Requiem for Ashes by David Crossman

Author:David Crossman
Language: eng
Format: azw3
ISBN: 9780615512549
Publisher: Alibi-Folio
Published: 2011-04-06T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

“Ah, Professor." Albert was arrested in his tracks by the greeting, which preceded the inspector from the darkness. "What a coincidence. I was just coming up to see you."

"I've got to go somewhere." said Albert with all the firmness he could muster. "It's important."

"This will only take a second," said the inspector. He blew into his gloved hands. "Why don't we go inside? It's cold out here."

Albert wondered how long Naples had been standing in the cold shadows.

"I can't," said Albert. His heart seemed, all of a sudden, to have given up and left his chest, leaving behind it an aching hollow that trembled with the echo of its beating. "Someone's expecting me." He struck off down the sidewalk. He couldn't resist the notion there was a gun pointed at his back.

"Professor!" The inspector fired. Albert stopped and turned.

"You left your light on." A near miss.

"I'll be back," said Albert. He struck off again, through the streetlight's halo, almost to the safety of darkness on the other side. Once again the verbal harpoon was leveled at his back and twanged through the silence. "I wonder what I'd find if I went up there."

Direct hit. Albert's knees buckled. He stopped, staring through the steam of his breath into the shadows that might have saved him. Something had to be done about the Inspector.

Albert spun defiantly on his heels and marched back to Naples, who stood in his aura, knee-deep in lamplight. "Here are the keys," he said. "I've got to go somewhere. You go ahead and look around and just leave the door unlocked. Put the keys . . . down somewhere I can find them."

The inspector stared deeply into each of Albert's eyes in turn, then smiled broadly. "I'll do that, Professor."

Albert's first bluff debuted with the same success as his first analogy. He had no choice but to play it out. His heart was back and beating furiously. He trudged off toward Miss Bjork's. He didn't turn to see the inspector enter the building. He walked blindly on with a quickened pace. He didn't turn when he heard the faint salute of the inspector's footsteps on the bare wood stair treads. The sight of a phone booth gave him a last, desperate hope. He got his number from directory assistance, (if this business kept up much longer, he’d have to remember it, or write it down somewhere), while he rifled his pockets for twenty cents. He deposited a quarter and dialed. The phone rang several times. Had it all happened so quickly? Was it over already?

The code! Albert hung up. The quarter dropped into the little metal tray. Having memorized the pattern of his number on the push-button pad, he dialed again, let it ring twice, hung up and repeated the process.

"Hello?" It was Tewksbury. "Albert?"

"The inspector's coming. He's got a key."

Albert heard a crash over the phone. "What was that? Is he breaking in?"

"No," Tewksbury whispered. "Something broke out on the landing."

"You've got to hide!"

"No! Wait."

In the breathless silence, Albert imagined more terrible possibilities than he thought himself capable of.

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