“The truth. I think he’s guilty. He’s got an extra switch in that brain. I ought to know, I’ve seen it. The switch clicks, he turns into Mr. Hyde. Just one thing the cops have to do when they corner him, and that’s take no chances. Cornered, he’ll kill, quick, like an animal.” Rollins sucked at the beer, looked at Vallancourt, laughed. “Doesn’t it give you the creeps, knowing your daughter’s with a rat like that?”
“I can’t share your pleasure in the situation,” Vallancourt said coldly.
Rollins shrugged, dropped into his chair. “I did what I could for the kid. Tried to beat that streak out of him. Now it’s up to the cops. And it ain’t a teenager he’s killed this time. It’s an important woman, a business and social leader. The meat grinder is hungry, and the cops ain’t looking for nobody but him.”
“Who was his father, Rollins?”
“Me.”
“I think you’re lying. You’ve known the truth and hated him from the day he was born.”
“Pal, you’re boring me.” Rollins tilted the bottle and took a long swallow.
“I suppose it was the one act of rebellion against you Maggie ever allowed herself. And you made her pay and pay and keep on paying, didn’t you?”
“Look, Vallancourt, you got no proof of anything. So why don’t you quit wasting my time?”
Vallancourt took hold of the man’s soiled shirt front and yanked him to his feet so abruptly that his head snapped back. The beer bottle flew from his hand, spewing foam on the floor.
“One word of advice, Rollins. If Keith should get in touch with you, think twice before you set him up in a way that will cause shooting. Stray bullets and my daughter are incompatible quantities. Are we clear on that?”
Vallancourt let him go and went to the door. He looked back at the sprawled man. “I hope I don’t have to come back, Rollins. Think about it.”
Vallancourt’s breathing was not quite normal when he reached the car. He got under the wheel. Ralph Hibbs stirred, clicking off the car radio.
“Anything on the newscasts, Ralph?”
“No, except that he’s still at large.”
“Then he’s beaten the odds and slipped through. Or he’s still in town, which is more likely. He knows he can’t trust either the MG or Nancy’s car. He’d pick a place with care. Not a dive where he and Nancy would stand out. Not a fancy place, where questions might be asked. And certainly not a downtown hotel, with the city hemming him in. He’ll want space around him for maneuverability.”
“You’ve described a type of motel, John.”
“Yes,” Vallancourt said.
“There aren’t so many we can’t check them out.”
“I know.” Vallancourt started the car.
12
Keith herded Newt from the office into the drab little apartment at the rear.
Now what? Keith asked himself. No more kookie stunts. You’ve already fouled it, tipping this guy to your identity.
The motel man was recovering from the shock. He backhanded a drop of spittle from the corner of his mouth, leered as if he sensed Keith’s indecision.
“The girl with you,” Newt said. “She’s the big shot’s daughter, ain’t she?”
Keith made no useless denial.
“Ought to be worth plenty to him, a kid like that,” Newt mused.
His movements were casual, but his eyes betrayed him.
The old man had worked his way to a cheap kneehole desk that occupied a corner of the room. As his hand shot to the top drawer, Keith threw himself across the distance between them.
The impact slammed Newt against the desk, closing the drawer on the old man’s hand. He screamed, eyes watering.
Keith took him by the shoulder and yanked him clear of the desk. The proprietor reeled against the wall, cradling his injured wrist and whimpering.
Keith pulled the desk drawer open. A tingle went through him. He reached slowly, and his fingers touched the cold metal of a .38 revolver.
The gun was cheap and old, but the heft and balance of the weapon seemed good to him. He had the oddest feeling that the gun had been designed to fit his hand.
As he turned, holding the gun, the old man looked at the young face and forgot the pain in his wrist. He began sliding down the wall. His knees touched the floor.
“Listen, kid, you can’t...”
“What’s to stop me? When you get right down to it, there’s not a damn thing to stop me. And if the gun was all right for you, why not for me?”
“My God, boy—”
“Come on, you creep. Explain it to me. Who makes the rules? Punks like you? Politicians on the take? Cops who look the other way when some Mr. Big gets behind a steering wheel stoned to the eyeballs and takes the chance of killing somebody? Then why not me?”
“Kid, I figured you for real smart the minute I saw you. Too smart to get himself in a worse jam.”
Keith laughed. “Worse? They say I raped and killed a girl in Florida. They claim I knocked off the most respected woman in the state. Now if I step on a worm, it’s going to make it worse?”
“You got to give me a break, kid! I won’t talk! I swear! It ain’t even my gun, kid. Heather... she got it while she was here alone, when they had me in prison. It’s her fault, not mine.”
“You make me sick, Newt, you know that?”
“I know a little what you been through, boy. You’re keyed up tight. Only don’t do nothing while you’re nervous. It’s the first thing you got to learn.”
“As a teacher, Newt, you miss like a junkyard jalopy.”
Newt’s head slumped. Keith’s interest in him became less immediate. He stood thinking. Then he said, “You’ll take us out.”
The old man raised his head, began inching up the wall.
“When your wife gets back with the car,” Keith said, “we’ll borrow it. You, me, and Nancy.”
“It won’t work, kid.”
“Why not?”
“The car... It’s junk. Just use it for errands. Get it on the open road and it heats up. It won’t run for beans.”
“We’ll make it run.”
“You’re wrong, kid. It ain’t the car you need. You’d be better off stealing one.”
“I’d still be behind the wheel. No, you’ll drive us out, Newt. They’re not looking for your face. Certainly not for a car like that.”
“Kid—”
“How’d you like this gun barrel right where the teeth meet the gums, Newt?”
The old man whimpered. The racket of a noisy car in the parking area drifted in to them.
“It’s your wife,” Keith said. “Remember the girl in Florida, Newt, and the big-shot woman. You’ve got snake brains. You’d better use them. Now let’s get going.”
He slipped the snub-nosed revolver in his trousers pocket, keeping a grip on it. With his left hand, he gave the old man a shove.
They were several feet into the parking area when the man’s wife met them.
“Ma’am,” Keith said gently, smooth-cheeked, innocent in the dim lighting, “I phoned our relatives downstate to let them know about our car breaking down. The sickness there is worse. Our relative may be dying. We want to rent a car and push on tonight. Your husband said he’d drive us to the car-rental agency.”
“I don’t give no refunds!”
“That’s all right. We put you to a lot of trouble. We don’t mind you keeping the night’s rent.”
“Ain’t that I mind doing a favor. But I’m not one to borrow, or lend.”
“Just your husband and the car for thirty minutes or so. We’ll never forget the favor, ma’am.” Keith edged closer to Newt and touched him with the gun through the fabric of their trousers.
Newt coughed. “These people are strangers, Heather. Not somebody I’ve hatched up a party with.”
“If I knew you’d come right back—”