"I told you, no talking, Nialla, that's an order." He gave the tip of my nose an admonitory push. "However, I can appreciate your thirst for information. No, we have not caught the assailant. Yes, you'll be all right in a day or two. Nothing in your throat broken, though I don't imagine you believe me." Then he chuckled, only it wasn't his usual amused chuckle: it was a nasty one. "You'll be interested to hear that Bob Erskine is furious that you could be attacked while he was still on the premises, so to speak. He had half a dozen men there in record time, searching the woods for the intruder. They didn't find anyone, of course." Rafe's voice conveyed contempt and anger. "Goddamnit." And he gave the mattress a closed-fist pound. "I'm right there, and you nearly get killed."
I shook him by the shoulder, and when he turned to me, pulled his head so I could whisper in his ear.
"Blackmailer. Wanted to scare me. Wants to be paid! I'm safe here, behind the fence, with the dogs."
I had to repeat some of it twice, but when Rafe did understand, he was madder than ever.
"Pay? He'll pay! He'll pay for every moment he's made you miserable. Just wait till I get my hands on him! We'll see who pays! It was Caps Galvano, wasn't it?"
"Who else could it be?" I whispered. "His breath was horrible!"
I wanted to laugh at Rafe's rejoinder, but I couldn't. Dice was rubbing his head into my cheek sympathetically, and then, prrrowwing earnestly, jumped down and made his way to the door, where he stopped and prrrowwed more quizzically.
"And you expect me to get up and let you out?" Rafe asked. "You've got one helluva lot of gall, cat."
Dice agreed affably, making an umbrella hook of his tail as he waited for action. His prrroww turned more acid, and his tail switched impatiently when Rafe refused to move.
"He wants to get back to Orfeo," I whispered, pushing at Rafe.
"I am not a cat butler," Rafe cried, even as his feet hit the floor. Dice bounced away, ahead of him, down the stairs. I heard the door slam as Rafe emphasized his disgruntlement with the exercise. His heels pounded on the bare floor as he stalked back to bed. But he was chuckling as he resettled himself beside me.
"Wish that damned cat did speak English. His conversation is more to the point than most people's. More ice, Nialla?"
I shook my head, and then he pulled me into the curve of his shoulder.
"Get some more sleep, dear heart; it's only two." A huge yawn interrupted him. "God, you're getting old, Clery," he told himself.
I tapped his chest to indicate disagreement, and felt the chuckle deep in his chest as he turned to look at me.
"I'm not getting old?" He kissed my fingers. "Not with you in my bed, at any rate." He shifted his body slightly and closed his eyes.
It wasn't very long, it seemed to me, before he was asleep, for the arm around me got heavy as the muscles relaxed completely, and his breathing was slow and shallow.
9
I was managing to swallow soft scrambled egg at brunch (we got up at a scandalous ten o'clock) when Dennis phoned on the intercom to say that a Mr. Michaels was at the gate, and could he come in?
Jim Michaels did have another suit-or rather a second pair of pants and a seersucker jacket. He got far enough inside the house to feel the air-conditioning, and sighed with relief. Then he exhibited real dismay at interrupting our meal.
"It is Sunday," Rafe said, ushering him to a chair and urging him to try the cornbread with his coffee.
He accepted with a grin, which faded when he saw my throat.
"I'm a walking fingerprint gallery," I said in the un-projected tone that put no strain on my throat.
He nodded, but his expression was a little fierce.
"Can you identify the assailant?"
"It has to be Caps Galvano."
His eyelids dropped briefly, and he sighed again. "Which means, Mrs. Clery, that you didn't see his face?"
"Who else could it be?" Rafe asked caustically.
Michaels shrugged. "A would-be rapist, a purse-snatcher, take your choice."
"It was him," I said. "He said if I thought I was safe behind a high fence with dogs, I was wrong. He said I'd never be safe unless I paid him. His breath was concentrated garlic."
"It was Galvano, Michaels, because Galvano is the only one who knows what the blackmailer told Nialla." Rafe was becoming impatient with the detective's caution. "For Christ's sake, Michaels, does she have to be murdered before the cops take action?"
Michaels looked uncomfortable and smoothed back his already well-groomed hair.
"You ought to know the handicaps under which police operate these days, Mr. Clery. However, Galvano has been positively identified by half a dozen people. He was definitely at the Sunbury fairgrounds. He also forgot to wipe all his fingerprints off the station wagon when he tried to frighten Mrs. Clery's gelding. It's a blurred print, but it's his."
"Then you believe me?"
"I always have believed you, Mrs. Clery," Michaels replied in a rather grim voice, "but belief is not admissible evidence. And it doesn't help me find the guy. He's at an advantage there. You're stationary, he's not. We've got to catch him, and we've either got to have proof positive-like fingerprints on the blunt instrument used on Pete Sankey-or Galvano's confession."
"Speaking of being stationary, Lieutenant, Louis Marchmount has been on the run, with a bodyguard. A Stephen Urscoll admitted to us that Louis Marchmount has been paying extortion. To Caps Galvano."
Michaels nodded. "Some eighty thousand dollars, to be precise. I keep busy."
Rafe whistled in surprise at the sum involved, and then almost pounced. "Then why in hell is Galvano threatening Nialla? With eighty thousand dollars, he ought to have skipped to one of the Latin-American countries by now! Particularly when he has very carefully arranged his own death to get the grass ring off his back."
"I admit that baffles us, too, Mr. Clery. Eighty thou for a man like Galvano is good bread. Enough to buy a fake passport for a dead man. He certainly can't afford to spend freely, because that would attract notice. And he can't afford to do that."
"He does attract attention," I whispered. "He stinks as if he hadn't changed clothes in weeks, and his breath is vile."
"That's not a criminal offense, Mrs. Clery," Michaels said with a glint in his eyes. "Were you aware, Mrs. Clery, that Mr. Marchmount was visiting near Sunbury?"
I shook my head too hard; it hurt my neck.
"We saw him first Monday night, at a distance, in the Charcoal Grill at Sunbury," Rafe said, "but that was the first we knew he was there."
"So it is conceivable that Galvano had been tracking Marchmount and then saw Mrs. Clery…" Michaels paused, rubbing his lower lip thoughtfully. "However, this is where motive falters. Mrs. Clery was not Mrs. Clery then, I understand, and candidly in no position to pay any extortion…"
"If he'd take peanut butter," Rafe said with such a bland face I wanted to smack him.
Michaels gave a fleeting grin. "I suppose we have to assume that Galvano indulged in malicious mischief while waiting to nail Marchmount, then."
"Whatever the reason, Michaels"-and all humor vanished from Rafe's face-"we've had enough of this kind of trick or treat. Marchmount has, too. Will you kindly arrest that bastard before there's a third death? Marchmount's or… Galvano's."
"There is a third death, Mr. Clery. Whoever was in that car in California. But as I said, we have to find him first, Mr. Clery," Michaels said wearily. "If he hadn't broken with all previous associations, that wouldn't be so difficult."
"Apply to the nearest racetrack and ask?"
"Quite. But unless we can force him into the open..," Michaels raised his hands, palms up, expressively.
"He'll have to, to collect," Rafe said. "He's got two possible sources of income-Louis Marchmount and Nialla. True, we've told him to shove it, and so, in effect, has Louis Marchmount. But Lou collapsed last night"-Michaels nodded, as if this were not new to him-"You know? Good. So that rules him out as a source of revenue for the greedy Galvano. And leaves us-Nialla."