There was a row of cupboards above the sink. I started yanking them open and hit the jackpot within ten seconds—an unopened carton of cigarettes and a bottle of bourbon more than three-quarters full. I ripped open a pack of cigarettes, found some matches on another shelf, and lighted up. The first drag was sheer ecstasy. I grabbed the whisky and took it straight out of the bottle. Warmth and colored lights exploded inside me, and for a moment I was limp. I put the bottle away and quickly ransacked the rest of the shelves. I found an unopened pound of coffee, several cans of corned beef, a box of crackers, and some jam. I stared at it. I could hide out here for days.
In a few minutes I was drinking scalding black coffee and eating cold corned beef out of the can. I felt a lot better. Pouring another cup of coffee, I dropped a slug of bourbon in it, lighted a cigarette, and carried it out into the living room to explore the place.
Before the fireplace, on a shaggy white rug, was a long coffee table covered with glass. In back of it was a studio couch, and at one end a chaise longue, both covered with that same wine-red corduroy I’d seen on the bed in the other room. There was a bridge lamp and a small magazine stand at one end of the couch. The floor was rubber-tiled, and in the center of the room was an oval braided rug some eight feet long. Because of the heavy drapes there was still very little light, and it was intensely silent except for the soft and almost soothing sound of the rain.
Near the front window was a large oak desk and a swivel chair. At one end of it was a typewriter stand on which was a covered typewriter. A shaded lamp was suspended from the ceiling above it. There were several books on the desk and a stack of papers held down by an onyx paperweight. In the corner was a small gas heater. The whole wall beside the desk was lined with bookshelves, and near the door going out into the kitchen and dining area was a small table on which was a telephone and a radio in a white plastic case. I went over and turned on the radio, just clicking the switch but leaving the gain all the way down. The pilot light glowed. Maybe I could get some news. I looked at my watch. It had stopped; I’d forgotten to wind it.
Then I was struck by an odd thought. If this were a summer cottage closed for the season, why were the gas, water, and electricity still turned on? Suddenly I heard a car going past outside. I stepped quickly to the front window and pulled the edge of the curtain back just enough to peer out. It was a yellow school bus.
I could see nothing of the cottage next to this one, or in fact any of those on this side, but some hundred yards on down the puddled and rainswept road there was one on the other side. Apparently there were people living in it now. The school bus turned around there and stopped. Two small children in yellow raincoats and hats came out and got in. The bus came back. I let the curtain drop back in place and heard it go on by and fade away. I was just about to turn away from the window when I heard something else. It was another one, passing slowly in the opposite direction. I parted the curtain again and froze.
It was a police cruiser and it was stopping. Two men in black raincoats and uniform caps with plastic rain covers got out, one of them going out of sight in the direction of the cottage next door. The other was turning this way. I dropped the curtain back in place just in time. A heavy step sounded on the porch, and then the door moved slightly beside my hand as he tried the knob. He rattled it once, and checked the window. I held my breath.
He tested the window at the front of the kitchen. I heard the padlock on the garage doors rap against the wood as he went by and slapped it with a hand to be sure it was fastened. He was going around the side of the garage. The hat, I thought. Somebody had found the damned thing, and now they knew they had me pinned down in this jerkwater town. No, maybe it was just a routine check-up of unoccupied summer cottages—
Then fear hit me in the back like icy water. I’d forgotten that broken pane of glass. And the kitchen door was unlocked!
Somehow I put the coffee cup on the desk without dropping or rattling it and sped toward the kitchen. My bare feet made no sound on the tile. Just as I reached the door I heard him call out to the other one.
“Hey, Roy. Come here!”
He’d discovered the broken window.
I shoved a finger against the button in the center of the knob and pressed. There was only a faint click as it locked, but it seemed to hang there in the silence forever. I breathed again, afraid to move or even take my hand away from the knob.
“Look at this,” I heard him say then. “I think he’s been here.”
Somebody had found the hat. And even with the rain, there’d still be tracks and my long skid marks in the mud, so they’d know I had unloaded from the freight. They probably had the town surrounded by now.
“Knocked it out so he could reach the latch,” said a purring and very Southern voice. Roy had come over. “You look inside?”
“You think I’m nuts? He may have a gun.”
I wondered where they thought I’d got one. My muscles ached from the tense and rigid position I was in. The cigarette in my left hand was beginning to burn my fingers. I was afraid even to let it fall to the floor; it might sound as if somebody had dropped a piano.
“Come out of there, Foley!” Roy ordered. There was a moment of complete silence, and then he said, “Let me have your flashlight.”
“Take it easy, will you?” the other replied. “He’s already killed one cop; one more ain’t going to bother him.”
“We got to see in there.”
“Christ—”
“Stand clear.” There was another instant of tense silence, and then Roy’s voice said, “He’s gone. But he’s been here. See all that water on the floor?”
“Yeah.”
The voices dropped to whispers. “He went on into the house through that door. Run around and cover the front. I’m goin’ in.”
“Hadn’t we better call in for help?”
“Help, hell. I’ll get the cop-murderin’ bastard.”
Footsteps sounded on the wet sand outside, and I heard Roy’s body slide through the window and fall onto the floor of the garage. Shoes scraped on concrete, and then he was testing the kitchen door. My hand was still on the knob, and I could feel it move slightly as he rattled it. I tried not to breathe. He tried it again. “Hey, Jim.”
The other came back. “What is it?”
“Door’s locked. And ain’t no sign it’s been forced. Ain’t a scratch on it.”
“Don’t make sense, though, he’d go back out in the rain when he had a dry place to hide.”
“Wait! He’s in there, all right. Look. The garage door was locked, and so was the window, because he had to break it. So this one probably wasn’t. He just went inside and locked it himself.”
I sighed. I didn’t have a chance now.
“No,” one of the voices said quickly, “wait a minute. This door was locked. Remember? We checked it the other day when we made the round. Somebody’d left the garage door open and kids had been playin’ in here, so tried this one before we locked up.”
“Yeah. That’s right.”
I wondered how much more of it I could take.
“Sure funny he’d leave without even tryin’ to get in the house. He’d need dry clothes and something to eat.”
“Probably wasn’t anything he could use.”
Oh, sweet Jesus—the hammer! Then I realized I was looking right at it. There on the counter by the sink. I’d carried it inside without realizing it.