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Authors: Leigh Brackett
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that well, but he knew people, and it added up to the same thing. A pattern, a feel, a sound, a look.
He had the feeling so strongly that after he left Ben Forbes he did not drive all the way down the road but only to the first house that had no lights in it. Here he pulled off into the driveway and sat thinking, trying to pin the feeling down.
The texture of Ben’s behavior had altered. It was wrong.
Ernie realized that a man in Ben’s position is not expected to behave in an ordinary way. But it was more than that. Subtle things. A tenseness involving Ernie himself, an element of falseness in everything Ben said and did. He had not been happy to see Ernie, he had not wanted to talk to him, and he had been anxious to have him go. You do not have to be a cop to know when you’re not welcome.
It was almost, thought Ernie, as though I interrupted him in doing something I wasn’t supposed to see or know about.
What?
What would Ben be doing that he would want to hide from the man he had called in to help find his wife?
Ernie swore. He was tired. He and his partner Bill Drumm had spent a long hard day checking out leads on a robbery that led to nothing but frayed tempers and aching feet. He wanted to go home and eat the dinner that Ivy was keeping hot for him. He wanted to take off his shoes and watch the Friday-night fights and forget about being a cop.
But the feeling he had would not go quietly away like he wanted it to and leave his conscience clear. It spread instead into wider areas, as though Ben’s off-center behavior had been the one touch needed to bring it clearly into focus.
The feeling now said that this whole business had had something sour about it from the beginning. It was too smooth, too clean, with none of the rough edges you would expect to find. This was a strictly negative thought and Ernie knew it. It did not necessarily mean a damned thing. But now that he had recognized it he knew it would itch at him like a burr.
He swore again, dismally.
If you were an ordinary man you went home and ate that dinner and relaxed. You said, “What the hell, of course Ben’s acting queer, who wouldn’t? And anyway he’s my friend. I trust him.”
If you were a cop you knew your friends were not set apart by that relationship from the ordinary frail run of humanity. And you did not go home. You turned and drove slowly back along Lister Road, and your eyes and your mind were both wide open, waiting to receive. You did not know yet what was wrong or in what way or in what degree. You only knew you had to look into it.
Ben’s car came bounding out of the drive and roared away toward Woodley. Ernie followed it.
They broke all the speed laws. Twice Ben almost ran a red light, stopping at the last second with squealing brakes. And Ernie thought, He is in one hell of a hurry. I must have delayed him. He wouldn’t come with me because he had someplace else to go.
So okay. So why didn’t he just say so?
Ernie did not waste his time trying to find an answer for that question. He merely hung behind Ben’s car and waited.
Ben obviously had no idea that he was being followed, so that Ernie was able to tag him easily until he turned off Norland Avenue, a main north-and-south street on the east side of Woodley, onto a side street of mixed apartment houses and dwellings. Then Ernie dropped back.
Ben pulled in to the curb and Ernie pulled in too, half a block behind him. He watched Ben go into the apartment building. Then he got out and walked along the other side of the street until he came opposite the building and could look into the foyer. It was empty. Ernie crossed the street again and went inside.
He glanced quickly at the mailboxes. None of the names meant anything to him. The inner door was not latched, either through custom or accident. He went into the first-floor hall.
It was empty. Ernie went on cautiously to the foot of the stairs and looked up. He could hear Ben’s footsteps on the third and top
He had the feeling so strongly that after he left Ben Forbes he did not drive all the way down the road but only to the first house that had no lights in it. Here he pulled off into the driveway and sat thinking, trying to pin the feeling down.
The texture of Ben’s behavior had altered. It was wrong.
Ernie realized that a man in Ben’s position is not expected to behave in an ordinary way. But it was more than that. Subtle things. A tenseness involving Ernie himself, an element of falseness in everything Ben said and did. He had not been happy to see Ernie, he had not wanted to talk to him, and he had been anxious to have him go. You do not have to be a cop to know when you’re not welcome.
It was almost, thought Ernie, as though I interrupted him in doing something I wasn’t supposed to see or know about.
What?
What would Ben be doing that he would want to hide from the man he had called in to help find his wife?
Ernie swore. He was tired. He and his partner Bill Drumm had spent a long hard day checking out leads on a robbery that led to nothing but frayed tempers and aching feet. He wanted to go home and eat the dinner that Ivy was keeping hot for him. He wanted to take off his shoes and watch the Friday-night fights and forget about being a cop.
But the feeling he had would not go quietly away like he wanted it to and leave his conscience clear. It spread instead into wider areas, as though Ben’s off-center behavior had been the one touch needed to bring it clearly into focus.
The feeling now said that this whole business had had something sour about it from the beginning. It was too smooth, too clean, with none of the rough edges you would expect to find. This was a strictly negative thought and Ernie knew it. It did not necessarily mean a damned thing. But now that he had recognized it he knew it would itch at him like a burr.
He swore again, dismally.
If you were an ordinary man you went home and ate that dinner and relaxed. You said, “What the hell, of course Ben’s acting queer, who wouldn’t? And anyway he’s my friend. I trust him.”
If you were a cop you knew your friends were not set apart by that relationship from the ordinary frail run of humanity. And you did not go home. You turned and drove slowly back along Lister Road, and your eyes and your mind were both wide open, waiting to receive. You did not know yet what was wrong or in what way or in what degree. You only knew you had to look into it.
Ben’s car came bounding out of the drive and roared away toward Woodley. Ernie followed it.
They broke all the speed laws. Twice Ben almost ran a red light, stopping at the last second with squealing brakes. And Ernie thought, He is in one hell of a hurry. I must have delayed him. He wouldn’t come with me because he had someplace else to go.
So okay. So why didn’t he just say so?
Ernie did not waste his time trying to find an answer for that question. He merely hung behind Ben’s car and waited.
Ben obviously had no idea that he was being followed, so that Ernie was able to tag him easily until he turned off Norland Avenue, a main north-and-south street on the east side of Woodley, onto a side street of mixed apartment houses and dwellings. Then Ernie dropped back.
Ben pulled in to the curb and Ernie pulled in too, half a block behind him. He watched Ben go into the apartment building. Then he got out and walked along the other side of the street until he came opposite the building and could look into the foyer. It was empty. Ernie crossed the street again and went inside.
He glanced quickly at the mailboxes. None of the names meant anything to him. The inner door was not latched, either through custom or accident. He went into the first-floor hall.
It was empty. Ernie went on cautiously to the foot of the stairs and looked up. He could hear Ben’s footsteps on the third and top
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