Chapter 13

Captain Williams stared at his image in the mirror over the back bar at Jako's Cocktail Lounge, a small bar around the corner from the Municipal Building. He looked at the coalblack hair streaked with silver and the face, still somewhat youthful, strong but tired-looking, with eyes that were soft. He frowned. They were that. Everybody knew it. Even though he made a lot of noise, everybody knew the captain was soft. It showed through his eyes. He shrugged disgustedly and focused on his drink again. Why the hell did they put mirrors in bars?

He finished his drink and ordered another. "Scotch and water?" the bartender said. "Please," said the captain and he scowled. If that man didn't know what the captain drank by now, what the hell was he doing behind the bar? He fished his last cigarette from the pack and lit it. He glanced at the clock again. He frowned. He didn't usually drink in the daytime, but sometimes he needed a bracer. Actually he shouldn't drink at all. It just made things more difficult, even though he drank to make them easier.

He finished the drink, then got up and started back to his office.

At the corner he glanced across the street toward the police station. The ambulance was gone and he felt somewhat relieved. The last attack had been a bad one. Bernie had gone into convulsions, then stopped breathing. Even the sedative hadn't helped and the man who guarded Bernie's door had worked over him until the respirator arrived. Then they took him to the State Hospital on Twenty-Fourth Street, where he could be kept asleep.

But for how long? It was a hell of a way of putting it, but that's what it amounted to. People who sleep must wake up. If they are to stay awake, they must be given a reason to do so. They must be told-but told what? The captain frowned. That's what he had to find out. He had to learn what had happened in that motel room. He had to find out the truth-and hope it was a truth that perhaps even Bernie didn't know.

It was a lot to ask of chance. Captain Williams scowled. Too many thoughts-too damn many thoughts ... He entered his office and collided with a corner of his desk as he moved around it. Too damn many thoughts! He should never have stopped at Jako's. He knew better! He wasn't tight, dammit, but it did mar his thinking. It sharpened it and too many things came at once.

He dropped into his chair and picked up the fingerprint report again. New names had been added. Prints belonging to Rose had been identified in the motel room, also some of the daughter, Sarah's. There were none belonging to Mike.

That didn't matter. Whoever came in didn't have to touch anything except the gun and of course that was wiped clean. Where was Bernie at the time? Caught in the same surprise as Cy? Too late to stop the killer. So why did the killer let Bernie live? Because the killer knew Bernie would never give him away? Nonsense! What killer could be that sure?

Mike?

Even Mike. For all Mike knew, Bernie hated him. Bernie gave him cause to think that. He went out of his way to give him cause to think that.

Perhaps the killer didn't see Bernie. That was possible, but not probable. The killer saw Bernie, but maybe Bernie didn't see the killer. That was more likely. The killer had knocked him out. No, Bernie would have seen him first. Perhaps he was out when the killer arrived. That was more likely. The big man knocked him out or pushed him or something, and Bernie was out cold when the killer arrived.

When he came to, Bernie saw the big man was dead. And he thought Mike had done it.

The captain fished for a cigarette. Damn! He had forgotten to buy a pack before he'd left the bar. How had Mike put it?

"He took the rifle and left. He told me to stay here."

"And did you?"

"Yes, sir," Mike said.

Did he? He may have. But Bernie didn't know! He might have thought Mike did go there. And if he didn't know for sure, then the chance of a truth that Bernie didn't know was multiplied.

It could have been someone else.

Jack ... the drifter hired to compromise Bernie....

Why would the drifter kill the big man? He was getting his money. Cy's wallet was on the floor and there was a ten-dollar bill in his hand. It was clenched there long after death. No, the captain thought, you don't kill a man for ten dollars-then leave the money in his hand.

But the gun was Bernie's-or at least Mike's. It was still plausible. Bernie was probably telling the truth about that. He might have brought the gun with him, probably in a rage, to threaten the big man, to try and frighten him off. It would be a stupid move against such a man or one made in sheer desperation. The latter was possible in Bernie's case.

The captain's thoughts were interrupted by Patowski entering with a large index folder which he handed to Captain Williams.

"I had to wait for the lab report," the younger officer said, sitting in the chair opposite the captain's desk. "It was the same gun, all right. The bullets matched."

The captain grunted. "And what about this guy Jack? Has he been picked up yet?"

"Not yet. But we'll get him," Patowski said, grinning.

"You seem very confident."

"Well, that's what Mr. Billings said," the officer added quickly, the grin disappearing. "We have a good description from the people at the Post Bar. We have a pick-up on him in Houston and Dallas, too."

"I doubt if he went that way," the captain said. "Probably headed for California. That's where they usually go from here."

"There weren't too many people registered at the Bel-Plaines," the officer continued. "The front part had some tenants, but the back row of cabins was almost empty. That's probably why no one heard the shot-or thought it was traffic. There was only one old couple from Illinois in the section-vacationers. But they checked out before morning. We got the dope on them from the desk clerk, though. We'll catch up with them."

"Good," the captain said. He looked up from the folder.

"You know where the Sun Valley Motor Court is in Mesa?" Patowski nodded.

I want you to go over there and nose around that park. Never mind the mother and daughter right now. I want you to talk to the neighbors, the people across the way and the people who run the place. You know what I mean?"

"Yes, sir," the officer said rising. Then he added, "What am I suppose to find out?"

"How the hell do I know?" the captain said. "Just go."

The officer obeyed and the captain went back to the index folder.

"And another thing," the captain said as the officer was leaving. "Get rid of that damn uniform!"

Captain Williams growled under his breath.

Monkey suits ."..'I

Captain Williams slid into the corner booth at the Pancake House, which was on First Street diagonally across the street from his office. He'd intended to have a sandwich before heading out to the Mesa suburb, but decided not to take the time and settled for a quick coffee instead.

The pretty waitress in the green uniform hesitated after she set the cup in front of him. Finally she spoke.

"I wondered," she said, and she frowned, trying to sound off-hand, but the captain could see that she was nervous. "I just wondered about that motel thing last night. I read about it in the paper this morning."

"Oh?"

"I mean ... I wondered if you were working on that."

"A lot of people are," the captain said.

"I was wondering about Bernie-Bernie Evans. I saw them taking someone away in an ambulance across the street. It was Bernie, wasn't it."

"Yes," the captain said. "He's at State Hospital."

"State?" she said, "That's the mental hospital."

"He's had a pretty bad shock, I'm afraid."

"Is he-all right?"

"It's hard to tell yet," the captain said and he watched the girl curiously as she started to leave, then turn back.

"I wondered," she said, "When you find out how he is-I'd certainly appreciate if you'd tell me." She tried to smile, then shrugged. "I mean, if you can."

The captain smiled. "I'd be glad to," he said, then he added. "Are you a friend of Bernie's?"

The waitress frowned, as though it were a difficult question.

"I don't know him too well," she said at last, and her voice had grown distant. Then she recovered as she became aware the captain was staring at her. She managed a slight answering smile. "He used to come in here quite a bit."

Captain Williams nodded. He watched the girl as she disappeared behind the heavy doors that led to the kitchen of the restaurant.

How many lonely people there are in the world, he thought. He glanced toward the doors again. Behind them she was crying, he supposed.

When she stood in front of him, he could see that she had been crying. And when she left, heading toward the kitchen, he knew she was about to cry again.

The captain finished his coffee, then left the restaurant.