Part 57 (1/2)

”You're not gonna believe this, Jake,” he said.

”Try me.”

”Somebody just put a bullet in Harry Raines' head.”

62.

G-A-L-A-V-A-N-T-I.

It took us fifteen minutes through heavy fog to get to the scene of the crime, and a familiar scene it was. Harry Raines had been shot down in the center of the Quadrangle, no more than a hundred yards from Charlie Seaborn's bank.

It looked like every police car in Dunetown was there. Red and blue lights flashed eerily through the thick fog, like silent fireworks. A small crowd had wandered up from the riverfront clubs and restaurants to see what all the fuss was about.

It took a couple of minutes to locate Dutch in the mist. He was standing with a couple of plainclothesmen, studying a chalk form drawn on the cobblestone walk. Yellow police-scene ribbons had been suspended around the area. Dutch informed us that the ambulance had come and gone already.

”He's still alive!” I said.

”Yeah, but not by enough to matter much. One shot, right here.” He tapped his forehead an inch above the right eyelid. ”Bullet's still in there.”

”My G.o.d,” a hoa.r.s.e voice whispered, and it was a second or two before I realized it was mine.

”We got a couple of ear witnesses,” Dutch said, leading us away from the chalk-marked form on the walkway.

”Ear witnesses?” the Stick said.

Their names were Harriet and Alexander, although, for reasons that elude me, Alexander preferred to be called Chip. They were in their midtwenties and two weeks away from their wedding day and she had lost his engagement present to her. The girl was as fancy as a plain girl can make herself. The boyfriend, short and stubby, with a badly trimmed mustache, seemed far more concerned over the missing necklace than the shooting.

”We stopped off here on the way to dinner because, see, this is where we met,” he babbled, probably for the fifth or sixth time. ”But it was so foggy, we went on down to the Porthole to meet our friends for dinner . . . ”

”You couldn't see your hand in front of your face,” Harriet said, nodding vigorously.

I was getting edgy, listening to their routine.

”Like it is now,” Chip said. ”This wasn't half an hour ago.”

”Yes,” I said. ”I got that-go on!”

Harriet continued her extravagant nod. ”Like it is now,” she repeated.

He glowered at her and continued his story.

”And that's when her necklace was gone,” Chip said. ”It was a cl.u.s.ter of diamonds on a gold chain. Eight diamonds. They added up to a full carat.”

”Can you please get on to the details!” I demanded.

”We're sorry about the necklace,” Dutch said tersely. ”Can you finish your story.”

”Yes, well,” he said, ”so we excused ourselves and came back up here, hoping maybe we could find it.”

”That's when the man got shot,” Harriet said, nodding even more exuberantly as she got in the big one. Chip's bubbly cheeks turned scarlet at being upstaged.

”Did you see anybody?” I interjected.

They both shook their heads.

”Did you hear them? Did they say anything?”

”I'm not sure,” Chip said firmly.

”Well, they did say something,” Harriet piped up again, ”or at least one of them did. He said, 'You're finished,'”

”You're not sure, Harriet,” Chip said curtly.

She nodded her head vigorously.

”Would you recognize the voice if you heard it again?” the Stick asked.

Chip said, ”We weren't paying much attention. We heard somebody on the walk, the footsteps stopped-”

Harriet jumped in, stealing his thunder again. ”And there was 'You're finished' and bang!” Big nod.

Chip's face twisted in anger. ”Harriet! May I please tell the story?” he said.

”What else is there?” I asked.

”Harriet screamed and the killer ran away,” he said, glaring at his future wife to keep her quiet.

”n.o.body's dead yet,” Dutch growled.

”Well, you know what I mean,” the kid said nervously.

”Which way did this person run?” I asked.

”We couldn't tell,” Chip said. ”You can't really tell because of the buildings, uh, the sound . . . ”

”Acoustics, is that what you're talking about?” Stick asked.

”Exactly,” Chip said, and he started the nodding routine.

It was true. With fog so thick you could hardly see your feet, and with the three buildings forming a kind of box, it was impossible to tell where sound was coming from.

”Did you find the body?” I asked.

They shook their heads in unison.

”No way,” Chip said. ”We ran back over to the bank because there were some lights on in the back, but n.o.body came to the door, so I went to the phone booth and called the police.”