5 Detective Novels Magazine Cover — page 21: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

MEAT OF THE MURDER then opened the door with the key on his pocket chain. The rooms echoed the sound of the door opening, his first steps inside. : “Where are you, Steve?” ‘he called. His voice bounced back at him, dead, hollow. The air in the cabin was stale, smelled of dust and leaves, faintly of fry-cooking —all very old and un- changed. IV A THOROUGH inspection of the cab- In showed that Steve wasn’t there, hadn’t been there. Even in the dim light which filtered through the shut- ters, Ted was sure. He’d told Loreen not to call him back after she’d brought Steve down. It might tip over the whole thing. He had meant to contact her in the morning, from a public phone, but Clay’s turning up had queered that. The rug had very definitely been yanked out from under him, and there wasn’t a floor to land on. If he didn’t produce Steve, after all their conversa- tion, Clay would be suspicious. The private investigator had said in the be- ginning that he didn’t believe Steve would be: produced. He thought Steve was the patsy for Elizabeth’s death. He’d remarked, on the way to the cabin, “You're staking your life on Steve being here. For your sake, I hope he is.” Ted stood in the dark little bedroom of the cabin, clenching and unclenching his hands. They were sticky, hot. What if something had happened to Loreen on the road last night—an automobile ac- cident, anything? She might be in a hospital. Steve might have wandered off, his mind blank again. There were a million possible reasons for Steve’s not being there. None of them was the right answer for Ted. He had to have the right answer, because he had to sell it to Clay. It wouldn’t be enough to walk out of there with a sickly grin on his face and say, “Well, I guess I was all wet. He isn’t here.” Ted could see Clay’s leer if he were told something like that. “All right, Mr. Owen,” he’d say. “Let’s stop kidding. What did you really do with Steve?” There was no reply Ted could make, 21 until he’d talked to Loreen. “Look,” Clay would say, “I think we’d better see Inspector Malotte. I have this report burning a hole in my pocket.” Maybe Malotte would listen to reason and may- - be—likely—would jail Ted on some hold- ing charge until he thought he had enough evidence to book Ted for mur- der. If anything had happened to Steve, Clay was right. Ted felt sure that something had happened to Steve, that he was, in fact, dead. Ted’s problem now was to remain free, at least until he’d spoken to Loreen. He forced himself to walk to the door of the cabin, wave airily to the detec- tive, who was still sitting in the car. “Will you give me a hand here, Clay ?” he called. The detective was momentarily blind- ed by the change of light when he stepped inside the cabin. He stopped, squinting around the living room with its furniture hooded by dust covers. “Where is he?” he asked. “Where’s Steve ?” Clay didn’t see the piece of firewood in Ted’s hand. It made just a dim blur before it came down on the back of his head. Clay fell to his knees, looking up at Ted, with dazed, blank eyes. Then he let go, toppled the rest of the way to the floor, spreading out in a quiet, mo- tionless heap. Ted dropped the piece of firewood, watched the detective for several min- utes. He didn’t move. Then Ted stepped over Clay’s extended legs, closed the cabin door, locked it. He’d call the local fire house, once he got back to the city, have someone come and look after Clay are the detective hadn’t broken out by en. He’d bought a little time, hoped he hadn’t paid too much for it. ED OWEN drove south to Santa Cruz on Monterey Bay, parked his car on a quiet residential street, and walked to the Greyhound station. He hopped a bus back to San Francisco. He didn’t know how long Dick Clay would be shaking off the effects of that rap on the skull, but he guessed fifteen minutes to half an hour at the outside. Clay wouldn’t have to be a superman AMICLOOO@ S (CO) (C(O) mM