The Mike Hammer Collection

But Myra Grange . . . the almost woman. She was more half man. Perhaps her sensibilities wouldn’t object to crunching a skull or getting smeared with gore. But where the hell did the cleaver come from?

York grinned. I grinned back. It was falling into place now. Not the motive, but the action of the crime, and something akin to motive. The killer knew York was on his way here and knew Grange was out. The killer carried the cleaver for several reasons. It might have just been handy. Having aimed and swung it was certain to do the job. It was a weapon to which no definite personality could be attached.

Above all things, it was far from being an accidental murder. I hate premeditation. I hate those little thoughts of evil that are suppressed in the mind and are being constantly superimposed upon by other thoughts of even greater evil until they squeeze out over the top and drive a person to the depths of infamy.

And this murder was premeditated. Perhaps that cleaver was supposed to have come from the kitchen, but no one could have gone past York to the kitchen without his seeing him, and York had a gun. The killer had chosen his weapon, followed York here and caught him in the act of rifling the place. He didn’t even have to be silent about it. In the confusion of tearing the place apart York would never have noticed little sounds . . . until it was too late.

The old man half stooping over the desk, the upraised meat-ax, one stroke and it was over. Not even a hard stroke. With all that potential energy in a three-pound piece of razor-sharp steel, not much force was needed to deliver a killing blow. Instantaneous death, the body twisting as it fell to face the door and grin at the killer.

I got no further. There was a stamping in the hall, the door was pushed open and Dilwick came in like a summer storm. He didn’t waste any time. He walked up to me and stood three inches away, breathing hard. He wasn’t pretty to look at.

“I ought to kill you, Hammer,” he grated.

We stood there in that tableau a moment. “Why don’t you?”

“Maybe I will. The slightest excuse, any excuse. Nobody’s going to pull that on me and get away with it. Not you or anybody.”

I sneered at him. “Whenever you’re ready, Dilwick, here or in the mayor’s office, I don’t care.”

Dilwick would have liked to have said more, but a young giant in the gray and brown leather of the state police strode over to me with his hand out. “You Mike Hammer?” I nodded.

“Sergeant Price,” he smiled. “I’m one of your fans. I had occasion to work with Captain Chambers in New York one time and he spent most of the time talking you up.”

The lad gave me a bone-crushing handshake that was good to feel.

I indicated the body. “Here’s your case, Sergeant.”

Dilwick wasn’t to be ignored like that. “Since when do the state police have jurisdiction over us?”

Price was nice about it. “Ever since you proved yourselves to be inadequately supplied with material . . . and men.” Dilwick flushed with rage. Price continued, addressing his remarks to me. “Nearly a year ago the people of Sidon petitioned the state to assist in all police matters when the town in general and the county in particular was being used as a rendezvous and sporting place by a lot of out-of-state gamblers and crooks.”

The state cop stripped off his leather gloves and took out a pad. He noted a general description of the place, time, then asked me for a statement. Dilwick focused his glare on me, letting every word sink in.

“Mr. York seemed extremely disturbed after his son had been returned to him. He . . .”

“One moment, Mr. Hammer. Where was his son?”

“He had been kidnapped.”

“So? ” Price’s reply was querulous. “It was never reported to us.”

“It was reported to the city police.” I jerked my thumb at Dilwick. “He can tell you that.”

Price didn’t doubt me, he was looking for Dilwick’s reaction. “Is this true?”

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t we hear about it?”

Dilwick almost blew his top. “Because we didn’t feel like telling you, that’s why.” He took a step nearer Price, his fists clenched, but the state trooper never budged. “York wanted it kept quiet and that’s the way we handled it, so what?”

It came back to me again. “Who found the boy?”

“I did.” Dilwick was closer to apoplexy than ever. I guess he wanted that ten grand as badly as I did. “Earlier this evening I found the boy in an abandoned shack near the waterfront. I brought him home. Mr. York decided to keep me handy in case another attempt was made to abduct the kid.”

Dilwick butted in. “How did you know York was here?”

“I didn’t.” I hated to answer him, but he was still the police. “I just thought he might be. The boy had been kicked around and I figured that he wanted Miss Grange in the house.”

The fat cop sneered. “Isn’t York big enough to go out alone anymore?”

“Not in his condition. He had an attack of some sort earlier in the evening.”

Price said, “How did you find out he was gone, Mr. Hammer?”