The wheels began to turn again, sluggishly. “Miss Young. I’m Mark Tuesday. How are you feeling?” She did not respond immediately, so he added, “The deputy did explain who I am, didn’t he?”
Her eyes searched his face as if she were looking for a familiar landmark to orient herself. “Oh! I’m sorry. Yes. Yes, he did. It’s just that.. .for a moment you reminded me of.. .someone I once knew.”
“A friend, I hope.” His smile felt stiff and fragile as if his face was made of glass.
“Yes. A friend.” The low vibrancy of her voice implied much more. But there was also a note that suggested the friendship had ended unhappily. “Did you want to talk to me about the accident now?”
She had not answered his original question, so he rephrased it. “Do you feel up to talking about it now?”
“I.I think so. I have to keep reminding myself that I am still alive. The more I talk about it, the more certain I’ll be that it’s true.”
“It doesn’t have to be tonight. I could see you tomorrow if you’d prefer.”
She hesitated as if taking stock of the state of her nerves.
“Well.. .if it wouldn’t be too much trouble for you.”
“No trouble at all. The deputy told me that you live and teach school in Glen Park. It so happens that I live there too. In fact—”
“Tuesday! Of course. You must be Cassandra’ s father.” She extended her hand. Her fingers were cool and slender, and returned his grip firmly. “I should have known. ‘Tuesday’ is such an uncommon name, and Cassandra is an uncommon child. I’m afraid I’m still not thinking very clearly.”
He released her hand reluctantly. “It’s understandable. This must have been a very frightening experience for you. That’s why I don’t want to keep you here any longer than necessary. So if you’d prefer to go home now I can see you tomorrow at your convenience.”
“That’s very thoughtful of you, Mr. Tuesday. But actually, I don’t really feel like driving-anywhere at the moment. In fact, I was thinking of asking the deputy if he could drive me home when he’s through, and arrange to have my car picked up and delivered to me later.”
The words were ready on his tongue even before she finished speaking. “I’ll be happy to drive you home myself. And I’m sure I can make the arrangements about your car. In fact, since you are a witness, the insurance company will even pay the cost of the tow.” Whether they would or not, he would if necessary.
There was a momentary hesitation before she made up her mind. “That would be very kind of you, if it wouldn’t be taking you too far out of your way.”
“Glen Park isn’t big enough to take anybody out of their way.” It was an effort to maintain a casual tone. “I’ll ask the deputy to arrange to have your car picked up. When will you need it?”
“Oh, any time tomorrow, before school lets out at three. The girl I share my apartment with can drive me to the school in the morning. But, ask him to have it delivered there so I’ll have it to drive home.” She smiled wanly. “By then I’m sure I’ll be able to drive myself.”
“Fine. I’ll take care of it. If you won’t mind waiting a little while longer then, there are a few things I’d like to go over with the deputy before we leave.”
“It’s quite all right. I’m in no hurry. Take your time.”
Her fragrance followed him as he walked the few steps to where the deputy was standing by the rear fender. “Did you hear any of that?” he asked.
The pale, unblinking eyes seemed to look through him to the young woman in the car. “Yes sir. You’re going to drive Miss Young home and you want me to have her car picked up and delivered to her at the school tomorrow.”
Apparently, he had heard it all. “Yes, that’s right. Can you arrange it?”
“Yes sir. I’ll tell the tow truck driver before he leaves.”
“Be sure to tell him to have it at the school before three.”
He blinked once. “Is there anything else I can do for you, Mr. Tuesday.”
“Yes, there is.” He took out the notebook again. “But first, I’d like to have your name and that of the other deputy for my records.”
“My name is Flynn, initials, T.J., badge number 14. The other deputy’s name is Bucheck, initials, S.P., badge number 9.”
The almost militarily formal manner with which the information was conveyed caused him to half expect the young deputy to come to attention and salute. There was even a hint of pride in his bearing as he said it, although there had been no change in the flat monotone of his voice. If the pride was in himself, it might be justified, despite his apparent slow-wittedness. But, if it came from his association with the Butler County Sheriff’s Office, it was uncalled for. He knew the Sheriff and could see no reason for Flynn to be proud of having him for his boss. No good could come from saying as much, however, although it might be helpful to know where his pride did stem from.
“How is good old Thaddeus. It’s been a while since I’ve seen him?”
“You know Sheriff Bentley?”
For the first time, his voice contained a note of interest. At the same time, there was a hint of a disturbing naivete that was completely foreign to the uniform and the gun he was wearing. He seemed to be a case of arrested development-obviously, not physical, but emotional. But, the gleam of anticipation that had enlivened the deadness of his eyes had answered his question.
“Not very well,” he told him. “We met once or twice a couple of years ago in connection with another case I was investigating at the time.”
The gleam faded as quickly as it had appeared. “I guess I wasn’t in on that one.”
He stood attentively waiting for his next question. “Your partner said you were the first one to get here.”
“Yes sir.” It was evident by now that the “sir” did not connote any sign of personal respect.
It was simply something that went with the job, like the badge.
“What time was that?”
“The call came over the radio at five-ten. I had just come on duty and was about three miles west. I got here at five-fourteen.”
“Was the driver dead when you got here?”
“Yes sir.”
“Did you examine him?”
“I took a look in the cab. He was dead all right.”
“Were his eyes open or closed?”
He blinked again. It was not the natural, reflexive action of the ordinary eyelids. He seemed to do it deliberately, as if he were turning the light off in one part of his brain, and turning it on in another.
“They were open.”
Which could mean that he was probably alive up to the moment of the crash. If he had been unconscious before then, his eyes would have been closed.
“What about the expression on his face? What did he look like?”
The corners of Flynn’s feminine mouth deepened slightly with the hint of some small, private joke he had just remembered.
“He looked surprised.”
The unfeeling atonality of his voice added a ghoulish connotation to the words that was like a cold, clammy gust of air from an open tomb on the back of his neck. He felt a vague uneasiness as if he had just received a cryptic warning about some unspecified danger from an anonymous source.
“Were his hands gripping the wheel, as if he had been struggling to control the truck?”
“I couldn’t say for sure. The steering wheel had been shoved into his gut, and I couldn’t see his hands.”
The obviously cold indifference of the deputy’s reaction to the death of the driver caused him to wonder about his own and to realize it was almost as unfeeling. It was difficult to keep his thoughts focused on what had happened. They kept drifting to the young woman waiting for him in the deputy’s car. Waiting for him, or only waiting for a ride home? And there had been that look in her eyes.
He noticed Flynn’s eyes had shifted beyond him and turned to follow his gaze. The fire department crew had finally succeeded in freeing the body of the dead driver from the cab. Being careful to keep the limp form covered with the sheet, they maneuvered it through the window of the right-hand door and tenderly lowered it to the stretcher that had been brought forward by the two orderlies. Less tenderly, but very efficiently, the orderlies quickly strapped the body in place, picked up the stretcher, carried it to the open rear door of the ambulance and slid it into the dark interior. Separating, they walked on opposite sides of the vehicle, entered the front seat and; with lights flashing and siren screaming; pulled out into the traffic and rapidly disappeared in the direction of Plainville. The noise and speed of their departure seemed totally unnecessary as far as their passenger was concerned.
He turned back to Flynn again. “How did Closter describe the accident? The report doesn’t give too many details.”
“What kind of details?”
“Well, for instance, where was Closter when he first saw the truck?”
“He said he heard it before he saw it. About half-way down the hill.”
“Which lane was he in?”
“The inside lane.”
“Where was Miss Young?”
“In the outside lane. Closter had pulled out to pass her.”
“But, he didn’t pass her?”
“No. He said he saw they were getting close to the curve so he decided to wait until they got through the underpass.”
“And that’s when he heard the truck?”
He nodded.
“How fast was Closter going, did he say?”
“Yes sir. He said he had already started to slow down for the curve. So did Miss Young. He figured they were doing about thirty-five.”
“How about the truck. Could he estimate how fast it was going when it passed him?”
“He said he thought it was doing about fifty or fifty-five.”
“Did he get a look at the driver as it went by?”
“Yes sir.”
The question hardly seemed necessary, but Flynn evidently expected it to be asked.
“How did he say he looked?”
“Like he was already dead.”
The possibility seemed to hold as much interest for him as yesterday’s weather forecast.
“How did he describe him?”
“He said he was just sitting there, staring straight ahead.”
He was sorrier than ever that he had not arrived before the other witness had left. He would have liked to have had the opportunity to question him further about the appearance and actions of the driver while the picture was still fresh in his mind. Getting the description second-hand from Flynn was only slightly more informative than reading the accident report-and just as stimulating. By now, the image would have started to blur around the edges. He should see him as soon as he was finished. But now, he was committed to drive Miss Young home, and Closter would have to wait. It was not a difficult choice to make.
“What did Closter say happened then?”
“Just like it says in the report. He blew his horn to warn Miss Young to get out of the way of the truck. She heard him-or she heard the truck-and moved over in front of him. When they got to the curve, the two of them were almost forced off the road. She almost got hit from both ends, but they managed to stop in time. The truck just kept going straight ahead, until it hit the abutment.”
The deputy was a master of understatement. He made it sound as exciting as a recitation of “Humpty-Dumpty.” It was pointless to go on questioning him about it. Not that he appeared to be deliberately withholding any information. In comparison with the other deputy,he was the epitome of patience and cooperation. But, the fact that a man may have died in a particularly violent and horrible manner, apparently had made no more impression on him than if somebody had stepped on a bug.
“Incidentally, is there any particular reason you took Closter’s statement before Miss Young’s?”
“He asked me to. Said something about his wife being sick and that he was in a hurry to get home.”
It was a reasonable explanation for the witness’ early departure from the scene.
“Well, it looks like he could be right about the driver being dead before the crash. He doesn’t seem to have done a thing to try to slow down or avoid the abutment.”
Flynn shrugged. “Maybe. But he’s not the first one to miss this curve. Probably his brakes just failed.”
It appeared that both deputies had made up their minds as to the cause of the accident. It seemed probable, but not necessarily, positive. The autopsy might shed more light on what really had happened, particularly on whether the driver’s death was a result of the crash, or vice versa. At that point, the other deputy, Bucheck, initials S.P., badge number nine, crossed the road to where they were standing. With the departure of the ambulance and the emergency van, the traffic flow had quickly returned to normal. The wrecked tractor and trailer seemingly merited only cursory glances from the passing motorists. The tow truck driver; after making an aborted attempt to lift the tractor by the rear axle, only to have the two front wheels collapse; was now trying to attach a cable to the front axle.
“You still here, Tuesday?” Bucheck growled as he came up to them.
“If you doubt it, ask your partner to verify it.”
“All right, all right. No need to be a wise-guy,” he sneered. He turned to Flynn, aiming the peak of his cap at his chest. “I’m going to get the hell out of here. You stay until they get this mess cleaned up. They’ll probably be sending out an empty trailer to reload the freight.”
“Okay, Stan,” Flynn replied.
Bucheck was almost a head shorter and about fifty pounds lighter than Flynn. But, there was a suggestion of sinewy strength in the play of muscles beneath his form-fitting uniform. A large nickel-plated, pearl-handled revolver, obviously not police-issue and looking almost too big for him; jutted ostentatiously from a low-slung, hand-tooled holster on his right hip. It was easy to imagine him crouched before a full-length mirror practicing his fast draw. He had spoken to the younger deputy as if he was his personal orderly, but Flynn had not seemed to notice. Instead, he held himself as if he were being addressed by a superior officer. Only the use of the first name indicated he might consider himself an equal.
Bucheck motioned with his head toward the car where the young woman was waiting. “What’s she still doing here?”
“She’s waiting for Mr. Tuesday to get finished. He’s going to drive her home.”
It was a logical reply for Flynn to make but, he did not like Bucheck and did not like his knowing even this much about his personal affairs. Bucheck turned his head and flicked a quick speculative glance at his face-the first time he had looked above his chin-as if trying to discover the secret of his success with women. What he saw only seemed to puzzle him.
“He is, is he.” Turning back to Flynn, he snapped, “What about her car?”
“Mr. Tuesday asked me to arrange to have it picked up and delivered to her tomorrow. He said the insurance company will pay the towing charges. I told him I’d take care of it.” He seemed as if waiting for Bucheck’s approval of his initiative.
“You did, eh. Now aren’t you the helpful one, though?” He stood glaring at Flynn’s chest. He appeared on the verge of ripping the buttons off the deputy’s uniform-like a French general with a disgraced officer. It was surprising when he merely asked instead, “Did you finish getting her statement?”
“Yes sir,” Flynn responded promptly.
Bucheck peered up at him from beneath the peak of his cap as if to confirm that he was not being kidded. He looked as if it was not the first time he had thought so, but the bland countenance of the younger man apparently satisfied him. He grunted and turned to walk in the direction of the car where Miss Young was still sitting. As he and Flynn came up behind him, Bucheck inclined his head to the driver’s window. “Did you ask this guy Tuesday to drive you home?” he asked.
A choking, angry protest rose in his throat but before it could be voiced she answered firmly. “No. Mr. Tuesday offered to drive me home and I accepted. Is there any reason why he shouldn’t?”
Bucheck merely grunted again and straightened up to face him and Flynn. “Okay, pal. You take care of the lady and we’ll take care of her car.” A faint smirk curled one corner of his mouth as he added, “I’ll be sure to tell them not to deliver it too early so’s not to disturb anybody.”
He had never deliberately struck anybody in anger in his life, but Bucheck seemed to be purposely trying to goad him into some such overt act. There was an undertone of personal animosity in his snide manner that was mystifying. The realization tempered his anger and the tenseness of the moment was almost ludicrously dissolved when Flynn spoke up again.
“Miss Young doesn’t need her car until the afternoon, anyhow, Stan.”
Bucheck’s smirk was replaced with a snarl. “Why didn’t ya’ say so in the first place?” He hunched his back and turned away from them. Flynn gazed at the back of his head impassively, and said nothing.
They were a strange pair-as different internally as they were externally. The older one, with sallow complexion and wiry body, whose blood seemingly bubbled and seethed with an unbridled hatred for everyone and everything around him. While the younger one, whose ruddy face glowed with vigor and health, apparently had ice water coursing through his veins that numbed his capacity for caring one way or the other about anything or anybody. It was difficult to assess which would make the most dangerous adversary-but an aura of danger did emanate from both of them.
“Thanks for your cooperation,” he said pointedly to Flynn.
The young deputy blinked once and responded with the same meaningless, “Yes sir.”
He walked around the rear of the car to the passenger side and opened the front door. Miss Young got out, stumbled slightly on the uneven surface of the shoulder and fell against him. He thought he heard Bucheck snicker softly as he grasped her by the arm and put his other hand lightly on the small of her back. She was taller than he thought she would be. Her eyes were only a few inches below the level of his own. Her face was so close to his that he could feel her warm breath on his cheek when she spoke.
“Thank you, I guess I’m just a little stiff from sitting so long.”
She leaned on his arm as they walked back to his car. He opened the door and she got in, swinging her short-skirted legs in after her. Going around the front to the driver’s side he got in behind the wheel. The two deputies were standing side by side at the rear of the sheriff’s car. Bucheck was leaning against the left rear fender with his arms crossed on his narrow chest. Flynn stood with his hands on his hips, the pose emphasizing the breadth of his shoulders and slimness of his waist. In contrast to Bucheck’s; which concealed nothing of what he was thinking; the young deputy’s face was utterly devoid of expression. But still, as he pulled out onto the roadway and drove past it was Bucheck who ignored their departure. Glancing in the rearview mirror, he saw Flynn staring after them.