Read Online Girl on a Slay Ride by Louis Trimble - Free Book Online
Authors: Louis Trimble
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mail. It demanded a hundred thousand dollars in small, well used, and unmarked bills. The F.B.I. asked Thompson not to pay. But three days after the girl’s disappearance her parents received her dress in the mail. The next day her shoes and stockings arrived. The day after that her slip came. When her brassière reached Thompson, he ignored the authorities and went ahead on his own.
He was instructed to leave the “money” in a Portland bus-depot public locker and to let the F.B.I. know what he was doing. But this was to be a dummy package. The real package of money he was to put in a metal card-file box and mailed to General Delivery, also in Portland. He was warned that if he admitted this to the authorities for forty-eight hours, he would never see his daughter. He followed instructions and kept silent.
A later check by the F.B.I. showed that the money was left in the Post Office for a full day after it was received there. Then it was taken away by a man answering Blalock’s description. Two days later, the girl was returned. Blalock landed the plane on the same beach from which he had taken off. Only this time his undercarriage struck one of the numerous obstacles buried in the sand by the police. The plane nosed over.
The girl walked away from the wreck. She was found wandering up the beach, wearing only her torn panties. She had been sexually abused to the point of deep shock. She still remained in a private sanitarium.
Blalock was found unconscious in the plane. He cooperated with the police during his periods of sanity. He willingly detailed his entire scheme—except to tell them where he had hidden the money. The authorities searched every logical area. They found nothing. They were not even sure where he had landed the plane after he left Oregon.
Blalock’s trial dragged on through the summer, Finally, yesterday, he was judged insane and committed to the state asylum.
Mallory could feel Graef’s eyes on him. He glanced up. Graef said, “Read the entire story, Mallory. I don’t want you to think you’re dealing with amateurs.”
“It never occurred to me,” Mallory said dryly. He returned to the news story.
According to undersheriff Conners, Mallory read, he and undersheriff Smith were transporting Blalock through the coast mountains when they came on a gray sedan jacked up at the side of the road. It was getting dark and the driver signaled with a flashlight. Conners and Smith stopped to help. Before they could defend themselves, the driver of the sedan fired a gas bomb into their police car. When Conners came to, the police car was two hundred feet down a steep embankment, leaning against a fir tree. Blalock was gone and undersheriff Smith was dead.
Mallory looked up as the waitress brought their toast. She left, and Graef said, “Blalock did the whole job alone, Mallory. I’ve studied Blalock’s history carefully. He was a brilliant but unstable child. He had few friends—and none of them were girls—because of his repellent appearance. Consequently he came to hate people—especially attractive girls.”
“The poor devil,” Mallory said.
Graef smiled emptily. “You might say that the attitude of women toward Blalock made a potential human bomb of him. The Thompson girl was the one to be in the way when the bomb exploded.”
“Just as undersheriff Smith was in the way when you exploded,” Mallory said.
“Don’t be childish, Mallory. Words don’t anger me. And don’t try to compare me to Blalock. I told you I was no amateur. I decided months ago to get that hundred thousand dollars. I planned everything very carefully. I’m an exceptional planner. I studied all the great generals. I don’t make mistakes.”
“Are you trying to tell me that I was part of your plan from the beginning?” Mallory demanded.
“Certainly not. But a good general always leaves room for changes within his master plan,” Graef said. “When Nick and I saw you at the junction café, I felt there
He was instructed to leave the “money” in a Portland bus-depot public locker and to let the F.B.I. know what he was doing. But this was to be a dummy package. The real package of money he was to put in a metal card-file box and mailed to General Delivery, also in Portland. He was warned that if he admitted this to the authorities for forty-eight hours, he would never see his daughter. He followed instructions and kept silent.
A later check by the F.B.I. showed that the money was left in the Post Office for a full day after it was received there. Then it was taken away by a man answering Blalock’s description. Two days later, the girl was returned. Blalock landed the plane on the same beach from which he had taken off. Only this time his undercarriage struck one of the numerous obstacles buried in the sand by the police. The plane nosed over.
The girl walked away from the wreck. She was found wandering up the beach, wearing only her torn panties. She had been sexually abused to the point of deep shock. She still remained in a private sanitarium.
Blalock was found unconscious in the plane. He cooperated with the police during his periods of sanity. He willingly detailed his entire scheme—except to tell them where he had hidden the money. The authorities searched every logical area. They found nothing. They were not even sure where he had landed the plane after he left Oregon.
Blalock’s trial dragged on through the summer, Finally, yesterday, he was judged insane and committed to the state asylum.
Mallory could feel Graef’s eyes on him. He glanced up. Graef said, “Read the entire story, Mallory. I don’t want you to think you’re dealing with amateurs.”
“It never occurred to me,” Mallory said dryly. He returned to the news story.
According to undersheriff Conners, Mallory read, he and undersheriff Smith were transporting Blalock through the coast mountains when they came on a gray sedan jacked up at the side of the road. It was getting dark and the driver signaled with a flashlight. Conners and Smith stopped to help. Before they could defend themselves, the driver of the sedan fired a gas bomb into their police car. When Conners came to, the police car was two hundred feet down a steep embankment, leaning against a fir tree. Blalock was gone and undersheriff Smith was dead.
Mallory looked up as the waitress brought their toast. She left, and Graef said, “Blalock did the whole job alone, Mallory. I’ve studied Blalock’s history carefully. He was a brilliant but unstable child. He had few friends—and none of them were girls—because of his repellent appearance. Consequently he came to hate people—especially attractive girls.”
“The poor devil,” Mallory said.
Graef smiled emptily. “You might say that the attitude of women toward Blalock made a potential human bomb of him. The Thompson girl was the one to be in the way when the bomb exploded.”
“Just as undersheriff Smith was in the way when you exploded,” Mallory said.
“Don’t be childish, Mallory. Words don’t anger me. And don’t try to compare me to Blalock. I told you I was no amateur. I decided months ago to get that hundred thousand dollars. I planned everything very carefully. I’m an exceptional planner. I studied all the great generals. I don’t make mistakes.”
“Are you trying to tell me that I was part of your plan from the beginning?” Mallory demanded.
“Certainly not. But a good general always leaves room for changes within his master plan,” Graef said. “When Nick and I saw you at the junction café, I felt there
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