He had gray-black hair, cut short, and was wearing a white shirt and green twill prison pants.

Miles watched the man as he approached the boundary of the yard. The patrol cruiser was parked on the east side of the house, out of sight. From all outward appearances, the house must look deserted, Miles realized, and it was certainly isolated enough to appeal to an escapee looking for a change of clothes and some cash.

Jacob Dall paused behind a tree when he got to the edge of the yard. He’s getting ready to make his move, Miles thought. There was a side porch with a door opening into the house between the livingroom and kitchen. It was the obvious place for Dall to try. Miles put the binoculars down, stepped over to the door, and silently turned the inside knob to unlock it. Then he slipped a flexible sap out of his back pocket, flattened himself against the wall, and waited.

A moment later, Dall darted across the yard and onto the porch. He crept to the door and gripped the knob. When the door opened, he pushed it far enough to slip quickly inside. He was just closing it behind him when Miles slammed the sap against the back of his head and knocked him unconscious.

Miles caught Dall before he hit the floor and dragged him into the kitchen where he laid him on the floor next to the sink. He handcuffed Dall’s wrists together, then went out to the car and got a set of leg irons from the trank. Back inside, he shackled one of Dall’s ankles, wrapped the chain around the pipe under the sink several times, then shackled the other leg.

He examined the swelling where he had slugged the man. There was a considerable bump behind the right ear, but the skin wasn’t broken and Dall appeared to be breathing easily, so Miles decided he was all right. He thought about taping the man’s mouth but quickly dismissed the idea. Even if Dall did wake up and start yelling, the house was too isolated for anyone to hear him.

Miles locked up the house again, got back into his cruiser, and headed for town.

When Miles walked into his office, he found Commissioner Haley pacing back and forth impatiently.

“What the devil took you so long, Frank?”

“I was clear out on River Road, Commissioner,” Miles lied.

“Have you ordered up any special deputies yet?”

“Not yet,” Miles said.

“Why not?” Haley wanted to know. “The city has four extra men on duty right now.”

“How many of them are related to Cross?” Miles asked blandly.

“How would I know!” Haley stormed. “Anyhow, that’s not the point! What concerns me is that Cross has seven men covering the city, and there’s only you and Billy taking care of the whole county. That doesn’t look good, Frank. There’s a maniac loose and people are scared.”