I drew in another shaky breath. “I’ve got a gun,” I said harshly. “You make one sound, and I’ll shoot!”
“Good,” the voice muttered absently. “That’s fine. Hmmm—here we are. Declination thirty-two forty-seven.” The light went out.
I rolled over and managed to push myself to a sitting position with my back against the wall. Then I could make out the three shadowy legs of a tripod. Above it was something like a section of stovepipe, slanted at an angle toward the sky, and sitting on a little bench to one side of it was the dark figure of a man. He was bundled up in a lot of clothes against the cold and was hunched over the lower end of the stovepipe with his eye against the side of it. I knew what it was then. It was a telescope, and he was an amateur astronomer.
“What are you watching?” I asked.
He made no reply. He made a slight adjustment to the mounting of the telescope and went on looking. “Fine,” he muttered.
He wasn’t going to call the police; it was doubtful he even knew I was here. He was out there among the light years. I took out a cigarette and lighted it.
“If you’ve got to flash lights, go somewhere else,” he said irritably.
”Sure,” I said. I had my wind back now. I pushed to my feet and walked over to the rear of the roof to look down in the alley. A police car was crawling slowly through it. I sat down with my back against the wall, trying to think. I’d got soaked with sweat while I was running, and now I was beginning to be cold. I shivered.
How much longer could this nightmare go on? And what was the point of it now? There had been some hope at first, as long as there was a chance I might find out who had killed Stedman, but now everything was blown up. Frances Celaya had killed him, without a doubt, but I not only didn’t know why or have the slightest bit of proof, but I was also wanted for killing her.
There was one other person involved in it, but I didn’t have any lead to him at all except that he was as big as a horse and I thought he was a seaman. He’d taken care of that, all right. The only way to find out who he was had been through her, so he’d killed her and then made sure there was nothing in her apartment that could point to him in any way. He knew I had the purse with her identification in it and that I might eventually catch up with her. Or that sooner or later the police were going to catch up with me, and I just might sell them on the idea of at least investigating her. And there was always the possibility I might call the police. Then I stopped short.
That big drunk! The one who’d pushed open the door of the telephone booth! It was a thousand-to-one shot, but it would fit. Suppose he’d been following me, looking for a chance to kill me? But, wait. Where could he have picked up my trail? I’d lost him, along with the police, after I’d grabbed the purse. Then I saw it; it was absurdly simple. At her old Randall Street apartment house, of course.
He’d known there was a good chance I’d go for the address on the driver’s license, and he’d driven over there and waited. I’d come out running, so he didn’t have a chance to get me, but he’d followed us after I got in the car with Suzy. There’d been a car behind me in the street but I hadn’t paid any attention to it because I could see it wasn’t the police. He couldn’t get me there at the phone booths because the place was right out in the open, well lighted, and populated with shoppers from the supermarket. All he had was a knife, and it might take several minutes to do the job. But he’d pretended to be drunk and opened the door to get a good look at me. And then he’d gone into the other booth to eavesdrop.
By God, that was it! I tried to remember the exact sequence of the conversation with Brannan. I’d told him about the big killer and my hunch he might be a seaman, but that was before the drunk had shown up. And after he had gone into the other booth I hadn’t mentioned him at all. I’d simply said to Brannan, “How about spending a few minutes of your time trying to find the fugitive that did kill Stedman?” I’d even spelled her name and told him where she worked. It would have been obvious to anybody listening that I was talking to the police. I broke off and shuddered. I might as well have strangled her myself.
That was all right; I’d feel sorry about it some day when I had more time. She’d got me into this whole mess by killing Stedman and hanging it on me, and then she’d tried to butcher me too. From where I sat, she had it coming to her, and the only thing wrong with it was the fact that now I was hopelessly saddled with Stedman’s murder. And hers. I wished she could have lived long enough to do a little talking.
I sat up suddenly. I had to warn Suzy! That gorilla knew where she lived, and he might try to get her too. If he’d followed us from Randall Street to those phone booths, he must have tailed us all the way to the apartment. She was with me, so he would figure she was after him too. God, maybe it was already too late. And just how was I going to warn her? They had me treed like a raccoon on top of this building.
But maybe there was a pay phone in the building. Sometimes in cheap apartment houses where a lot of the tenants didn’t have phones of their own there were pay phones in the corridor on each floor. I sprang up and strode over to the big man with his telescope. He still had his eye glued to it.
My eyes were well accustomed to the darkness now, and I could see him somewhat better. He appeared to be about forty, rather moon-faced, heavy-set, and wide across the shoulders, but soft-looking. He wore a cap, a scarf around his neck, and one of those he-mannish coats that sports car fanatics went in for, a three-quarter length affair with wooden dowels for buttons.
“Is there a pay phone anywhere in the building?” I asked.
He made no reply.
I reached down, caught him by the arms, and hauled him to his feet “Pay attention, friend,” I said. “I’m talking to you.”
He stared at me in surprise and outrage. “What’s the matter with you? Can’t you see I’m busy? If you want to look at Saturn, go bother somebody else. I’m studying the Cepheid variables.”
I shook him. “Come back and join us for a minute. The planet I want to talk about is this one. Remember it? It has people on it. And they sometimes use things called telephones. Is there a pay phone down there in the corridors?”
“No,” he said.
“Have you got one in your apartment?”
“I have not,” he said irritably. “Now, will you please get out.”
“Not yet,” I said. “Peel off that bird-watchers’ coat and hand it here. And the cap.”
For the first time he looked slightly nervous. “Are you going to rob me?”
“No. I’m just trading coats with you. And since mine’s got a bullet hole in it I’ll give you twenty dollars to boot.”
“I never heard anything so ridiculous—”
“Get it off,” I said. “Or I’ll kick your telescope.”
He’d decided by now I was crazy, so he took it off and handed it to me, along with the cap. I handed him two tens and felt in the pockets of the gabardine for anything I’d left in them. I came out with a small, folded piece of paper. What—? Then I remembered. It was that girl’s name and telephone number I’d taken from Frances Celaya’s purse. I shrugged and dropped it in the pocket of my suit coat. He put on the gabardine, muttering to himself. “Twelve straight days of either clouds or turbulence, and then when you get one hour of good viewing—”
I put on his. The cap was slightly too large, but I could keep it on my head. He had sat down again, glued his eye to the telescope, and forgotten I even existed. I wondered if he was married. Well, it probably didn’t matter, I thought. The average wife might have a little trouble understanding how you could trade coats with somebody on the roof of a four-story building at two o’clock in the morning, but no doubt his had become accustomed to the fuzzier types of explanation. I didn’t really think anything of it at the time, dear. I was just sitting there studying the Cepheid variables, and this man came by—