In some respects, I reflected, it wasn't too unlikely a story. Annette O'Leary had been an inch or two taller than the girl sitting on the bed, and her hair had been a different, more natural, more carroty color, but a man waiting for a slim small redhead to enter a certain building wouldn't have been making such fine distinctions..
I said, "Considering the trouble you went to, you don't seem to have got very far."
Beverly was still staring at a spot between her shoes.
"How could I?" she breathed. "What do you think I am, a monster? I must have been crazy with fear to do it in the first place, and then I had to know, don't you see? I had to know what I'd done to her. So… so I came back."
"How did you learn where Annette had been taken?"
"It wasn't hard. It just took some calling from a pay phone this morning, to find the right hospital, but they wouldn't give out any information. So I went there. I was afraid to call attention to myself by asking questions. I just sat where I could see and hear the people who came to the desk. Finally you came in and asked for her.. Was she a good friend of yours?"
"Pretty good," I said.
"I… I'm sorry," Beverly said. "That's pretty feeble, isn't it? But I am sorry."
"Sure." I went to my suitcase, on a stand by the wall, and took out a small bottle of spot remover. Returning, I put it into her hands. "Use that," I said. "We don't want people thinking you've been rolling in the alley, even if you have." I examined her purse. It was one of those capacious, elaborately carved, but rather flimsy specimens of Mexican leather work you can buy quite cheaply in any of the border towns, say nearby Tijuana. I opened it. It contained no weapons. I gave it to her. "A little soap and water, and a comb are also indicated," I said.
She was staring at the purse and solvent bottle as if not quite certain what they were for. "What… what are you going to do with me?" she asked.
"We're going to see some people," I said. "As soon as you're presentable, I'll call a cab."
She ran her tongue over her lips and spoke mechanically, "We don't need a cab. I've still got the rental car, her rental car. It's parked a couple of blocks the other side of the hospital."
"Your friends could have found it by now," I said. "I hate loud noises when I turn on the ignition. Or steering wheels that don't steer or brakes that don't brake. That door over there should be the bathroom. It was a little while ago. If it isn't now, come back and we'll try again."
I watched her go across the room. The door shut behind her. I waited, making a little bet with myself. Presently the door opened again, and I chalked up one wager won.
Now the red-gold hair was smooth and bright and the face and hands were clean. The current condition of the clothes could not be determined from where I stood since she wasn't wearing them. I mean, all she had on was a white brassiere and a pair of little white nylon pants. The total coverage was about that of a bikini, but the opacity was considerably less.
"I… I'm waiting for that stuff to dry," she said, standing there more or less nude. "It burns if it gets on you."
"Sure," I said. "Burns."
"I don't suppose you want to make love to me," she said. "I don't suppose you even want to touch me. After what I did."
It was a rather neat twist in an otherwise rather predictable gambit. It was supposed to make me take her in my arms and tell her she wasn't so terrible after all, after which-considering her costume or lack of it-nature would undoubtedly take its predictable course. The only trouble was, I wasn't in a receptive mood and I don't like playing games with it unnecessarily. There are times in this racket when you've got to fake a lot of emotions, including passion, but I couldn't see that this was one of them. I just stood there without saying anything. At last Beverly flushed slightly, and shrugged her bare shoulders.
"Well, it's all I have to offer now," she said. "For saving my life. Unless you want fifty-seven dollars and some change."
"Cut it out. When I want to get paid, I'll send you a bill." I regarded her coldly and went on. "That cleaning fluid evaporates pretty fast. I think you can safely get dressed again. I'll call a cab."
She turned away sharply. She didn't exactly slam the bathroom door behind her, but it didn't close as gently as it might have. I grinned and went over to use the phone.
VI
Charlotte Devlin, complete with car, driver, and prisoner, was waiting outside the address she'd given mean address I figured didn't mean much to anybody or she wouldn't have disclosed it to an unsavory character like me. It was a run-down business block with a filling station on the corner. The public phone at the station was probably the main reason the place had been picked as a rendezvous. After all, I had asked her to do a little research for me.
I paid off the taxi driver and helped Beverly out of the vehicle. She seemed a bit startled, looking towards the other car, to see a woman awaiting us. My female associate got out and came to meet us. She looked Beverly up and down coldly during the introduction ceremony. It could have been professional wariness, but more likely, I thought, it was just tall Miss Devlin's normal way of regarding all smaller and prettier women.
"What now, Mr. Helm?" she asked.
Beverly had spotted the black man sitting in the car, guarded by the driver. She drew back against me fearfully, forgetting that she was mad at me. I pressed her arm in what I hoped was a reassuring way, holding her there.
"Have you got a place lined up for target practice?" I asked Charlotte Devlin.
She said, rather stiffly and disapprovingly, "Well, there's the pistol range we use, but I didn't think that was exactly what you had in mind, so I called around and learned that there are some deserted oil properties…
"The pistol range will do fine, if the backstop will handle Magnum loads."
Charlotte raised her eyebrows, looking relieved and at the same time annoyed-relieved that what I was going to do, with her assistance, was innocent enough to be done at a public firing range, and annoyed that I'd let her believe, or at least suspect, otherwise. I was aware that McConnell, listening in the car, had shifted position slightly. I couldn't see him clearly enough to know whether or not he looked relieved, too.
I hoped he did. I'd wanted him more or less anticipating that I was either going to execute him or shoot his ears off to make him talk. As long as he was brooding about the tough time I might be giving him soon, he wouldn't be trying to figure out what other kind of shooting I might have in mind, and why.
Helping Beverly into the front seat, I said to the taller girclass="underline" "Incidentally, you'd better tell your wheelman that some evasive action may be indicated. That taxi turned up just a little too conveniently. I have a hunch it was planted on me, and I'd prefer not to have certain people know where we're going. They might start wondering about things I'd rather not have them wondering about, yet…"
It was a fairly long ride. The driver knew his stuff, however, and by the time we reached our destination there wasn't anybody behind us, but there had been. The driver got out to unlock a wire-mesh gate in a forbidding wire-mesh fence topped with barbed wire. Then he drove us past a shadowy building and spoke for the first time.
"We've got up to a hundred yards available here, Mr. Helm," he said. "What range do you want to shoot at?"
"Short," I said. "With silhouette targets if you've got them. I suppose there are lights."