I said, “You may think you’re holding the cards right now, mister, but your neck is out a mile. What do you think you’re doing?”
“Didn’t you get my note?” he asked in a soft, pleasant voice.
“Yeah, I got it. That wasn’t any smarter than you’re playing now. We figured you might be along. This place is staked out like a military garrison. Give it up and put down that gun, and you’ll get out of here alive.”
He smiled cheerfully. “The stakeouts were pulled two nights ago. I’ve been driving past right under their noses once every night for three weeks. The trouble with you badges is you haven’t got enough patience.”
So much for that attempted bluff. “All right,” I said. “What do you want?”
“I thought you got my note.”
He wanted to play cat and mouse. His ego stuck out all over him. He wasn’t content just to pull the trigger. He had to draw it out by toying with me, by strutting a little to show how much smarter he was than the police. It figured. He had to be an egomaniac in order to go gunning for a cop in the first place.
“Think you can get away with burning a police officer?” I asked.
“You fellows haven’t had much luck with me so far,” he said, with a grin of enjoyment.
“We will, mister,” I assured him. “Maybe not me personally. But you’ve had it. You don’t know it, but you reached the end of the line when you pulled your first kill.”
His tone suddenly changed. In a flat voice as deadly as the hiss of a cobra, he said, “Pretty brave talk from a dead man.”
I felt the hair rise along the back of my neck. But I didn’t let my expression change. “You’re really stupid enough to carry out your threat, are you? Want to know something?”
His expression smoothed as swiftly as it had become menacing. “What?” he asked in his previously cheerful tone.
“You could have blown town weeks ago. We’d almost given you up. We thought you had blown, until you mailed that letter. That started us all over again. Pull that trigger and they’ll never give up. They’ll track you down even if you make it to India.”
In a mocking voice, he said, “Do I detect a note of pleading?”
I forced a cold grin. “I wouldn’t ask you for the time of day, mister. I’m just telling you how stupid you are. You might have beat the rap if you’d run. Now you haven’t a prayer.”
Momentarily his face turned menacing again. But it was just a flicker of an expression. His voice was as pleasant as usual when he spoke. “Get your shoes and coat on.”
“What?” I said.
“Get dressed to go out. You didn’t think I’d do it here, did you?”
I just looked at him, and he said patiently, “You weren’t giving me any news when you said burning a badge makes you hot. I’m leaving these parts, and you’re chauffeuring me. In that nice new Ford you own. This is your day off. Nobody’s going to be looking for you till 4:30 tomorrow. By then I’ll be halfway to the East coast. And you’ll be where you might be found in a month or two.”
His plan made sense in a twisted sort of way. I wasn’t due to log in again for nearly twenty hours. By then he could have disposed of me somewhere on the desert, and be a thousand miles away in my car. He could abandon the car and go on by train or bus long before it was even reported stolen. By the time it and my body were located, the trail would be cold. It was a much better plan than killing me in the apartment and attempting to flee in my car, because then he would have to risk the crime’s being discovered at any moment. He might run into roadblocks an hour after he started running. I said, “Suppose I tell you to shove it?”
His eyes glinted behind his glasses. “Then I’ll have to risk it here. It’s your choice.”
There wasn’t any doubt that he meant it. He preferred it his way, but he wouldn’t hesitate a minute to risk the sound of a shot in the apartment if he had to. I was becoming more and more sure that he was insane. He had to be in order to build such a terrific grudge against a police officer, merely for performing his duty, that he was willing to risk everything to satisfy it.
It occurred to me that I might make it easier for the police if I made him kill me right there. But you cling to life as long as possible, even when the outcome is inevitable.
I crossed the room to put on my shoes and shrugged into my coat.
Chapter XI
Ever since the Courteous Killer had walked into the apartment, I had been subconsciously memorizing his description. Not because I thought I’d ever have the chance to relay it to anyone. It was merely the automatic reaction of long training. None of his victims had seen him for more than a few moments, and always at night. The look Harriet and I had gotten of him wasn’t much better.
But tonight I was able to study him for a considerable length of time under good lighting conditions. I could see now that the composite drawing of him that had been circulated was only slightly similar to his actual appearance. Now, taking my time, I could make an accurate estimate of his weight and height, and fix the shape of his body and the contours of his face in my mind. If I somehow managed to get out of the situation alive, I would be able to sit down with Garcia of S.I.D. and help him create a drawing that would be an almost photographic likeness.
It seemed unlikely that I’d ever have the chance, but I went on memorizing him, anyway.
I even got a look at his hair when we left the apartment. The composite we had circulated showed him wearing a hat, because that’s the way all witnesses had seen him. When he followed me from the apartment, he took off his hat and dropped it over his gun hand in order to conceal the gun in case we ran into anyone in the hall. Glancing back over my shoulder, I saw that he had medium-brown hair, receding slightly at the temples and beginning to gray. I filed the information in my mind along with the rest of his description.
Ray Pinker’s deduction that he favored his right leg proved correct. I hadn’t noticed any limp in the apartment, but he showed a slight but obvious stiffness in the leg when we went down the stairs.
We didn’t encounter anyone, either, in the building or outdoors. We made my Ford without incident. He had me get in from the right-hand side, then slide over under the wheel, so that he could more easily keep me covered while we were getting in the car. Once settled, he put his hat back on and kept the gun leveled at me at belt height.
Before starting the engine, I glanced up and down the street and asked, “What did you get here in?”
“Stolen car,” he said.
I thought my smile of satisfaction was suppressed, but something of my thoughts must have shown on my face, because he said indulgently, “It’s parked ten blocks from here. I walked the rest of the way. Did you think I’d park it right in front of your place, so some cop would drop in to say hello when it was found, and maybe get to wondering why you didn’t answer the door?”
I started the engine.
“Don’t get any heroic ideas,” he said. “Like driving without lights, or speeding so we’ll get stopped by some cop. If we do get stopped, you get a slug in the guts. That goes for trying to crack up the car, too. You’ll be dead before we crash, if you try it.”
I believed him. Both ideas he mentioned had occurred to me, but I decided neither would work. I switched on my lights.
He had me cross town to San Fernando Road, then follow it northwest out of town. San Fernando Road is both U.S. Highways 6 and 99. Where the two separate beyond San Fernando, he had me bear right on Route 6.
The fastest route out of the state would have been straight east on 60 toward Arizona. I guessed he was taking the northern route because it passed through the Mojave Desert, and later through the eastern edge of the Sierra Nevada Mountains. Either place would be excellent to dispose of a body.