Read Online Leopold's Way by Edward D. Hoch - Free Book Online Page B

gun.” Leopold flipped open his jacket. A box was strapped to his chest.
    â€œWhat’s that?” Browning asked, childishly.
    â€œA short-range radio transmitter. Fletcher and the others heard every word you said.”
    A blinding spotlight shot down from above; another cut in from the harbor patrol boat offshore. The lights pinned Browning to the rocks.
    â€œYou knew! Damn you, you knew …”
    As Leopold flung himself aside the gun roared once and he felt the slug tearing through the flesh of his shoulder and then a dozen other weapons answered and Browning toppled, clawing at the air, into the shallow water.
    Someone was bandaging Leopold’s shoulder. Someone else was taking a picture. Fletcher stood watchfully by, his right fist still holding his revolver.
    â€œHow did you know, Captain? How did you know in time to call us?”
    â€œI didn’t. I didn’t know half of it, Fletcher, or at least I wouldn’t admit to myself that I knew. There was just one little slip—the fact that he didn’t include his own name in the list of skindivers he made up for me. I noticed that after a while—no Browning on what was supposed to be a complete list of names. I kept asking myself why —why he’d left it out. I didn’t like the answer, but I couldn’t afford to take chances. That’s why I wore the radio and had you follow me tonight.”
    â€œHave a cigarette?”
    â€œThanks.”
    Offshore, the police boat coughed and started back across the harbor.
    â€œDon’t blame yourself for anything, Captain. Like you said, he was nuts.”
    Leopold stared out over the black water at his harbor. “I hope so, Fletcher. I hope so.”
    (1962)

A Place for Bleeding
    T HE HOUSE SAT HIGH on Glory Hill, overlooking all of the city and the river and the lush farmlands beyond. By rights it should have been in the wealthy suburbs that stretched to the south, but by a casual fluke of mapmaking in the distant past it was within the city limits, and thus the body in the garage was very much the business of Captain Leopold.
    His first sight of it, when he slid out of the patrol car and walked up the dark driveway with his shadow outlined in red from the car’s flasher, was of a crumpled heap of manhood, seeming almost to swim in the blood that now covered nearly the entire garage floor. At this hour of the morning there were only police in view, though he could hear the quiet sobbing of a woman somewhere inside.
    â€œWhat is it, Fletcher?” he asked the man on his knees at the very edge of the bloody pool.
    â€œLooks like murder and kidnapping. A messy one, Captain.”
    â€œKidnapping? Was there a note?”
    Fletcher nodded. “In the mailbox.”
    â€œCall the F.B.I.?”
    â€œAlready did,” Fletcher said, straightening up. “Dain’s on his way out.”
    â€œWho’s this guy?” The flash of the police photographer’s bulb lit the garage in a sudden white glow. It was a big place, large enough for two Cadillacs or three Volkswagens, take your choice. Just then, in addition to the body, it was occupied by one Cadillac, a power lawn mower, an assortment of garden tools, and two hundred feet of snakey green hose.
    â€œHe was the chauffeur,” Fletcher answered.
    Leopold grunted. “Didn’t know people still had chauffeurs.”
    â€œOn Glory Hill they do. Name’s Thomas Sane.”
    â€œSane like in crazy?”
    â€œSane like in crazy. He’s—was—thirty-four years old, divorced, worked for the Clements about three years.”
    Leopold watched closely while the medical examiner turned him over. Thomas Sane had been a handsome man of a type, with greying hair worn in a short brush-cut which gave him a boyish but balding look. He might have been hell on the ladies. He looked the type to Leopold. “What killed him?”
    â€œThis,” Fletcher said, holding up a