A BULLET FLYING by very close to her head, diverted Alice Fayde’s thoughts of how there were more onerous and less worthwhile assignments than the one upon which she was currently engaged in her capacity as a woman deputy of the Rockabye County Sheriff’s Office.
Three times in nine days, a killer had shot a woman to death as she was walking in the residential Lasher Division—as it was known to the local law enforcement officers—of the county seat, Gusher City. As was the established procedure, because their county-wide jurisdiction allowed greater scope for the handling of such crimes, the Sheriff’s Office had taken charge of the investigation. Following the accepted mode of operation,50 the team who received the duty had been unable to learn anything of use. Apart from living in the same district, the victims had nothing in common. They were of different ethnic groups, religious denominations and occupations. So far as could be discovered, they had no connections whatsoever with one another.
When the usual routine had proved to be fruitless, Deputy Sheriff Ian Grantley and his new partner, David Bulphin51 wasted no time in asking for a special kind of assistance. While continuing the search for a point of contact which might offer a motive and lead to the killer, they arranged for female peace officers acting as decoys to walk the streets of the division. Which was how Alice, although belonging to the other Watch of the Sheriff’s Office, had come to be involved.52 What was more (and indicative of the esteem in which her abilities were held by Sheriff Jack Tragg and the two Watch Commanders) she was assigned to what they all knew would be the most potentially dangerous area to be covered by the operation.
Despite being aware that his female deputies and the selected members of the Gusher City Police Department’s Bureau of Women Officers received thorough training in the use of firearms as well as unarmed combat,53 the sheriff had no intention of allowing them to be placed into any greater jeopardy than was absolutely necessary. In addition to being armed as always with their handguns, each would carry a radio with which to keep in communication and wear a lightweight ‘flak’ jacket to offer protection against the .357 Magnum revolver with which the murders had been committed. Furthermore, there would be male officers following as closely as circumstances would allow without causing the killer to be frightened off by their presence. They would be ready to rush to the decoy’s assistance at the first indication of the trap being sprung.
The distance at which the ‘back up’ team could follow depended upon the area through which the female officer would be walking. Acknowledged, even by the other decoys, as the most competent of them, Alice had been allocated to the section of the Division where conditions precluded any close surveillance. She was patrolling the sidewalks of a wide, generally straight street that was adequately—or inadequately, from her point of view—illuminated by the lights from the apartment buildings which lined it. Each had a garden in front, either cultivated decoratively or with a small swimming pool and other furnishings. The buildings were separated from their neighbors by mostly unlit areaways.
The nature of the terrain and its state of visibility prevented Alice’s partner, Deputy Sheriff Bradford ‘Brad’ Counter and the other member of her ‘back up’ team from staying closer than almost half a mile. However, this contingency had been taken into consideration when the plan of campaign was formulated. In spite of the precautions, she knew that should she be selected for an attack by the killer she would be dependent upon her own resources until the others officers could arrive. But she was confident that she could protect herself until help came should the need arise.
Because of the kind of duty she was engaged upon, Alice could not wear her official khaki uniform which—whether in the form of a skirt or slacks—was designed to be flattering to the wearer as well as functional. For all that, despite the need to have the fairly bulky ‘flak’ jacket concealed beneath a loose fitting and lightweight black coat, she still presented a far from unattractive picture as she walked silently, yet gracefully, in her low-heeled and rubber-soled black shoes.
Red hair, which had already grown long enough for Alice to have had it returned to the ‘flip’ style she preferred,54 fringed a tanned face that—if not ravishingly beautiful—had charm and was very good looking. Beneath the outer garments, her five foot seven tall, well molded, thirty-seven, twenty-five, thirty-five inch figure filled a dark blue blouse and denim skirt in a most shapely, yet not blatantly curvaceous manner. As a precaution against the killer ‘making’ her as a law enforcement officer, she was not carrying the bulky Pete Ludwig shoulder bag which was part of her ensemble when working in civilian clothing under less demanding circumstances. While the omission deprived her of the spare ammunition, a cased set of Stoeger-Zephyr ‘Double-Lock’ handcuffs and official notebook which reposed therein, she had her Colt Commander .45 automatic pistol—a present from her partner55—identification wallet, police whistle and the small two-way radio on her person. So she felt adequately equipped to deal with any eventuality.
Two hours of unceasing patrolling had passed uneventfully since the red-head commenced the duty. It was the first night of the assignment, but the killings had occurred at intervals of three days and this was the third evening since the last had taken place. So she had been constantly on the alert from the moment she entered the section to which she had been allocated. Despite that, such was the care taken by the assailant, she neither saw nor heard anything to alert her to the danger and she was completely unaware that there was a hostile presence in the vicinity until she received the unpleasant indication emanating from it.
Jolted from its state of partial reverie, Alice’s brain instantly identified the eerie and unexpected ‘splat!’ just in front of her face as having been made by a bullet splitting the air as it flew onwards to sink into the trunk of a good sized cottonwood which grew in the garden of the apartment building she was passing. The departure of the lead was echoed by a sharp crack similar to the sound of a burlesque comic’s slapstick56 meeting the seat of a victim’s trousers, but she knew nothing so innocuous as that had caused it.
The crack, Alice realized as she instinctively started to take evasive action, was produced by the detonation of the powerful powder charge contained in the cartridge of and giving a high velocity to the bullet from a revolver.
A .357 Magnum cartridge was one which possessed the requisite qualities!
According to the deductions of the ballistics expert at the Firearms Investigation Laboratory in the Department of Public Safety Building—which also housed the Headquarters Division of the G.G.P.D. and the Sheriff’s Office—the murderer used a Smith & Wesson Model 27 .357 Magnum revolver.
Even as the red-head’s brain was registering the facts and coming to the conclusion that she had lured the killer into making an attempt on her life, there was the crack of a second shot, and another of the lethal missiles flew across the street. Yet, quickly as it had been dispatched in the wake of its predecessor, it too missed its intended mark. Alice was already diving over the low picket fence of the garden, silently blessing providence for there being a lawn instead of something harder upon which to land, and adequate shelter readily available. Although the margin was slight, the bullet passed through the space her head had occupied a moment earlier.
Putting to good use her training in unarmed combat and horseback riding, the red-head started rolling as soon as she landed on the grassy surface. Nor did she stop, as she knew she would still be visible between the rails of the fence until she had attained the protection offered by the trunk of the tree she had seen while making her hurried entrance to the garden. Swiftly as she was moving, a third bullet ploughed into the lawn not six inches to her rear before she reached her destination; proving that she was right in assuming that she was still within the would-be killer’s range of vision.
Not until Alice had placed the cottonwood’s comforting bulk between herself and the powerful revolver did she offer to rise and arm herself. Drawing the Colt from the holster designed to be carried inside and clipped to the nether garments—whether skirt, as now, or slacks57—on the left side with the butt forward to be accessible to either hand, she peered cautiously around the trunk. She was compelled to withdraw her head almost immediately and at greater speed. Although failing to penetrate all the way and emerge on her side, another bullet had come to gouge into the tree.
The latest attempt to kill her allowed the red-head to locate her assailant. Glowing briefly, the fiery muzzle flash came from the interior of the areaway between the two apartment buildings directly across the street. Although she knew that the sound of shooting would be bringing assistance, she felt the information should be put to use before the ‘back up’ team arrived. It was unlikely they would be able to reach the scene undetected and, on receiving a warning of their approach, the person who was firing at her was almost certain to take flight. If the escape bid was successful, as was at least a fifty-fifty chance under the circumstances, the miscreant would remain at liberty and either stop killing, or—far worse—transfer the activities to another location.
Much as Alice desired to prevent her attacker from escaping, she had no intention of shooting back. Good as she was, making a hit at that range—other than by pure chance—would require taking a more careful aim than was possible from behind the tree, even using the ‘barricade stance’ learned at the Police Academy.58 To step into the open and employ one of the long range shooting stances she knew, or to try and close the gap by rushing forward, would be equally, suicidal against such an obviously competent antagonist; who was in the darkness of the areaway while she would have to approach across a street not only illuminated by the buildings’ lights, but with the glow of a three-quarter moon.
Glancing around, as she listened for indications of the ‘back up’ team approaching, Alice decided she had one advantage. Because of being positioned back in the areaway, her assailants field of fire was narrowly restricted. If she could move to a spot only a few yards on either side, she would be concealed from the revolver.
On the point of making a dart sideways, the red-head saw how such a course might be dangerous in the extreme. Her assailant had proved to be watching carefully and had probably anticipated her intended maneuver. Knowing she would be under fire the moment she left concealment, she realized a change of strategy was needed and saw a way in which one could be put into effect.
The shadow of the tree extended at an angle towards the corner of the building and, sinking to her hands and knees, Alice began to creep along the blackness it created. She was aware that doing so put her directly in her assailant’s line of fire, but was relying upon the combination of her dark clothing and the contrast of the shadow against the surrounding moonlight to camouflage her.
The hope materialized!
Despite another shot sounding, causing Alice to drop flat, the bullet joined its predecessors in the tree.
However, even as the red-head was on the point of resuming her advance along the shadow, she heard something which told her there was no need to continue with her plan although, for the time being, she would be ill-advised to emerge from the blackness.
Alerted by the shooting, Deputy Sheriff Bradford Counter swung astride the Honda Trail 90 motor cycle he had been pushing and, kicking its engine into life, set off at a rapid rate of acceleration to his partner’s assistance.
Six foot three inches in height, with curly golden blond hair of moderate length and a tanned, exceptionally handsome face, Brad had the tremendously wide shouldered, slim waisted, physical development of a ‘Mr. Universe’ type hero in an Italian-made action-escapism-adventure pseudo-epic movie. His looks were a hereditary feature of his family.59
As was the case with Alice Fayde, the blond giant was not wearing the uniform prescribed for members of the Rockabye County Sheriff’s Office. However, in some respects, his attire seemed closer to that which might have been expected of a peace officer in Texas. His silver-grey Resistol Rancher 125 hat shaped with a Luskey roll crease, black leather vest to which was attached his badge of office, beige Klopman Ultressa shirt and faded blue Levi’s pants might have been worn by his great-grandfather, Mark, during the mid-1870s. Although he had on a gunbelt, it was not of the classic Old West buscadero pattern. It was a Bianchi Deluxe Sam Browne, without a shoulder strap,60 to which was attached a pouch for spare ammunition, handcuff case and a key-ring. His Colt Government Model .45 automatic pistol—a heavier forerunner of Alice’s Commander—action cocked and manual safety catch applied, was secured by an Elden Carl ‘Fly Off’ strap in a somewhat skimpy, forward raked Bianchi Cooper-Combat holster set high on his right hip. An Old West pistolero might have felt it could not be drawn quickly. Employing a technique perfected by master gun handlers of a more recent generation, he was able to do so and at speeds which would have been beyond the capability of even the legendary Rio Hondo gun wizard and his paternal great-grandfather’s closest friend, Dusty Fog.61 Furthermore, instead of the traditional high-heeled, sharp-toed footwear of the earlier age, he had on crepe-soled, calf-high brown hunting boots which permitted a far greater mobility. Lastly, he had a weapon in the boot of his vehicle that had been manufactured by the Winchester Repeating Arms Company. It was of a kind he considered more suitable for his purposes than a lever action rifle or carbine.
Because of the need to avoid arousing the killer’s suspicions by being too close, Brad was some distance away from his partner. He had been walking fast, pushing the motor cycle, so as to turn a corner which was hiding her from sight when the shooting commenced. On turning the corner, he was at first unable to see anything of her. However, as he sped along the street in what he knew must be the right direction, the situation was rectified even though the second member of the ‘back up’ team had not yet put in an appearance from the other side.
Listening to the trail bike coming closer, Alice realized that her partner was unlikely to know where the killer was positioned. So she thrust herself erect and sprinted, still in the shadow thrown by the tree, until she reached the corner of the apartment building. Arriving unmolested, she knew that she had accomplished the easiest part of her task. Despite appreciating what could happen to her if the killer moved forward, or if she underestimated the width of the revolver’s field of fire, she sucked in a breath and ran forward. As she left the sheltering darkness to cross the garden, she was alert for any hint that she had been in error. There was none and no shots came her way. So, hurdling the fence, she looked to where Brad was racing towards her.
‘Down the areaway!’ the red-head shouted, pointing in the appropriate direction.
Although unable to hear the words, Alice’s gesture told the blond giant all he needed to know. Bringing the Honda to a stop in a sliding half circle that kept him clear of the entrance to the areaway, he was off it and slipping the weapon from its saddleboot before its motion had ceased. Transferring his left fist from the handlebars and allowing the trail bike to fall unheeded to the ground, he grasped the ‘trombone action’ cocking slide of the Winchester Model of 1897 twelve gauge riot gun he had extracted. A jerk of his wrist operated the mechanism and fed a shell loaded with nine .32 caliber buck-shot balls into the chamber. With that precaution taken, he ran across the garden and flattened his back against the wall at the corner of the building at the right of the areaway. Once there, he waited for his partner to arrive and take up a similar position at the left. He was pleased to notice that neither of the fences on the garden at each side extended to the wall, but left a gap offering access to the areaway.
‘Now!’ Alice snapped, thumbing down the manual safety catch of her pistol—which she had carried cocked and safe—for the first time since drawing it. She gave the command by virtue of being the senior member of the team.
Showing perfect co-ordination that told of considerable practice, the red-head and the blond giant thrust themselves simultaneously from behind the buildings. They twisted around as they moved, halting with their weapons pointing ahead ready to be used. Each hoped the assailant would be caught unawares by their appearance, confused as to which of them posed the greater threat and, while vacillating in the choice, would allow them to escape injury by firing first.
The areaway was deserted!
‘He’s split!’ Brad growled.
‘Not out this end,’ Alice replied, lowering her pistol from its double-handed hold. ‘And there are no doors on either side, so he must have gone through.’
‘How many did he get off at you?’ the big blond inquired, as he and the girl began to run forward.
‘Five!’ Alice answered, having taken the precaution of counting.
‘One left, unless he’s reloaded,’ Brad commented, being willing to accept the summation of the F.I.L.’s ballistic expert on the type of weapon used by the killer and knowing the cylinder capacity of a Smith & Wesson Model 27 revolver.
No more was said as the partners continued to advance. Instead, they strained their ears in the hope of detecting their quarry’s footsteps and watched the exit from the areaway they were approaching. It gave access to a street similar to the one they had just left. Although the second member of the ‘back up’ team arrived at the other end, they paid no attention to him. Nor, when he had deduced what had happened and what their intentions were, did he attempt to call out and request information. Instead, carrying the telescope sighted sniper’s rifle he had brought in case accurate long range shooting should be required, he followed them. On coming to the intersection, they paused to look out before exposing themselves on the sidewalk.
There was no sign of the killer.
However!
‘Over there!’ Alice hissed, pointing to where a hat lay on the opposite sidewalk in front of the areaway separating two apartment buildings.
Striding forward side by side, their footwear being such that it allowed them to step almost inaudibly without special care, the deputies reached the object which had attracted Alice’s notice. It was a grubby white straw hat with a blue band decorated by white ‘Ban The Bomb’ symbols. However, neither gave it more than a brief glance in passing. There was something of far greater importance and urgency to demand their attention as they were given their first view into the areaway. It was somewhat better illuminated than the one they had passed through to reach the street, a situation for which they were grateful as it enabled them to see clearly what was happening.
The areaway had occupants, one of whom was behaving in a far from innocent fashion. Tall, lean, long haired and bearded, a young man clad in a loose fitting short kaftan, ragged blue jeans and sandals was standing looking down at a woman lying by his feet. He was holding two revolvers, the one in his left hand—a long barreled Smith & Wesson Model 27—was grasped around its cylinder; but the other, a shorter yet no less lethal at short range Colt Cobra was held ready for use.
‘Peace officers here!’ Brad shouted. ‘Fr—’
‘Pig bastards!’ the young man screeched, before the command could be completed, twisting around and bringing up the Colt to fire twice.
Neither bullet scored a hit, but the blond giant knew there was only one course open to him. The young man had already tried four times to kill Alice and seemed determined to continue shooting. Or he might turn the revolver on the woman at his feet and use her as a hostage with which to bargain for an uninterrupted escape. Either way, he had to be stopped and quickly.
Undeterred by a third bullet which almost touched his cheek in passing, Brad brought up and fired the riot gun in one continuously flowing rapid motion. The result showed the wisdom of having carried along such an effective weapon. Caught by some of the nine buckshot balls, the long haired young man was flung backwards with the revolvers flying from his hands.
Working the Winchester’s pump action with a flick of his left hand, to eject the empty case and replenish the chamber, the big blond resumed his advance accompanied by his partner. While she went to examine the woman, trampling on a black cloak that lay nearby, he walked to where the man sprawled supine and in the abandoned fashion of a corpse. Brad had kept the riot gun ready for use, but saw it would not be needed. One of the .32 caliber balls had hit the man between the eyes and any of the other three to find their marks would have been equally, if not as quickly, lethal.
‘Is she hurt?’ the blond giant inquired, looking to where his partner was kneeling besides the woman.
‘Just fainted, I think,’ Alice replied, turning her gaze from the plain and angular blonde, who was already stirring. ‘How about him?’
‘He’s dead!’ Brad answered, knowing this to be the case without the need to make a closer examination. ‘I reckon we’ve closed Ian and Dave’s case for them.’
‘Yes, sir, good buddies, England’s a great lil country and I wouldn’t want to come right out and say the television networks over there are just a mite biased politically. All I know is, one day while I was waiting in line for a cab at my hotel, I heard the fellow ahead of me say, “Hey, driver, take me to Communist Party headquarters.’ And the cabbie said, “Yes, sir. Which network, British Broadcasting or Independent?” ’
Chuckling over the first comment to greet her as she switched on the television in her apartment to watch The Virgil Grayne Show, Alice glanced to the front door as its bell rang. She had met the comedian, who had recently returned from a successful tour of the British Isles, during a multiple murder case she and Brad Counter had handled. They had found him far more friendly and co-operative than a more ‘liberal’ entertainer who was also involved.62 Remembering comments passed by two policemen from England who had paid a visit to Gusher City and having seen examples of that country’s television programs, she could see the point of the probably apocryphal anecdote.63
While the third member of the decoy team was using his two-way radio to report the incident, the red-head had ascertained nothing more serious than a faint was afflicting the woman. On recovering, the blonde had explained that her condition was caused by the sight of the armed man, with a cloak draped over his shoulders, rushing towards her as she was taking a short cut through the areaway. She had introduced herself as Eileen Beresford, a fashion designer based at Houston spending a working vacation in Gusher City. She gave the name of a nearby hotel as her temporary place of residence. Admitting that she had been perturbed by the sound of the shooting, she had asserted that she had neither seen nor heard anything of the young man until he appeared before her. Although she had declined the offer of having Alice or one of the male officers escort her, she had been allowed to return to the hotel. She had been informed before setting off that she would be required to visit the Sheriff’s Office the following morning to make out and sign a formal statement regarding her participation.
Once Deputy Sheriffs Ian Grantley and David Bulpin, the team in command of the investigation, arrived in answer to the radio message, the initial routine aspects of the incident were speeded up so far as Alice and Brad were concerned. There were further details which had to be carried out immediately on the spot of the attack. Material evidence such as the bullets fired at them also had to be gathered and any witnesses to what had happened had to be located. Both pieces of information had to be presented at the mandatory inquiry into the fatal shooting of the young man. The search for and collection of such evidence would be performed by specialists from the Department of Public Safety’s Scientific Investigation Bureau. Being aware that the red-head and her partner had already been on duty from eight o’clock that morning until four in the afternoon, dealing with their current case, and would be logging on for the Day Watch at the same time the following morning, Grantley had said they could leave the latter to those officers who had arrived and were working the Night Watch.
Although Alice and Brad, when reporting to commence the decoy duty, had driven to the Department of Public Safety Building in her Ford Mustang they had seen no point in both of them going to retrieve it from the municipal employees’ parking lot. As the big blond had to return the Honda and riot gun, he had volunteered to collect the vehicle while she went directly to her apartment and cooked supper for them. Being given a ride in a black and white G.G.P.D. radio patrol car, she had arrived in time to catch the comedian’s monologue at the commencement of the show.
Chuckling appreciatively at a joke of the kind various press releases had claimed was responsible for an appearance on British television being cancelled, in spite of the acclaim the entertainer had been receiving elsewhere in the country, Alice reached the door. Wondering why Brad had not used his key to enter, as she was not expecting to receive any other visitors at such an hour of the night, she unlocked and opened it.
Immediately, the red-head discovered she was in error over her assumption regarding the identity of the caller!
Nor was the disclosure of an enjoyable nature!
Still clad in the green cat suit she had been wearing in the areaway and which did nothing to flatter her gaunt and boney figure, but now carrying a shoulder bag, Eileen Beresford stood in the passage. Without waiting to be invited, she walked forward clearly with the intention of entering the apartment.
Taken completely unawares, the red-head stepped backwards without challenging the blonde’s right to enter or to question her intentions. The short-barreled Smith & Wesson Model 27 .357 Magnum revolver she held was providing all the authority and explanation required to ensure compliance, particularly as it had a bulbous silencer attached to its muzzle. Keeping the weapon lined at the pit of Alice’s stomach, where a wound would cause terrible suffering before death came to end it, the uninvited visitor pushed the door closed with her left hand so deftly she did not offer any opportunity for measures to be taken against her intrusion.
‘I might have known a “something” pig would be watching that “mother-something” neo-fascist son of a bitch,’ Eileen stated, glancing to the television and back without allowing the revolver to waver from its steady alignment.
‘And I don’t imagine even a strung-out soft-shell would be so damned bigoted she’d feel the need to bring a piece to stop somebody watching an entertainer she thought politically unsuitable,’ Alice countered, deducing from the foul language and appellation applied by such people to anybody who did not conform rigidly to their ideals that her visitor was of liberal intellectual pretensions. ‘So, as I don’t imagine that’s what brought you here, what do you want?’
‘I’m here on business, pig, business,’ Eileen explained. ‘But I must admit it’s a pleasure to be paid for washing one of you scum.’
‘Don’t tell me you’re trying to be a hit-woman?’ Alice scoffed, continuing to employ an air of disdain she hoped would provoke a response that offered a chance of taking some form of defensive action.
‘A hit-person?’ the blonde corrected, but the note of asperity was not accompanied by any relaxation of vigilance. ‘And, after six successful hits since I started, I’m not just trying as you’ll find out after we’ve taken a little ride.’
‘Thank gawd I’ve caught you, guv! Is Miss Fayde with you?’
Answering the call on the telephone at his team’s desk in the Deputies Squadroom of the Sheriff’s Office, Bradford Counter identified the hoarse Cockney voice as the best of the small coterie of informers he had inherited from his previous partner and Alice’s uncle, Deputy Sheriff Thomas Cord.64 He could not recollect ever having heard the little Englishman sound so perturbed.
‘No, “Mr. Brit”,’ the big blond replied, using the sobriquet English Herb employed for security reasons when calling him at the Squadroom. ‘What’s up?’
‘There’s a contract been put out on her!’ the caller replied.
‘Who by?’ Brad demanded, feeling as if he was being touched by an ice cold hand.
‘Word on the street has it that it’s that feller whose wife she shot.’
‘Ben Blumfeld?’
‘That’s him!’
‘I heard he was out of the rackets,’ Brad objected.
‘It’s around he’s trying to move back in,’ English Herb asserted. ‘Only he’s not got a hit-man.’
‘But you said—’ the blond giant growled.
‘He’s brought in a bleeding hit-woman, Mr. Counter!’ the informer interrupted. ‘And, from all accounts, she’s bloody good. So good I can’t get a lead on her, but you can count on it she’s around.’
‘Thanks, Herb!’ Brad ejaculated, so perturbed that for the first time in their acquaintance he broke the other’s anonymity over the telephone.
‘Think nothing of it, guv!’ the Englishman replied, ignoring the use of his name. ‘Just make sure you look after her.’
‘What’s wrong, Brad?’ the Night Watch Commander inquired, as the big blond lowered the telephone.
‘There’s a contract out for Alice!’ the big blond answered, starting to dial his partner’s home number. After the telephone at the other end had rung several times without its summons meeting any response, he hung up and went on, ‘There’s no reply. I’m going over to find out why!’
‘You’ve been an expensive hit, pig,’ Eileen Beresford commented in conversational tones, as Alice Fayde drove her car as instructed along the secondary road leading across the hilly range country in the direction of the town of Euclid. ‘I won’t get back either of my pieces. The Cobra I don’t mind, but I paid a good price for the Smith & Wesson.’
‘Did you use it on the three women you burned to get me out on the streets as a decoy?’ the red-head challenged, making a shrewd guess as to how her capture had been manipulated.
‘No way!’ the blonde scoffed, delighted to show her captive was in error and making a slight gesture with the weapon she had handled so competently that there had been no opportunity to disarm her. ‘I took them out with this and only used the other because I didn’t think I’d be able to get as close as I had to them.’
‘I think it was the man who did all the shooting,’ Alice lied, still trying to provoke her captress into making a mistake.
‘Him?’ Eileen snorted. ‘All that acid-head was good for was making sure I didn’t get grabbed by those “mother-something” bastards I knew would be following you.’
Given that much information, Alice was able to envisage the whole of the diabolical scheme. It also gave her an insight into the completely ruthless nature of the woman who was using the name, “Eileen Beresford”.
By deliberately murdering three innocent women, the blonde had caused the decoys to be put into operation. Deducing that the red-head—whose record she had learned—would be assigned to the duty, she had either guessed or found out in some other way where to seek her quarry. Leaving her male associate on the second street, she had laid the ambush clad in the straw hat and cloak as a means of concealing her identity. Making use of him had been another example of her ruthless nature. Realizing that she would be pursued very soon after the shooting, she had left the hat to guide the peace officers in the required direction. Discarding the cloak and giving the man the pistol she had used, she had pretended to faint when sure the pursuit was near at hand. As a result, her companion was killed and she had been permitted to leave the scene with less questioning than would otherwise have been the case. She had, however, been aware of the need for haste in completing her assignment. Even if no suspicions were aroused that night, or nothing occurred to make the peace officers realize she had lied, a ballistic test on the Smith & Wesson would be carried out the following morning and reveal it was not the weapon used in the three killings.
Everything Alice had seen since their face to face meeting at the apartment warned her that Eileen was a competent adversary against whom it would be fatal to take reckless chances. At no time, even while leaving the building and boarding the car, had there been the slightest opportunity of escape presented. Nor had the red-head been able to do anything to alleviate her perilous condition as she was driving through the city. The blonde had shown an awareness of every ploy she was envisaging and had kept the revolver pointing in such a manner that to try and speed up the car, then stop it abruptly, would have produced nothing other than a painful death.
‘Who put out the contract?’ Alice inquired, noticing the way her captress was studying their surroundings with quick glances as they were talking and deciding this was to select the place in which she was to be killed.
‘Nobody you know,’ the blonde replied in a taunting manner.
‘Come on now!’ Alice protested, glancing into the rearview mirror and noticing the flash of another vehicle’s headlights showing briefly before a curve in the winding, wood-lined road hid them from view. Hoping her abductress had been less watchful, she continued. ‘Don’t try to shit a shitter. Nobody puts out bread to hire even a hit-woman without cause. Unless you work real cheap because you’ve picked up a social disease and can’t turn tricks as a hooker, that is.’
‘You won’t needle me into losing my cool and pulling a boo-boo, pig,’ Eileen warned, but her tone was brittle.
‘Don’t tell me you’re annoyed by being called a hooker,’ the red-head challenged, as she guided the car over a bridge across a small river. ‘I thought, according to Klute, it was an honorable and praiseworthy occupation.’
‘I’ve never before met a pig who could th—’ the blonde began, then she stiffened and, darting a look through the window, went on hurriedly, ‘Stop here. But do it slow and easy or, when they find your body, they’ll be digging lead out of your gut.’
‘What was it Humphrey Bogart said in The Maltese Falcon about the cheaper the punk, the cheaper the patter?’ Alice mocked, carrying out the instruction even more slowly than was necessary. She felt sure that, possibly because it had been selected during a reconnaissance since her captress’s arrival in Rockabye County, they had arrived at their destination. ‘Or should I say, the cheaper the woman?’
‘I’m just going to love wasting you!’ Eileen declared savagely incensed by the references to an actor for whom she had a great admiration and the repeated derogatory mentions of her sex. However, for all her tendency to overreact as became a virulent exponent of Women’s Lib, she contrived to retain control over her temper and did not allow the revolver to leave its alignment. She had chosen the area as the site for a second contract she had undertaken in Gusher City and she was too aware of her captive’s well-deserved reputation to want to take chances which might prevent her from carrying it out. Fumbling behind with her left hand as the car stopped, she found the handle and opened the door. Backing out with the same care she had employed when entering, she hissed, ‘Dim the lights, leave the keys in the ignition and haul your ass this way.’
Watching the blonde retreating a few steps, without the Smith & Wesson being diverted from its target, Alice obeyed the orders she had been given. She accepted there was no hope of duplicating a ploy her partner had pulled against a cattle rustler in this instance.65 Feeling perspiration running down her ribs as she emerged and stood alongside the car, she glanced in both directions. Other than the bridge some thirty yards away, there was no sign of civilization. Nor could she see the lights of the vehicle which had been following them.
Taking a flashlight from her shoulder bag, Eileen instructed the red-head to walk ahead of her in the direction they had come. While doing so, Alice studied her surroundings in the hope of locating some means of escape. Nothing sprang immediately to her attention.
Ordering her captive to keep going, the blonde quickly directed the beam of the flashlight over the bridge’s two foot high concrete guard railing. Taking advantage of the illumination, Alice was even more convinced she had reached the site selected for her execution. Flowing through a gorge perhaps fifteen feet high and about twenty wide, the stream looked sufficiently deep and fast flowing for her body to be carried a considerable distance. Far enough, perhaps, to ensure it would not be found for days, or weeks, if ever. However, she also believed her attempts to provoke Eileen had resulted in them traveling farther than had been intended; which could account for her insistence upon their returning to the other side of the gorge.
Being far from enamored by the prospect awaiting her after crossing, Alice slowed her pace as she approached the bridge. She was aware that she would soon reach the crisis time where something must be attempted whether the occasion was propitious or not. Just as she was at the halfway point, the lights she had noticed earlier showed at the bend farther along the road.
‘Get the lead out!’ the blonde shouted, having no desire to be illuminated by the approaching vehicle. ‘Run!’
Drawing a very rapid conclusion, Alice set off as if in obedience to the order. As soon as she heard the change in Eileen’s gait, she swerved and plunged head-first over the low concrete railing. Being uncertain of how deep the stream was at that point, she launched herself in a shallow dive. Going down in what appeared to be slow motion, she prayed she would not alight in shallow water running over jagged rocks. She also braced herself for the shock of her arrival, the slashing of any rocks present into her body, or the impact of a bullet in her back.
Neither of the last two occurred!
Hearing a strident feminine profanity as she was entering the river in a flat glide, the red-head guessed her action had caught the blonde unawares. She went about four foot below the surface before her hands and bosom encountered gravel. Then, straightening out, she thrust herself downstream underwater.
The water was very cold, but a few seconds elapsed before Alice could feel its impact through her clothing. Staying beneath the surface as long as she could hold her breath, the drag of her saturated garments was counter-acted by the press of the current. When a lack of air forced her to come up, she found herself some thirty yards from the bridge. Floundering erect in waist-deep water, she peered back in the direction from which she had come. Apparently the vehicle had passed while she was submerged, for there were no longer oncoming headlights. Scanning the outline of the bridge’s concrete railing against the night sky beyond it, she could not see the blonde.
In spite of discovering Eileen was no longer on what would have made an ideal point of vantage, one to which she could have already returned if she had retired just to avoid being seen by the occupants of the truck, Alice did not believe she had left the vicinity.
Wading towards the side of the river upon which the car was parked, the red-head found its bank was more sloping than at the point at which she entered. While it was still fairly steep, her hands encountered sufficient irregularities for her to believe she could make an ascent. However, before commencing, she paused to try and detect any sign that the blonde had already started looking for her. For several seconds there was only the gentle murmur of the current and distant calls of a night bird. So she started to climb. As she was approaching the top, however, other and more disturbing sounds reached her ears. First came the dull sound of the car’s trunk being closed. There followed a clicking noise which she recognized. The last time she had heard something similar was when Brad was operating the action of his riot gun to recharge its chamber after shooting the young man.
Appreciating the gravity of the latest development, Alice concentrated on completing the climb. Just as she was peering over the top, her left hand encountered a boulder about the size and shape of a baseball. Liberating it, she took it with her as she cautiously rose and started to make for the shelter of the nearest bushes. Employing the skill she had gained on numerous deer and turkey hunts in which she had participated firstly with her father and Uncle Tom Cord, and then after their respective deaths with Brad, she made her way towards the road in almost complete silence.
Alice was not kept for long in suspense before she discovered where Eileen was located. Seeing the beam of the flashlight being directed into the gorge from the bridge supplied the necessary clue. After scanning the sides as far as the light would carry, the blonde turned and walked into the woods. Her purpose was soon obvious to the red-head. Having failed in her search from the bridge, she was continuing it by moving along the edge of the gorge.
Even discounting the presence of the pump shotgun, another and equally serious problem confronted Alice as she searched for a place from which to tackle the hit-woman. Although confident she possessed the ability to approach undetected, at no point was there any concealment closer than twenty or so feet from the edge of the gorge. To cross that much open ground when up against a person who was skilled in the use of weapons and was armed with one capable of spreading a lethal charge of shot would be suicidal unless complete surprise could be attained.
Halting in a crouch between two clumps of bushes, the redhead watched Eileen approaching. She was walking slowly, holding the flashlight and the foregrip of a pump action shotgun with her left hand, the right wrapped about the wrist of the butt so she could pull the trigger. The ease with which she was carrying them warned Alice that she possessed sufficient competence to make her a formidable prospect to tackle when armed with nothing more than a rock.
Another factor was increasing Alice’s perturbation. Already chilled by the immersion in the river, her necessarily slow progress through the woodland had failed to warm her. Nor was being compelled to stand still, the wet clothes clinging to her, doing anything to improve matters. It was all she could do to prevent her teeth chattering and she was unable to stop herself shivering with enough violence to cause the foliage she was brushing against to rustle.
Slight though the disturbance had been, Eileen heard it. However, at first she merely glanced towards the bushes. Her original belief that the sound was made by some woodland creature was very soon dispelled. Seeing the vaguely human shape among the shadows, she began to turn and swing the shotgun around.
At the first suggestion that she had been detected, Alice hurled the boulder with all the strength she could muster. The instant it left her hand, she sprang forward. Descending upon a protruding root, her left foot slipped inwards from it. Pain knifed through her leg and she felt herself falling. Going down on the verge of fainting, she heard a thud and saw the blonde’s head jerk under the impact of the missile.
Tilting upwards involuntarily as the flashlight flew from Eileen’s hand, the shotgun bellowed in response to her right forefinger tightening spasmodically on the trigger. Its recoil, combined to the force with which the boulder struck her, caused her to step backwards. Her foot descended on nothing more substantial than air and, already unconscious, she toppled into the gorge.
‘They’ve found her body,’ Bradford Counter reported, having taken the telephone call which had been relayed to the telephone on his and Alice Fayde’s desk in the Deputies Squadroom. ‘Buck says to tell you that there wasn’t any way you could have saved her even if you’d gone straight in. She broke her neck as she hit the water and was swept about three miles downstream.’
‘That’s a relief,’ the red-head replied, sitting with her bandaged ankle resting on another chair.
It was half past eleven on the morning after Alice’s abduction.
On recovering from her faint, the red-head had crawled to the edge of the gorge. Although she had located the flashlight, it was broken and she had not been able to see anything in the river. So she had made her way to the car and managed to drive it to Euclid. Deputy Sheriff Buck Shields, of the town’s Sheriff’s Sub-Office, was awake—having been called by Brad as a matter of routine when her absence had been discovered—and had taken charge. Leaving her in his wife’s care, he had gone to the river and instituted a search. It had not been fruitful that night, but was continued in daylight with the result he had just reported.
‘Ben Blumfeld isn’t at home,’ Brad stated, on hanging up the receiver. ‘He’s been in Europe for the past three months.’ The phone buzzed and, picking it up, he listened then said, ‘It’s for you.’
‘Don’t bother asking my name, or trying to have this call traced, Miss Fayde,’ a polite voice with a New England accent requested. ‘I’m speaking from Las Vegas. It has come to our attention that, fearing the unfounded rumors of a former member of the board of directors coming out of retirement to take over the position he hoped to attain, a junior executive decided to remove the threat. He hired a hit-person to kill you and arranged for word to get out it was done by—’
‘Ben Blumfeld,’ Alice suggested.
‘I prefer not to name names,’ the voice replied. ‘We have heard that such an attempt was made last night, but without success. Orders have been given which will prevent a repetition and arrangements have been made to recompense the next of kin of the three ladies who were killed. We deeply regret that they should have died and you were endangered, but I can assure you that the executive responsible has been—shall we say dismissed—from our organization permanently and you need have no fear of a recurrence. There will be no other contract for you, Miss Fayde.’