Step To The Graveyard Easy Part 16

He couldn't move any faster in the darkness. Twice he almost blundered into the boles of trees. A narrow little inlet materialized on his right, then a wooded finger of land. Beyond the finger the engine noise rose, steadied, began to thread away. Boat of some kind leaving the sh.o.r.e.

He stumbled on until the hard yellow-and-black gleam of the lake appeared again. Another inlet, a circlet of mud-and-sand beach fringed with mashed-down ferns and scrub, a furrow in the damp earth to show where the boat had been drawn up out of the water. And out on the lake, a couple of hundred yards distant now, moving fast on a southwesterly course, an indistinct shape that was the boat itself. Seconds later, as Cape stood there panting, the shape vanished beyond another slender wooded peninsula.

In the new hush he heard thras.h.i.+ngs in the woods behind him. Then a shout: "Cape! Where the h.e.l.l are you?" Mahannah's voice. He turned to see flashlight beams throwing crazy patterns of light and shadow among the trees. Not answering the hail, he stood there waiting.

Mahannah burst into sight first, torch in one hand, a shotgun from his gun cabinet clenched in the other. Sturgess and Wineberg were with him, neither man armed.

"Where'd he go?" Mahannah demanded.

"Out on the lake. He had a power boat waiting here."

Sturgess said, "You took a chance, running after him like that. He might've shot you too."

"He tried hard enough inside. Those last two rounds were aimed at me."

Cape stepped past the others, started back along the path. After a few seconds they trooped after him. Mahanilah came up alongside, lighting the way with his flashlight, but he had nothing more to say just yet. Neither did Cape.

Inside, Bellah and Jones were perched on one of the couches, big snifters of cognac in their hands, both white-faced and wearing stunned expressions. A sheet had been found and used to shroud the body of Andrew Vanowen. Blood stained it over what was left of the dead face. The poker table still lay on its side, chips and cards, shattered gla.s.s and streaks of blood, littering the floor around it and the sheeted mound.

Jones stirred and said to Mahannah, "We had to cover him. His head... the blood..."

"One of you notify the county sheriff?"

"I did," Bellah said. "They're on the way."

Cape made a detour to the wet bar. Reaction had set in; his head ached, his legs felt jellied. When he leaned for support on the bar, he noticed a coagulating red smear on his palm. Vanowen's blood. He went around behind the bar, washed his hands in the sink there.

Jones was saying, "Window in your bedroom's open, Vince. Must be how the b.a.s.t.a.r.d got inside."

"How'd he know about the game?" Wineberg asked rhetorically. "We don't advertise when we're playing."

"Never mind that. Why in G.o.d's name did he kill poor Andy?"

Cape helped himself to a slug of cognac.

Sturgess said, "Andy recognized him, that's why. Said his name just before he was shot. What was it.... Johnson?"

"Judson," Mahannah said. "Boone Judson."

"Right. But who the h.e.l.l is Judson? How'd Andy know him?"

Mahannah turned to look at Cape. His slick, handsome face was set in grim lines, his gaze no longer friendly.

"No," Cape said.

"What do you mean, *no'?"

"He didn't kill Vanowen because he was recognized. That's not why he fired those last two rounds at me, either."

"What're you talking about?"

"When he stepped forward and took the sack out of my hand, I got a good look at his eyes through the mask holes. They were brown."

"So?"

"Judson's eyes are blue," Cape said. "Whoever the gunman is, he's not Boone Judson."

19.

Inside of an hour, the house and property were swarming with Douglas County sheriff's personnel. The man in charge was a plainclothes captain named D'Anzello. Mid-forties, big without being fat, deceptively soft-spoken and slow-moving; mop of black hair, bushy salt-and-pepper mustache. Efficient, professional. The kind of man who doesn't have to say or do much to command respect or attention, whose presence in a room is enough to make him its focal point.

D'Anzello asked preliminary questions to get an overview of what had happened. Then he took them one by one into Mahannah's study, while the rest waited their turn in the main living room. Mahannah was the first. So Cape knew he'd be second even before he was called.

The study had the same determinedly masculine look as the rest of the house, dominated by a desk of some polished wood whose color matched the redwood paneling. D'Anzello hadn't appropriated the desk. Both he and a second, younger plainclothes-man were on their feet, waiting in the middle of the room.

D'Anzello said, "Sit down, Mr. Cape."

"I'd rather stand, if you don't mind."

"Suit yourself. Matthew Cape, is that right?"

"Yes."

"Current residence?"

"Lakeside Grand in Stateline."

"Current permanent residence?"

"I don't have one. Mahannah must've told you that."

"Last place you lived for more than a week or two?"

"Rockford, Illinois. Born there, lived there all my life until a few weeks ago."

"What happened a few weeks ago?"

Cape told him, keeping it terse.

"So now you just travel around the country, living out of a suitcase. The vagabond life."

"That's one term for it."

"Finance this lifestyle how?"

"Savings, mostly."

"Supplemented by gambling winnings?"

"Not really. I like to gamble, but it's only a hobby."

"High-stakes poker?"

"When I can afford it. The game tonight was about my limit."

The other sheriff's investigator had a tape recorder going and was making written notes besides. That was all he was there for, to make sure they got everything they might need. D'Anzello did all the talking.

"Ever been in trouble before?" he asked.

"Gambling trouble? No."

"Any kind of trouble."

"Kid stuff in Rockford."

"What kind of kid stuff?"

"Possession of marijuana when I was fifteen. Charge was dropped."

"Still smoke dope, do you, Mr. Cape?"

"No."

"Use any other kind of drugs?"

"No."

"What about adult trouble? With the law, I mean."

"None."

"Not even a speeding ticket?"

"Not even a parking ticket," Cape said.

"We'll check on that, you know."

"Go right ahead. The closest to adult trouble I've had was a month or so ago in New Orleans. I happened to witness a purse-s.n.a.t.c.hing, chased the thief, caught him, and held him until the law got there. You can check on that, too."

"We will," D'Anzello said. "Let's move on to your reasons for being in this area."

"Mahannah must've filled you in on that."

"I'd like to hear it from you."

Cape's smile was faint, wry. "You know how tired I am of telling this story?"

"A man was murdered here tonight, Mr. Cape," D'Anzello said in sharper tones. "Tell the story one more time, and don't leave anything out."

"Sure. One more time."

When he was done, D'Anzello said, "Let's see if I have this straight. You took the satchelful of money from the Judsons and just let them walk away scot-free."

"That's right."

"Why? They'd run this scam on you and the conventioneers-professional cardsharps certain to keep on fleecing other innocent people. If you're such a good Samaritan, why didn't you report them to the San Francisco police, take them out of commission?"

"I never said I was a good Samaritan. I don't put that label on myself."

"What label would you put on yourself?"

"None. I wore one for too many years in Rockford."

"Answer the question. Why didn't you go to the police?"

"It would've meant hanging around there for days, maybe longer. I didn't want to get that involved."

"You drove up here with those photographs. Got yourself involved with Mahannah and the Vanowens."

"They're not the main reason I came to Tahoe," Cape said. "I like to gamble, I told you that."

"So delivering the photos and telling about the Judsons was an incidental good deed."

"If you want to put it that way."

"Like divvying up the sixteen thousand among the other marks."

"Not so incidental in that case."

"You didn't think for a minute about keeping the entire sixteen thousand? After all, who'd've known except the Judsons? And they weren't in a position to do anything about it."

"I'm not a thief," Cape said. "It was the other players' money, they'd been cheated the same as I had. If you don't believe I returned it to them, I'll give you their names, and you can get their addresses from the hotels and ask them."

D'Anzello said mildly, "Maybe you just had bigger fish to fry."

"Meaning what?"

"The Vanowens and Vince Mahannah. Using those photos to worm your way into their good graces, get yourself an invitation to the private game tonight."

"Is that what you think?"

"I don't think anything. Yet."