me.”
“Where is he then? You’re his wife. He wouldn’t leave without telling you.”
“He said that he was coming into town, to see Mr. Linebarge. That’s all he said.”
Cleat glanced questioningly at me.
“She’s telling the truth,” I said. “Miner came to my office this morning. I told you that.”
Cleat turned back to the woman, hunching his shoulders melodramatically. “What else did he tell you, Amy?”
“Nothing.”
“Who’s A.G.L. here?”
“I don’t know,” she said.
He lifted his open hand, which resembled a rough-cut piece of one-inch planking. Her eyes followed its movement in fascination.
I stepped between them, facing Cleat. “Break it up, Lieutenant. If you want to question her, use words. You have a few.”
There was a brisk tapping on the door.
“I’m doing my job,” he said. “It wouldn’t be so tough if you’d do yours. I don’t care how you treat your Goddamn clients. Only keep them in line, that’s all I ask. Keep them out of trouble, out of my hair.”
I had no good answer. Miner had made me vulnerable.
The door swung wide, flooding half of the room withsunlight. The uniformed policeman on guard outside said, with the air of a butler announcing a V.I.P.: “Mr. Forest is here, from the F.B.I.”
“Fine.” Cleat swung his cigar towards Amy Miner: “I want this biddy locked up as a material witness. No bail.”
“Witness to what?” she cried on a rising note. “You can’t put me in jail. I haven’t done nothing.”
“It’s for your own protection, Mrs. Miner.” The formula came out pat. “We let you run around loose, you could end up in an alley with an icepick in
your
neck.”
She turned to me, her thin torso leaning tensely forward from the hips: “How can he, Mr. Cross? I’m innocent. They haven’t got nothing on Fred even.”
“Lieutenant Cleat has the right,” I said. “Your husband’s under suspicion. They’ll let you go as soon as he’s cleared.”
“If,” Cleat said.
She batted her eyes like a scared filly, and ran for the door and the sunlight. The man who was coming in caught her around the waist, immobilized her flailing arms and passed her to the police guard. The guard pushed her towards the black car that was waiting in the drive. Her angular shadow merged with the shadow of the car.
The young man in the doorway was florid and stocky. His silhouette was almost square in a double-breasted business suit.
“I’m Forest, Special Agent,” he said briskly, and shook hands with efficient heartiness. “Our technicians are coming down in the mobile unit, should be here very soon. I understand there’s a ransom note?”
I quoted it, almost verbatim. It kept repeating itself in the back of my mind, like a song that was too ugly to forget.
Forest’s quick brown eyes steadied and sobered. “Nastypiece of work, eh? Who’s in charge of the case here?”
“Lieutenant Cleat is. The
corpus
was found in the city. But the boy lives in the county. If Miner snatched him, the crime originated in sheriff’s territory.”
“You with the sheriff’s department?”
“I’m a probation officer.” I explained who Miner was, and my connection with the case.
Forest turned to Cleat. “Call the sheriff, will you please, Lieutenant?” He added in a rather doctrinaire tone: “Cooperation with local agencies is our first principle.”
Cleat glanced involuntarily at the body on the table. It had been all his until now. “Okay.” He removed his cigar, threw it on the concrete floor, ground it to shreds with his heel, and left the room. A bleat of organ music came through the inner door before he closed it.
Forest went to the body. His practiced hands dove in and out of the pockets. “Ugly customer, eh?”
“Handsome is as handsome does. I searched him when I found him. Nothing useful, except a pocket comb with his initials, A.G.L. The murderer didn’t want him identified too soon.”
“He was stabbed, wasn’t he? Where’s
“Where is he then? You’re his wife. He wouldn’t leave without telling you.”
“He said that he was coming into town, to see Mr. Linebarge. That’s all he said.”
Cleat glanced questioningly at me.
“She’s telling the truth,” I said. “Miner came to my office this morning. I told you that.”
Cleat turned back to the woman, hunching his shoulders melodramatically. “What else did he tell you, Amy?”
“Nothing.”
“Who’s A.G.L. here?”
“I don’t know,” she said.
He lifted his open hand, which resembled a rough-cut piece of one-inch planking. Her eyes followed its movement in fascination.
I stepped between them, facing Cleat. “Break it up, Lieutenant. If you want to question her, use words. You have a few.”
There was a brisk tapping on the door.
“I’m doing my job,” he said. “It wouldn’t be so tough if you’d do yours. I don’t care how you treat your Goddamn clients. Only keep them in line, that’s all I ask. Keep them out of trouble, out of my hair.”
I had no good answer. Miner had made me vulnerable.
The door swung wide, flooding half of the room withsunlight. The uniformed policeman on guard outside said, with the air of a butler announcing a V.I.P.: “Mr. Forest is here, from the F.B.I.”
“Fine.” Cleat swung his cigar towards Amy Miner: “I want this biddy locked up as a material witness. No bail.”
“Witness to what?” she cried on a rising note. “You can’t put me in jail. I haven’t done nothing.”
“It’s for your own protection, Mrs. Miner.” The formula came out pat. “We let you run around loose, you could end up in an alley with an icepick in
your
neck.”
She turned to me, her thin torso leaning tensely forward from the hips: “How can he, Mr. Cross? I’m innocent. They haven’t got nothing on Fred even.”
“Lieutenant Cleat has the right,” I said. “Your husband’s under suspicion. They’ll let you go as soon as he’s cleared.”
“If,” Cleat said.
She batted her eyes like a scared filly, and ran for the door and the sunlight. The man who was coming in caught her around the waist, immobilized her flailing arms and passed her to the police guard. The guard pushed her towards the black car that was waiting in the drive. Her angular shadow merged with the shadow of the car.
The young man in the doorway was florid and stocky. His silhouette was almost square in a double-breasted business suit.
“I’m Forest, Special Agent,” he said briskly, and shook hands with efficient heartiness. “Our technicians are coming down in the mobile unit, should be here very soon. I understand there’s a ransom note?”
I quoted it, almost verbatim. It kept repeating itself in the back of my mind, like a song that was too ugly to forget.
Forest’s quick brown eyes steadied and sobered. “Nastypiece of work, eh? Who’s in charge of the case here?”
“Lieutenant Cleat is. The
corpus
was found in the city. But the boy lives in the county. If Miner snatched him, the crime originated in sheriff’s territory.”
“You with the sheriff’s department?”
“I’m a probation officer.” I explained who Miner was, and my connection with the case.
Forest turned to Cleat. “Call the sheriff, will you please, Lieutenant?” He added in a rather doctrinaire tone: “Cooperation with local agencies is our first principle.”
Cleat glanced involuntarily at the body on the table. It had been all his until now. “Okay.” He removed his cigar, threw it on the concrete floor, ground it to shreds with his heel, and left the room. A bleat of organ music came through the inner door before he closed it.
Forest went to the body. His practiced hands dove in and out of the pockets. “Ugly customer, eh?”
“Handsome is as handsome does. I searched him when I found him. Nothing useful, except a pocket comb with his initials, A.G.L. The murderer didn’t want him identified too soon.”
“He was stabbed, wasn’t he? Where’s
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