The Mike Hammer Collection

I was sick of watching. I called Price over and told him I was going back. His face changed, but he said nothing. There was a lot he wanted to say, but he could tell how it was with me. Price nodded and let me climb into my car. I backed it up and turned around in the drive. Tomorrow would be a busy day. I’d have to prepare my statements on the whole affair to hand over to a grand jury, then get set to prove it. You don’t simply kill people and walk away from it. Hell, no. Righteous kill or not the law had to be satisfied.

Yes, tomorrow would be a busy day. Tonight would be even busier. I had to see a killer about a murder.

CHAPTER 12

It was ten after eleven when I reached the York estate. Henry came out of his gatehouse, saw me and gaped as though he were looking at a ghost. “Good heavens, Mr. Hammer. The police are searching all over for you! You . . . you killed a man.”

“So I did,” I said sarcastically. “Open the gates.”

“No . . . I can’t let you come in here. There’ll be trouble.”

“There will if you don’t open the gates.” His face seemed to sag and his whole body assumed an air of defeat. Disgust was written in the set of his mouth, disgust at having to look at a man who shot a fellow man. I drove through and stopped.

“Henry, come here.”

The gatekeeper shuffled over reluctantly. “Yes, sir?”

“I’m not wanted any longer, Henry. The police have settled the matter up to a certain point.”

“You mean you didn’t . . .”

“No, I mean I shot him, but it was justified. I’ve been cleared, understand?”

He smiled a little, not quite understanding, but he breathed a sigh of relief. At least he knew he wasn’t harboring a fugitive in me. I pulled up the driveway to the house, easing around the turns until the beams of my brights spotlighted the house. Inside I saw Harvey coming to the door. Instead of parking in front of the place I rolled around to the side and nosed into the open door of the garage. A big six-car affair, but now there were only two cars in it, counting mine. A long time ago someone started using it for a storeroom and now one end was cluttered with the junk accumulated over the years. Two boys’ bicycles were hanging from a suspension gadget set in the ceiling and underneath them a newer model with a small one-cylinder engine built into the frame. Hanging from a hook screwed into an upright were roller skates and ice skates, but neither pair had been used much. Quite a childhood Ruston had.

I shut the door of the garage and looked up. The rain had started. The tears of the gods. Of laughter or sorrow? Maybe the joke was on me, after all.

Harvey was his usual, impeccable, unmoving self as he took my hat and ushered me into the living room. He made no mention of the affair whatsoever, nor did his face reveal any curiosity. Even before he announced me, Roxy was on her way down the stairs with Ruston holding her arm. Billy Parks came out of the foyer grinning broadly, his hand outstretched. “Mike! You sure got your nerve. By gosh, you’re supposed to be Public Enemy Number One!”

“Mike!”

“Hello, Lancelot. Hello, Roxy. Let me give you a hand.”

“Oh, I’m no cripple,” she laughed. “The stairs get me a little, but I can get around all right.”

“What happened, Mike?” Ruston smiled. “The policemen all left this evening after they got a phone call and we haven’t seen them since. Golly, I was afraid you’d been shot or something. We thought they caught you.”

“Well, they came close, kid, but they never even scratched me. It’s all finished. I’m in the clear and I’m about ready to go home.”

Billy Parks stopped short in the act of lighting a cigarette. His hands began to tremble slightly and he had trouble finding the tip of the butt.

Ruston said, “You mean the police don’t want you any longer, Mike?” I shook my head. He gave a little cry of gladness and ran to me, throwing his arms about me in a tight squeeze. “Gee, Mike, I’m so happy.”

I patted his arm and smiled crookedly. “Yep, I’m almost an honest man again.”

“Mike . . .”

Roxy’s voice was the hoarse sound of a rasp on wood. She was clutching the front of her negligee with one hand, trying to push a streamer of hair from her eyes with the other. A little muscle twitched in her cheek. “Who . . . did it, Mike?”

Billy was waiting. Roxy was waiting. I heard Harvey pause outside the door. Ruston looked from them to me, puzzled. The air in the room was charged, alive. “You’ll hear about it tomorrow,” I said.

Billy Parks dropped his cigarette.

“Why not now?” Roxy gasped.

I took a cigarette from my pocket and stuffed it between my lips. Billy fumbled for his on the floor and held the lit tip to mine. I dragged the smoke in deeply. Roxy was beginning to go white, biting on her lip. “You’d better go to your room, Roxy. You don’t look too good.”

“Yes . . . yes. I had better. Excuse me. I really don’t feel too well. The stairs . . .” She let it go unfinished. While Ruston helped her up I stood there in silence with Billy. The kid came down again in a minute.

“Do you think she’ll be all right, Mike?”