Entities: The Selected Novels of Eric Frank Russell (55 page)

“Yes.” Harper produced it, handed it over.

Ledsom glanced at it, registered more surprise. “Are you a Federal agent?”

“No, Captain. The F.B.I. issued that for reasons of their own. If you want the reasons you’ll have to ask them.”

“No business of mine,” said Ledsom, a little baffled. He handed back the permit and the gun. “That toy isn’t the weapon we want, anyway. Did you see or hear anything suspicious before or after finding Alderson?”

“Not a thing.”

“No sound of a car beating it, for instance?”

“No sound whatever.”

“You didn’t hear the shots before you arrived?”

“No.”

“Umph!” Ledsom was dissatisfied. “So they had at least two or three minutes headstart. You’re a material witness and we want a statement from you at the office. Sorry to put you to more trouble and delay but—”

“Only too glad to assist,” said Harper.

Ledsom directed two crews to explore the loop road then led the way back to barracks. Reaching his office, he slumped behind his desk; sighed deeply.

“It’s a lousy business. I’ve yet to tell his wife. They hadn’t been married that long, either. God knows how she’ll take it.” He sighed again, dug an official form out of a drawer. “Have to do some clerking myself, seeing all the boys are busy. You got a card on you, Mr. Harper?”

Harper slid one across to him.

It read:
Wade Harper—Forger.

“So help me Mike,” said Ledsom, blinking at it. “That’s what I call advertising one’s sins. Next thing one of them will write me on a business sheet headed
Baldy O ’Brien
—
Heistman. ”

“I’m a micro forger.’’

“What sort of animal is that?”

“I make surgical and manipulatory instruments so tiny they can be used to operate on a bacillus.”

“Oh, now, don’t give me that!” said Ledsom. “A fellow couldn’t see enough to use them.”

“He can—under a powerful microscope.”

“Every year they think up something new,” marveled Ledsom. “You can’t keep up with it.”

“There’s nothing new about this,” Harper assured. “It started back in 1899 with a Dutchman named Dr. Schouten. Since then the only considerable improvement on his technique has been gained by de Fonbrune’s one-hand pneumatic micromanipulator. I make variations on that gadget, too.”

“You must be kept mad busy,” remarked Ledsom, wondering how many or how few people wanted to dissect a germ.

“I get by. There aren’t more than a couple of dozen competent microforgers in the world. The demand is just enough to keep pace with the supply.”

“So the F.B.I. thinks they can’t afford to lose you?”

“You’re making guesses,” said Harper.

“This bacteriological warfare business, maybe?”

“You’re still guessing.”

“Okay. I know when to mind my own business.”

He got to work on the official form, put down the witness’s name, address and occupation, followed it with a dictated account of what had occurred, shoved it across for the other to read and sign.

When Harper had gone, Ledsom grabbed the phone, made a long distance call. He’d just finished talking when Sergeant Forst entered the office, eyed him curiously.

“Something broken, Cap?”

“That Harper guy fed me a line that would do credit to the best con man in the biz. So I just called his hometown to see if he has a record.”

“And he has?”

“Yes.”

“Jumping Judas!” said Forst, dropping a couple of books on the desk and making for the door. “I’ll put out a pickup call for him.”

“No.” Ledsom looked pensive. “His hometown cops send him love and kisses. He’s helped them solve several tough cases and he’s shot down three culprits for good measure.”

“What is he, a private dick?”

“Nothing like that. They say he has a habit of falling headlong over something everybody else is looking for. They say he’s done it time and again and it’s uncanny.” He sought for a satisfactory theory, found it, ended, “Reckon he suffers from beginner’s luck and makes a hobby of exploiting it.”

If the subject of conversation had been within half a mile he’d have picked up that notion and smiled.

Driving at fast pace along the main road Harper passed through three successive roadblocks without incident. His mind was working as he tooled along. If, he argued, a chased car switched into a sidetrack the odds would be at least fifty to one on the driver choosing a turn-off on his own side rather than one across the artery and on the far side. The choice would be automatic or instinctive.

Since he was now running with the loop-road somewhere ahead and on his wrong side it was very likely that Alderson and the chased car had come from the opposite direction, or towards him.

He glanced at his watch. It said six-twenty. He had found Alderson at four-ten, a little over two hours ago. That could put the murderers best part of a hundred miles away if they’d kept going nonstop. Probably the police had roadblocks farther out than that. Probably police had been alerted over a huge area by an eight-state alarm.

It wouldn’t do much good. There was no adequate description of the fugitives, none at all of their car. A tall, blond fellow just wasn’t enough to go upon. About the only chance the police had of making a quick pinch lay in the possibility that the escapees were using a stolen vehicle that some sharp-witted officer might recognize as a wanted number.

He let a few miles go by until he saw a service-station on the opposite side, the side that in his theory Alderson and the killers had used. He crossed, pulled up near the pumps. Two attendants came over.

“Were you fellows on duty around four o’clock?”

Both nodded.

“See anything of a prowl car driven by a trooper named Alderson? Car Seventeen, it was.”

“I know Bob Alderson,” said one. “He was around a couple of times this morning-”

“Not between three and four?”

“No.” He thought a bit. “Or if he was I didn’t see him.”

“Me neither,” said the other.

Their minds told that they spoke truth. Harper knew it with absolute sureness. So far as he was concerned they need not have opened their mouths.

“Anyone else here who might have noticed him around that time?”

“Only Satterthwaite. Want me to ask him?”

“I’d appreciate it.”

The attendant went out of sight around the back of the building. It made no difference. Harper could hear them mentally though their voices were out of reach.

“Hey, Satty, a fellow here wants to know if you saw anything of Bob Alderson two or three hours back.
”

“Nary a sign. ”

He came back. “No luck, Satty didn’t see him.”

“Anyone now off-duty who was here at that time?”

“No, mister.” He showed curiosity. “Like me to tell Bob you’re looking for him if he happens to come along?”

“He won’t be along—ever,” said Harper.

“What d’you mean?”

“Some hoodlum shot him down around four. He’s dead.”

“Gee!” said the attendant, going pale.

“You’ll have the police here asking similar questions sooner or later.” Harper gazed up the road. “Know of any place on his patrol where Alderson was in the habit of stopping awhile?”

“He’d often grab a coffee at the Star Cafe.”

“Where’s that?”

“Four miles along, on the crossroads.”

“Thanks.” He pulled out, drove fast. Two miles farther on and halfway to the cafe stood another filling station, this time on his own side of the road. Turning into there, he put the same questions.

“Sure I saw him,” said a laconic, sandy-haired youth. “Didn’t notice the time but it must have been about three hours back.”

“Was he chasing somebody?”

The other considered this, said, “Yes, now that I come to think of it maybe he was.” “What happened?”

“One of those low-slung green Thunderbugs went past in a hell of a hurry and he came half a mile behind like he’d no time to waste either.”

“But you aren’t positive that he was pursuing the Thunderbug?”

“I didn’t think so at the time. Most of the stuff on this road moves good and fast, but now that you mention it I guess he may have been after that car.”

“Did you notice who was in it?”

“Can’t say that I did.”

“Did anyone else see this too? Was anyone with you at the time?”

“No.”

Harper thanked him and pushed on. So far he’d gained one item: a green Thunderbug. He didn’t congratulate himself on that. He’d shown no especial cleverness in picking up this datum. Of a surety the police would find it themselves before the night was through. He was one jump ahead of them solely because he was concentrating on one specific line of search while they were coping with a hundred. Harper had great respect for the police.

At the Star Cafe a pert waitress reported that Alderson had eaten a meal there and left about one-thirty. Yes, he’d been by himself. No, he hadn’t shown particular interest in any other customers or departed coincidentally with anyone else. No, she hadn’t seen a tall, blond fellow with a green Thunderbug.

She hadn’t noticed which direction Car Seventeen had taken but she’d ask the other girls. She went away, came back, said that one named Dorothy had seen Alderson go up the left-hand crossroad.

Harper took that road, kept the accelerator pedal well down. Fifteen minutes later he found a tavern keeper who had seen Car Seventeen rocketing along at sometime after three. This witness said he had been drawn to the window by the noise of a car going hell for leather. The car had shot past before he could get a view of it but he’d been in time to see Alderson racing by. Yes, he had thought at the time that Alderson was after someone, probably a daft kid in a hot-rod.

Seven miles farther on Harper struck oil. It was at another filling station. An elderly man came out, handed him news worth having.

“Shortly after three a Thunderbug hauled up to the pumps for ten gallons of alk. There were three fellows and a girl in it. The girl was sitting in the back with one of the fellows and she kept giving me funny sort of appealing looks through the window while I stood near by with the hose in the gas-tank. I had an idea that she wanted to scream but didn’t dare. The whole setup looked decidedly fishy to me.”

“What did you do about it?”

“Nothing at that moment. I was by myself and I’m not as young as I used to be. Those three could have bounced me on my head until my brains fell out.”

“So what then?”

“They paid and pushed off without realizing that they’d given me the fidgets. I’d been acting natural because I didn’t want any trouble. But as soon as they’d got up a bit of speed I skipped into the road for a look at their plates.”

“Did you get the number?” asked Harper, hoping to be dealt an ace out of the pack.

“No. I’d left it a mite too late. I hadn’t my glasses on and the figures were too fuzzy to read.” The oldster frowned, regretting the lost opportunity. “Couple of minutes later a prowl car came along at easy pace. I flagged it down, told the trooper about this girl. He said he’d look into the matter. He went after the Thunderbug at a good clip.” His rheumy eyes quested hopefully. “Did he latch on to something?”

“Yes—a coffin. They plugged him in the neck and belly. He didn’t take long to die.”

“Good God!” The oldster was visibly shaken. He swallowed hard, said with morbid self-reproach, “And I sent him after them.”

“It isn’t your fault, Pop. You did the best thing in the circumstances.” Harper waited a minute for the other to recover, then asked, “Did those fellows say anything to indicate where they’d come from or where they were going?”

“They spoke exactly one word and no more. The big blond only dropped his window and said, ‘Ten!’ I asked about oil and water but he shook his head impatiently. Nobody else made any remark. The girl looked as if she’d talk plenty once she got started but was too scared to begin.”

“What did this bunch look like? Give me as complete and detailed a description as you can manage.”

The other licked his lips and said, “The blond one was doing the driving. He was a husky guy in his late twenties, yellow hair, blue eyes, strong chin, cleanshaven, good-looking and intelligent. You’d have called him a nice kind of fellow if his eyes hadn’t been meaner than a snake’s.”

“No facial scars or other identifying marks?”

“Not that I noticed. Tell you what, though—he was pale. So were the other two guys. You know, whitish, like they get when they’ve been bottled up quite a piece.” He gave Harper a significant glance. “Seeing what’s happened I can think up a reason for that.”

“So can I. They’ve just come out of clink. They’ve escaped or been paroled, more likely the former judging by the way they’re acting.”

“That’s how it looks to me.”

“Had they been hitting the booze?” inquired Harper, sensing a possible lead at wherever the stuff had been bought.

“Far as I could tell they were cold sober.”

“What else can you add?”

“The fellow sitting alongside the driver was another husky about the same age. Black hair, gray eyes, clean-shaven. He was just as pale-faced, just as mean-looking. I never got a proper look at the third one in the back.”

“How about the girl?”

“Around twenty or twenty-one, brown eyes, brown hair, a bit on the plump side. Attractive without being a stunner. Wearing a mustard-colored overcoat, yellow blouse and a string of amber beads. Her hand was up by the window and she had a birthday ring with an opal in it.”

“Somebody born in October. You’re doing top-notch, Pop.”

“Like I told you, I noticed that girl,” said the oldster.

“How were the fellows dressed?”

“All the same; dark green jackets, gray shirts and collars, dark green ties. Looking almost as if they wore uniform with buttons and insignia removed. Never seen anyone wearing that sort of rig-out. Have you?”

“No,” admitted Harper. “It doesn’t resemble prison garb either. Maybe it’s sporting togs they’ve swiped from some store.” He continued his cross-examination a few more minutes, finished with, “Have you a telephone here?”

“Sure. Come round the back.” He led the way, pointed. “There you are—help yourself.”