The Truth of the Matter (4 page)

It was a long time before he stopped trembling, and though it was warm outside he turned on the car heater. He hadn’t meant to run Ingrahm down, not really. Why, he’d hardly seen him in the darkness. Anyway, the man wasn’t dead, only hurt, only hurt. Didn’t he move? Hadn’t Roebuck seen him raise his leg in the rear view mirror? Maybe the wheels hadn’t even touched him.

Roebuck felt a wave of relief at the thought that Ingrahm might not be hurt badly at all. Still, he was in trouble. He had run a man down and then left the scene of the…accident. Did it matter that much? Didn’t Roebuck want to leave town anyway? He would run, tonight, now, and eventually it would be forgotten. There would be a tiny piece on page five of the paper, that’s all—if it even made the papers.

Money was the question. Where could he get the money to run? He had only fifty dollars in his wallet, and he couldn’t go back to the apartment. The police might even be there, making their routine inquiries. Then he remembered that he still had a key to the office of Havers Advertising, and that over two hundred dollars “emergency money” was kept in a box in Havers’ secretary’s desk. Roebuck turned toward the highway that led downtown, feeling better now that he had a plan of action. He knew that Havers might still be in his office, working late as he often did, but he chose not even to consider that possibility. Right now, to Roebuck, fifty-fifty chances seemed safe enough.

The woman sat straight up in bed. The white sheet hung for a moment, then slipped down to reveal her bare breasts. Through sleep-filled eyes she saw Roebuck sipping his coffee from a paper cup, a half-eaten donut in his hand. Instinctively, but without a trace of embarrassment, she pulled the sheet back up and clutched it near her throat.

“What time is it?”

“Seven or so.” Roebuck watched her as he washed down a mouthful of donut with his coffee.

“I better get up, I guess.”

Roebuck nodded.

The woman turned and sat on the edge of the mattress, still clutching the sheet. She was facing away from Roebuck, and he could see her partially exposed round buttocks spreading and meeting the softness of the mattress. He could see the red marks on her that he’d made last night. She let the sheet fall and gathered up her underclothes from the floor. Nakedly slender, but without the grace of youth, she walked into the bathroom.

From behind the closed door came the squeak of a turned faucet handle and the abrupt splash of shower water onto the steel tub. Roebuck heard the tone of the splashing water change as she stepped beneath the shower.

When she emerged from the bathroom she was wearing her panties and bra, and she moved to the side of the bed and slipped still wet feet into her low heeled shoes. Her short blonde hair was combed roughly now, over a pretty, somewhat angular face, strongly boned yet very feminine. There was a strange serenity in the depths of her green flecked eyes, in the slightly upward curve of her wide mouth.

“We forgot to buy cups yesterday,” Roebuck said.

She seemed amused as she went to the bureau mirror and began to apply makeup. “Breakfast here will still be better than at those roadside grease houses, with you all nervous and jumping every time somebody walks through the door. ’Course there’s plenty to make you nervous, with the police after you and all.”

“Plenty,” Roebuck agreed.

As she spoke she applied eyebrow pencil carefully. “Too bad there weren’t any more witnesses.”

“My luck,” Roebuck said.

“You sure you shouldn’t turn yourself in, try to explain…?”

Roebuck shook his head violently. “Who’d believe it was an accident? The only one who saw it was that damned Gipp, and he’d lie. He hates my guts because I didn’t try to save his life at the Bulge, but I had to think of the safety of the platoon….” His voice hardened. “If Ingrahm really is dead, I wouldn’t have a chance.”

“I guess you’re right.”

Roebuck stood and paced to the window, peering out between the cracks in the Venetian blind at the heightening sun. The early morning sky was cloudless, and long shadows were beginning to form. Somewhere in the Jolly Rest Motel a door slammed and he heard the faint laughter of a child.

“Do you think this Gipp character is really after us too?”

“I know him,” Roebuck said. “He’s after us. I’ll bet when he heard that bulletin about us being spotted in Collinsville he drove all night. I’ll bet the bastard doesn’t even sleep.”

“He’s why you bought the guns?”

“Among other reasons.” Roebuck tucked his thumbs in his belt. “A man never knows when a revolver’s going to come in handy.” He’d bought the two secondhand pistols at a rundown hardware store in Illinois, and he wasn’t even sure they’d fire.

The woman was replacing her makeup articles in a black purse atop the bureau. “I’ve been thinking,” she said, “we could go to my brother’s place in California.”

“The guitar player?”

“He’s a poet too,” she said with a trace of indignation. “He’s sensitive and smart; he’ll understand and put us up for a while.”

“Maybe we’ll see him when we get to the Coast,” Roebuck said noncommittally. “I’ve got some important friends there, though, and I was thinking about forged passports and a trip to the South Seas. Maybe your brother could even go with us.”

She smiled, as if dismissing that as completely impossible.

Roebuck wondered why she’d decided to come with him. She was just a small town tramp, but still attractive. Why would she want to make herself a fugitive? He’d told her the hard facts, though he hadn’t told her the only reason he wanted her with him was so he’d attract less suspicion. A man and his wife taking a trip, and if it came to a chase the police might think she was a hostage and not fire on the car.

“Ellie.” He said her name aloud. “I told you what you were stepping into.”

She snapped her compact closed. “I’ve stepped in worse. I don’t have any regrets about coming with you. Anyway, I could walk right out that door if I wanted to.”

With an uneasy feeling Roebuck realized that she was right. Maybe she did fall that hard for him. It had happened before. There were some women who got hooked on a man like that. And Ellie held an undeniable fascination for him. There was something about the way she put complete faith in him, obeyed him immediately and without question. He was glad now that he’d decided to bring her with him. It was the one lucky thing that had happened to him in the past week.

“Get dressed,” Roebuck said suddenly, turning again to the window. “You can eat in the car. I want to put some miles behind us today.”

She began to slip into the pink dress she’d bought in St. Louis. “I can be ready in two minutes.”

Roebuck pulled to the curb in front of the building in which Havers Advertising was located. Glancing up and down the still busy street, he tried to look nonchalant as he walked toward the building entrance. Then he cursed and went back to put a nickel in the parking meter. There was no sense in leaving documented proof in the form of a parking ticket that he’d been here. He went back to the building entrance, drew his key case from his pocket, and with the key that Havers had forgotten to ask him for he unlocked one of the double doors and entered.

The lobby was deserted, the tile floor still littered with dark scuff marks and cigarette butts. The clank of a mop and scrub bucket sounded loudly from one of the downstairs halls. Roebuck walked quickly to the elevators and punched the “up” button.

As he closed the door of the anteroom behind him Roebuck smiled. Mary’s desk sat before him, everything in order, her electric typewriter neatly covered. There was no sound from the offices of Havers Advertising.

It was as easy as he thought it would be. Mary’s desk drawer was unlocked, and he lifted the metal box from it and set it on the desk top. The box too was unlocked. The money was under some blank papers, neatly rolled and held by a thick rubber band. He counted. A hundred and fifty-two dollars. Not as much as he’d hoped for, but it would have to do.

He was closing the metal lid of the box when the door to the inner office opened with a slight sound and Havers looked out.

“Louis! What the devil are you doing here?” But even as he asked the question Havers’ eyes went from the metal box to the open desk drawer to the stack of bills on the desk.

Roebuck was frightened, but he grinned as best he could. “I needed an advance on my salary,” he said.

Havers was looking at him with disgust. “I told you I’d mail you your check.”

“I needed it right away. Some bills to pay.”

“I suggest you return the money to the drawer,” Havers said, “and I won’t call the police.”

Roebuck stood very still. He was remembering the wall safe behind the bookcase in Havers’ office. Perhaps it wasn’t such bad luck that Havers had decided to work late. Roebuck picked up the stack of bills, folded them and slipped them into his pocket. He could see Havers tighten.

Havers turned and walked back into his office and Roebuck followed.

“Open the safe,” Roebuck said.

“There’s nothing of value in it, Louis.” Havers sat behind his desk, resting his hands lightly on the wide spread of polished walnut as if to give himself confidence. “I’d leave if I were you.”

“Either open the safe or tell me the combination,” Roebuck demanded, the edge of desperation creeping into his voice.

Havers’ lips were quivering as he stood to face Roebuck across the desk. “Leave, Louis, or I shall call the police and have you arrested. Leave with the few hundred dollars. I’m giving you a chance.”

“You’ll give me the combination,” Roebuck said, his voice breaking.

Havers’ right hand moved toward the telephone as Roebuck’s fingers curled about the heavy cut glass paperweight on the desk corner. As the tips of Havers’ fingers touched the receiver Roebuck hurled the paperweight with all his might.

The heavy paperweight caught Havers low in the stomach and he sagged to the floor without a sound. “Sorry, Private,” Roebuck said, and he giggled. He didn’t know why he giggled and he was immediately angry with himself as he walked around the desk and looked down at Havers writhing on the floor, fighting for breath. Roebuck picked up the paperweight, held it threateningly over Havers and lowered his voice an octave. “The combination!” he demanded. “I’ve killed eleven men in my time, and I might as well make it an even dozen.”

Havers struggled to speak, gasping, but no words forced themselves out.

“The combination!” Roebuck almost screamed.

“…Thirty…right…seventeen, left…twenty-five…right….” Havers was sitting back against the wall, clutching his stomach, his face a sickly gray.

Roebuck went to the wrought iron bookcase and scooped the books from the third shelf to reveal the small wall safe behind them. He worked the combination.

Seventeen-hundred dollars in cash, and some signed blank checks. The rest useless papers.

Roebuck stuffed the money into his pockets, then he sat at Havers’ desk and filled in one of the checks for three-hundred dollars. He blew on the check to dry the ink, folded it neatly and put it in his shirt pocket. Now he needed time.

Roebuck pulled Havers to his feet and shoved him roughly into the desk chair. He removed Havers’ tie and used it to bind his hands behind him. Havers’ shoelaces were used to bind his feet. Roebuck went back to the anteroom and got some heavy sealing tape from Mary’s desk, which he used to cover Havers’ mouth. Then, as a precaution, he wrapped the brown tape tightly around the knots he’d tied and around Havers’ ankles. Havers was sitting still in the chair, breathing deeply and evenly through his nose, his eyes open wide and following Roebuck’s every move. Roebuck yanked the telephone cord from the wall and left.

They knew Roebuck at the Chase Hotel cocktail lounge, so they cashed his three-hundred-dollar check without question. He had a quick drink, to avoid any suspicion, then walked out and got in his car. He drove for the highway, heading west out of the city.

Roebuck had driven for five hours without stopping, and he was tired. Once he’d even dozed behind the wheel to awaken seconds later in the wrong lane with a horn blaring at him and headlights bearing down on him. He’d swerved just in time to avoid the truck, but the memory of the blinding lights and the rocking rush of air as the truck roared past was still very much with him. He had to rest.

He slowed the car as his lights picked up a side road ahead, dark and without a road sign. He turned up the road, drove for a few minutes to get away from the highway, then pulled the car off the road into some trees and turned off the engine.

Roebuck pushed the headlight switch and sat in the sudden darkness, the sudden silence. There wasn’t much of a moon, and the night pressed softly against the windows of the car on all sides. Miles way, to his left, were a few tiny yellow lights, almost like stars but too low on the horizon. Roebuck was alone.

There hadn’t been anything on the radio about him. Maybe Havers was still tied up; maybe Ingrahm was uninjured and hadn’t even reported the accident to the police; maybe the police had made their routine investigation and then concentrated on more important crimes, on murders, rapes, bank robberies and cunning embezzlements. Roebuck let himself slump sideways across the bucket seats and closed his eyes. He noticed now that the crickets were chirping, very loud, but somehow this only intensified the silence and induced him to sleep.

Roebuck was choking. Around him was a flickering reddish glare, an ebbing and flowing dark haze, and he was choking. And there was a horror, and a scream that he had heard, or was about to hear. On his lips? On someone else’s lips? He was blinded, and he was choking, and the hand, large and with a talon-like strength, rested on his shoulder near his neck. The hand began to squeeze, gently at first, then with an increasing pressure that brought pain, pain that grew, cutting through the flesh and muscle of his shoulder, through the bone, paralyzing him, making him want to twist away—to scream!

He awoke.

The morning sun was high in a blue sky, beating through the windshield as if through a magnifying glass, hurting Roebuck’s eyes, causing his head to throb painfully. The leather of the car seat was pressed into his cheek, and his neck was stiff from the unnatural angle of his head. Slowly, stiffly, he sat up in the driver’s seat. He pressed his palms to the sides of his head, as if that would help the throbbing, then he rubbed his eyes and took a deep breath. Checking his hair in the rear view mirror, he saw that it was hardly mussed, that he’d slept so soundly he’d hardly moved. He opened the car door and got out to stand on the grass.