Part 5 (2/2)
My tie suddenly felt too tight. I tore it loose and tossed it on the bed. He waited patiently, knowing there were some things about my nature I was reluctant to discuss.
”It seemed like the easiest thing to do. I didn't want her talking about me or giving you more trouble than you needed. I just calmed her down and gave her a few suggestions.”
He was amused. I'd expected reproach. ”Suggestions? Good Lord, you should be in the district attorney's office with that talent. You'd never lose a case. I doubt if a priest could have gotten so thorough a confession.”
I shrugged. ”But it showed. You knew.”
”Only because I got so well acquainted with her that afternoon. Her behavior at the station was normal enough, but such a flood of information was hardly in keeping with her personality.”
”You said she was a loony,” I pointed out.
He got up, stretching his muscles with small, subtle movements. ”Why were you so reluctant to tell me about this?”
I shook my head. ”I don't know. I didn't want to tip her off to any funny business, I didn't want an audience, stuff like that. What I did, it's not something... well, it's...”
I broke off with a tired and inadequate gesture for my feelings.
”Nothing you need be ashamed of,” he quietly concluded. He let that sink in for a thick moment, then picked up his hat. ”Well, this has been a long day-and night.”
I grabbed at the change of subject. ”You wait long?”
”No more than an hour.”
”You could have called me at Bobbi's.”
”It was hardly a pressing issue, I'd no wish to disturb you. Phone calls at late hours are bad for the heart.”
”Thanks.” I meant it for more than just his consideration.He echoed my reply from earlier. ”Anytime.”
Chapter 3.
WAS ONE in the morning and the same pair of headlights had been b.u.mping around in my rearview mirror for most of the night. I noticed them first when I left Chicago, a.s.sumed they belonged to a fellow traveler on the same route, and forgot about them.
I stopped briefly at an all-night service station in Indianapolis, stretched my legs, and bought some gas. Owing to a wrong turn and getting lost in some downtown streets for a while, I didn't get back on the main road immediately. There wasn't much traffic at that hour, but my eyes were occupied with things in front of me, so the car hanging fifty yards off my rear b.u.mper went unnoticed. Finally on the right road again and mentally congratulating myself for getting unlost, I settled in for the last leg of my drive, starting with a routine check in the mirror.
Until the night I woke up dead, I'd never been very paranoid, no more than anyone else, so the familiar look of the car took awhile to penetrate my thick skull. It wasn't a conscious thought process; more like a gradual dawning. When the realization finally came it left me wondering how I could have been so slow.
My night vision allowed me to see past the glare of the headlights to the occupants of the car. There was little detail at this distance, I could only make out their figures: the slightly hunched posture of the driver, and next to him, a shorter man in a hat. They were in a black car, fairly new. I thought it was a Lincoln, but couldn't be sure from the foreshortened image in the mirror.
Not quite ready to believe that they might be following me, I decided a little testing might break up the monotony of the trip. Easing slowly off the gas, I dropped my speed to ten miles below the limit. Most drivers will keep coming right up your tail until they get impatient enough to pa.s.s. But this guy was on the ball and his speed dropped as well. When I came to a hill and crested, I hit the gas and let the momentum bring me up to the limit and over. I gained half a mile on him while he was on the other side, but when his turn came he easily caught up. There was a lot of power under his hood.
It could have been coincidence, but I was disturbed. If they really were following me, I wanted to know why.
About twenty minutes later I signaled a right turn and leisurely pulled off the road onto the shoulder. The black car-it was a new Lincoln-went past without the men inside turning to look. I saw only a dark, blurred profile that could have been anyone. They continued on until a long, wide curve took them from sight.
Just in case they'd stopped and were watching from a distance, I got out, stretched, and walked into some spa.r.s.e trees that sheltered the side of the road. As I walked, I made fiddling movements with my belt and fly. I didn't have to go, but could pretend, and stood with my ears wide open. My hearing was extremely sensitive now, but the wind was blowing in the wrong direction for me to pick up any motor noises ahead. For the sake of my nerves, I dawdled another five minutes, leaning against the car and superficially puffing a cigarette for something to do.
Once back on the road, I eased up to speed with my eyes peeled, but there was no sign of them. I was still edgy. It had only been a couple of fast weeks since my life had been completely disrupted by some of the more violent members of Chicago's gangland. The thought that some grudge-bearing survivors of that fracas might be after me was not a comfortable one. They'd killed me once already, once was more than enough.
Briefly, I thought about turning back, then vetoed the thought. More than half the journey was behind me, and if it came to it, I could handle two jokers playing road games. I had an errand in my hometown that I wanted to get done. If I ran into a little trouble along the way, I could always rag Escott about it later. The trip was originally his idea.
The second night after our match with Selma Jenks, I woke up and again found him sitting in my old chair. I never minded his drop-in visits because he always had a good reason behind them.
”Good evening,” he said. ”At least I hope you will find it so. Things have cooled off a bit.”
Fairly indifferent to temperature changes, I couldn't really tell, and found it hard to gauge the weather from the way he dressed. It was the middle of September, and though his suit was lightweight, every b.u.t.ton on his vest was secure in its b.u.t.tonhole. His neck was encased in a heavily starched detachable collar, which gave him a stiff and formal posture. He looked like a banker or a teacher of the old- fas.h.i.+oned sort. The intent was to boost the confidence of his clients.
”How's tricks with you?” I greeted in return, getting out of my trunk.
”I have no complaints, though I've been busy.”
”New customers?”
”Old business. Since the influx of Mr. Swafford's cash is legally declarable, I've been able to afford a few modest home improvements and to clear some other details up.”
”What details?”
”Your own case, for one. I've been tracking down the names on the infamous list you acquired-”
”I thought you were going to destroy it.”
”I will, but not until I've provided a little peace of mind for some of my fellow pilgrims.”
”Oh, yeah?” My tone asked him to enlarge on the subject while I brushed and gargled. My exclusive diet of whole blood sometimes made me subject to a slight breath problem. Thanks to modern hygienic products, I could still be socially acceptable, but had to be regular in habits.
The list had cost several lives, including my own. My breathing life and all the potentials that went with it were forever gone and I never wanted to see those sc.r.a.ps of disaster again. I should have been purposely disinterested in it, but a couple of weeks can be a long time. As Bobbi had observed, it was funny how you could get used to things.
Escott had long since broken the code it was typed in, revealing over two hundred names with skeletons in the closet. A smart blackmailer could make a fortune or wield considerable power, for without exception the names were those of important politicians, judges, lawyers, and cops, with a few big businessmen thrown in for good measure. Along with the names, the list provided the locations of the blackmail items, either incriminating doc.u.ments or embarra.s.sing pictures. Most of the stuff was stashed in a scattering of bus and train depot lockers throughout the area. He'd been collecting some of it today, and his briefcase bulged with enough scandals to keep the tabloids busy with hot headlines for months.
”I'm only halfway through it all; the hand delivery is what takes so long,” he said.
”It is sometimes very difficult to set up an appointment with some of these fellows.”
”You've been giving it all back personally?”
”It's no great hards.h.i.+p. Posting it would be easier, but allows the chance that a letter or parcel might be innocently opened by a third party. The victim's life is either ruined by exposure, or they are still stuck with a blackmailing problem, but from a different quarter. It is not for me to judge the follies of my fellows, so I simply return the item, suggest they destroy it, and advise them to be more cautious in the future.”
”But they might think you're the blackmailer, or in league with him if you run around doing that.”
His eyes crinkled and he shook his head. ”Hardly, because I don't look a bit like myself when I return the things.”
”What do you look like?”
”Perhaps I shouldn't say, I might wish to try it on you sometime.”
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