"Has Yeagger confessed?"

"No. We're letting him go. It took a long time to check, but it checked out finally. We had to contact half the people in the hills. He quit work Sat.u.r.day at six. He spent from eight to midnight in a beer joint. Then he and another guy picked up two girls who came into the beer joint. They had a car and a bottle. They went to a hunting camp up near Grey Lake and stayed right there until noon Sunday. This Yeagger had tied on such a load he was pretty s.h.a.ggy about the details. But we got it all checked out. He wouldn't say anything for a while, until we convinced him he was in bad trouble. He didn't want to talk because there is going to be some trouble with the husband of one of the two girls they picked up. You know something funny? He says this and I believe him.

It's the first time in his whole life he ever did anything like that. How about that?"

"Rough."

"He loses his job because the Olan girl went out with him. He gets in a big jam. It's a real mess for that boy. He got drunk on account of the Olan girl."

"Is that what he says?"

"I believe that, too. You know, that little girl was a bad actor. The more I dig, the more I find out. She went up there before her uncle opened the place at the lake just to make trouble for Yeagger. She took him back to the place. She had a key. She took him in there and taught him most of the facts of life in one big lesson. Getting that out of him was like pulling teeth. She went up a few more times, got him all mixed up and involved, and then dropped him like he was dirt."

"I'll be d.a.m.ned."

"You know, he hates you, Sewell. He thinks you took her away from him. He thinks you were getting what he was missing."

"I wasn't. But it wasn't for lack of trying, Captain."

"I can believe that. I saw her alive a couple times. Nice little piece. Even dead she doesn't look too bad. Here's a funny thing. This Yeagger thought w.i.l.l.y Pryor knew what was going on."

"I can hardly believe that."

"I don't believe it. He says he got that impression from something the Olan girl said to him. He can't remember just what it was. He thinks she said w.i.l.l.y Pryor knew everything she did. That she told him, or something like that. As if she bragged to him."

"She must have been just talking."

"I figure it that way. Sewell, you didn't drop that body off on your way to the lake, did you?"

My heart took a fast uppercut at the back of my throat and dropped back lower than where it belonged. Then I saw that he was half smiling.

"I didn't want to get my car messed up. I dragged the body along behind."

"I sure wish I knew who lugged her up there. It wasn't Yeagger. You go on home and get your sleep, Sewell."

He walked out with me. We stood near the door chatting when Yeagger came through, being escorted toward the door by Hilver. They had apparently grabbed him in his work clothes and he was still in them. He was overwhelmingly big, well over six feet tall, and physically hard. Thigh muscles bulged the tight jeans. He looked surly, weary, discouraged.

He recognized me and his face changed. He looked away quickly and went on out the front door. Hilver stood and watched him go. The door swung shut.

"How'll he get back?" Kruslov asked.

"I asked him. He says he'll get back. I guess he's big enough to take care of himself."

The three of us chatted for a few moments and then I left. It was well after midnight and the town was asleep. It is pretty much of a Sat.u.r.day night town. I walked to my car. I knew that Yeagger was out here in the night. I remembered the way he had looked at me, and it made the back of my neck feel odd. I walked slower than I wanted to, to prove to myself that I wasn't frightened.

My car was parked too far from the nearest street light.

As I took my keys out of my pocket, a big shadow detached itself from the darker ma.s.s of my car and stood blocking the way.

"Yeagger?" I said. The night street was too empty, and my voice was too thin.

He called me a foul name and leaped toward me. I struck at him and hit an arm like an oak limb. He caught my wrist and twisted it. It spun me around, my wrist and hand pinned high between my shoulder blades. I've never felt frail or inadequate, but he handled me as easily as I'd handle a child. There was a thick sour smell of sweat about him. The pain in my arm made me gasp.

"Key to the car," he said. I dropped my keys on the sidewalk. I thought he would let go of me to pick them up. I intended to run; he looked too muscle-bound to be able to run as fast as I intended to. But he bent me over with him as he picked up the keys. He opened the car door and shoved me in, past the steering wheel, and climbed in after me.

"Don't try to get out," he said.

"What do you want?"

"I want to talk to you, Sewell. But not here."

"How about my place?" I suggested.

He thought that over.

"Who's there?"

"There's n.o.body there."

He found the right key and drove my car. I gave him the directions. I didn't know what I should do-he had started with painful violence, but he sounded reasonable.

Maybe he just wanted to talk. I sensed that I could get the door open and get out of the car before he could grab me.

We turned into my drive. He turned off the lights and motor and caught my wrist again. He forced me out my side of the car, following me. He looked toward the apartment door. I had left the lights on. He marched me over into the darkness of the side lot, twisted my wrist up into my back and cursed me again.

"What do you want?" I asked, fighting to keep my voice level and unafraid.

He didn't want to talk with me, he wanted to tell me.

He told me I had taken her away from him. He told me she was dead and it was my fault. He kept his voice low, his mouth close to my ear. I sensed that he was losing control. He told me I had to keep away from her. I felt lost and helpless. In his increasing excitement he was close to breaking my arm. I groaned with pain, wishing I had tried to get away from him while we were in the car.

I knew my arm would snap. I tried to yell for help, hoping to arouse somebody, hoping to frighten him, or startle him back to relative sanity. He caught my throat, choking off the yell, his heavy forearm across my throat, big knee digging into the small of my back. I managed to turn in his grasp and we both fell. He grasped my throat in his big hands. My right arm was useless. Red pinwheels circled behind my eyes and somebody turned the night off, the way you turn off a light.

When I recovered consciousness I was flat on my back in the night, on the gra.s.s, looking up at stars through the May leaves of the elms, my throat hurting with each breath. I could hear heavy breathing close by. After a long time I sat up. Yeagger was beside me on his face, blood on his cheek shining black in the faint starlight.

I ma.s.saged my right arm; it felt weak and limp. I wobbled a bit when I stood up. I felt as though someone watched me from the deep shadows under the trees. I managed to roll Yeagger over onto his back. He grunted and threw a big forearm across his eyes. After a long time he sat up and stared at me blankly. I helped him to his feet. He leaned on me heavily and I took him into the apartment. He sat in a chair, elbows on his knees, eyes closed. I moved the light so I could see his head. Above his left temple there was a split in the scalp about an inch long. The area around it was badly swollen. I wet the end of a towel in the bathroom sink and brought it to him.

He wiped the blood from his face and held the towel against the slowly bleeding wound.

"What happened?" I asked. I had to ask him twice before he looked directly at me.

"I... I guess I was trying to kill you. I heard somebody behind me. I started to turn and... that's all."

"It's a d.a.m.n good thing somebody stopped you," I said.

He looked at me and frowned.

"I... Everything is shot. Everything. Mary was the one thing that meant anything. You were the one who..."