Cat and Mouse by William Campbell Gault Read Free Book Online

to count our blessings.”
    “That’s old-fashioned. This is the me, me, me generation.”
    “But not tonight,” she said. “Tonight we will be the we generation, you and me.”
    At dinner, Mrs. Casey said, “That’s a real nice man who was guarding the house today. I took a snack out to him around three o’clock.”
    I nodded. “He told me.”
    “I wonder if he’s married,” she said.
    “He is.”
    She looked crestfallen. I said, “But he’s not happy about it. And he told me he wants to come back tomorrow just for the clean air and the fine food.”
    “If he comes back,” she said stiffly, “he can enjoy the clean air.”
    Another romance nipped in the bud. Mrs. Casey would never marry a divorced man.
    We didn’t sit up for the news that night. I locked all the doors and windows and we went to bed for our incursion into the we generation.
    The morning dawned hot and clear. It would be hotter in the lower Main Street area where I intended to investigate the tawdry bars and cheap hotels. It seemed logical for me to assume the shadow man would not be staying at the Biltmore.
    Yesterday’s guard was not back today. They had sent a younger, thinner man, too young to arouse any emotion in Mrs. Casey except the maternal. For that emotion, she has her Corey.
    There was a for-sale sign on the Crider lawn. It would not be there long; in Montevista, homes for sale are not that blatantly advertised. They are handled much more discreetly by the brokers’ multiple-listing requirement.
    Back to the mean streets…I ran the gamut of bars from A to Z, from The Alamo Café to Ziggy’s Hangout. I was welcomed in the places where I was known, suspicioned in the others, informed in none. That used up the morning.
    I had a bottle of Beck’s dark and a steak sandwich at Joe’s Grille and made the hotel run in the afternoon. From the seediest to the almost respectable I traveled, learning nothing until I came to my last, best hope—the Travis Hotel.
    I had two informants there and a black and friendly day clerk.
    The clerk said, “A big bald man with a long scar on his cheek?” He nodded. “He checked out yesterday.”
    “What was his name?”
    His smile was cynical. “The most common name on our register—John Smith.”
    “Damn it! If he comes back, you’ll alert me, won’t you?”
    “I sure will.”
    I asked him if either of my informants was in his room.
    “Not today,” he said. “They’re both in the drunk tank. I’m sure they didn’t have any contact with the man you’re looking for.”
    I thanked him and put a ten-dollar bill on the counter. I drove to the station and Bernie was there. I told him what I had learned at the hotel.
    He told me, “We had an officer there yesterday, about twenty minutes after Baldy left.” He reached into a drawer and took out an empty cigarette package. “The maid hadn’t cleaned the room yet, but this was all we found. With no prints on it.”
    It was a Corinth package.
    I said, “That’s the same brand I found in that shack where Belton was murdered. That should prove to Mallory that his case isn’t as strong as he thinks it is.”
    He shook his head. “Not to a jury. It proves nothing.”
    “Have you ever heard of that brand before?”
    He sighed. “Brock, I am sure there are a thousand brands of cigarettes I have never heard of.”
    I said nothing.
    “Cheer up,” he said. “At least the heat’s off you. The man has left town.”
    “Maybe. But even if he has, he’ll be back. It wasn’t Corey he was after, not originally.”
    “Your instinct again?”
    I nodded. “What else do I have?”
    “Muscle,” he said. “And now I must get back to work. I’m two days behind in my reports.”
    On the way to the freeway I stopped in at Nowicki’s office. He wasn’t there. The volunteer secretary in the office told me he was in a conference with Tom Mallory and Chief Chandler Harris at the courthouse. They were spiritual twins, Mallory a head hunter, Harris