Chapter 8

Russ Bates was staring at the waitress's lovely tit-cleavage as she bent low before him to take his order. The diner on Main Street wasn't too crowded this morning and the waitress didn't mind lingering and even shaking her knockers a little before Russ' appreciative eyes. She was a little older than the babe he was looking for Russ thought, but he wouldn't mind checking her birthmark or her pussy either. He ordered bacon, eggs and toast, with the bacon crisp. As she turned to give his order, he heard snatches of conversation from two men sitting next to him at the counter that made him perk up.

"The mystery murder witness that Hempstead paper's talkin' about must be a client of Al Higdon's. Two detectives from the Hempstead DA. were in his office all afternoon," one of the men was saying.

Russ had been concentrating on his breakfast at first, only half-hearing the conversation going on beside him. But finally his attention had been trapped.

It must be the same murder that the woman Diane had mentioned the previous day, he thought. The town seemed to be buzzing about it.

The waitress was talking now, "According to the paper, the girl stopped her car when she saw the murderer's car standing with its lights on and a door open. She got out and walked to the side of the road, and there was this guy down in the ditch just taking his hands off the woman's throat."

"What does the paper say about the killer?" the man asked, chomping potatoes.

"Let's see... " The waitress straightened up, robbing him and (and Russ also)

of what had been an excellent view of her lush tits.

She picked up a rumpled newspaper and began to read from the front page: "The suspect was described as middle-aged and thick-set with a very mean expression on his face."

The girl looked up. "I don't wonder his expression was mean. He'd just killed somebody, for cripes sake."

She resumed reading: "It is understood that the witness did not make a note of the killer's auto license number, since he turned to pursue her as soon as he realized he'd been seen. She identified his car as a late-model Continental and noticed that its license frames bore the name of a New York dealer, but she is reported to have been unable to remember the dealer's name.

"Police in New York have been alerted and an all-points bulletin has gone out."

As he chewed his breakfast slowly, Russ began to think about what he had just overheard. His thought processes blotted out the rest of the conversation.

The killer had been a heavy set man. That was the first fact that stuck in Russ' mind. He was a heavy man who was probably well-heeled, since he drove a Continental. And he evidently lived in New York.

The witness had been a girl, and she'd been standing at the edge of the roadway looking down into the ditch where the murder had taken place. When the man had lamed and looked up at her, the girl had run. That meant that the man probably hadn't gotten a very good look at her. It had been at night. Probably all he'd seen of her were her legs, before she'd backed away and run to her car.

Damn! Russ thought. It could be! It just could be!

He left the rest of his breakfast, taking time only to gulp down his coffee before he walked to the cash register to pay his check.

When the cashier handed him his change, he asked, "Who's Alfred Higdon - a lawyer in town?"

"Yes, sir," she said. "His office is on Main Street, a little ways west of her. Right across from Miller's Hardware."

"Thanks," Russ said and walked out of the motel coffee shop.

What if the man who'd hired him to find the girl with a birthmark had been the killer? It was possible, wasn't it? If the girl witness had a birthmark on her leg, that would probably have been the only distinguishing thing about her that the guy would have noticed, assuming she'd been wearing shorts or something like that. Many of the women did wear shorts around town.

If the man Russ had met on Main Street in Lynbrook was the killer, and if the girl he'd hired Russ to find was the only witness to the lulling, it didn't take a mental giant to figure out what would happen after Russ located her (if he did) and gave her identity to the tank-set man. Her life wouldn't be worth a dime. Russ would be signing her death warrant when he made his report to the man he knew only by the code name of "Dave."

Russ had thought right from the beginning that the thick-set man's story was phony. And the guy had made a big thing out of keeping his identity a secret. Also, he'd been anxious to find the girl - anxious enough to stand still for a boost of three hundred bucks in the fee he'd originally offered to pay.

With each step, as he walked to his car, Russ became more inclined to believe that he had indeed talked with the killer and that he alone knew how to get in touch with the man. Hell, he could lead the police right to him, Rust realized. All he'd have to do would be to run the newspaper ad that the man had prescribed as a means for Russ to get in touch with him, then set up a meeting where the cops would be staked out.

But he didn't really know that the man was the killer, did he?

There would be one way to clinch the matter, he reasoned. If the unidentified witness to the murder turned out to be a girl with a birthmark on her right leg, there would no longer be any doubt.

He began to drive in the direction of Attorney Higdon's office.

Curiosity had at first impelled him to go there and see what he could find out. But now, after he had thought the matter over, he was more than just curious. He had to know about that witness. He had to find out who she was... and, somehow, he had to find out if she had a birthmark on her right leg.

Wait, an inner voice told him. Better not be hasty. Take time to think things over.

Russ slowed his car, letting it creep along the lightly traveled street which now baked in the morning sunshine. Though only nine o'clock, the temperature was already close to ninety.

The blast of a horn behind him announced the fact that a kid in a bright red Pontiac wanted to get by. Russ pulled over.

A new thought occurred to Russ. If the witness did have a birthmark, which would mean that the man who'd hired Russ was the killer, Russ might have to turn over to the police the money that the guy had paid him. Come to think of it, he probably hadn't had a legal right to take the money in the first place. He wasn't sure, but he would have bet that only a licensed detective could legally take money to help someone find a missing person.

Certainly if the man he was dealing with turned out to be the killer, and if Russ went to the police with the story, there'd be no chance of him getting the additional four hundred dollars. He'd just have to kiss that extra loot good-bye.

That thought didn't set well.

But what else could he do? Finger an innocent person to be killed?

Russ didn't want to do that, either. So where did that leave him?

All he was sure of, at that point, was that he shouldn't tip his hand right away.

It would be all right to nose around and try to learn the identity of the secret witness, if he could. Then he could try to check out the birthmark. If the witness had one, that would be time enough to decide what to do next.

Even if he'd made up his mind to go to the police - which he hadn't - he wouldn't want to do it without checking on the birthmark first. He might only make a fool out of himself... and get in trouble for taking money from the man and have to give the dough back, even though the guy wasn't the killer.

He spotted Miller's hardware store ahead of him. Across the street was a small buff-colored building with a neat wooden sign posted in front of it which read, Alfred Higdon, Attorney at Law.

Russ pulled his Chevy over to the curb and parked.

He turned off the motor and remained behind the steering wheel, drumming his fingers on the light-colored plastic.

What to do?

If he just walked into the lawyer's office and asked him who the witness was, what reason did he have to think that Higdon would tell anything? Lawyers were supposed to protect their clients, weren't they?

Russ decided he would have to approach the matter in another way.

But how?

Perhaps a neighbor-someone across the street from the lawyer's office or next door- would have noticed who it was who'd left the office yesterday after the detective had been there. It was a long shot, but it might be worth a try.

On the other hand, though, if Russ started to ask questions he might arouse suspicions. This was a murder case, and the whole town was excited over it. Also, Russ was a stranger.

What the hell could he do?

He had to find out the truth. He couldn't just go on looking for the girl with the birthmark, not knowing whether or not she was tied up with the murder.

Maybe he should drop the whole thing, he thought. He'd gotten four hundred dollars out of the deal. So if he hightailed it out of town and up north as he'd planned to do before he'd met the man, what would happen to him?

He remembered the man's threat. If the guy was a killer, Russ thought, maybe he was also in the underworld. He'd told Russ he had influence and had implied that the influence would help him locate Russ if Russ tried to run out. Russ remembered what he had read about crime syndicates. They had enforcers, didn't they? Paid assassins?

But, hell, if the man had anybody like that working for him, why would he have hired Russ to hunt for the girl in Lynnbrook? He would have put his own finger-man on the job. Russ was inclined to believe the fat man had been bluffing.

But did he really want to run out, anyway, Russ asked himself. Maybe there was a better way to play it.

He continued to mull over the matter, not coming up with any answer that would help. He was apparently involved in something damned sticky, and he didn't know what to do about it.

Of course, there was always the chance that he was excited over nothing at all. There were lots of middle-aged thick-set men in the world, and that was the only definite point of information that seemed to tie the man in New York in with the murder case. But no. There were other things, too. The witness was a girl, and the man wanted to find a girl. The man was very anxious about it, and who would be more anxious than a killer who wanted to eliminate the only witness against him? Also, the man had insisted on keeping his identity confidential.

The more Russ thought about it, the more convinced he became that there was a tie-in.

So that left him right where he had been for several minutes now. The question was: What the devil was he going to do?

He could stay where he was and keep watch on Higdon's office, just on the chance that he might spot a girl with a birth-marked leg walking in or out. But that was no good. He doubted that even in Lynnbrook women wore shorts when they called on their lawyers.

Run, something told him again. But he resisted the impulse as he had done before.

He sat in the midst of uncertainty, seemingly unable to move either way. He had a probable killer's money in his pocket, and the probable killer was waiting to hear from him. At the same time, a girl's life might lie in the balance.

Why in hell had he gotten mixed up in the thing in the first place, he wondered desperately. Of course, the four hundred dollars was the answer. Yes, and there was another four hundred to be made, if he knew how to go about it.

Then with a peculiar slowness, considering its awesome implications, a new idea trickled into his brain. He realized for the first time that there was more to be made then four hundred dollars-a lot more. If fat-boy "Dave" was a murderer, not only the birth-marked girl but Russ too, was in a position to make trouble for him. That meant it would be worth good money-big money-to the man to keep both Russ and the girl quiet.

"Yeah."

Russ pulled out a cigarette and lit it. He stared at the match for several seconds before shaking it out.

He could get burned. He could get burned badly.

But maybe there was a way...

He had to find out who the witness was, and if she had a birthmark. He had to do it right now. And the answer lay in Alfred Higdon's office.

Russ got out of his car, threw his cigarette to the concrete and stepped on it. Then he headed across the street.

Penny Williams was miserable that morning. She wouldn't even have gone to work except that, if she hadn't, it would have meant she'd have had to stay home with her mother, which would have been worse.

There was not only the awful scene she'd had with Jack Brooks - the way he had talked to her - but there was the fact that her story of the murder was all over town. The article in the Hempstead paper had included just about everything but her name. She wasn't sure how long that would be kept confidential, either. If it were up to Jim Navell, he would respect her wishes, she believed, but she wasn't sure about the two city detectives who were in charge of the case. They'd seemed much less cooperative. Penny assumed that they were the ones who'd given the newspaper the facts it had printed that morning.

Her boss was in court again. That meant she was alone, with a fresh stack of typing and a couple of ringing telephones. The word had gotten out that her boss knew the mysterious witness in the beach road murder case, and people had been calling about that in addition to normal legal affairs.

When the outer door opened, Penny looked up half expecting to see one of the detectives she'd talked with the day before, or a reporter, or some local busybody. The rugged good-looking man in slacks and sport shirt was a pleasant surprise.

"Yes, sir?" she said, finding that a smile came easier than she'd thought it would.

"Mr. Higdon in?" Russ asked as he admired the full-breasted reddish-blonde behind the desk. They sure grew them pretty in these parts, he commented to himself.

"I'm sorry, he isn't. Is there something I could do for you?"

Darned if there wasn't, Russ thought. But he said, with only an eye-sparkle to give away his true feelings, "I'm afraid not. I wanted to consult him ... ah, professionally."

"Oh, are you a client?"

"I might become one," Russ said. "I wanted to see him about having a will prepared." This had been the best pretext he could think of for striking up an acquaintance with the lawyer.

"Mr. Higdon's in court this morning," Penny said. "He may be in after lunch, if the case isn't held over."

"I see." Russ hesitated. "Man, it feels good to step into this air-conditioning. It's well on its way to a hundred degrees out there."

Penny didn't think it would go quite that high this time of the year, but she didn't say so. She merely responded. "You're welcome to sit down and cool off if you'd like."

"Thank you." Russ grinned at her and took a chair.

After returning his smile, Penny re-directed her attention to her typewriter.

Russ didn't let her get started. "That murder the other night - everybody around here is sure hipped on it, aren't they?"

Penny looked at him quickly. A slight prickle of fear touched the back of her neck.

Russ grinned again. "I understand your boss is mixed up in the thing." He added quickly, "Representing a witness, I mean."

"Yes, he is."

"Who is it, anyway?" Russ asked in a casual tone. "Do you know?"

Maybe he is a detective, Penny thought, or maybe.... Fear gripped her as she considered the possibility that Russ had been sent by the heavy-set man.

She tried to keep the fear out of her voice and only half-succeeded: "I don't know who it is."

Russ had caught what he considered a strange note in her answer. He decided to pursue the point with her. "I'll bet you're curious, aren't you?"

She busied herself adjusting the paper in her typewriter. "I suppose so."

"Were you here yesterday when the detectives were questioning the girl?"

Penny looked at him, the concern in her eyes all-too-obvious. "Are you - working on the case?"

Russ shook his head. "I told you-I just came in to have a will prepared."

He was wondering about her reaction to his questions. She seemed edgy. He would have but she knew who the witness was, all right, and that he had warned her against talking to anyone.

Now that he had gone this for, Russ didn't want to quit. If he could find out from Higdon's secretary what he wanted to know, he wouldn't have to talk with die lawyer at all, and that would be so much the better.

Penny was looking over her shorthand notes, her eyes carefully avoiding his.

Russ decided to be bold, in the hope of breaking through the girl's defense. He said. "I know something about that case myself. If I could get in touch with the witness, we might be able to help one another."

Penny stared. "Wh-what do you mean?"

"I wouldn't want to talk with anyone but her," he said firmly.

Penny continued to look at him, fear crouching in her eyes. Her lips were slightly parted. "Maybe ... that is, Mr. Higdon might be able to arrange it if you spoke with him."

Russ held her gaze levelly. "Why should I talk with Higdon when you can tell me who the witness is?"

"But I can't. I..."

"Come on now." He grinned. "When do you have your break? Maybe we could get a cup of coffee or something and talk about it. Away from the office, there'd be no reason why you couldn't speak frankly."

"Just what do you want?" Penny demanded, her voice quavering.

"I want to meet that girl."

"Why?"

"So we can compare notes about something."

"You mean, Penny said, "That you saw the murderer, too?"

"Maybe."

She continued to stare.

As his gaze remained locked with hers, Russ wondered why the lawyer's secretary should be so concerned - so fearful. There was no doubt that fear was what he read in her eyes. The witness was just a client, wasn't she? Why would it make any difference to this girl?

And then a wild thought struck him: Suppose the witness wasn't a client, at all. Suppose it was the girl he was looking at right now.

She was young. He glanced at her legs, which were only partially visible from where he sat. They were tanned, all right. Of course, that didn't really mean anything in itself, but she could very well be the one.

"Who are you working for?" Penny asked.

"Myself."

She continued to look at him and didn't say anything.

"That girl, whoever she is, is in trouble," Russ remarked, seeking to draw a further reaction. "I can help her. If she and I were to get together, we could do ourselves some good."

"You said that before," Penny replied. "Just what do you mean?"

Russ smiled. "I also said before that I wouldn't talk with anyone but the witness."

"If you know anything about the case," Penny said slowly, "you ought to go to the sheriffs office."

"I thought of that," Russ admitted. "But, then, I was afraid."

"Afraid?"

"That man-the killer-he's a bad one to cross."

"You know him?" Penny demanded.

"I can't say any more except to the girl. You'd be doing her a favor by telling me who she is."

"I just don't..." The sentence died out. Penny's lips quivered.

"It's you, isn't it?" Russ said boldly.

"No!"

"Let me ask you something," he went on, "and then you can decide whether or not you ought to level with me. Do you have a strawberry birthmark on the outside of your right leg?"

"What?" She almost strangled on the word, as if the man's hands were even then around her throat. How would this man know about the birthmark unless he ...

"You have one, haven't you?" Russ said. He felt new confidence now.

"What difference does that... I mean..."

"The killer saw it. He doesn't know who you are, but he knows about the birthmark. He hired me to find you."

Penny stared, frozen, her lips parted but unable to utter a sound.

Russ stood up. "I guess my job is done, huh? All I have to do is report back to him and collect the rest of the money he promised me."

"Wait!" Penny said. "You're mistaken. I don't have any birthmark."

Russ grinned. "Show me."

"I can't do that," she said.

He told her, "I think you're the one." He walked toward the door, feeling her eyes all but burning holes in his back. He stopped and slowly turned to face her again. "The devil of it is, I don't want to go through with the deal. I had no idea when I took the job that there was a murder involved-that the man wanted to find you so that he could, well, eliminate you as a witness."

Penny gasped, her hand rising to her mouth.

"But I have some money at stake," Russ went on. "If I don't report back to him, I'll lose it." Then he paused thoughtfully. "Of course, there is another way."

"What... other way?" Penny's voice was hoarse with tension.

"You and I could work a little deal." Russ studied her. "This guy is loaded. He'll pay for silence."

Penny continued to stare at the man for several moments, and then in panic her hand reached for the telephone. "I'm going to call the sheriffs office," she announced.

Russ grinned. "And tell them what?"

"Just what you said. That you're working for the murderer and..."

"There's no proof of that. The cops can question me from here on out and they'll never come up with anything. In a day or so they'll have to turn me loose. When they do, I can still put a call through to the man."

"You fiend," Penny said softly, holding the telephone receiver in a trembling hand.

"I'm nothing like that," Russ said. "If I were, I'd have never suggested we make a deal. Why don't you think it over before you do anything rash? I'll hang around for a while and get in touch with you later."

"But I don't understand," Penny said desperately. "What are you after?"

"Money," Russ told her. "Lots of money. For both of us. There'll be enough money to take you out of this dinky town, if you want to go."

"Blackmail," Penny said. "That's what you mean, isn't it?"

"Why not? It's not as bad as murder."

"I couldn't do anything like that. It's against the law and it would be dangerous." Penny was breathing hard, her big tits rising and falling beneath her snowy white blouse.

"Not as dangerous as testifying against the fat man, locked up, he'd find a way to reach you. Just how long do you think your identity will stay a secret in a little town like this?"

Penny continued to hold the telephone, not knowing what to do. The idea of making any kind of deal with the man who faced her - particularly for blackmail - was unthinkable. And yet she was afraid to call the sheriffs office.

If she just had some time, she could run away.

But where would she go? And on what? Her meager savings weren't enough to get her started somewhere else and to support her mother here at the same time.

Oh, God, why did this have to happen to her?

"Why don't you be smart, baby?" Russ asked, seeing that he had her corning his way whether she liked it or not. "I'll take care of everything. Just put yourself in my hands. It will be quick and it will be easy. From that point on, we'll both be sitting on top of the world."

"But it would be against the law," Penny heard herself saying. "It would mean doing business with a murderer..."

"He'll get caught eventually," Russ said. "The police will accomplish that. They'll identify the woman he killed and that will lead to him. We'll just have made ourselves a little money and you'll be protecting your skin in the meantime. It's the only smart thing to do from your standpoint, baby."

Penny Williams looked pleadingly at the handsome, curly-haired young man who was so confidently giving her the courses of action open to her. She couldn't help comparing his muscular build and rugged physique with that soft almost effeminate-looking Jack Brookes. She'd bet a man like him knew what to do with the tits and cunt of a woman freely given, he'd never act or talk like that narrow-minded old maid, Jack Brooks. Her womanly instinct was to trust him, but the events of the last two days made her put a tight vein on her feelings. She had to be logical, she told herself.

"My name is Russ Bates," the good-looking six-footer was saying, "I'll give you some time to think about the things we've been talking about and I'll call you later. What did you say your name was?"

"Penny Williams," she sighed