“What was it?”
“He’d put the blown-out tire on the spare and apparently had just let the car down off the jack. When I drove up he was putting the tools away and was ready to move on. But there was something about him. You know how you get to playing hunches. You just have a copper’s hunch that something is wrong and... well, hang it, I kept thinking about this fellow.”
“What did he look like?”
“It wasn’t that. It was just the whole set-up. But do you know, Don, I went over and punched that tire a couple of times, the one that had gone flat with a blow-out. Well, it was flat all right, and I looked at the big hole in the side where the tube had blown out, and somehow something wasn’t right. And it was that blown-out tire. It was cold as a rock.”
The trooper at the adjoining table was regarding him with questioning eyes. “What did you do about it?”
“Not a darned thing,” Moose Wallington admitted, crestfallen, “because I never noticed it... that is, I noticed it, but I didn’t think about it. Just when I touched that tire I thought there was something wrong, but for the life of me there a the time I couldn’t think what it was.”
“You checked his license?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Well, don’t let Lieutenant Tyler know about it. Put it in as a routine license check. Shucks, the guy had probably been driving slow and it was night, and...”
“Nope, he was lying to me,” Moose Wallington said. “That tire hadn’t blown out there. He’d had that blown-out tire on the spare rim for quite a ways. Long enough so the cool night air had cooled the carcass of that tire...”
“Or he’d stopped to look at the moon,” the other interrupted. “Go ahead, put it in as a routine license check-up and let it go at that.”
Wallington shook his head. He ratcheted the sheet of paper down to the place calling for remarks and typed:
Remarks: On state highway 72, about two miles past the junction with highway 40, came on a Rapidex sedan being driven by Robert Trenton of Noonville. Driving license seemed to be in order and there’s no pick-up order on his car. The party claimed to have stopped for change of blown-out tire but there was no evidence on the ground that the stop had been for that purpose. Checked files again this afternoon just prior to going on duty to see if there was anything on the car.
Moose started to type “found nothing had been reported”, then with a grin decided he’d done enough faking and had better go and check the late bulletins.
Routine procedure required that in case of anything at all suspicious, he should call in on his two-way radio at the scene of the inspection, to find if there had been any late bulletins on the car. He trusted that the fact he had not done so would not seem too apparent to the eagle eye of Lieutenant Tyler, who would scan the report. But having listed Robert Trenton as subject worthy of “remarks” rather than under the routine license check, Wallington decided it would be highly advisable to make a careful check of the bulletin board.
He found an entry which puzzled him. “Anonymous telephone call from Falthaven reported theft of light, two-door Rapidex sedan, presumably registered in name of Linda Carroll, but with no data available on license number or engine number. Party hung up in middle of conversation.”
Moose Wallington walked back to his typewriter and continued pounding out his report.
In view of bulletin on Rapidex from Falthaven, feel further investigation should be made of Robert Trenton and this occurrence.
Having signed the report, Big Ed Wallington picked it up and walked to the office of Lieutenant Tyler.
Chapter 13
Big Ed Wallington pulled the cruiser off towards the side of the road and slowed down. “Now it was right along in here somewhere,” he said.
Lieutenant Tyler said, “I’d like to find the exact spot if we can do so.”
“Well, I remember I went through a soft patch of earth just before I got out of the car. It should be... right along in here...”
“Take it easy,” Tyler said. “Put it in low gear.”
The car crawled along. Suddenly Wallington said, “This is the place. There are my tracks. There’s where I went through the soft verge.”
“Okay. This is good,” Tyler said. “Leave it here.”
They stopped the car. Moose Wallington put on the red blinker which warned traffic coming from both directions that a Slate Police car was parked by the side of the road. The two officers got out, carrying flashlights, and walked slowly along the ground, studying the car tracks.
“This is where I parked. Right here,” Wallington said. “When I pulled out you can see that I turned over to the left.”
“All right. Now where was this other car?”
“Well, now, I’d say he was about fifteen feet ahead of me. I wanted to have it so my lights would show him up good... and... yes, there are his tracks right there.”
“All right,” Lieutenant Tyler said. “Let’s look around.”
They examined the ground carefully.
“Don’t see any signs of a jack having been put down here,” Wallington said, “and there certainly wasn’t any flat tire on the car which pulled in here.”
Lieutenant Tyler walked slowly and carefully.
Wallington’s flashlight paused on a fence post. “Say,” he said. “Look at this. There’s a chip taken out of that fence post and it looks fresh.”
The two officers moved over and studied the light-colored surface of the fence post which showed in contrast to the dark, weathered exterior of the other portion.
“There’s the chip on the ground,” Wallington said. “Somebody cut it off very recently. It’s good and fresh... that’s a marker.”
Lieutenant Tyler examined the chip, took a can of pipe tobacco from his pocket, regretfully dumped out the tobacco and put the chip inside the can.
Wallington said, “I’m sorry I bungled this, sir.”
“You haven’t bungled it,” Lieutenant Tyler replied. “I had a man in Noonville give us a report on Rob Trenton. He’s pretty well-known there. Trains dogs. In fact he’s sold us half a dozen dogs that he’s given basic training. We’ve taken them on from there.”
“What does Trenton have to say?” Wallington asked.
“He doesn’t say anything. He isn’t there. But the man who works for him and has charge of the dogs when Trenton is away, said Trenton drove this car home and left it in the driveway. In the morning it was gone. Trenton started out in his station wagon and hasn’t been heard from since. He’s just back from a European trip. I telephoned Customs to see if they knew anything about the car and they told me Trenton had been subjected to quite a search because of association with a man by the name of Ostrander who was thought to have been mixed up in smuggling drugs.”
“What happened to Ostrander?”
“Ostrander was given a thorough search and a clean bill of health, but under the circumstances I’m not going to take any chances.”
The trooper’s flashlight moved slowly along the ground. Moose Wallington said, “Look here, Lieutenant. There’s fresh dirt on top of the grass and here’s a place where the sod has been cut.”
“Get the shovel out of the car, Ed,” Lieutenant Tyler snapped.
The trooper hurried over to the cruiser, raised the turtleback and returned with a short-handled shovel.
Lieutenant Tyler lifted the circular segment of sod, then dug cautiously downward. He stopped suddenly as the lip of the shovel rang on metal and a moment later he brought out the circular piece of metal and the packages wrapped in oiled silk.
Wallington whistled.
Lieutenant Tyler said, “Tune in on your radio. Give Headquarters code signal fourteen. That’ll get four more men on the job. What’s the co-ordinate here?”