His Name Was Death, page 17
If there was a sound at the door he could easily change his plan but he hoped and thought it was the fire escape that Conn would use. The girl had said, early this evening, that she’d told Conn about it.
Come on, damn you, he thought. Come on, come on. It’s after two. What are you waiting for?
The faint scrape. The faint silhouette against the gray rectangle. The waiting pause, the listening. The stoop, and the step inside. Wait for two or three more steps, let him get close enough, then——
The flashlight speared the dark and caught Darius Conn, caught him in mid-step, changed whatever expression had been on his face to sudden shock, pulled a gasp out of him. A ridiculous Conn, who had attempted to disguise himself. Yes, as he’d guessed from the descriptions, elevator shoes, padded shoulders, something to distend his mouth and make the lower part of his face wider, probably wax inside his mouth. Sloppy, amateur stuff.
“Hi, Darry,” he said quietly. In his ordinary tone of voice so Conn would know it.
“Charlie!” Hardly more than a whisper, but Conn looked deflated after it, deflated as though it had let the air out of him, all of the air.
“There’s a gun on you,” Barrett said. “Don’t try for yours, if you’ve got one. Have you got one, Darry?”
“Yes. In my pocket. All right, you’ve got me, Charlie.”
“You son of a bitch,” Barrett said.
Conn’s voice was tired, and he looked tired. “I said you’ve got me. Why rub it in?”
“You bastard. Why do you think I’ve got you?”
“Does it matter why? I slipped somewhere, I guess.”
“Slipped somewhere? Hell, I’ve been only a jump behind you all along. I knew you killed Atkins and Harper when I talked to you Saturday. I guessed why. I knew you were counterfeiting. I’ve known it for months. I put the idea in your mind.” He saw, and liked, the look on Conn’s face. That distorted face, that hated face.
Conn said, “I don’t get—Why didn’t you——?”
“Because I’ve been waiting for this. I’ve waited a year, Darry. Do you think I wanted you in jail for counterfeiting, where I couldn’t get you?”
Still bewilderment. Good. The better when it came.
He said very quietly, “Darry, you thought you got away with murder a year ago. Didn’t it ever dawn on you that one man knew that the man with Myrtle that night didn’t kill her, and that you did?”
It came now, the look on Conn’s face that he’d been waiting for. He savored it.
He said, “I could have testified then, Darry, and got you the chamber. I might have lost my job—but probably not even that. But I waited because I wanted—this.”
He said, “I’ll get away with it, Darry. I split up with Kuzwa, left him to guard the Dugan girl and convinced him I could handle you easier alone. And I can, Darry. Only don’t think I’m going to arrest you.”
He said, “I loved Myrtle. It wasn’t just a toss in the hay. I was trying to get her to leave you and she would have. You murdered her. God damn you, God damn you.”
Conn was swaying, looking as though he might fall, might throw up.
He couldn’t wait much longer. He said, “You son of a bitch. Here it is.”
He pulled the trigger twice.
Used the flash to find the light switch and turned it on.
Walked back to the still thing that had been Darius Conn and felt for a heartbeat that wasn’t there. Wrapped a handkerchief around his hand to take Conn’s revolver from Conn’s pocket and wrap a dead hand around it.
Walked to the door and opened it to tumult outside. Girls in robes over sleeping garments. Someone dialing at the telephone in the middle of the hallway. They shrank back from him.
He said, “It’s all right, girls. Joyce is all right; she wasn’t in her room. I was there to trap a prowler; he resisted and I was forced to shoot.”
Walked confidently down the hallway toward the phone. “If that’s the department you just dialed, let me talk when they answer.”
address to Catalogue Department, Bantam Books, Inc., 657 West Chicago Avenue, Chicago 10, Illinois.
About the Author
Fredric Brown was a prolific writer of multiple genres, including mystery, science fiction, poetry, and nonfiction. His work has been championed by Stephen King, Philip K. Dick, Umberto Eco, and many more literary luminaries. In the mystery world, Brown is best remembered today for his long-running series of mysteries featuring Ed and Am Hunter.
All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 1954 by Frederic Brown.
Cover design by Ian Koviakr
ISBN: 978-1-5040-6870-3
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FREDRIC BROWN
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Fredric Brown, His Name Was Death
