19
The fear that held John Hayden rooted to the floor in those next awful moments was two-edged and stunning in its impact. For it was not just the sight of the girl and the instant understanding of what must have happened here; it was the realization that without her there would be no testimony to be bought and paid for, no chance for the truth that would clear Marion and himself to be told.
He was moving as the thought hit him, shucking off his coat and tossing it aside, then dropping to one knee and lifting the limp torso while he supported the back of her head. He could feel the warmth of her body against him and he could see now that the stocking held no knot but had simply been twisted across her throat, apparently from the back. He saw the blood above and in back of the temple even though the thickness of the blond hair obscured the wound itself. But it was the color of her face that shocked him most.
There was a grayness beneath the make-up, and he spoke her name again, not knowing that he did so. He touched her cheek and there was warmth there, and he found a wrist and thought he sensed a pulse beat. But she did not seem to be breathing, and he lowered her and turned her face-down, frantic now and driven by a desperation that had as its focus the determination to make her breathe again.
Without experience, not daring to take the time to call a doctor, he moved astride her hips and put both hands beside the rib cage, low down, his fingers pressing and relaxing as he shifted his weight. He found a rhythm of sorts and hoped it was right. He counted, aware of nothing but the warmth of her and the movement he induced.
He was not sure how long it was before he felt a stirring beneath his fingertips. He was not even sure there was a movement at first. He made himself keep to the rhythm but more gently now. Then he felt the response and leaned close, his head beside hers, and heard the faint and labored and wonderful sound of her breathing.
His hands were sweaty and trembling as he caught a breath of his own, and it was then that he felt the cold draft sliding along the floor to touch his spine and make him wonder. Before he could understand this he heard the hoarse cry behind him and the sound of it made his scalp crawl. Somehow he managed to jerk his head around and for a long and terrifying second death stared back at him.
He saw the gun first and it was pointed right at him. He had no time to think, but his reaction was spontaneous and instinctive and he gave voice to it at once. He yelled, the words harsh and violent:
“George! Wait! I found her like this. I just got here.”
He swallowed in an effort to speak again. He moved aside with great caution, an inch at a time, his gaze fixed on George Freeman’s white and twisted face. The back of his neck was cold and there was a great emptiness inside him as he saw the tension in the hand that held the gun and the wild unseeing eyes. He knew he had to get through to the man, to make him see, and now he spoke again, his tone rough, profane, and jarring.
“She’s alive,” he said. “Help me, goddammit! Put that gun down and give me a hand!”
The face that had always seemed so bland and boyish remained pale and twisted but something happened to the eyes. Something had registered in the mind and there was a flicker of movement, a faint gleam of recognition, as Hayden pressed his advantage.
“Call the police!” he snapped. “Get a doctor and an ambulance. Hurry, damn it!”
That time the words got through. The gun wavered slightly, its muzzle dipping, and he began to breathe again. He could feel the perspiration break out on his forehead, the trickle of it down his sides. He could hear the rapid pulsing of his heart as Freeman finally moved.
“Who did it?” he demanded hoarsely.
“I don’t know.”
“I’ll kill him.”
“All right. But call a doctor first.”
He turned back to the girl to make sure she was still breathing. There was no sign of consciousness and his helplessness dismayed him. He wanted to do something about the wound on the head, but when he saw there seemed to be no more bleeding he let it alone and listened to Freeman give orders over the phone.
The first person to arrive in response to George Freeman’s telephone call was a uniformed State Policeman, a stone-faced, competent-looking fellow who, after his first quick glance about the room, went directly to the girl. When he straightened he asked a minimum of questions as he stepped over to the telephone. He was still talking when the doctor arrived.
Hayden, who had sat down on the couch because of the odd weakness in the back of his legs, watched the man take off his hat and coat and then move over to kneel beside the girl. He spent some time parting the blond hair and examining the wound; finally he pointed to the mark on her throat. He picked up the stocking that Hayden had discarded and glanced around.
“Did somebody try to strangle her?”
Hayden said he thought so. He explained where he had found the stocking and what he had done.
“I thought she was alive,” he said, “but I couldn’t tell whether she was breathing or not, so I tried to give her artificial respiration.”
“It did no harm,” the doctor said, “and it might have helped.” He cocked his head and Hayden heard the distant wail of a siren. It faded as he listened, but now there was a sound of a car moving down the driveway and the doctor said: “If that’s the ambulance will you ask them to come right in?”
Freeman, who had been standing near the door and saying nothing, turned and went out. When he returned he was followed by two men with a stretcher and blankets. As they put the stretcher down beside the girl the State Policeman spoke.
“Maybe the lieutenant ought to see her, Doc,” he said.
“I think it’s more important that we get her into oxygen right away,” the doctor replied and gave a silent signal to the two men.
They lifted her gently onto the stretcher and tucked a blanket about her. At a nod from the doctor they raised the stretcher, and as they started out he said he would call the hospital and alert them.
He had just finished with the telephone when Lieutenant Garvey came in with another officer who was also in plainclothes, a blocky, black-browed man a few years younger than his superior. He saw Hayden in his first all-inclusive glance, but if he felt any surprise it did not show. He apparently had been given some information either by telephone or radio and he now turned directly to the doctor.
“How bad is she?”
“Hard to tell.” The doctor glanced at Hayden. “I believe he can give you the details. All I can tell is that she has a concussion, possibly a severe one. We can’t know about a fracture until we’ve taken some pictures.”
“Will she live?”
“I’d say she has a reasonable chance.” He gestured with one hand. “But concussions are tricky. It’s not a sure thing by any means.”
“How long before she’ll be conscious?”
“Maybe an hour. Maybe a day, a week, maybe never.”
When the door closed behind the doctor, Garvey gave his full attention to Hayden. He took his time, the deep-set gray eyes probing and intent, his lips compressed but not grim.
“Have a good trip?” he asked dryly.
“I think it was worthwhile.”
“What makes you think so?”
“I got what I went after,” Hayden said. “I brought Corbin back with me.”
“Corbin?” Garvey considered the name. “That would be Mrs. Hayden’s first husband? Where did you locate him?”
“In Fairview, Alabama.”
“That’s across the Bay from Mobile. You must have beat the local boys to it.”
“But not by much.”
“Did you fly out of Mobile?”
“New Orleans.”
“That was smart. You knew they were looking for him.”
“I knew they were looking for me.”
“How long have you been back?”
“About an hour.”
Garvey nodded and his attitude was suddenly more businesslike than skeptical. “Okay, we’ll get to that later. What brought you here? What happened?”
Hayden told him, and it was an easy thing to do because the scene was still so vivid in his mind. Garvey listened without interruption, his gray gaze speculative but attentive until the story was over.
“You thought you saw a light in here when you got out of the car,” he said, “but when you walked in it was dark.”
“That’s right. Before I had a chance to wonder about it he jumped me.”
“Then if you’d been a couple of minutes later he would have finished the job on the girl.” He thought it over a minute, his lips pursing. “You were trying to give her artificial respiration when George Freeman walked in on you, is that right?”
“I’d just finished.”
“And he had a gun?” He glanced about the room and suddenly his eyes narrowed and he looked at the plainclothes man who had come with him. “Where is he, Malone?”
“The last I saw of him he went in there.” Malone pointed to the bedroom. “I thought he was going to the john.”
“Take a look,” Garvey said and waited until the detective returned alone, a sheepish expression on his face. “Take a look outside.” He watched the other leave and turned back to Hayden. “What brought you here in the first place?”
“Is it important?”
“It could be.”
Hayden stood up and reached for a cigarette, his brown eyes somber and troubled as he considered his reply. Then, because it was something that had to be done, he decided to tell the truth.
“If Doris Lamar doesn’t live I can’t prove this,” he said, “but Doris came to my wife and told her she had information that would clear both of us. She said she would deny it if my wife went to you. She wanted money and she said she was willing to take her chances on any trouble you could give her if she got paid for what she knew. I came here to find out how much she wanted.”
The skepticism still showed on Garvey’s face. He asked other questions and Hayden answered them. He was still at it when Malone came back and shook his head and now Garvey said: “All right, we’ll pick him up later.”
Before he could continue Hayden spoke. “I’d like to ask a favor.”
“Such as what?”
“There’s a lot of talking to be done,” he said, “so why couldn’t we do it at my place instead of here?”
“Why?”
“I told you I brought Corbin back with me. He should be at The Shady Maple now. You’re going to want to question him because he knows a lot about Sam Adler. My wife still doesn’t know how Corbin happened to miss that plane in Capitol City two years ago. She doesn’t know what Corbin did and what was happening during those years.
“Also,” he continued, “I’ve got some ideas about Corbin myself. I understand that my wife and I are still under some suspicion of murder and I’d like to get out from under. So why not go down to my place and have it out in one session? If you don’t mind, I’d like to get my lawyer there too, just in case.”
Such arguments had a reasonable sound and even Garvey seemed impressed. He glanced at Malone, then back at Hayden. For another second or two he hesitated as the logic behind the request came through to him and a glimmer of something that might have been respect replaced the doubt in his gray eyes.
“Call your lawyer,” he said. “You may need him. Tell him to meet you at your place.”
He belted his trench coat as Hayden dialed Roger Denham’s number and stated his request. When he hung up, Garvey was waiting.
“Get your coat,” he said. “I’ll pick up Corbin. Would he be registered under that name?”
“He’s been using the name Cannon for the past couple of years,” Hayden said. “You could try that first, but whoever’s on the desk should remember him.”
Garvey nodded again. “I’ll get him, and Freeman if I can find him. Malone can ride with you,” he added. “Like you said—just in case.... Okay?”