Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 51, No. 1 & 2, January/February 2006
- Автор: Бетанкур Джон Грегори, Jr. William J. Carroll,
- Год: 2006
- Язык: английский
- Год: Dell Magazines/Crosstown Publications
- Жанр: Другие детективы
Электронная книга - «Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 51, No. 1 & 2, January/February 2006». Краткое содержание книги:
So I moved farther into the pitch-dark cave.
Which got a bit bigger — enough so I could stand, but when I did, my head hit a tangle of roots. I crouched again and moved on, thinking there might be a back door, but with little hope of that.
Little hope of anything, in fact, but what could I do?
More shots rang out that came from the cave opening, and I went flat again, on my back, pressing myself into the mud. Whoever it was, was firing blind, but he could get lucky, so I made myself a part of the cave floor and wall.
Heard the wind and rain start sounding like a runaway train.
Heard a couple more shots, which hit I don’t know where.
Pressed myself deeper into soft, wet earth.
Heard another shot that brought some mud down into my face.
And then he got lucky.
Not that lucky. It was only a nick in my scalp above my right ear, but my lights went out, and I was down for the count.
About twelve hours’ worth because it was after four A.M. the next morning when I did the God-my-head-hurts and where-am-I thing.
It was completely dark, and I was lying in six inches of water under a waterfall. As I felt around for my flashlight, I had the sense that the cave had gotten smaller while I was away — and when I found the flash and flicked the light on, I could see why.
The pounding rain above was melting the walls of my little hole, and they’d soon simply flow together. I decided I didn’t want to be around for that; I’d take my chances with my would-be killer outside.
But then I saw a bone-hand reaching out from the wall.
A hand connected to a wrist, to the rest of a skeleton. It was half in, half out of the wall, and draping the remains were two black, rotting — empty — cash bags.
It was the body Steensen had found.
It was the remains of the second man in the armed robbery of the Atlanta Federal Reserve.
The one who “got away.”
And there was a hole the size of a half dollar in the middle of his forehead, and there was something attached to his wrist that wasn’t a watch.
But before I could give this any thought, the body in the wall began to sag outward as the whole cave started to sink around me.
So I got out of there despite the hurricane, and got back to my truck and made my calls — and then I waited.
And it took time because Amanda had hit hard and everyone was busy at other things.
But it all worked out.
I was standing outside my truck, still nose down in a ditch, around five P.M., when Gettis pulled up beside me and got out.
And because of the blood on my face and shirt, and my muddy-wet look, he stared and said, “The hell happened to you?”
“Long story.”
He looked over the condition of my truck, then waved me to his Jeep. “Can worry about your ride later. We better get you to a hospital.”
So I got in, and he started us toward town, saying, “You been lookin’ for that cave?”
“Got shot at,” I told him.
He looked amazed. “Somebody shot you?”
“That’s right.”
He thought that over, then said, “You think Mongon?”
“No,” I said. “Not Mongon.”
He gave me a questioning look.
“I found the body, Chief. I found the body of the second man in that armored car robbery.”
Gettis stared at me.
“I found the other two empty cash bags.”
He looked back at the road.
I said, “I found that body, Chief, and he was wearing handcuffs.”
“Handcuffs?”
I waited until he glanced at me again, then said, “You know a good lawyer?”
“What do you mean?”
I only looked back at him.
He shook his head and laughed. “I don’t know what the hell you’re talkin’ about...”
“Must have been a hell of a night,” I said.
He frowned.
“Routine stop of a speeder,” I explained, “turns into a shoot-out — turns into a life-changing event.”
He tried looking mystified, but he couldn’t keep it up.
I shook my head at the futility of his denials. “You know what forensics can do these days, Chief. That body had a hole in its skull in front, and no exit wound, so the bullet is still in there — and they’ll know it came from your gun — the one you used on his partner.”
Gettis took a bit of lower lip between his teeth.
“They might even be able to trace the handcuffs and — there’s the money. I mean, you had to have done something with that money, and they’ll track it down...”
“You’re crazy!”
“I’m not crazy, Chief, and you’re done.”
He thought about it, but there was too much certainty in me, so he pulled his gun from its holster with his left hand, and held it on his lap.
Right, I thought.
“Jesus Christ,” Gettis laughed. “I forgot clean about those handcuffs.” He shook his head. “God’s truth, I havn’t given them a damn thought in all these years.” He gave me a can-you-believe-this look. “I am some criminal mastermind.”
I said, “Are you pointing that gun at me, Chief?”
He snorted. “And you are right. It was one hell of a night.”
Gettis turned us off Route 64, onto a small road that headed us toward the river.
“So what happened?” I said.
“What happened,” he echoed vaguely.
I waited.
“What happened was,” he went on, “they shot me, I shot back. Killed one, and nicked the other.” He looked at me and snorted. “Handcuffed him.”
“Uh-huh.”
He sighed and put his eyes back on the road. “And then he started talkin’ about money, and makin’ me rich if I let him go.” He shrugged. “Money was in the trunk,” he said, with a disbelieving head shake. “I could not believe it.”
“Where are we going, Chief?”
Gettis frowned hard. “I’d never done a dishonest thing in my whole life until that night — but — lookin’ at all that money, the idea just — come into me — you know?”
“You killed him.”
He kept the frown in place for a moment, then said, “I killed him. Buried him out on the bog.” He laughed shortly. “Where he’d never be found.” He shook his head. “I belong in the Bad Guy Special Olympics, I surely do.”
“Where are we going, Chief?” I asked again.
He looked at me with some regret. “Cross the river,” he told me sadly. “You can get it now or later. It’s up to you.”
I decided later.
I said, “And Steensen?”
Gettis sighed. “Right,” he said. “Steensen.”
“You killed him too.”
He didn’t deny it.
“Thing is,” he told me, “you get old, and you get more scared of things. The way he was talkin’, I knew he’d found that body, and he wasn’t gonna let it go, and sooner or later he’d talk to somebody who’d listen. I couldn’t handle the idea of prison.” He looked at me again. “Still can’t,” he added with meaning.
“So you tried to kill me,” I said.
“What else could I do?”
“And now you’re going to finish the job?”
“Can’t let you talk either.”
Right, I thought, and that was that.
“Well,” I told him, “I already have.”
He frowned at me, and I showed him the small black microphone I was wearing just under my collar, and said, “What do you think I’ve been doing all day, Chief?”