LITMIR.BIZ

Скачать книгу

it!” I said.

      She stopped and put out one hand, leaning against the wall, facing the exit. The two in the doorway were not known to me. They were in their early twenties, older than the girl. They wore sweaters and tight slacks and sneakers. They looked at me, then at the girl.

      “Who’s the muscle?” one of them asked.

      The girl said nothing.

      “Come on,” the one said, “let’s go.”

      “No,” I said.

      I had the gun out in plain sight and he looked at it without any special expression.

      “Take it easy, dad,” he said. “She’s all right. She’s with us.”

      “Miss Farnum,” I said, “stay here. You two, beat it.”

      The girl stood motionless, looking down the ramp. The two in the doorway looked at each other, shrugged, moved as if to leave. Then lightly, swift on their feet like top-flight basketball players, deceptive and shrewd, they spread wide apart, pivoted and converged on the girl. I fired a shot into the ramp and there was a flurry of movement, but the gun was useless, really. They were bunched in too close to her, continually shifting.

      The girl made no protest. They didn’t seem bent on harming her. I had no idea whether she was joining them voluntarily or not. All I knew was that I couldn’t let her go that way, not with Joe Flannery lying dead at the bottom of the steps.

      They were heading down the ramp now. It seemed to me the girl was reluctant, or undecided. I dropped the gun and went after them. One of the boys looked back, muttered something and moved away to take me on. I motioned with both hands, trying to shoo him out. His face was thin and tight, fanatically hostile. He stood his ground till I was within range, then made a pass with his left hand, ducked low and came in at me from the other side with a hard, wiry fist. But he was working uphill and I had reach on him. I hit him in the shoulder and he straightened up and I hit him again in the face, hard enough to knock him back down the ramp and through the open doorway into the alley.

      The second one left the girl and came at me while the one in the alley picked himself up. The second was heavier and stronger. He hit me in the belly and the low ribs and I backed into the wall. The girl ducked away and started back up the ramp. The one in the alley yelled something and came flying in. I pushed away from the wall, got my hands on the second one and shoved him into the other. They both sprawled. Behind me there was a rush of air, then footsteps and voices, and the reinforcements arrived. I had been braced for the two of them and I fell forward on my hands and knees as they scrambled outside. I heard their steps pounding in the alley, going away. Then I got on my feet and started up the ramp, because it was explanation time.

      George Weaver, the agency man in charge, sent all but two of his men to various stations elsewhere in the building. He sent one of the two up the stairs. The girl and I stood against the wall, some distance apart, some distance from Flannery and the steps. The man on the steps was halfway to the landing when the night watchman appeared, his big clock like a growth on his belly. He had a flashlight in one hand and an outsize pistol in the other.

      “What’s goin’ on?” he asked in a thin voice.

      The agency man on the steps looked back at his boss.

      “If you don’t mind,” Weaver said, “I’d appreciate your getting to a phone and calling the police. Report a killing. My man will go with you.”

      “Well—I don’t know,” the watchman said.

      Weaver looked at me.

      “Where did the shot come from?” he asked.

      I pointed up the stairs.

      “Stay there if you want to,” Weaver told the watchman. “Collins, you take Sprague and go ahead. And watch out.”

      “I don’t mind goin’,” the watchman said.

      “You stay there,” Weaver said. “I want to talk to you.”

      He pushed through the swinging door and ordered someone to call the police. He returned, looked at the girl briefly, then concentrated on me.

      “You saw it through the window, Mac?” he said.

      “Yes,” I said. “I was checking out the rear part of the—”

      Weaver nodded.

      “You didn’t see anybody up above?”

      “No. Just Flannery, heading up.”

      “And he was hit on the landing?”

      “That’s right.”

      “Then when did those two come in down below?”

      “About half a minute after Flannery hit the bottom of the stairs. The door opened and there they were.”

      Weaver looked at the girl, who stood stiff and silent against the wall, her hands pressed flat against it.

      “Are you all right, Miss Farnum?” he asked.

      After a moment, she nodded.

      “Did you recognize those two?” Weaver asked.

      At length, she shook her head.

      “No,” she said. “I never saw them before.”

      Weaver looked at me. I shrugged.

      “I’ll send two men with you to the hotel, miss,” he said. “The police will probably call on you—”

      Her chin lifted stubbornly.

      “I want him to take me to the hotel,” she said. Her head moved toward me. “That one.”

      “I’m sorry,” Weaver said. “He’ll have to stay and talk to the police.”

      “I won’t go with anyone else,” she said.

      “Miss Farnum—”

      “He’s right,” I said. “I can’t go now. All these men are good men, you’ll be safe.”

      “I won’t go with anyone else,” she said.

      I looked at her slantwise. She looked to be about eighteen years old. She spoke with an Eastern accent.

      “I’ll stay here till he’s free to go,” she said.

      Weaver gave her a look and surrendered. He had enough on his mind. He went to the door, opened it and called to someone.

      “Call Congressman Farnum,” he said, “at the hotel. Tell him Miss Farnum is safe and we will get her to the hotel as soon as possible. Tell him Flannery was killed and we’re waiting for the police. Advise him to stay at the hotel.”

      All this time, the watchman had been standing on the landing, gazing down at us. Now he descended a couple of steps.

      “Listen,” he said, “can’t you just tell me what happened?”

      “Just stick around,” Weaver said. “Try not to slog around on the place.”

      The watchman looked at Flannery’s body, then over it toward the girl.

      “You didn’t hear or see anybody upstairs,” Weaver asked, “in the last ten minutes?”

      “No,” the watchman said. “I just come down in the elevator to the second floor, then I come down the steps—I see nothing, nobody.”

      “All right,” Weaver said.

      A siren moaned in the alley, faded. There were footsteps. The door opened and two uniformed patrolmen came in. They were hurrying on entrance, but stopped when they saw us at the top of the ramp and came on carefully, watching where they walked. One of them paused to look down at my gun on the ramp.

      “You called Homicide?” one of them asked.

      “We called,”

Скачать книгу