Frank said, “Guess I can’t climb with this,” and put his riot gun back in the car.
Walking back to Captain Hertel, I said, “Coming in from the east looks like the best bet. Don’t think we could by-pass that overhang on the other side of the house.”
I pointed to a bulge in the cliff face on the west side of the house, where the cliff took an outward lean.
Hertel nodded agreement. “We’ll keep the spots off you. We’ll stick them right in his face, and hope they blind him enough so he can’t see you out there. Good luck.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Thanks.”
Frank and I walked east along Mulholland Drive for a hundred yards until we were beyond even the reflected glow of the spotlights. Frank gazed up the steep incline and emitted a low whistle.
“Fay’s been saying I need more exercise,” he said. “Thinks I ought to take some of the weight off.”
“Uh-huh,” I said.
“But you know something, Joe?”
“What?”
“Think I’d rather take my exercise in a gym.”
I started up first, moving slowly and feeling my way, testing each handhold and foothold before trusting my full weight to it. Behind me I could hear Frank begin to pant before we had climbed a quarter of the distance.
We paused when we heard the amplified voice of Captain Hertel boom out, “George Whiteman!”
There was silence for a moment, then, “We got your message, Whiteman. No one here has authority to make a deal with you. We’ve sent for Chief of Detectives Brown. You’ll have to wait until he arrives.”
For the first time the suspect answered. We could hear his shout roll down the mountainside, but we were too far away to make out the words. We started to climb again.
When we reached the place where the incline became a nearly sheer cliff, we stopped a second time to rest. From here we could clearly see the house a hundred yards off to our left and on the same level we now were. The whole area was brilliantly lighted by spotlights, except for the section of cliff face by which we would have to approach the house. Even in the moonlight this formed a dark strip in contrast to the glare above and below it. This wasn’t very reassuring, though, because we could still make out the details of the cliff face in the darkened area. Which meant the suspect wouldn’t have any trouble spotting us, if he happened to glance out one of the east windows.
“Okay so far?” I asked Frank.
“Ruined a good suit,” he said. “Tore the knee right out of my pants.”
Glancing down at the torn place, I said, “Tough break.”
“Oh, well,” he said philosophically. “Much more of this kind of exercise and it wouldn’t fit me, anyway.”
Now that we were right next to it, the cliff face looked just as formidable as it had from the road below. We decided that while we might be safer from observation if we climbed higher and then moved along the almost vertical wall, it would take too long to traverse the hundred yards between us and the house that way. Instead we decided to risk moving to within twenty-five yards of the house before climbing upward any more. At that point we could make out a rift in the wall that looked as though it might take us clear to the crest of the mountain. As there was a slightly overhanging ridge all along the top, this looked like the only place we would be able to reach the summit. And it would be considerably easier to walk the last twenty-five yards along the top than to sidle along the face of the cliff.
While the incline we had already come up was pretty steep, we were able to walk erect along the face of the cliff by holding onto projections for support. We moved toward the rift we had spotted as rapidly as we could, momentarily expecting to be spied by the suspect. If we were, we both knew, we were finished. At that range he couldn’t miss.
We reached the rift without being seen. It was about three feet wide by two deep, but it afforded complete protection from the house. I climbed upward inside of it about ten feet in order to allow Frank room to squeeze in below me.
Then I looked upward, and my heart sank. We weren’t going to be able to reach the crest this way, either. The crevice we were in petered out a few feet below the overhang.
Suddenly, from what sounded like the upper windows of the house, the suspect’s voice yelled, “It’s been twenty minutes, cops! Five more and I’ll toss Mrs. Grommick down the mountain for you to look at.”
Over the amplifier Captain Hertel’s voice said, “Chief Brown is on the way. He’ll be here any minute now.”
“Rest period’s over,” I whispered down to Frank. “Let’s go”
We climbed up the natural flue until I estimated we were well above the level of the roof. Then, one at a time, we edged out of its protection and clung to the side of the cliff. Here we were fully exposed to view. Above and below us the beams of the spotlights glared against the cliff face. On a darker night the contrast might have made us invisible, but the bright moonlight had the effect of making me feel as though we were on a lighted stage.
We edged closer to the house. It was slow going, because we had to test each handhold and foothold. There was not only the danger of falling. A loosened rock bounding down the mountainside would almost certainly be heard in the house, and would bring the suspect running to a side window.
I thought we had made it when we were fifteen feet from the house. We were a good twenty feet above the upper windows, and even if Whiteman glanced out on that side, he wouldn’t see us unless he looked upward.
As I groped for another handhold, I looked down at the rearmost window of the upper floor. I froze with one arm extended when I saw a pale face in the window. The eyes in the face were staring straight at me.
Chapter XXV
For a breath-taking instant I thought it was the suspect gazing at me. Then I saw that it was a slim, dark-haired lad of about twenty. Undoubtedly David Grommick’s son, Pete.
My relief didn’t last long, though. In the room behind him, another figure approached the window. And this time there was no doubt. It was George Whiteman, without glasses and with his hair darkened, but unquestionably the Courteous Killer. He was carrying the cut-down carbine in the crook of his arm.
He would have been an easy pistol shot if either Frank or I had been in a position to draw a pistol. Unfortunately it took both hands to cling to the cliff wall. There was nothing to do but remain motionless and hope the boy would have sense enough to divert the suspect’s attention.
I heard Whiteman’s voice growl, “What the devil you looking at out there?” His face appeared over the youth’s shoulder.
In a slightly high voice, Pete Grommick said, “A car just arrived down there.” He pointed down toward the road. “Maybe it’s that official they’re waiting for.”
George Whiteman’s gaze followed the pointing finger. If he had glanced upward, he couldn’t have missed us. After an interminable moment he said, “Which one? There’s a million cars down there.”
“It pulled beyond where you can see from here,” the boy said. “You can probably see it from the front windows.” Without waiting for the suspect’s response, he turned from the window and moved toward the front of the house, disappearing from view. Whiteman gazed downward an instant longer, then followed the boy.
Suppressing a sigh of relief, I moved onward again. This time I deliberately kept my eyes straight ahead, avoiding the sight of the side windows. This was an ostrich-like defense, perhaps, but I couldn’t help it. So close to our goal, I had no intention of stopping again even if the suspect leaned out the window and yelled at us. I wanted the ordeal over, one way or the other.
Abruptly I realized I was in the full glare of a spotlight. My first reaction was a sense of outrage that somebody down below had blundered by swinging a spotlight beam on us. Then I glanced down and got a pleasant shock. The spot hadn’t moved at all. I had simply moved into its beam. I was directly over the roof, safe from the view of anyone in the house.