The Deputies by J. T. Edson

Author:J. T. Edson [Edson, J. T.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Piccadilly Publishing
Published: 2018-02-15T08:00:00+00:00

Twelve

While Brad worked on changing the tires, Alice examined the side track and surrounding bushes. She found where the killer had hidden to watch for their coming and hung a handkerchief on a nearby bush to act as guide for the S.I.B. experts when they arrived to search for footprints and other evidence.

‘We’ll have them out here, Brad,’ she remarked, rejoining her partner. ‘It was a try at us.’

‘Yep,’ Brad agreed. ‘You’d best drive the rest of the way, boss-lady. If he tries again, I’ll see what a couple of .45 bullets’ll do to change his mind.’

Raising no objections, Alice slipped behind the M.G.’s steering wheel. She shot ‘Expert’ on the County’s exacting qualification course, but knew Brad to be far better.

The need for Brad’s gun-skill did not arise, for they saw no sign of the gray Ford. Stopping at the first gas-station on Route 118, Alice identified them as deputies and asked the owner to let Brad use the telephone. On dialing the Department of Motor Vehicles and requesting a make on the Ford, Brad was surprised at the reaction of the man taking the call.

‘This isn’t for another parking ticket, is it?’ came the reply in an indignant growl.

‘I don’t get it,’ Brad said.

‘I did. Last night at half past six. I’d been kept late checking some license numbers of Auto-Theft and was just going home when a call came in asking for a make on that damned Ford. And what is it, but some rookie harness bull’d seen a hippie jump a parking meter down on Baines Avenue. He’d called in himself, with—’

Listening to the words, Brad remembered that he had picked up Alice on Baines Avenue the previous evening at around half past six. He also recalled her description of the Ford’s driver, so interrupted the D.M.V. man’s story. ‘Where was the parking meter on Baines?’

‘How the hell should I know,’ growled the voice at the other end of the line. ‘I’m only the poor sap who goes around checking the records.’

‘I bleed for you,’ Brad told the speaker sympathetically. ‘Who owns the car?’

‘The Tonto U-Drive Hire Service. “U” as in the letter, not in “you”. They’re on Sutton Road that’s in Evans Hill.’

‘Thanks. I was going to call Traffic and have them check their street maps for it.’

‘That wouldn’t surprise me,’ replied the D.M.V. man and hung up.

Grinning a little, Brad checked on the list printed on the cover of his notebook and dialed the number of the Leander Division station house. Patrolmen from that division handled Baines Avenue. The desk sergeant who took Brad’s call sounded even less amiable than the man at D.M.V.

‘If this’s another rib—’ he began menacingly.

‘It isn’t. Where did your man see the Ford?’

There was a pause while the sergeant checked the blotter, [xi] then he replied, ‘Meter 1851. Out front of the Perma-Curl Beautician Parlor. Say, was Shatzer on to something?’

‘Could be,’ Brad admitted. ‘We’ll be around to see him later.’

‘I’ll keep him around the house then,’ the sergeant promised.

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