Джон Макдональд - Flight of the Tiger

“It said in the paper—” Ben began.

“It was on the early news too,” Cassidy said. “We’ve talked about it. It has to be a trick. A two-way trick. To make Gorman come in, or to make her contact her family, afraid that her brother was honestly mistaken.”

“But if Jimmy really thinks it—”

“That’s what they want you to think, damn it!” Cassidy said roughly. “Get that out of your head. They talked your brother into making a false identification. They told him it was his duty. We still don’t know how this man got here. Let’s think about that.”

Ben told them about Freimak. He told them about Davis. He told them about Davey Lemon — and about the girl named Candy, and about the men on the train. As he spoke about the men on the train, Cassidy leaned forward and listened intently. When Ben had finished, Cassidy said, “Fine! You’ve given them the area where they have to look. You’ve narrowed it down nicely.”

Helen said, “I want to talk to him, John. We’ll go for a walk.”

“Don’t go far.”

“We’ll go up to the cabin.”

Ben went over to get his suitcase. Cassidy told him he could leave it there. And then, quickly, Cassidy stuck his hard brown hand out. “This wasn’t the welcome people usually get, Ben. I’m sorry about that.”

Ben found himself liking the man. “It’s okay.”

“When she came here and told us the whole story and her right name and all, we had her move into the house here. You can stay in their place, can’t he, Helen?”

“Of course.”

They went out and down the porch steps and turned toward the high ground. They walked slowly. She had her hands in the pockets of the ski pants, and she looked down and kicked at pebbles with her ski boots. Glancing sidelong at her, he saw the soft curve of cheek, the dark lashes, the vulnerable look of her mouth.

She turned suddenly. “You know I didn’t ask for all this.”

“I know.”

“It’s like Dick. He didn’t ask for it either. They never let you alone.”

“They?”

“Whoever it is that makes everything happen.”

They climbed the steep path to the cabin. She unlocked the door. The small room seemed to hold the long winter chill. It had a damp smell of disuse. There was a double-decker bunk, a fireplace, a work table, bookshelves, chairs, a small kitchen.

He looked into the woodbox. “Fire?” he suggested.

“If there’s enough there.”

He knelt and built it, conscious of her sitting on one of the bunks behind him, watching him. The flame burned the paper, crawled up between the kindling, began to crackle against the logs.

She said, “He could never make one go. He’d yell at it, as if that would make it burn better. I can remember how he said it. He said he lived under a spell, oppressed by all inanimate objects.”

Ben straightened up and lighted a cigarette. “I’ve heard him say that too, Helen.”

“He’d come up here to work and nearly freeze to death. When it was cold I wouldn’t come. I’d make excuses. He knew I didn’t like it here. Now I keep thinking about that and wish I’d always come along. He wanted me to be with him as much as I could, but when he’d come up here, I’d stay in town, feeling free. That’s lousy, isn’t it?”

“Take it easy, Helen.”

“I didn’t love him, Ben. But every day for the last ten months I’ve realized that if he’d come back I would have found out someday that I’d started to love him. We just didn’t have long enough.”

“Are you going to cry?”

“I don’t think so. Give me a cigarette, please.”

He took it to her and lighted it. The pines darkened the windows. The fire made patterns on her face.

“What are you going to do about — all this other trouble?” he asked.

“Nothing. It’s none of my business. I didn’t ask to be involved. John said they’d know the area now. So I think I’ll leave. I’ll go to some other place.”

“Until they get Gorman?”

“I thought I cared whether they got him or not, right after I saw — what he did to Denny. But now I’ve been afraid too long. I keep thinking about dying, and I don’t want to. I very badly don’t want to. So I’m never going back, or going anywhere where they can trace me.”

He looked at her and realized he had been about to tell her that she couldn’t run forever. But, of course, you could run forever, if you had to. And forever was only until you were caught, as someday both of them would be caught.

They talked for a long time. There were many silences between them, but they were easy silences, without strain. Several times he felt that he could safely tell her what had happened to him, and what he was going to do, but each time he decided not to. He wondered if it was pride that kept him from speaking.

Later they went down to the house again. He met Mrs. Cassidy, and he had dinner with them, and they gave him bedding to take back to the cabin. Mr. Cassidy gave him a loaded .38 revolver “just in case.” He rebuilt his fire and sat by it. He looked at the books that had belonged to Dick MacLane. He sat in the small room that had held the love and marriage of Dick MacLane. He smoked and tried to read one of the books, and went to bed.

The sun was high when Cassidy woke him up and told him about the phone call, about the man waiting on the other end of the line. As they went down to the house, Ben trying to wake up, Cassidy said, “I don’t like it. I just don’t like it.”

It was Freimak on the other end of the line. “Lieutenant? Look. I want to tell you something. I got a phone call at nine fifteen. That was an hour ago. Colonel Brown, the man said. He said your leave was canceled and he had to get in touch with you. A local call. So I told him where you were. Then I began to wonder how he got my name. It seemed funny. I called Mrs. Harris — the woman who was taking tickets at the meeting last evening. She said a man had asked her who you wanted to see, and she gave him my name. I’ve just made calls to all the local military installations. I can’t find any Colonel Brown. And last night my wife told me about all this trouble about Mrs. MacLane. You didn’t say anything about that, Lieutenant.” The man’s voice was accusing.

“I’m sorry.”

“I don’t know what’s going on, Lieutenant, but I decided you better know about the call, because now it seems like it was a fake.”

“Thanks, Mr. Freimak.”

The line went dead. Ben replaced the receiver gently and turned and looked at Cassidy and Helen. He said, “Somebody — I don’t know who — found out where we are an hour ago.”

Ben stepped closer to Helen MacLane. She reached out and grabbed his hand and held on with an icy grip. “They’re coming,” she said. “They’re coming here.”

“Let’s think this out,” John Cassidy said. His voice sounded harsh and strained.

“What good is thinking?” she asked.

“I can drive you into Rhinebeck. We can get you locked up. You’ll be safe. Then that Davis can come up and take you back to New York.”

“And they’ll lock me up there too. And keep me until they find Gorman. I’ve heard about these cases. It might be a year. And they’d get careless, and somebody would get in. No. I won’t do that.”

John Cassidy turned to Ben. “Tell her that’s what she should do.”

“I don’t know whether it’s what she should do or not. But she can’t stay here.”

“I’m going to pack,” Helen said and ran out.

Cassidy sighed. “I can’t do anything with her. A couple of times I’ve felt like phoning the police. I know I should have. But what can you do? It’s her choice. If a person wants to run... Hell, I’ve never got anywhere running. I tried once. I had to come back. Go with her, will you, Ben? Keep an eye on her. Try to talk her into going back.”