Judge Me Not by John D. MacDonald Read Free Book Online Page A

trunk compartment and left the lid up.
    Touching her was more difficult than he had thought it would be. Though most of her body was flaccid, there was the beginning of stiffness in her arms and legs. When the lid was up, the trunk light was on. He tried to move too quickly through the doorway with her, and one of her ankles rapped smartly, sickeningly on the doorframe. He shut his jaw hard, turned her legs a bit, and walked out with her, down the porch steps. He put her on her side on the floor of the trunk, facing out, then pushed the body back as far as it would go. He found that by bending her knees, he could wedge her bare feet in the corner just in front of the upright spare tire.
    Her clothes, ripped and torn in removal, were in a clutter on the bathroom floor. He picked them up, mentally checking off each item to make certain he had everything. Her suit was lime yellow, the blouse white, the shoes of yellow canvas with cork platform soles. The heavy glasses were in her purse. He put all her belongings in the trunk compartment with her. As he lowered the lid the trunk light went out and he no longer had to look at her expression of fixed, horrid surprise, at her bruised throat.
    He moved the car fifty feet from the porch, still in darkness, and then went back into the camp. He held his feet in the shower to remove the grime and then inspected his clothes. They had been removed as brutally as hers. He dressed quickly in khaki trousers, flannel shirt, leather jacket. Once dressed he righted the fallen chair, carefully picked up the pieces of the ruined table, put them in the fireplace and crammed paper under them, then lit it. Hedumped the three red-smeared cigarette butts on top of the flames.
    He was making his third inch-by-inch inspection of the camp for anything that might have been overlooked when he heard the car and saw the headlights swing into the lane. He walked out onto the porch, squinting into the lights, forcing himself to smile.
    “Who is it?” he called when the motor had been turned off. The car lights went off.
    “Seward from Deron Times, Morrow. We had a hell of a time finding this place. Been wandering around these hills for hours.”
    Two men appeared in the light from the open doorway. One of them, a fat stranger, had a big camera case slung over his shoulder. Teed recognized the other, a slim, sharp-featured leg man from the Times named Ritchie Seward. He was on the City Hall beat. It was largely due to the editorials and features in the Times that enough public feeling had been aroused to force through the new City Manager-Mayor form of government for Deron.
    “What cooks, boys?” Teed asked, trying to make his voice less thick.
    Seward came up on the porch and shook hands. “Damn if I know, Morrow. I got an anonymous tip that you could break a big story for us tonight. It was a hell of a dull night. Wife’s gone to a hen party. So I picked up Carl Engalund here and we came out. Don’t tell me it was for nothing!”
    “I don’t know anything hot, Seward,” Teed said. “Come on in and have a drink anyway.”
    Teed stumbled slightly as he followed them through the door. Seward turned and gave him a bright-eyed stare as Engalund went over to warm the seat of his pants at the fire. “Little ahead of us, aren’t you, Morrow?”
    Teed grinned. “A little, I guess. Been having a private celebration. Yesterday was my birthday.”
    Engalund said, “Hell of a thing. A setup like this and you make it a private party. What’s the matter with that City Hall quail, Mr. Morrow?”
    “Too close to the flagpole, Carl. Bourbon all right, with plain water?”
    “Fine.”
    The kitchen adjoined the living room. Teed dropped a glass. It smashed on the floor. As he kicked the pieces aside,he saw Seward staring out at him with bright-eyed speculation. Teed made two drinks and took them in. “I’m sitting this round out, boys.”
    Seward sat on the bed. Engalund took the overstuffed chair. Teed sat on