Stutz blinked at him.
“The man we want,” Kin said, “might be right in town here.”
Stutz said, “That’s interesting. Who?”
“A friend, maybe. If it is, I’d like to see him, alone. If it is, there won’t be any trouble.”
Stutz looked at McGraw. “I’d be breaking every rule in the book if I let him do it his way — wouldn’t I, Mac?”
“Yes, sir. Absolutely.”
Stutz’s pipe gurgled. “Go ahead, Kinsland,” he said. “I’ve been out on a lot of limbs in my time.” He blinked after Kin as the trooper left the office. He said to McGraw, “Good sergeants try to cover up for their troopers, Mac. Maybe one of them’ll have to cover up for the commanding officer.”
“I tell you this, sir. I sure escaped the beating of my life a little while ago. And you know what? I don’t think it was anything DiPolo said that burned him. I think it was his girl — on the phone. She damned near took his ear off!”
“A little here, a little there — it all adds up, piles on. You think she hit him with something? Good. Maybe I’d better call her back and congratulate her. If I can stay awake long enough.”
Kin walked along the side of the darkened house to the front porch and pressed the white button beneath the sign lettered Night Bell. He heard, after a minute, the thump and scuff of footfalls, the clatter of something knocked down — wood against wood. A light shone through milky glass panels on each side of the door. The porch light went on and the door was flung open.
Kin said, “Doc.”
“No! Again?” Ackerman bellowed, pushing his glasses up his nose. “Oh... you, Kin. Didn’t quite make out the face, but the uniform— My phone not working?”
“Can I come in, Doc?”
“Can you come in! Sure, sure. You hurt, boy?” He gangled off into the frowzy living room, sideswiping an old bamboo whatnot that shook, rattling the bric-a-brac on its shelves. He got the room lights on, saying, “Come on, right here, boy, and let’s have a look.”
“I’m not hurt, Doc,” Kin said. “You sit down, will you, please? I’d like us to have a little chat.”
Ackerman reared back, glaring, “Chat! What in the blasted time of night is this for a chat? I’ve been up half the night and I’ve got to get up at six—”
“It’s tough, Doc,” Kin nodded. “And you want to hang on. You don’t want to let go. You’d do anything so you could hang on.”
Ackerman bellowed, “You’re right tootin’ I would. All hours, bad eyes, shaky knees, but” — he thumped his chest — “I got it in here, boy — here in the heart, where it counts. For me and for the people that call me up all hours because they need me — not any doctor — me! — and not because I’m the best doctor in the world. I’m not, damn it, by a long shot. But I got it — in here — right in here—” He broke off, reared back again. “You sick, boy? Hurt?” Then he bellowed, “No? Then get out!”
The hoarse bellowing, the wild glaring eyes, made Kin cautious — but cat-cautious, cool and ready for anything, ready to move toward it. Not cautious the way he’d been for months — cutting corners and dodging and ducking and twisting away like a ballet dancer. Away from what? From the fear of losing Katherine and of not wanting to hurt her, worry her, by taking risks. But Boagard — poor Boag — had taken all that right out of his hands. Boagard, an experienced trooper, had been trapped and murdered just like the rookie Harry Eaves. And Katherine had hit him hard with her strident anger, hurling him right out of her life.
“You gonna get?” Ackerman blared, picking up a poker from the fireplace.
Kin’s hand slid along past his belt buckle, stopped short of his revolver. He said, “Did Harry Eaves ever stop you on the highway for something or other and then let you go?” He’d handle it without a gun.
Ackerman looked at the poker, confused. “Harry Eaves? Oh... him.” He slammed the poker down and shouted, “Of course he did. Once, out there on — I can’t remember where — but I was looping all over the road—” He stopped, put his head down, and squinted at Kin. His voice came out thin, between pursed lips: “What’re you getting at, boy?”
“Were you drunk, Doc?” Kin said, “and all over the road?”
Ackerman grabbed the poker.
“Don’t try it, Doc,” Kin said. “There’s at least five gallons of gas in your car in the garage. Why did you use a taxi?”
Ackerman roared, “Of course there is, trooper! I’d never get Gus out in his taxi again this late, so I had him siphon some from his car into mine — case I was called out quick again, emergency.” He slammed the poker down on the floor. “And I was slewing around all over that road because of my glasses. I can’t stand bifocals — and besides, I need three pairs. One for close up, one for where you are, one for driving. And I never can get out with the right ones, or all three.” Then he looked disgusted. “Do what you want — go or stay — but I’m going back to bed.” He shook a long, bony finger from the doorway. “And I haven’t touched a drop of liquor in twenty-five years, since the day they carried me home on a shutter from a clambake.” He glared. “You drunk, boy?” And he went on upstairs, scuffing and growling.
Kin left. He stood on the sidewalk, tapping his belt — more alert now than ever, his body feeling as if it were strung out like a wire, taut and strong. He drove the patrol car south on Main and parked in front of the white house opposite St. Andrew’s Church. There were lights on upstairs. He remained in the car, watching a dim figure move out of the darkness in front of the high hedge.
“Kin!”
“Katherine?”
Then she was in the car, hugging his arm with both of hers. He could feel her shaking, but he watched the lights upstairs. She was saying, “I turned on the radio when I got home from the church supper after midnight — and I couldn’t go to bed. I knew you’d be out there, somewhere. I... I phoned to see if you were all right, safe; and then when you were — I don’t know why” — she held on to his arm — “I just... just blew my top at you. The way Aunt Grace did to me, years ago, when I got lost in the woods and she hunted hours for me and when she found me—”
“Yes, Katherine,” he said. She was there, clinging to his arm, and that was enough. And he was watching the upstairs windows: at one of them, for a moment, Dr. Wilmott’s face appeared. Then one of the lights went out and Kin said, “What are you doing here, Katherine?”
“Stutz phoned me fifteen minutes ago to congratulate me. He didn’t say why. He just said you were out on the town, on a secret mission, trailing a big bad wolf. Then somebody there laughed and Stutz said, ‘Kid stuff,’ and hung up. It sounded silly until I remembered—” She sat back. “Kin, what are you doing here?”
He said, “I’m a cop asking questions, Katherine. You must have come here for a reason. Why?”
“I... I was afraid for you, with the things, little things, itching me since the radio news first started coming in about a drunken driver.”
“But why here?” Kin said.
She held her face in her hands. “I keep trying not to believe it, but it keeps after me now — knowing about Boagard and what he said in Dr. Wilmott’s office the day he came in for his physical. Weren’t we kidding around about that a little a couple of months ago?”
“I was trying to remember it. Then something in Boag’s strongbox brought it back to me, and tied in. And I went to Doc Ackerman’s, remembering a long way back how my folks said he used to hit the bottle.” He shook his head. “But it’s not Doc Ackerman. You,” he said, “must think it’s Wilmott. Why? An hour or so after Boagard’s death Wilmott was out there at the scene, all bounce and efficiency.”