Hit Parade

Keller wondered what Warren Heggman had done to create such a pleasant and comfortable life for himself, and wondered too why someone wanted that life brought to a close. He looked down at the passenger seat, from which the man’s photo looked back at him. He had a long narrow face, a high forehead. In his forties, Keller thought, or maybe his early fifties.

Keller circled the block, pulled up at the curb across the street from the Heggman house. The garage door was closed, so there was no telling if Heggman was home, but there were lights on, which suggested that he probably was.

It didn’t matter. He’d seen the place, he told himself, and now he should return to one of his motel rooms and get a night’s sleep. Then in the morning he could stake the place out and familiarize himself with Heggman’s routine. After a few days he’d be able to work out the best way to get at the man, and in the meantime he’d have equipped himself with a suitable weapon, and then, before too many more days had passed, he could do the job.

He drove on. Then, barely aware of what he was doing, he circled the block one more time and pulled into Heggman’s driveway.

Three motel rooms, he thought. Three different names. Pussyfooting around, trying to cover his tracks. Why?

Look at Sheridan Bingham, for God’s sake. Holed up in a vault in the middle of a house full of bodyguards, and the only time he could relax was when he got out of there and flew to San Francisco. And what was waiting for him there?

He got out of the car, walked to the front door, rang the bell.

50

“I thought it might be you,” Dot said. “How’s the weather in Albuquerque?”

“I’m in White Plains,” he said.

“That’s fu

“At the train station.”

“Well, sit tight,” she said. “I’ll pick you up.”

“I’ll take a cab. Really, it’s easier.”

The cab dropped him in front of her house, and she was waiting for him on the porch. “You pruned the spider plant,” he said. “I think it looks better that way, with both of them the same size.”

“The baby I lopped off,” she said, “is in the sunroom in another pot. Once you start with plants it never ends. If you were going to take a cab, why did you bother calling?”

“Well, I came out without calling the other day, and it took you by surprise.”

“You’re always taking me by surprise,” she said. “Some surprises are better than others. I’m surprised you didn’t go to Albuquerque, but I have to tell you I’m just as glad.”

“You are?”

“I was worried about you,” she said. “All that business about your stamp collection. I kept thinking of different ways it could go wrong.”

“So did I.”

“But when you left here the other day you were bound and determined to go. What changed your mind?”

“Nothing.”

“Huh?”

“I went.”

“You looked it over and decided to pull the plug on it?”

He held up a hand. “I went there,” he said, “and I did the job, and I came back.”

“You did the job?”

“Sure.”

“But-”

“I figured it would take a week,” he said, “or maybe as much as two. And then, I don’t know, I decided to take the bull by the horns.”

“Do you suppose anybody ever did that? Literally took hold of a bull by the horns?”

“Probably. Anything you can think of, somebody tried it.”

“Well, I guess you’re right about that.”

“I drove over there, I parked in his driveway, and I rang his bell.”

“The day before yesterday,” she said, “you were sitting in my kitchen.”

“I flew out yesterday morning, and it was around di

“So you took a doggie bag to share with Heggler.”

“Heggman, and no, it was this Breakfast Anytime special, and I didn’t want a doggie bag full of eggs and pancakes. I rang the bell and the thought occurred to me that I’d probably be dead within the hour.”

“But you rang the bell anyway.”

“And he opened the door. He looked disappointed to see me.”

“You must get that a lot, Keller.”

“He thought I was one of his wife’s lawyers. He was saying something about a prenup.”

“If he had one,” Dot said, “and if it was a good one, it’d do for a motive.”

“I hit him.”

“You hit him?”

“I didn’t plan it,” he said. “I didn’t plan any of it. Dot, I had three different motel rooms reserved and I checked into all of them, so I could move around and keep out of sight. And then I went straight to the guy’s house and rang his bell, and without even stopping to close the door I made a fist and hit him in the pit of the stomach.”

“And?”

He looked away. “He folded, and I kicked him, and then, well, I got hold of him and broke his neck.”

“Just like that.”

“He was dead, and there were no fingerprints to wipe off because I hadn’t been there long enough to touch anything. I didn’t even have to touch the doorknob because the door still wasn’t shut, so I walked through it, and as I did I heard a voice from upstairs. ‘ Warren? Is everything all right?’”

“His wife? No, you already said she was divorcing him.”

“It was a woman’s voice, though.”

“Maybe she was the reason his wife was divorcing him.”

“Who knows? I kept going. I got in the car and drove straight to the airport.”

“And nobody saw you?”

“I don’t think so. If anybody got the plate number, well, I rented it under another name. I turned the car in, and I got a flight to L.A. and a red-eye home.”

“And here you are.”

“Here I am,” he agreed. “I stopped at my apartment to shower and shave and change clothes, and then I walked over to Grand Central and caught a train. I was going to call.”

“You did call, remember?”

“I mean I was going to call from my apartment and fill you in over the phone. But I decided to come out instead.”

“And here you are. Damn, I keep saying that, don’t I? I’m evidently having trouble taking it all in. Remember that baseball player?”

“Floyd Turnbull.”

“You followed him around for an entire season.”

“It wasn’t that long.”

“The hell it wasn’t. You stopped along the way to kill other people, but you took your sweet time with Turnbull.”

“Well.”

“This time,” she said, “with both of us spooked, and every reason in the world to play it safe, you were in and out in nothing flat. I was afraid you were being set up.”

“So was I.”

“If you managed to kill him, there’d be somebody waiting to kill you.”

“That’s why I booked all those motel rooms.”

“Come on in,” she said. “Sit down. I’ll pour us each a glass of iced tea. Or would you rather have a cup of coffee?”

“I hate the red-eye,” he said. “I thought about getting a room at an airport hotel near LAX and getting a night’s sleep before flying home. But I realized I wasn’t going to sleep anyway, and if I was going to be awake I might as well be on my way home. I did some thinking on the plane.”

“And?”

“I decided we’d picked the wrong job to worry about. We had a client who’d stayed completely out of sight. We didn’t know where he lived, let alone who he is. He wouldn’t have to kill me to stay in the clear, because he’d been completely in the clear all along.”

“He could kill you to avoid having to pay you,” she said, “but he’s in the clear in that respect, too. We never discussed money. He just sent some, and if he figures that’s payment in full, what am I going to do about it? It’s not as though I could send him a bill.”

“You think he’ll pay anything more?”

“I can’t imagine why he would,” she said, “but that doesn’t mean he won’t. If he does, fine. If not, that’s fine, too.”

“The reason I was worried,” he went on, “is that I got stirred up on the last job.”