Strangers When We Meet, page 21
One of the officers went to the door of the school, mounting the steps at a run, to rap on it loudly; the other stood by the patrol car, looking about him, his radio transmitter in his hand. After a while, he stepped over to the cab and started to peer inside it. Some women came out of the school building, talking in agitated voices, and a moment later a third car, a big Cadillac roadster, also turned into the street and parked behind the cab. The man in the doorway swore again. His retreat was cut off and he couldn’t return to the cab. But the kid couldn’t have got very far—she would be in the playground, probably, hiding somewhere, and if he went that way he might find her, with any luck. Even if he didn’t, he could get out through the park. There was a path, he knew, leading past the swings the kids used, which led to Innes Avenue, past the bushes where he had tried to hide that darned over-curious woman doctor, and thence to the Schribers’ house.
He grinned mirthlessly to himself, recalling the efforts he had made to lay a false trail to Bob Schriber and away from himself. Apparently it hadn’t worked, but he hoped that Bob had suffered some uncomfortable moments, all the same; he owed Bob Schriber something, for losing him his job at the Trucking Company, among other things. Maybe his plan had been just a bit too clever; anyway, only that woman quack had fallen for it, which was a pity . . . although the police seemed to have found themselves another suspect, without any help from him, so he supposed it didn’t matter. But it wouldn’t be too healthy to stick around here much longer. Once the schoolmarms had done wailing and yakking someone would no doubt have the bright idea of searching the park, and if they found the kid before he did, it would be just too bad.
He inched forward, looking this way and that, because he couldn’t afford to let himself be spotted here. Better ditch his stolen cap in the doorway, and the glasses too, he decided—they might keep the police off his trail for just long enough to enable him to do what he had set out to do. The owner of the cap was also the owner of the Yellow Top he had taken a loan of, and it would take the hacky a while, explaining to Chief Hennessy what his vehicle had been doing outside the kid’s school this morning. First he’d have to prove that his taxi-cab had been stolen and . . . the killer smiled again, this time with sardonic amusement as he moved stealthily out of the shelter of the doorway that had given him sanctuary.
No one suspected him yet—he had fooled them all. He’d had luck, of course, but then fortune favoured the brave and it had certainly helped, having that other guy sweating it out under police interrogation, being called in to take part in line-ups. It had left him free. Now the only thing he needed was time, just a little time to track down and silence that darned kid. Until he did silence her, he wasn’t safe, not as long as he stayed in Granville. He could always leave town, admittedly, if the pace got too hot, but he didn’t want to do that, unless there was no other alternative. This was his home and he was settled here—it would take more than a kid to drive him away when he had found, at long last, the perfect base for his “operations.” Next time, though, he would be more careful; he wouldn’t conduct an “operation” on his own doorstep, whatever the temptation.
He walked nonchalantly into the playground, whistling a gay little tune to himself, and Mary Ellen, crouched down behind the wooden roundabout provided for the recreation of the smallest of her schoolfellows, heard him and trembled in new fear.
But the man didn’t linger. After a quick glance round, he caught the sound of heavy footsteps approaching and decided not to prolong his search. His wrenched ankle had healed quickly and well—to give her credit, the young woman doctor had done a great job on it—but he still didn’t want to put it to the acid test of a chase. He dodged round behind the swings, making for the cover of the ornamental shrubs beyond the playground, no longer whistling, but listening intently. Mary Ellen heard his soft, cautious tread as he passed within a few yards of her hiding place, and froze. If he had looked back over his shoulder he would have seen her, but to her heartfelt relief, he didn’t. She waited, too frightened to move, until the footsteps receded and she realised that he had gone. Greatly daring, she raised her head to look over the wooden edge of the roundabout and saw that the playground was deserted. In spite of this, she was afraid to venture out right away, lest he return, as he had done that night in the wood. It took her fully five minutes to pluck up the courage to move and then, to her joy, she heard her mother’s voice and Miss Shepherd’s calling her from the street. With a pent-up sob of anguish, she ran towards the sound of voices and into her mother’s outstretched arms.
By this time quite a crowd had gathered in the narrow street. Besides the teachers, who with Miss Shepherd had volunteered to join in the search, there were now three police cars, in the second of which Chief Hennessy had rushed to the school with Sheriff Cluny, from Ellis County.
Kathleen, holding the sobbing child in her arms, refused at first to let them question her, but after a while, when Mary Ellen’s frantic weeping ceased, she yielded to her brother’s urging and asked her gently if she could tell them what had happened. The child looked up at her with tear-filled eyes.
“You weren’t hurt in an accident, Mom?”
“No, darling, I wasn’t. You can see, I’m fine.”
“He said you were hurt real bad. He came in a Yellow Top cab, but it was him, and he wanted me to—to get into his cab. He said he’d been sent to take me to you, but I was scared. Mom, you wouldn’t have sent him to fetch me, would you? Not if you’d known who he was?”
Kathleen’s arms tightened protectively about her. “No,” she answered, in a shaken voice, “of course I wouldn’t. He told you a lie—a cruel, wicked lie.”
“But why, Mom? Because he wanted to hurt me? Why does he want to hurt me? I don’t understand.”
Kathleen hesitated. She owed this courageous child the truth, she thought, or part of the truth, at least. Twice she had escaped from him, but if there should be a third time . . . she shivered, a terrible fear gnawing at her, as she heard her brother issuing orders, heard the wail of a siren as one of the police cars went off to start the search. But they didn’t know where to start, didn’t know for whom they were looking . . . only Mary Ellen knew, and she had to be warned.
“You’ve seen his face, darling,” she said very gently. “You can recognise him, tell Uncle Mike who he is, and that’s why he’s trying so hard to hurt you. He”—she braced herself, conscious of Miss Shepherd’s shocked expression and of the disapproval in the other teachers’ eyes—“Mary Ellen, he would kill you if he could, my darling, to save himself. We shall all take care of you and you won’t, even for an instant, be left alone until he’s arrested. But I believe you should know what he’s trying to do, just in case you . . . in case you see him again. Do you understand?”
The little girl nodded solemnly and Kathleen felt someone—she thought it was old Mr. Struthers—pat her shoulder in mute reassurance. She turned to her brother.
“What more will you need to know, Mike?”
“I want to know exactly what happened and I need a description. We’ve got to get him, Kath.” Mike’s face, she saw, was grey and lined, his mouth taut with strain, and her heart went out to him in pity. “I’m sorry I thought what I did about Gresham. He’s in the clear now, of course. He was with me at headquarters while all this was going on.” He expelled his breath in a painful sigh. “He’s gone to pick up Dr. Hamilton. I was afraid we might be going to need her.” He went to kneel beside Mary Ellen and took her hands in his, his voice very gentle as he questioned her. “Was this man driving the cab, honey, or was he riding as a passenger?”
“He was driving it, Uncle Mike, and he had a driver’s cap on and sunglasses. When I wouldn’t get into the cab, he tried to grab hold of me and I—I was scared, so I ran away. He left his cab down the street there”—she gestured—“and then he chased me, just like he did in the wood. I got to the playground ahead of him and I—I hid there, behind the roundabout. A while later he walked right past me. I heard him. He was whistling and then he—he went away.”
“Which way did he go, Mary Ellen? Out through the playground or back this way, do you know?”
“Out through the playground,” the child stated positively. She replied to his other questions and gave him a description, over which Mike Hennessy shook his head ruefully. A patrolman came up to him, whispered something and jerked a thumb in the direction of an elderly, balding man in a worn leather jacket. The police chief stood up. “Mary Ellen,” he asked, with unexpected harshness, “is this the man?”
“Oh, no, Uncle Mike!”
The newcomer looked startled. “What’s going on?” he asked indignantly. “My cab was stolen while I was having lunch and now I find it here. But when I go to claim it, two of your officers grab a hold of me like I was a criminal or something! Will you tell me what it’s all about, huh?”
Mike told him and pointed to the cab. “That’s yours, is it?”
“Why, sure it is, Chief—check my licence. And that looks like my cap, too—the one your patrolman’s just brought along. I left it on the seat and . . .’’he put out his hand for it, but Mike stopped him.
“Don’t touch that or the cab,” he ordered, “until we’ve checked them both for fingerprints. While we’re waiting perhaps you’d give my officer a statement.” He turned to the second patrolman. “Where did you find the cap, O’Regan?”
Kathleen did not hear his reply. She got to her feet, still holding Mary Ellen in her arms. “Can I take her home now, Mike? I think she’s had about as much as she can take.”
“Home?” Her brother stared at her, as if uncertain of what she meant, but finally he nodded. “If you want to, Kath. I’ll send you in a patrol car. And when Dr. Hamilton gets here, I’ll have her call round.” He rapped instructions and he and Mr. Struthers walked with them to the car, Mary Ellen clinging tightly to her mother’s hand. Kathleen thanked the old lawyer with tears in her eyes, and when he had gone to his own car, she looked up at Mike, as the police driver lifted Mary Ellen into the rear of the patrol car.
“Will you get him, Mike?” she asked, lowering her voice.
He didn’t attempt to deceive her. “We’ll do our darnedest, Kath, I’ll put every man I’ve got on to looking for him. I don’t have to tell you that. But”—he spread his big hands in a gesture of angry frustration—“it’ll be like searching for a needle in a haystack, because Mary Ellen’s description doesn’t give us any more to go on than we had before. We could tear the town apart and we shouldn’t be any wiser.”
“That was what I thought,” Kathleen said. “You—you’re going to leave a guard at the house, aren’t you? Just in case that man gets desperate and tries again.”
“You can bet your life I am, Kath! A twenty-four-hour guard on you both.” He held her to him for a moment and felt her tremble. The waiting was going to be a strain on her, he realised. Her child was threatened and she could do nothing save wait, with no one but the child to talk to and her fear growing each time there were footsteps outside or a knock at the door, in spite of the policeman on watch, in spite of every precaution he might take for her safety and the child’s. He couldn’t be there with her . . . but there was the doctor, Sarah Hamilton. Maybe if he asked her . . . he smiled down into his sister’s white, exhausted face and all but lifted her bodily into the patrol car. “Don’t worry my dear,” he begged. “I won’t let anything happen to either of you.”
The radio on the patrol car crackled and the driver acknowledged the call and then passed his hand-set to Mike.
“For you, Chief—Sergeant Kling. He says it’s important.”
Dave Kling’s voice held a note of subdued excitement. “Mike, that black Oldsmobile sedan from Harper’s—Sykes found it dumped on a patch of waste ground off Quarry Road. There’d been an attempt to set it on fire, but whoever did that made a mess of the job. There’s enough left to give us what we need . . . the boys did a preliminary check and then towed it in. And it’s the right car, I guess. The tyre tracks match those impressions we took from the dirt road, we’ve found Mary Ellen’s prints on the door and in back of the ashtray, and a very good set—which aren’t Gresham’s—on the wheel. His are there, of course, but not on the wheel.” He listed several other points and then added, “I’d have called you sooner, but I figured I’d better make sure first. If you can let me have Jerry Mahoney, I’ll go along to Harper’s place and see if I can match up those latents from the car with any around the gas station. It might just give us a lead, what do you think?”
Mike considered this suggestion, frowning. He wished he had more men and that the area his search had to cover were not so large. Dave’s suggestion was a long shot and it just might scare off their quarry, supposing he did have some connection with Harper’s. “I need you where you are, Dave,” he said finally. “But I’ll send Mahoney or Wagner as soon as I can or go along myself. Meantime, do something for me, will you?”
“Sure—what is it?”
“Call Dr. Sarah Hamilton for me and tell her that Kathleen’s on her way back to the house now, with the child, and I’d be grateful if she could stay with them, just till . . . well, as long as she can.” He returned the radio hand-set and said to the patrol car driver, “Right, boys, on your way. I want you both to watch the house—front and back—until you’re relieved, reporting to Sergeant Kling by radio every half hour. That clear? It’ll probably be a while before I can relieve you—we’re going to need every man we’ve got, if we’re to smoke this guy out before nightfall.”
Both men nodded. “Sure, Chief,” the driver answered, “we understand.” His partner turned to smile at Mary Ellen, crouched close to her mother on the rear seat, and he said quietly, “Over my dead body will anything happen to that kid, Chief—and that’s a promise.”
The car moved away, accelerating down the street, its siren blaring. Mike Hennessy watched it out of sight and then returned to his own car, to join Sheriff Cluny and make his plans. There would be road blocks to be set up, a search of the park to be considered, witnesses to be found and questioned, the Yellow Top cab-driver’s statement to check out . . . he pushed his cap to the back of his head and looked at his colleague.
“Well, Sheriff, you going to stay and help us tear this town apart or do you figure you ought to go back to Ellis County?”
“I’m staying, with your permission, Chief,” the older man returned promptly. “Don’t forget I have a stake in this guy too. And I can take some of the burden off your shoulders, if you’ll give me ten minutes and a phone. My cars can cover the county boundary and we’re closer to the city than you are, so maybe we could cut off his retreat, if he should decide to head that way. But we need a description—”
“And that’s just what we haven’t got,” Mike Hennessy said grimly. “Unless we can come up with a witness who saw him take that Yellow Top or cross the park.” He smothered a sigh and reached into his car for a street map, which he opened and spread out on the roof of his car. Sheriff Cluny, at Miss Shepherd’s invitation, went into the school to use her office phone, and Mike picked up his radio hand-set and, referring to the map, called all his available cars and gave them their instructions. He ought, he reflected, to send Mary Ellen out with one of them—or better still, take her himself—as soon as she had recovered sufficiently, because maybe she would be able to recognise the wanted man. But not yet; Kathleen would never hear of it unless the doctor . . . he sighed and, the last car dispatched, called his headquarters. He might have to use Mary Ellen, as a last resort, and Kathleen wouldn’t agree, without the doctor’s say-so . . . “Dave?”
“Yes, Chief?” Dave Kling’s voice was calm and steady. A good man Dave, a first-rate sergeant, who could always be relied upon to do his job . . . Mike braced himself and explained what he wanted.
“I’m sorry, Mike,” the sergeant put in, “but I haven’t been able to contact Dr. Hamilton. She’s out making sick visits, the housekeeper says, so I left a message for her at Doc Mason’s town office. She’s due there at three, and it’s a quarter of three now. But I’ll call Dr. Bayliss, if you like.”
Mike Hennessy hesitated. Better Bayliss than no one, he thought. “All right, give Dr. Hamilton until say three-fifteen. If she’s not in by then, ask Bayliss if he’ll go along.”
“I understand, Chief. There’s just one thing—”
“There is?” Mike controlled his impatience. “What?”
“Mr. Gresham’s been in here once and called me up a couple of times. He seems to be worried about Dr. Hamilton, but he has a list of the addresses she was due to visit and he’s gone out to see if he can find her. I gave him the go-ahead, figuring you’d have your hands full . . . anyway, I doubt if I could have stopped him. He seems real concerned about that girl, but” —Dave Kling laughed good-naturedly—“it was heading that way, wasn’t it? I reckon, when he finds her, he’ll carry her off to the nearest Justice of the Peace and take out a marriage licence.”
“Good luck to him,” Mike Hennessy growled. “Only I’ve got more important things on my mind right now, Dave. So over and out. But . . .” he changed his mind and finished brusquely, “all the same, let me know when Gresham finds her, will you? I’ll warn all cars to keep a look out for her, just as a precaution. Although I don’t imagine for a moment that the suspect would risk going near her a second time. Out!”
Steve was almost beside himself with anxiety when, by three-thirty, he had checked all save one of the addresses Miss Opitz had listed for him. At each one, he had been told that the doctor had called; she had reached the last but one an hour before he did so himself, yet when he pulled up by a phone booth and asked for her at the down-town office, the receptionist said that Dr. Hamilton had not yet come in.
