Assignment — Angelina by Edward S. Aarons Page B

was badly battered, and there was blood on each hand where his fingernails had been crushed, and there was blood on the dungarees between his legs. Durell let out his breath in a long sigh. His face was like stone as he stepped beside the pirogue and very carefully loosened the wide leather belt around the trousers and looked at the ugly wound between the dead man's legs. He tasted acid in his throat. He suddenly felt cold.
    A quick, shuddering gasp came from behind him and he looked up and saw Angelina with both hands pressed hard across her mouth.
    "Get away," he said harshly.
    "But why... how could they..."
    "Don't ask me. I told you to get away." Durell straightened and pushed her back toward the trail. Angelina stumbled and fell to her knees and covered her face with her hands. A moaning came from her. Durell said quickly: "Is that your runabout, with the pirogue?"
    Her head moved, nodding. Her hair screened her face.
    "How did you happen to find him here?" he insisted.
    "I... I usually come to his house this way."
    "And he was alive when you found him?"
    "I thought he was, yes."
    Durell was insistent. "Did he say anything to vou at all? Did he say who did it?"
    "N-no."
    "Didn't you examine him when you found him?"
    "I was... I didn't want to touch him."
    The silent green of the underbrush and the dark waters of the swamp were suddenly and infinitely menacing. Durell still felt cold. "Go ahead and be sick, if you want to…" he said gently.
    She shook her head. "I'm all right now."
    He helped her to her feet. Her weight was soft and heavy against him. "Sam, I don't understand. Why should anyone do such a horrible thing? What kind of men were they?"
    "I don't know," he said. His voice was curiously flat. "I expect to find out."
* * *
    He had the feeling they were being watched. The way back to the house seemed shorter on the return than on going, and although he saw nothing out of the ordinary, the feeling that his every step was being observed remained with him. Angelina walked quietly beside him. Some of the shock was gone from her eyes, and he kept talking to her, questioning her, to help her mind with other problems.
    "Were you in love with him, Angelina?"
    "I don't know. Perhaps. What is love? He was a good man. He wanted me; he was in love with me for a long time." Her eyes slanted briefly up at Durell's lean face. "Nobody has ever had me since we — since you, Sam. Do you believe that?"
    "Why not?" he said. "Yes, I believe you."
    "I was in love with you. I know what that was like. It was not the same with Pete. He tried to be successful, but some people never make it. No matter what they do or how hard they work, they are failures. It was like that with Pete. I know he wanted Papa's store. I guess he thought if he married me and had the store, he could run it and make out, somehow. But I never had in mind to let him take over the business from me. I know he would have ruined it, even with the best of intentions. He was that land of a man."
    "But you were going to marry him," Durell said.
    "Who else is there? A woman must have a man down here, or she dries up and dies in this swamp and heat. I could depend on Pete. He didn't drink or gamble. He was gentle with me." Her face moved, changing. Her mouth shook. "That terrible thing should not have been done to him."
    "He had something they wanted. Something you may know about. Jonathan tells me that you went through his stuff and tried to sell it off, the last time, when you thought he was dead. When he was down in Yucatan. If you went through the things he owned, you ought to have some idea of what it might be."
    "Oh, God," she said. "That.
    "What was it?"
    "So Jonathan told you. You must think I'm a greedy bitch."
    "I know what you are, Angelina," he said quietly.
    "Listen, Pete and I were engaged to be married. His family is gone; there was nobody but me. I tried to run his photo shop for him, at first, but I'm a business woman, not a photographer. Finally, when I