Killer to Come by Merwin Sam Jr

Author:Merwin, Sam Jr. [Merwin, Sam Jr.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Mystery, Science Fiction
Publisher: Galaxy Science Fiction
Published: 1953-07-28T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 11

Hank awoke to a sense of horror lurking just beyond his range of consciousness, a vivid imprint of terror lingering at his shoulder, bony fingers extended to tap him. He opened his eyes slowly, carefully, widened them quickly as he discovered he was not in his own room. He had spent such of the night as had been left him in Liza Drew’s living room. Sunlight was streaming in through the half-open casement windows.

Hank swallowed, discovered his mouth had a sheep-dip flavor, stretched, ceased all movement abruptly as full memory of the night before came flooding back in upon him.

Jervis, the poet, had been ruthlessly run down and killed while walking with him in the evening – while wearing Hank’s light tweed jacket. Help had come quickly with the next automobile – but of course – much too late. There had been the Wellington Police, the ambulance and its internes, the trip to the hospital, sight of a callous attendant pressing a rubber stamp on a registration card a stamp which left behind it, in purple capitals, the legend D.O.A.

Tedious routine police interrogation had been interrupted by the arrival of an angry Luizetti, dragged from pursuit of some other trail, perhaps leading to the slayer of Julius Conrad. As the ex-reporter unfolded the story of his fatal walk to Neetsville with Jervis, the tenor of the talk, the manner and method of the poet’s death, an increasingly grey and shaken Luizetti pleaded almost tearfully with Hank to substantiate his account other than through agents from an unforeseen future.

“Dammit, Sanford, you know it’s impossible,” he stated, striding up and down the parquet floor of Wellington’s carefully Gothic new Police Station. “It’s against all reason.”

“Is it?” Hank countered. “Lieutenant, I don’t think I’m a complete idiot, and I believe it – hell, man, I have to believe it. What else?”

“There has to be something else – something a human being can understand,” said the detective.

“Have you read Dr. Conrad’s notes yet?” Hank asked him.

Luizetti nodded reluctantly. “Yeah, I skimmed through them – and I still think he was a crackpot of the first water. But…” He paused.

“But,” repeated Hank, “there are the facts. And it does seem odd that these two particular men should be slain just at the time they were – when first one, then the other of them had decided to go ahead with an exposé of the time travelers.”

“Time travelers!’ exclaimed the detective, but his tone no longer held ridicule. He added, “Remember, he was wearing your coat.”

“I’m doing my damnedest to forget that,” said Hank. “I can tell you right now that the only woman in my life is Liza Drew. And I can’t visualize her as a murderer, even if it were physically possible.”

The detective frowned. “She knew where you two were,” he said speculatively. “You called her, remember?”

“Yes, but Dean Willis answered the phone, and she was with him,” replied Hank. “Any number of people could have found out about it. They were at the Club together, remember?”

“Yeah,” said the detective.

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