The Line Is Dead | Page 5

woman were momentarily silhouetted
by the glow of a distant street lamp. Advancing, they were absorbed by
shadow, though he could distinguish them as darker masses, and
moving.
Carver made for the rear. He had barely got to the stoop when a
flashlight beam, lancing down the long hallway, softened the darkness
about him. He paused at the jamb and risked pressing his face against
the pane.

Reflection from the plaster of the hall picked out the blonde glint of the
woman's hair. She and her companion must have used a key.
Carver went to the front with long, springy strides. He followed the
walk until he had cleared the house. From there, stepping-stones
reached toward the side fence. He vaulted this, and then, shadow
protected, hurried to the sidewalk. Everything was clear. He noted the
license plate numbers of the car, then got a look at the registration
papers at the steering column.
This had barely been done when he heard the scream he had been
expecting. Not knowing who or what the two were, Jeff had no thought
either of waiting to make further observations, or to follow them, if
they left.
They might not be leaving, for good reason. It was time and more than
time to get going.
Carver lost little time following the long, crescent curve of the avenue
until it crossed the head of Canal Street. At a pay station, he phoned
police headquarters. He began, breathlessly, "Trouble Dennis
Wayland's place," and gave Lowry's address. "D, dog; E, eager; N, nuts;
I, Isidore; S, sugar--Get the name, and address, you'll get the trouble
quick enough." He spelled Wayland, and then added, "He just killed
Herb Lowry."
He hung up, and got going. Putting a stranger on the spot was
unpalatable business, but with someone else on the defensive--even
temporarily--Carver would have a better screen behind which to work.
And whatever decent qualms he did have were restrained by the
certainty that the two who had come to Lowry's house had moved
furtively.
Possession of a key did not prove that their visit was legitimate.
Snapping on his radio, he followed Canal Street. Before he was half
way to the river, Jeff heard the first police broadcast routine to patrol
car. By the time he swung into the French Quarter's narrow streets, the

Carrollton district had undoubtedly been sewed up tight. There was no
night man on duty where Carver garaged his car, so his departure and
return would not have been noted pointedly.
Once back at his apartment, he looked in the phone directory. Dennis
Wayland was listed. He'd be tagged soon enough.
CARVER crossed the bridge to Alma's balcony. She was not at home.
He concluded that she had snapped at some other Vieux Carre festivity.
Alma would reason, naturally enough, that being away from home
would keep her in a strictly neutral position, neither upsetting Carver's
feelings by favoring the useful Lowry, by listening to him in the event
that he called again, nor offending that high-handed man by continuing
her stand in favor of Carver.
Thinking back, Carver discovered another useful angle in having set the
police on Dennis Wayland. If, as the furtiveness of the visit suggested,
the man had made plans against Lowry or had had trouble with him, at
least the general pattern would appear in the newspaper account, and so
save Carver a lot of leg work. And the prowler's blonde companion
kept him reminded of the reproachful letter which some woman had
written Lowry. There would be plenty to ask Alma, now that the police
broadcast gave Carver a way of accounting for his knowledge of the
event.
Her spontaneous flare-up of indignation at Lowry's high handedness
cheered Carver, despite the position in which he was all too likely to
find himself before the police went far with their work. Behind her
gaiety and breathless frivolity, she was strictly bonded goods. He could
not doubt her loyalty; he could count upon her not talking out of turn
about his quarrel with Lowry. But he wondered, as he sat there, trying
to plan his campaign, if she would suspect him. Or, suspecting, whether
she could conceal her thought.
Even though he were not involved, or even questioned, the case would
almost surely be a barrier between him and Alma until it was solved:
and while the percentage of unsolved homicides was low, it was quite
too high for Carver's taste. An ordinary killing, either with knife or gun,

was one thing. The maniac frenzy and vindictiveness that had been
expended on Lowry indicated a killer whose personality was inhuman,
whatever his form and appearance. This intangible, this emotional
element, was Carver's greatest danger. Even though she had actively
disliked the victim, the manner of his death would turn her stomach.