Give Up the Body Page 4

  “It was no hallucination,” I said, understanding him. “Have you any flashlights?”

  Hilton nodded and rose, leaving me in the study. I had an idea he wanted to get rid of me, so in a moment I followed. I heard someone moving about in the kitchen and I went there. Hilton had two flashlights and two electric lanterns on the kitchen table. The overhead light was on and the white enamelled walls threw back a hard glare, showing the lines of shock and weariness in his face. He went past me without a word and I could hear him speaking in the living room. I picked up one of the flashlights as Willow, and Frew, as ill-humored as ever, came into the kitchen.

  “You’d better take care of the ladies,” Hilton said to me.

  “They’ll keep” I told him firmly. He only shrugged and I followed the group out the rear door.

  It was a heavy, dark night. Our lights were swallowed by it, making no more than almost useless yellowish puddles on the needle-strewn ground. The pathway led along the pond and then away from it, becoming a tunnel enclosed by the thick, dark firs. I had no liking for any of these men but at this moment I was glad for their presence. The forest had a terrifying weight. In places the fir branches reached down to slap against my face and wiry underbrush came in from both sides of the path to trip me. I stayed close to Hilton, letting Frew and Willow bring up the rear.

  I had on spike heels, high toeless sandals that wobbled aggravatingly on the rough, gravelled path. The rest of my costume was equally impractical. A full skirt and sheer hose, and the skirt seemed bent on snagging every bush that thrust itself in my way.

  I began to feel damp sweat forming on my forehead as we hurried along. It was not altogether from the exertion of walking fast. I had good endurance; my army training had seen to that. It was one thing neither the army nor a childhood spent among trees could cure—the feeling of unknown terror in the forest at night. It gave me a panicky desire to break into a run, a wild flight without direction. I fought it down. But the thought of the gruesome goal ahead kept coming at me, slapping like the branches of the trees until I was wishing I had taken Hilton’s suggestion and stayed in the house.

  The path swung toward the pond again so that there were trees only on one side and the still, dead-looking water on the other. The night was hazy, the stars dull points hard to see. There was no moon and no wind. There was nothing but blackness and the sound of our feet scuffling the gravel.

  Across the pond I could see twin lights blinking in and out of the forest as Big Swede and Little Swede made their way toward the dam. I wished wholeheartedly for Tim Larson’s wide-shouldered presence just then.

  We came to the dam. The whitish concrete stood out as a bulk not as black as the water and the surrounding trees. We stopped on the pathway near where the dam joined the bank of the pond.

  Hilton said, “Mr. Delhart planned to put in electric lights soon. So much more convenient.”

  It grated on me. Convenience be damned, I thought. There was a man dead or badly injured somewhere here.

  The powerful light of a five-cell flash stabbed out of the darkness from the other side of the water. The cone of light moved eerily across the face of the dam. Arthur Frew’s coarse breathing belabored my ears and I knew he was doing as I was, following the progress of that light with every nerve and muscle taut.

  The light came on, quickening, until it reached our feet. It stopped and backtracked. There had been nothing. Hilton called out, “Well?” impatiently.

  “Nothing,” Big Swede’s voice came back.

  “Look all around there,” Hilton said. He let his flashlight travel over the concrete face of the dam. I could see the dull white roughness of the surface. I added my light to his, doubling the intensity. I noticed that my hand was shaking a little.

  The combined spot of our flashlights grew weaker as it reached the middle of the dam and crept on. There was still nothing.

  Titus Willow said, “Preposterous. That woman was drunk again!”

  Hilton turned savagely and so quickly that his flashlight swept upward, spotting the tops and upper branches of the big, brooding firs.

  “She saw it,” he said. “You heard her!”

  “She wasn’t drunk,” I said. “If she was earlier, something shocked her sober.”

  “She never did say who ‘he’ was,” Frew said heavily.

  None of us answered him; there was no need to answer that. I moved closer to Hilton. He was flashing his light again, with a kind of desperation in his jerky movements.

  This was crazy, I thought. Five men and myself out here in this blackness hunting for Delhart. And all because Glory Martin had come in wet and hysterical. And yet it was because of Glory Martin that I felt sure there was something to find. There was the fear I had seen in her eyes at the office. There were her hysterics which I knew were not assumed. She might be a dipsomaniac, but she was not the kind whose pink elephants were realistic enough to shock her sober.

  I shuddered, remembering the way she had screamed. Raw terror had shown in her voice. And to all that I added the tension I had felt at the river today and the same tension, only thicker, heavier, more frightening there in the living room. These people were afraid. I did not know why, but there was no doubting their feeling. And this search in the black emptiness was the culmination of it.

  In desperation I stabbed my light after Hilton’s. Then I saw it. “Wait a minute,” I said. I grabbed his arm. “Back a little. This side of the center. There.”

  He stood motionless, bent forward a little as if trying to pierce the gloom and get his eyes on the spot where our lights were focused. I could hear his breathing over the distant, muted rush of the river and over the sluggish slap of the black water against the curved face of the dam.

  “What?” It was Frew again.

  “The concrete is a different color there,” I said. “It’s like a—a stain.” I could see it, a dark splotch running from the water line to the top and across the foot-wide flat space.

  “I see it,” Hilton said suddenly.

  Frew snorted like a horse. “Imperfection in the concrete,” he said pontifically. “Shadow of the trees.”

  “Why don’t you run along to your bottle?” I snapped at him. I couldn’t help myself. He was such a complete ass.

  I looked at Hilton. I said, “Someone has to crawl out there and see. If it’s …” It was a word I didn’t particularly care to use just now but I had no synonym, “… blood,” I finished.

  “It was your idea,” Frew said childishly.

  I replied in kind. Equally childishly, I refused to answer him. But I did kick off my shoes and peel my stockings and step onto the rough concrete of the dam top and start walking. I left my shoes with my hose stuffed in them on the gravelled path.

  “Miss O’Hara,” Hilton said.

  I kept on going, standing erect. I began to feel shaky. Hilton had his light focused on the dam to help me along. But the darkness on my right side was intense. I knew it was only two feet to water on my left but not how far nor to what on my right. The concrete hurt my bare feet. I wished I weren’t such a damn fool.

  Frew said, “Outdoor girl gets a personal interview with stain on concrete dam. Fine headline, that.”

  I said, “Will someone burst that horrid blister,” and kept on walking. But I was so mad I had to stop and get a fresh grip on my nerves.

  Hilton said, “Miss O’Hara, if …”

  “Let her play heroine,” Frew said.

  If I had been close enough I would have hit him, but as it was I could think of some choice words. I inched forward along the curved top of the dam. It wasn’t really far to the center since the entire dam only covered a fifteen-foot span. But with that water, looking so black and oily, on one side of me and the dark emptiness of the drop-off on the other I felt completely alone, suspended in a void distant from everyone.

  The idea of what I was searching for brought on another case of shivers and I had to sit down. Hilton had his flashlight trained on the concrete besi
de me and I realized that in staring at the spot of light I was also staring at the dark, ugly stain. I turned my own light onto it.

  My feet touched the surface of the water and I recoiled so violently I nearly tipped over backward. I held onto the dam top and shook. I was close enough now to see the stain distinctly. It was fresh blood.

  Perhaps my army training should have kept me from being so squeamish but I couldn’t remember ever having faced a situation quite like this before. Army or not, I had to clench my teeth to keep my stomach under control.

  The blood was thick. I know; I put my hand out and touched it. There was quite a lot and it was congealed in the night air.

  He had been here, he had bled here, but he was gone now. Which way—down into the water or backward, over the dam? I drew a few deep breaths to relax myself and looked the length of the pond. There were two flashlights winking from the far side, one half way up to the house and the other still farther on. They made bright points in the heavy dark. The house lights were distant but distinct. Their yellow glow looked warm and comforting and safe from the horror that I felt around me, pressing against me. Safe, but so far away.

  Hilton’s precise voice brought me back to my position. “Well?” he demanded.

  “It’s blood,” I said, “It’s nearly fresh.” I turned onto my stomach then, with my head hanging over the far side of the dam. I worked my arms over and flashed my light downward. I was a bit dizzy from my position but I could see clearly. Below me was a narrow, rocky stream bed that contained a trickle of water from the dam seepage. It flowed into the river. On either side of the creek the steep banks were lined with a tangle of brush. Salmon berry, wild rose, buckbrush, and holly mixed with ferns and creepers to make a formidable looking thicket. I thought: it would be hellish to get through there.

  But some of us would have to go into the creek bed. My light picked out mashed-down brush. It took no detective to see that a heavy object had crashed from here down there.

  I worked my way back to my feet and along the dam top to solid ground. Hilton and Willow were both there to give me a hand. I was so shaky and edgy I wanted to start crying. I almost wished Frew would make another crack so I could start a row with him. But he only stood off to the side and looked surly.

  “He fell over,” I said. My voice surprised me. I had expected it to come out quavering, but it sounded cool and steady.

  I flashed the light around for my shoes and stockings. Willow handed them to me. He nearly dropped them in the process. I didn’t need to be told to realize that Willow definitely had a case of jitters.

  I balled the hose and pushed them down the front of my dress. I put my shoes on my tender feet. I said, “I could see where the bushes were broken down.”

  Hilton had a grip on one of my arms. He let go and Willow put an arm around my waist. He cleared his throat. “A very brave act, my dear.”

  I let him support me. My knees needed all the help they could get. But when Hilton started toward the embankment leading to the creek bed I removed myself from Willow and followed along.

  Hilton said, “Er …”

  I stopped him before he could get started. “I’ll show you where the bushes are broken,” I said firmly. I wasn’t going to miss a first hand story now, not after having gone into this thing so deeply. I had nearly ruined a good dress already so my clothes were no longer a consideration.

  I flashed my light down the slope. There was a thin place in the brush and I headed for it. Hilton hesitated just long enough for me to get ahead of him. The slope was steep but fairly short. My heels kept turning and catching creepers. I heard a ripping sound and knew that something, probably a rose thorn, had caught my dress. I had to go faster to keep from falling on my face, and by the time I reached the bottom I was ready to treat Hilton to a display of army language. I could hear him crashing down after me.

  The noise of his descent was comforting. It was horribly black in that creek bed. The curved face of the dam loomed up ahead of me, dark and forbidding, with rivulets of water running down here and there. With the light of my flash I couldn’t tell the color from blood. The air was dank and cold; it lay thick and motionless; it was like being at the bottom of a well.

  Hilton drew to a panting stop beside me. I started to speak when a sharp crackling noise to our rear spun us both around. I stabbed my light wildly into the darkness toward the river. It caught on overhanging branches of trees, slipped downward onto mossy stones in the creek bed. The crackling came again and I threw the light along the brush-covered bank.

  Hilton’s light was searching the other bank. He said, “There! A deer.”

  Relief and release from tension hit me so hard I nearly sat down. I did grab on to him for a moment. He stood very still, letting me use his shoulder for a prop. I felt better and said, “Thanks.” But I was wondering if Hilton was being clever or if he had actually seen a deer.

  We turned around and moved toward the dam until we reached the spot where the bushes were broken down. Our flashlights caught the blood at the same instant. It was very plain, thick and dark on the rocks in the creek bed. The air had a stagnant smell, as if the water here had grown old and dead. My voice sounded odd, beating off the face of the dam. I said:

  “It doesn’t make sense.” I stepped to one side. My foot slipped and I went ankle deep in cold water. When I lifted my foot up and turned the light on it slimy green moss clung to my ankle. I grabbed Hilton again. “No sense at all,” I said desperately.

  “No,” he said. He sounded so cool and impersonal. “But he isn’t here, Miss O’Hara.”

  VI

  “THEN HE IS ALIVE,” I said. “He’s alive and badly hurt somewhere.” I felt excitement running through me like quick drafts of air. “We can follow him.”

  Hilton didn’t answer me. He was bent forward, following that hideous trail of blood to its conclusion. I joined him. He straightened up and pushed into the bushes for a moment and then came back.

  “He didn’t go up hill,” he said. His voice was flat and empty, as if he were too tired or too shocked to express any emotion. He called, “Mr. Willow, could you get the Larsons down this way?”

  We could hear Willow going back up the gravelled pathway and shortly he called to Big Swede and Tim. We were both standing motionless, looking at the spots of blood on the stones.

  I said, “They just quit here, don’t they?” Hilton was silent, and I added, “Maybe he—he floundered across the creek here. If we went to the other side …” I stopped, shivering. My imagination was too vivid. I could picture Delhart, bleeding, and floundering horribly, unable to walk. And I remembered Glory’s awful phrase, “Sprawled all crazy like he didn’t have any bones.”

  Hilton’s precise, flat voice brought me closer to normal. “Possibly,” he said. He flashed his light on the stagnant, scum-covered water of the little creek. He started across the slippery, treacherous rocks and I followed him. It was a nasty business in high heels but I wasn’t going to let him get very far away from me.

  We stopped when we reached the thicket of brush on the other side. I flashed my light downward. There was nothing. We both took a few steps toward the river and then we found blood again. There was a ghastly, dark puddle in a hollow of the rocks.

  “He stopped to rest,” Hilton said.

  I said, “But how could he have hurt himself like that?”

  It was a foolish thing to say; I knew the answer as well as Hilton. He said, “I don’t know. I didn’t think of it that way.”

  We went on toward the river. There were drops of blood all along. More scattered now, and fewer. At the river the creek made a three-foot drop. We stood on the bank, looking at the white water running by, listening to the river sounds. They weren’t pleasant now. The river wasn’t singing as it usually sang to me. Instead I heard a soft, sibilant funeral song.

  “We’d better go and get help,” Hilton said.

  There was nothing more we could do now. He had obviously fallen into the wat
er. And from there—where?

  “We can call the sheriff’s office and have them watch downstream,” I said. I tried to bring a note of hope into my voice. “The water may have revived him so he swam across.”

  I didn’t say it but I knew the Teneskium too well to believe anyone but a fairly strong and healthy person could swim across it here. There were too many potholes, cold and deep, to make fine traps for a body.

  We retraced our steps and finally crawled, panting, to the path again. Willow and Big Swede and Tim were standing there.

  Big Swede was still a handsome man, big and blond and usually grinning. But now he was sober, looking worried and anxious. Tim, who was a younger replica of his father, was nervous. In the light of Willow’s electric lantern he looked anything but the usually phlegmatic man I knew. He was pacing up and down. When he saw me he said without surprise, “Hello, Adeline, did you …”

  Hilton answered for me. “No,” he said. “He went into the river.”

  “I don’t understand how …” Big Swede began. He choked off his words and bent a little toward Hilton. “We better look then. There’s lots of snags in the river, Mr. Hilton.”

  Hilton nodded at him. He took charge quickly. He said, “Mr. Willow, if you’ll escort Miss O’Hara back to the house and then call the sheriff’s office for us. Tell them to watch downstream for—for a body.”

  “I can go alone,” I said quickly. “Mr. Willow can help you.” I handed him my flashlight and took his lantern. “I’ll do the calling.”

  Hilton said, “All right.” He looked around. “Where is Frew?”

  “He went back to the house,” Willow said. He didn’t look too happy at the prospect I had dumped on him but there wasn’t much he could do but tag along.

  “I’ll send him back, too,” I said.

  “He can stay and direct the sheriff’s men,” Hilton said. “They’ll send somebody out here.”

  They moved toward the creek bank and I started to the house. Tim Larson turned around and came beside me. “Adeline,” he said. “You stay at the house. We can find him.”