Джеффри Дивер - Nothing Good Happens After Midnight - A Suspense Magazine Anthology

I had done all I could for Mike. I didn’t want to explain to the police who I was and why I was there. I went outside, got in the pickup, drove half a block and parked where I could see the house. Minutes later, I saw the flashing lights of an ambulance coming down the street.

It was clear to me who’d worked Mike over. Ruskin made no secret that he would crack heads if necessary to get his hands on the decoy. Thanks to my big fat Greek mouth, he knew Murphy held the key to its whereabouts. I had handed Mike on a platter to a dangerous man.

Maybe I should tell the cops what I knew. Lousy idea. Ruskin had the money to hire a team of lawyers who would say that there was no evidence. And Ruskin had the perfect alibi. He never left the house because of his acute allergies, poor guy.

I watched the rescue squad bring Mike out on a stretcher and put him in the ambulance. I followed the ambulance to the hospital emergency entrance. I waited outside a few minutes, but there was nothing I could do while Mike was in the ER, so I drove home.

When I drove up to my house I saw I had company. A black Cadillac was parked in front. I pulled up next to the car and got out of the truck. The caddy’s door opened and a tall man emerged from the car. His silver hair was combed back from a broad forehead. He had a sharp-jawed face with a chin like a shelf. He stood there with his arms folded.

“Ruskin sent me,” he said. He had an accent that was neither English nor Irish. I figured him for Australian.

The black running suit didn’t hide his broad-shouldered physique any better than the white coverall did when I first saw him in the trophy room. “You’re his valet. Dudley.”

If he was surprised I knew his name he didn’t show it. His expression looked as if it had been carved in ice.

“Yeah, that’s me. How’d you know my name?”

“Ruskin’s butler.”

“He talks to much.”

“I almost didn’t recognize you without your hazmat outfit.”

“What? Oh yeah. The spook suit. I put it on after I’ve been out of the house. Ruskin worries about bringing in bad stuff.”

“I’d ask you in for a cup of tea, Dudley, but the place is a mess. What brings you by this time of night?”

“Mr. Ruskin wanted me to tell you you’re off the case. He doesn’t need you anymore.”

“Funny, he didn’t say anything about firing me when I talked to him a few hours ago. He suggested I offer a reward to a source who might be able to lead him to the decoy.”

“Save your energy. You’re done.”

“Does that mean he’s found the decoy?”

“He knows where it is. You’re out of the picture.”

“He paid me a lot of money to snoop around.”

He sneered. “Don’t bother cashing the check. He’s going to put a stop payment on it.”

“Mr. Ruskin is stiffing me?”

“You didn’t find the bird. That was the deal. He had to take matters into his own hands. I’m here to pick up the fake bird.”

“It’s a fake. What’s the hurry?”

“Mr. Ruskin doesn’t like other people to have his property.”

“People like Mike Murphy?”

“Whaddya talking about?”

“I told Ruskin that Murphy might know where the decoy was. A few hours later someone put him in the hospital.”

Dudley smiled. “So?”

“So maybe the police might like to know the connection between your boss and Murphy getting beat up.”

“That would be stupid on your part.”

“Tell Ruskin I’ll drop the duck off tomorrow. Maybe we can talk about my paycheck then. Thanks for coming by, Dud.”

Calling him Dud was my first mistake. Turning away from a violent thug was my second. He moved in, and I saw him unfold his arms from across his chest a second before something hard slammed into the side of my head. My legs turned to rubber and I went over like a fallen oak.

I didn’t even have the chance to yell, “Timber!”

A groan woke me up, which wasn’t surprising because it was coming from my throat.

I pushed myself onto my elbows, then onto my knees, got my legs under me and staggered into the boathouse. The right side of my head was on fire. I had trouble focusing, but I saw that the inside of the house looked as if a bulldozer had gone through it. Only not as neat.

I called Kojak’s name and sighed with relief when he sauntered out of the bedroom. I splashed cold water on my face for the second time that night, put ice in a dish towel and held it tenderly against my head where it helped numb the pain.

I went out on the deck. The box was where I left it, behind the chair. The bird container was still inside.

Dudley said his boss knew where to find the Crowell decoy. I stood on the deck and recalled my conversation with Murphy, and the startled look on his face when I told him his gift to the museum had been moved to the barn.

I remembered, too, the way he had stared at the Crowell barn photo when I found him with his teeth smashed in. It was a deliberate gesture that must have caused him some pain but he did it anyhow.

Sometimes you don’t see the forest for the trees.

You can get so involved in the details, you can’t see the whole picture.

Whether he intended to or not, Mike’s wry comment told me he had found a safe place for the original Crowell. Right in the open, where no one would suspect it to be.

It was a short drive from my house to Brooks Academy. The black Cadillac was parked on a side road in the shadow of some trees.

I dug a filleting knife out of its case, snuck over to the car and stuck the blade into all four tires. The car slowly slumped onto its rims. About then, I heard the sound of an alarm from the workshop. Dudley was making his move. I got back in my truck and drove to the police station around a half mile away. I went in the front door and hurried up to the dispatcher’s desk.

“I just went by Brooks Academy and heard an alarm going off,” I said. “There’s a car parked nearby. Looked kinda suspicious.”

The dispatcher thanked me, and while she got on the phone I slipped out of the police station. I sat in my truck and saw a cruiser drive away from the station toward the museum. A minute later another patrol car raced past, going in the same direction.

I waited ten minutes, then drove by the museum. Four cruisers with roof lights flashing were parked near the museum. Some police officers were talking to a tall man. He had his back to me so I couldn’t see his face, but his hair looked even more silvery in the harsh beam of headlights.

On the way home I stopped by the bank ATM and deposited the check from Ruskin. The transaction went through, thanks to the warning from Dudley.

I was still thinking about Dudley when I stepped into the boathouse. He’d probably say he got drunk and broke into the workshop by mistake. Ruskin would spring him from jail before the arresting officers got off their shifts.

A guy like Dudley doesn’t make his way through life without leaving tracks. I called the best tracker I knew. If John Flagg was surprised to hear from me at three o’clock in the morning, he didn’t show it. He simply said, “Hello, Soc. Been a while. What’s up?”

Flagg seems to function without sleep. Which may have something to do with his job as a troubleshooter for an ultra-secret government unit. We’d met in Vietnam and bonded over our New England heritage. He was a Wampanoag Indian from Martha’s Vineyard whose ancestors had been around for thousands of years. My parents came to Massachusetts from the ancient land of Greece.

“Ever heard of a guy named Merriwhether Ruskin the 3rd?”

“Sure. He runs one of the biggest mercenary ops in the world. Bigger than the armies of lots of countries. Why do you ask?”

“He hired me for a job.”