The crowd at the edge of the lamplight let Doc Rennie through. He stood there, long frame swinging easy from the crutches, but I could see from the twist of his mouth that what he needed was to be in bed — yes, and with a shot of something to make him sleep.
Bill Dorset spoke to the Doc and me. “What proof we got,” he asked, “that you ain’t gettin’ ready to ring in a bunch of state cops and take over the town the minute we let you go?” His hand rasped over the stubble on his chin, and I knew that behind the mask his eyes were like gray granite.
Doc Rennie said: “I don’t quite understand.”
Dorset looked up at him. “I’d do a good deal for kin o’ mine in trouble,” he said softly, weighing each word. “How do we know Ed McKay wouldn’t too, even bein’ sheriff. And let me tell you, mister, this is one case where there ain’t goin’ to be any hole-and-corner stuff. I knew Johanna Welch’s father. I seen her body in that kitchen tonight. I got girls o’ my own. Now d’you understand?”
Doc Rennie kept his eyes on Dorset. I don’t think a man in the place breathed. Dorset had stated the crowd’s case in black and white. Now it was our move. I couldn’t think of a thing to say. My stomach was still heaving from Tom Hogan’s heels, and a burning feeling down my right side made me suspect a brace of ribs had parted.
Doc Rennie, still looking at Dorset, said: “I suggest a compromise.”
There was a movement beside me. Dorset spun around. “For the last time, Tom Hogan,” he said, “I’m warnin’ you to stay outa this.” He turned to Doc Rennie. “Go on,” he said.
“I suggest,” said Doc Rennie, raising his voice, each word clear as a bell, “that this gathering name one or two men to accompany the sheriff on the investigation. These men can report back to this group. I suggest further that since both the sheriff and Dave Tyson will be busy with the case, that this gathering name two more men to remain with Hi Fillmore and Dan Garner at the Welch place — where they are now, by the way — pending the outcome of the investigation.”
He paused. Something else was needed — some immediate proof of good faith on our part.
Doc Rennie looked at me. He wanted me to have the last word. For a muddled second I couldn’t think. Then it came to me.
“I could have brought a dozen state police to this meeting,” I said. “The reason I didn’t is that this is our town, and we don’t need outside help, one way or the other. I’ve been figuring I could get all the help I need from my own people. Now what do you say?”
The long drawl again. “Bill Dorset can speak for me,” it said. They picked it up all over the stable... “And me”... “And me,”... “Me too.”
Bill Dorset looked around the crowd. Then he pulled out a silver turnip near as big as an alarm clock and stared at it. Everybody started to fidget.
“Sid Deevers,” called Dorset.
The long drawl said, “Here, Bill.”
“You and Charlie Kinsey go up to the Welch place and keep an eye on Garner and Hi Fillmore.”
Two voices, the drawl and another, answered, “O.K., Bill.”
“Me and Tom Hogan’ll go with you,” said Dorset to Doc Rennie and me. “Listen, men,” he raised his voice.
All movement stopped.
“This is just for the time bein’, you understand? It’s quarter to midnight now. If Dave and this feller with the crutches are bluffin’, I’ll find it out. So you all better be back at the stable here around two. If I ain’t here, come look for me.”
He pursed his lips under the mask edge, and a jet of tobacco juice banged the side of the feedbox.
“We’re wastin’ time,” he said. “Let’s git ahead with it.” Men began stripping off their masks, stuffing them in hip pockets.
Dave kept looking back at me as we made our way up the alley to my car. He was busting with something, but he didn’t dare spill it while the crowd was straggling up the alley behind us. We piled into my car, Doc Rennie and Dorset and Hogan in the back. I trod on the starter and let the motor idle. I didn’t have to wait long.
“Ed” — Dave’s voice was taut with excitement — “I took a look around, after you left, and look what I found under a bush right where Hi said he saw the feller jump off the porch.”
He held it under the dash light. Dorset and Hogan leaned forward to look. I could smell the whiskey on Hogan.
My spirits hit bottom. “Is that all?”
It was a fountain pen, one of those fancy brands with silver chasing all over it. On a shield-shaped nameplate was engraved, “G. O’M.”
Dorset spoke up, putting my own thought into words. “I heard about O’Moore courtin’ Julie. He could ha’ dropped that thing there any time.”
“Like hell he could,” said Dave, bumptious. “He dropped it there tonight.”
“How do you know?” I was trying to sound interested, but it was all so thin. I’d thought from the way Dave had talked in the stable...
“Doc Rennie,” answered Dave. “He got me to call the guy who works next to O’Moore in the office. The guy said that O’Moore was using that pen this afternoon.”
I was too tired and sick to pretend before Dorset and Hogan. “What good is that,” I asked, “when we know O’Moore left town on the nine thirty bus?”
“Doc Rennie again,” crowed Dave. “He got me to call the bus terminal at Suffern. I got hold of the driver of that nine thirty bus, and what do you suppose he said?”
I just sighed.
“He said O’Moore got off the bus at Edmonds Corner — half mile outa town,” said Dave. “Said he seemed nervous. Forgot to take his bag with him.”
“He got off the bus?” Way down in me a spark lit up. A man could cut across from Edmonds Corner to the Welch place in twenty minutes easy. I shot the car into gear.
From the back, Doc Rennie said, “Ed—”
“I got you, Doc: Dexter Bassett’s.”
The sickness was most gone now, and the burning pain in my side hurt only half as much. Two minutes later we pulled up in front of Dexter Bassett’s fine old house.
On Doc Rennie’s advice I went alone to the door. Dexter came down in his pajamas.
I lied to Dexter. I said we thought O’Moore might have seen or heard something at the Welch place that upset him, and told Bassett about him getting off the bus. I made out like I thought he might be going into one of his spells.
I must’ve laid it on too thick, for the longer I talked, the paler Dexter Bassett got. He shook his head when I asked him if O’Moore had showed up at home.
Finally he said: “Ed, you know that mountain land of mine up beyond the ridge?”
I knew it well. Doc Rennie and Dave and I had shot birds over it a dozen times. We used to stop in at the—
“The shack!” I said.
Bassett looked very old as he nodded. “He’s been going up there a lot this summer — whenever he feels one of those nervous spells coming on. If he’s really upset, that’s where you’ll find him.”
He passed a hand across his eyes. I felt awful sorry for him. He’d never had a son, and he’d been fond of Gerald. Matter of fact, everybody in town liked Gerald, although he didn’t exactly fit in.
But I had to ask him. “Dexter,” I said, “those mental spells of Gerald’s — did he ever” — I finally got it out — “ever attack or hurt anybody?”
Bassett shook his head again. “Never. And Ed, he worshipped Julie Welch. He told me so not long ago. All his affection for his mother seemed to be transferred to her. But he was always afraid to ask her to marry him — afraid of those spells coming back.”
There was something else on Bassett’s mind, so I waited, although I was wild to get started to the shack. At last it came.