The Mike Hammer Collection

“Not me, Mike. One more strike and I’m out. If I get caught within ten feet of a heater they’ll toss me in the clink. I’d sooner take my chances.”

He began pulling the cushions from the chairs and I went out. Behind me the lock clicked and a chair went under the knob. Billy wasn’t kidding. Nobody was going to get in there tonight.

CHAPTER 7

Downstairs I dialed the operator and asked for the highway patrol. She connected me with headquarters and a sharp voice crackled at me. “Sergeant Price, please.”

“He’s not here right now, is there a message?”

“Yeah, this is Mike Hammer. Tell him that Miss Malcom, the York kid’s nurse, was shot through the shoulder by a .32 caliber bullet. Her condition isn’t serious and she’ll be able to answer questions in the morning. The shot was fired from somewhere on the grounds but the one who fired it escaped.”

“I got it. Anything else?”

“Yes, but I’ll give it to him in person. Have they found any trace of Grange yet?”

“They picked up her hat along the shore of the inlet. Sergeant Price told me to tell you if you called.”

“Thanks. They still looking for her?”

“A boat’s grappling the mouth of the channel right now.”

“Okay, if I get time I’ll call back later.” The cop thanked me and hung up. Harvey waited to see whether I was going out or not, and when I headed for the door got my hat.

“Will you be back tonight, sir?”

“I don’t know. Lock the door anyway.”

“Yes, sir.”

I tooled my car up the drive and honked for Henry to come out and open the gates. Although there was a light on in his cottage, Henry didn’t appear. I climbed out again and walked in the place. The gatekeeper was sound asleep in his chair, a paper folded across his lap.

After I shook him and swore a little his eyes opened, but not the way a waking person’s do. They were heavy and dull, he was barely able to raise his head. The shock of seeing me there did more to put some life in him than the shaking. He blinked a few times and ran his hand over his forehead.

“I’m . . . sorry, sir. Can’t understand myself . . . lately. These awful headaches, and going to sleep like that.”

“What’s the matter with you, Henry?”

“It’s . . . nothing, sir. Perhaps it’s the aspirin.” He pointed to a bottle of common aspirin tablets on the table. I picked it up and looked at the label. A well-known brand. I looked again, then shook some out on my palm. There were no manufacturer’s initials on the tablets at all. There were supposed to be, I used enough of them myself.

“Where did you get these, Henry?”

“Mr. York gave them to me last week. I had several fierce headaches. The aspirin relieved me.”

“Did you take these the night of the kidnapping?”

His eyes drifted to mine, held. “Why, yes. Yes, I did.”

“Better lay off them. They aren’t good for you. Did you hear anything tonight?”

“No, I don’t believe I did. Why?”

“Oh, no reason. Mind if I take some of these with me?” He shook his head and I pocketed a few tablets. “Stay here,” I said, “I’ll open the gates.”

Henry nodded and was asleep before I left the room. That was why the kidnapper got in so easily. That was why York left and the killer left and I left without being heard at the gate.

It was a good bet that someone substituted sleeping tablets for the aspirins. Oh, brother, the killer was getting cuter all the time.

But the pieces were coming together one by one. They didn’t fit the slots, but they were there, ready to be assembled as soon as someone said the wrong word, or made a wrong move. The puzzle was closer to the house now, but it was outside, too. Who wanted Henry to be asleep while Ruston was snatched? Who wanted it so bad that his habits were studied and sleeping pills slipped into his aspirin bottle? If someone was that thorough they could have given him something to cause the headaches to start with. And who was in league with that person on the outside?

A wrong move or a wrong word. Someone would slip sometime. Maybe they just needed a little push. I had Junior where the hair was short now, that meant I had the old lady, too. Jump the fence to the other side now. Alice. She said tsk, tsk when I told them York was dead. Sweet thing.

I had to make another phone call to trooper headquarters to collect the list of addresses from the statements. Price still hadn’t come in, but evidently he had passed the word to give me any help I needed, for there was no hesitation about handing me the information.

Alice lived west of town in a suburb called Wooster. It was little less than a crossroad off the main highway, but from the size of the mansions that dotted the estates it was a refuge of the wealthy. The town itself boasted a block of storefronts whose windows showed nothing but the best. Above each store was an apartment. The bricks were white, the metalwork bright and new. There was an aura of dignity and pomp in the way they nestled there. Alice lived above the fur shop, two stores from the end.