Delving still further back into fabled antiquity, we find indisputable evidence of this self-same cult of the Double-Cross in the ancient Maya civilization, which also seems to have had as its object the violent eradication of traitors against the common weal.
It is an interesting commentary on the nature of the Mexican people and the peculiar national characteristic of...
I had read enough to know Jerry Burke should immediately see what I had found. Carrying the book under my arm, I went to the desk with my library card, waited impatiently until it was duly stamped to allow me to take the book out, then hurried to Burke’s office with my find.
20
When I hurried into Jerry Burke’s private office at police headquarters a few minutes later, I found him sitting at his desk loosing a lurid string of oaths that would have made an army mule-skinner blush.
He glanced at me and kept on cursing, paying no attention to my excited face nor to the heavy volume I slammed down in front of him.
I waited until he began repeating himself, then interrupted to ask what it was all about.
“These dumb flatfeet the city furnishes me and calls detectives,” he growled. “Can’t even tail a woman a few hours without losing her.”
“Laura Yates?”
He nodded disgustedly. “Not that it makes a hell of a lot of difference, now, for it’ll soon all be over. But it’s the principle of it. That fool I had tailing her just telephoned that he lost her an hour ago in a downtown crowd.”
I had an empty sick feeling inside of me as I realized that what I was going to tell him might make him consider the disappearance of Laura Yates more serious than he thought. I pointed to the book and said:
“You haven’t asked me what I dug up on the cross you were so curious about.”
He glanced at the book with a disinterested frown. “Oh, that. I’m sorry, Asa. I don’t believe it’s important after all. I tried to call you a while ago to tell you not to bother. You were out so I sent a man over to your place with a note...” He paused gloomily.
“You don’t know what I dug up.” I opened the book at page 341 and shoved it under his nose.
He began reading where I indicated. A flicker of interest lighted his face and he leaned closer. He nodded his head when he finished.
“This is something, sure enough. The cult of the double-cross.” He arose excitedly and paced up and down with blue smoke from his pipe swirling in the air behind him.
“Yucatan! That’s where Leslie Young met Mike O’Toole years ago. Young must have learned about the cult... got hold of one of their crosses... remember, I told you he showed me one of them he brought back? From her father, Michaela knew about him and his sympathy with the objectives of the secret society. By tracing that symbol on her letter, she told him what the meeting at the hacienda was all about. Then: Why the hell did she kill him and mark that same symbol on his cheek? It doesn’t make sense, Asa. It’s more mixed up than ever, now. Just when I thought I had the whole case neatly solved. God help me if I ever trust a deduction again.”
I leaned back and wet my lips. “There’s one other thing I haven’t told you yet, Jerry.”
He didn’t hear me. He was walking up and down, thinking aloud: “The Dwight death points directly at O’Toole. Leaving the cross on the body... everything...” He paused, shaking his head.
“I’m trying to tell you, Jerry...”
He still didn’t hear me. He was striding up and down pounding his fist into his palm. “If you’ll just listen to me!” I yelled.
“What’s that? I have been listening to you, Asa.”
I gritted my teeth and said: “Does it mean anything to you that a young, medium-tall and slender woman looked up this same stuff at noon of the day Young was murdered?”
“At noon?” He sank down into his chair while he digested that information. He rubbed his chin and muttered, “Before Young was killed, eh?”
He stared at me, and I knew he must be thinking the same thing I was... about Laura Yates. There was a knock on the door before he could speak, and he lifted his head to bark, “Come.” A cop stuck his head in and said:
“I delivered that note, Chief. The feller wasn’t there but I gave it to his wife and she said she’d see he got it...”
“His what? You what? Come in here and say that again.”
The cop entered nervously. “That man, Baker, wife she said she’d take it and tell him.”
Burke glanced sharply at me. I had a sickish feeling deep in my belly. I said: “Describe Mrs. Baker.”
He described Laura Yates. “She was right there with the dogs,” he ended defensively. “I thought it’d be all right...”
Burke snarled, “Get out,” and reached for the phone again. I sat there numbly while he asked for my number, waited a minute, then hung up savagely.
“She doesn’t answer, Asa. That note I sent you... Good God... if she reads that note and goes out there...”
“She’ll read it,” I assured him between clenched teeth. “No question about her reading it. What... did it say, Jerry?”
“It said, God forgive me, that you needn’t go on with your research because I already knew who killed Dwight... that I want you to call me as soon as you get in and we’ll go out to ask Myra Young one question that will prove my theory without a doubt.” He paused to lick his lips.
“You didn’t mention any names?”
“None.” He shook his head, then was suddenly galvanized into action.
“That’s where she’s gone, Asa. We’ve got to beat her out there or there’ll be another murder.” He was running out through the crowded corridor and I was following him.
I knew what he must mean. If Laura was guilty the note would give her the idea she was on the verge of being found out, and that Myra Young had some proof against her. A woman guilty of two murders wouldn’t hesitate at a third.
And it was my fault. Mine for not suspecting her... for letting her become familiar with my house and giving her an opportunity to get hold of Burke’s note...
We were in Burke’s car and he was splitting downtown traffic with his screaming siren. I hung on and was sick at my stomach. I didn’t care whether we crashed or not. If we didn’t get out to the canyon in time I’d feel I was guilty of murder.
21
I’ve been on wild rides in Jerry Burke’s official car before, but nothing to compare with this one. We went screaming into Texas Street, and traffic got out of our way. It had to.
Burke leaned forward with big hands gripping the wheel, eyes glued to the narrow lane of asphalt which kept miraculously opening out in front of us.
Somehow, there was always an opening through which he contrived to twist the thundering car.
He skidded around the half-turn into Piedras at seventy, and I would have been sick if I hadn’t been too busy wondering how long we could possibly avoid a crash.
He got it up to ninety after we put the car tracks behind us, and made the turn into the canyon with the speedometer needle flickering just below the sixty point.
The rest of the ride was nightmarish. I was past caring whether we crashed or not. Looking back, I think I almost wished we would. I couldn’t let myself think about what we might find at the Young cottage.
My fault! The woman had played me for a fool all along. My fault, not the cop’s, that she had been able to dupe him into delivering Burke’s note to her instead of waiting for me. It was a pretty ghastly business.