“A rental?”
“Why not? They could have rented one of the cabins, even used it during the summer. So if the police come nosing around the cabin now, what have they got to be afraid of? Of course, they’d rather nobody knew, but if they can produce a lease-”
“But in November, Loney? Nobody’s at the Lake in November.”
“That’s not so. A few people from downstate rent cabins by the year-use them for weekends after the summer season. We patrol that Lake road the year round.”
Ellen was considering his argument stubbornly. “I don’t know. It sounds too dumb to me. I mean robbing and killing and still planning to hide out for any length of time within walking distance of where they did it. It seems to me that’s the last thing they’d do.”
“And maybe that’s just why they did it,” Malone insisted. “Who’d think of looking for them practically on the scene of the crime? The more I think about it the more I’m sure we’ve got something. I’m going to find that cabin, Ellen. Do you feel up to staying here alone while I scout around? I don’t think they’ll try coming back before dark.”
“Don’t worry about me. Do you think you can locate it in one day, Loney? There’s an awful lot of cabins around Balsam Lake.”
“I’m not starting at the Lake. I’m starting in town.”
“What do you mean?”
“If they rented a cabin, it had to be through a real estate agent.”
“Loney, be careful! You’ll get people suspicious asking questions.”
“Not if I do it right. I wish to hell I knew how the real pros go about a thing like this.”
“Just keep remembering Bibby. Please, Loney?”
She clung to him, begging with her whole body. He kissed her and pulled away. She remained in the kitchen doorway.
Malone went upstairs. As he was rummaging through the clothes closet in their bedroom he suddenly remembered his hunting rifle. He had not used it in years. Had they searched the upstairs before he got home last night and found it? Ellen might have forgotten to mention it.
It was still on the top shelf of the closet, wrapped in oil rags.
He took it down and unwrapped it. After all this time not a speck of rust. That was one thing the Marines had taught him, how to take care of a weapon. With the rifle in his hands the tiredness was rubbed out. He felt around on the shelf and found the boxes of.22 long-rifle cartridges.
You pulled a boner, Mister Furia.
He could have shouted with joy.
But he stood there, weighing and sorting. As he weighed and sorted the tiredness came back.
Not with Bibby in their hands. And a.22 wasn’t much. You could kill a rabbit or a fox with it, but a rabbit or a fox wasn’t a man with a Colt Trooper and a Walther automatic. I wish I could have afforded that.303 at the discount store. But the shells for it came to five-six dollars a box. Or that M-l carbine they had on sale.
“Loney, what are you doing up there?”
He rewrapped the rifle and stowed it along with the cartridges at the rear of the shelf and went out into the hall to the linen closet and got some bathmats and went back and covered the gun and ammunition.
He changed into sneakers and put on his oilstained green-arid-black plaid hunting jacket and cap and went back downstairs. Ellen was still standing in the kitchen doorway.
“What were you doing up there?”
“Don’t let that bag out of your sight,” Malone said, and left.
Malone drove the Saab off The Pike a few hundred yards north of the cloverleaf into the gravel driveway past the gilded white sign t. w. hyatt & son real estate and pulled up before the one-story frame building. It was his fourth stop of the morning.
He went in. “Hi, Edie.”
“Well, if it isn’t the lawman,” Edie Golub said, looking up from her typewriter. There was a pencil stuck in her dead-black-dyed hair. “Don’t shoot, Officer, I’ll come quietly.” She was one of the girls from high school who wouldn’t give him the time of day. She had never married. “Don’t you ever crack a smile, Wes?”
“I’m off duty, I guess I can risk it,” Malone said, smiling. “Young Tru in?” Old Tru had retired the year before and taken his grouch and arthritis to St. Petersburg, Florida. The whole town had breathed out. He had always been the one who stood up in town meeting and threw a monkey wrench into the works.
“He’s going through the mail.” She got up and opened the door to the inner office. “It’s Wes Malone, Mr. Hyatt. Can you see him?”
“Wes? Sure thing!” Young Tru sounded eager.
Here we go again.
Malone went in. Hyatt was waiting with his best sales smile. He was a tall thin man with a badly pockmarked face, dressed as always like an Esquire ad. He was one of New Bradford’s ladies’ men, big on church socials and parties, the last one home. He was supposed to have been sleeping with Edie Golub for years-he had an old black leather couch in his office-with her “Mr. Hyatts” in the presence of third parties as their coverup.
“Sit down, Wes, park it. How’s the manhunt going?”
“Oh, they got away.” It was the fourth time he had had to say it.
“I understand Tom Howland was in on it up to his fat ass.”
“Where did you hear that?” It was impossible to keep a secret in New Bradford.
“It’s all over town,” Hyatt said. “I heard it in the bank a few minutes ago. Is it true, Wes?”
“I wouldn’t know. I went off duty before the case broke. Tell you what I dropped in for, Tru-”
“I knew that outfit would get shlogged some day,” Hyatt said. “Whoever heard of a company in this day and age still paying their help in cash? If they’d invest a few bucks in a modern bookkeeping system-with an honest bookkeeper, ha-ha!-put in one of those computers, pay off in checks… But I guess they got a big inventory in pay envelopes.”
“You’re right, Tru, they asked for it all right,” Malone said. “Oh, what I’m here for. We’ve been having a little trouble over at the Lake. Now that the season is over some kids have been going down there nights to booze it up and generally raise hell-they’ve broken into a few cabins-and we’ve had some complaints from people who lease by the year. I’ve been getting up a list of the year-round renters to make sure we don’t miss any. You know how some people are, afraid to make a complaint. Did you place any one-year rentals at the Lake in, say, the past six-seven months, Tru?”
“I don’t think so. Bob Doerr gets most of that Lake stuff. Did you try Bob?”
“I got a few names from him. Well, I won’t keep you.” There was only one real estate office in town he had not covered. If I strike out at Taugus Realty…
“No, wait a minute,” Hyatt said.
He sat still.
“Now that I think of it, I seem to recall there was one. Edie?”
She popped her hairdo in. “Yes, Mr. Hyatt?”
“Didn’t we write a lease for one of the Lake cabins around May, June, somewhere around there?”
“I really don’t remember.”
“Well, look it up, will you?” Hyatt sat back. “Y’know, Wes, I can never figure you out.” Find it Edie.
“What have I done now, Tru?”
“Here you are off duty and you’re working. What are you, bucking for John’s job? Don’t you ever relax?”
“I guess I’m not the relaxing type.”
Find it Edie.
“That’s the thing with you married suckers. You don’t know how to live. Now you take me.”
“The way I hear it,” Malone said dutifully, “you’ve been taken by experts.”
“Who, me? The hell you say! Who said that?”
“Here it is, Mr. Hyatt.” Edie Golub had a lease in her hand. Malone watched it all the way across the rug. Hyatt took it from her, and she stood there. But when he stared up at her she left quickly, shutting the door with a bang.
“Yes, this is the one. Somebody named Pratt, William J. Pratt. Signed the lease May twenty-third. How’s that for a memory? You want to see this, Wes?”