I groped for the light switch, got it turned off, and came out. This was the end of the trail. If she had killed Stedman, there was no way now it could ever be proved. I stood looking dumbly around at the mess he’d left. Searching it now would be utterly pointless; he’d already done that, just to be sure there was nothing left at all. I had to get out of here, fast, and keep going. I went over and switched off the light beside the bed. Just as I was groping my way through the door into the living room I heard voices outside in the hall.
Knuckles rapped on the door. “Miss Celaya!” a voice called out.
I stiffened up, afraid even to breathe.
The fist rapped again. “Open up in there,” the voice ordered. “Police.”
I moved somehow. Stepping softly across the rug, I parted the curtains at the window in the rear of the living room. There was no fire escape, no back way out at all. If I jumped, I’d break both legs. A key was being inserted in the lock. I went straight ahead into the kitchen just as the front door opened.
Eleven
A switch clicked. Light streamed through the doorway beside me. I flattened against the wall on shaking legs.
“You’re sure she came in?” a voice asked.
“Yes, sir. About an hour ago. She’d lost her key and I had to give her another one.”
“Well, let’s take a look around.” This was still another voice.
There were three of them, apparently two policemen and the apartment house manager who’d let them in. They were moving now. It was the bedroom they’d be interested in, but one of them would check the kitchen. I could hear his footsteps approaching the door. I tried to open my mouth to call out to him not to shoot. It was too late now to show myself and surrender, and when I loomed on him suddenly, standing beside the door— No sound would come out. I couldn’t even speak. The footsteps were almost beside me now.
Then the other one called suddenly from the bedroom. “Hey! Look at this!”
The footsteps turned and retreated. I reached up and wiped the sweat off my face because it was stinging my eyes and peered around the door frame. An old man without a hat was standing just inside the bedroom, the other policeman was out of sight—probably over by the chest or dresser—and this one was just reaching the door. None of them were looking this way. I eased off the wall, tiptoed out, and started slipping toward the front door. The second cop had reached the bedroom door now and was looking in. I went on, walking on eggs.
I had less than ten feet to go. I fought the impulse to break into a run and stole a glance over my shoulder.
“Oh, good God!” The voice came from the back of the bedroom. The first cop had found her now. “Hey, Hoyt! Go call in. She’s been murdered!”
Hoyt said, “Okay,” and started to turn. I lunged toward the front door. I heard his breath suck in, and then the startled yell. “Foley!” I hurtled through the doorway, bent over, with my feet churning. “Stop! I’ll shoot!”
The gun crashed behind me, and at the front end of the hall a window pane exploded with a shower of glass. He shot again, and something tugged at the side of my topcoat, just under my left arm. It pulled me off stride. The stairs were only a few steps ahead of me and to the left. I dived, slid over onto them, rolled once, caught myself with a hand on the railing, and scrambled to my feet. I ran down three or more steps and jumped. I could hear their feet pounding down the hall above me. The glass front door was about twenty feet to my right. I made it and was pulling it open when the first one came into sight on the stairs. He shot. He hit the wood frame of the door right beside my face. Splinters flew out of it, and something stung my cheek. I was outside now. Their car was parked right in front of the door. I wheeled to the left and sped along the sidewalk. They came out behind me and one of them shot again. All the muscles in my back were drawn up in knots as I expected a slug to come tearing into me.
I reached the corner and cut left around it. There was no use trying to reach Suzy. They were too close behind me, and they’d get her too. Somewhere behind me the siren cut loose. One was still after me on foot while the other went around the block in the car to head me off. He’d use the car radio to call in, and the whole area would be surrounded in a few minutes. I heard the pounding footsteps come around the corner behind me. They stopped. He was going to shoot again. There were some trees along the sidewalk here, and I cut right and ran out into the street to put their trunks in the line of fire. He didn’t shoot.
Directly opposite me was the mouth of an alley. I sped into it. I couldn’t hear him any longer, but when I looked back he was still coming, about half a block away. Then I heard the siren up ahead? They had me bottled up. But the car went down the street past the mouth of the alley just before I came out. I crossed the street behind it and into a continuation of the alley in the next block. Just before I came out of it, I looked back again. He was no longer in sight. I emerged on the sidewalk. The street was deserted. But I could hear sirens. They were converging now from every direction.
My legs were weak and shaky now, and my side hurt badly. I fought to get my breath. It was useless; why not give myself up? They had me. They’d throw a ring of cars and men around an area eight or ten blocks square and search it inch-by-inch. They wanted me so badly now they could taste it. I’d been eluding them for a week, and now I’d killed a girl. Nothing could ever save me from that one. I’d gone to Randall Street looking for her. And when they finally found me I was in her apartment and she’d just been murdered.
I quit trying to think and started running again, operating on pure instinct. I turned left. In the next block there was another alley. I ducked into it. Rubber screamed behind me as a car made a turn into the street I’d just left. Up ahead there were more sirens. It was shadowy in the alley, with lights only at the ends, but there was no place to hide. I stopped and collapsed beside some garbage cans, sobbing for breath.
I was behind a two-story commercial building of some kind. Directly above me was a fire escape ladder that terminated about eight or nine feet from the ground. I stood up and leaped for it, and caught the bottom rung. I held on for a second, heaved up, and caught the next one. In a minute I was far enough up to get my feet on the lower rungs. I went on up, slid over the wall, and dropped onto the roof. I looked back. No one had come into the alley yet. I could stay out of sight up here until they gave up, until tomorrow night if necessary, and then get out. Then I looked around, and my heart sank.
Adjoining the building on the left was an apartment house some two stories higher, and there were windows on this side. When daybreak came, somebody would see me down here. I looked the other way. The building on the right was also two stories higher than this one, and going up the side of it near the front was a steel ladder. I pushed myself up and went over to it, took one more deep breath, and started to climb. When I was halfway up I looked down and saw that anyone in the street could see me if he happened to look up. A police car was stopped at the corner and two men in uniform were getting out. I tried to run up the ladder. My knees were shaky, and my arms felt like lead. I almost missed a rung with one hand, and held on, sobbing for breath. Then I was at the top. I tumbled over the wall and fell onto the gravel of the roof. I lay there, too spent even to move, and listened to the baffled snarls of sirens in the street four stories down.
Then a voice said, right above me, “Hey, move your head, will you? You’re on my ephemeris.”
Maybe I was beginning to crack up. It was very dark, because of the four-foot wall around the edge of the roof that shut out the light from the streets. Then a flashlight came on, squarely in front of my face. It had red paper tied across the lens and made nothing but a faint glow. A hand came down and pushed my head a little to one side and slid something from under it. It seemed to be a pamphlet of some kind.