The Corpse Without a Country Read Online Free PDF Page B

turn-off that led to the bridge. The vague hope that the Buick might go to the right died as its headlights clung to my tail. Now all light but the dim glow from a distant street lamp was gone. There were only our headlights and the riding lights of a fishboat chugging down the canal to the Sound.
    I passed the dark mass of Arne’s boat works. Just beyond it were the two bulky buildings that housed the salvage and marine repair division run by Reese Fuller. Farther along, hidden behind a high wooden fence, was the moorage where Arne kept his fishboats when they were in port.
    The idea hit me all at once, and I swung the wheel before I could stop and consider. I bounced off the road and onto the wide gravel strip that fronted the salvage buildings. My headlights rose up momentarily as the nose of the heap tilted. They struck the sign painted on the covered passageway that connected the two buildings at the second-story level. I saw
Rasmussen Boat Company, Marine Salvage Division, Reese Fuller, Manager
. Then the car leveled out, and the lights tunneled their way into the wide alley that ran beneath the passageway and between the buildings.
    I snapped off my headlights and rammed the heap into that alley. For a moment it was like being gulped into the belly of a whale. All outside light was gone. The covered passageway overhead blotted out the stars. The tires of my car whined on rough concrete and then rumbled loudly as I passed the ends of the buildings and started along a pier jutting out into the canal. Loose planking slapped protestingly under me. I eased up on the gas and began to brake gently.
    On my right was a huge floating crane silhouetted against the night sky like some monstrous insect. On my left were moored two smallish workboats: the first a tug and the second for divers, with a winch and a big generator on its afterdeck. Beyond them, down the canal, I could see light in the pilot house of the
Norway Queen
.
    I stopped with the end of the pier less than ten feet away. I wasn’t sure that I had gained much beyond a little time, but I had the feeling that right now a little time could be very precious to me.
    I opened my door, scooped up the envelope, and stepped onto the pier. The bright, hard headlights of a car bored through the tunnel between the dark buildings, spraying eagerly toward me. I had only one choice unless I wanted to be caught squarely by those lights.
    I jumped onto the deck of the workboat moored nearest to the end of the pier and dove into the shadow cast by the big winch.
    The car came on, pier planks rumbling under its weight like close thunder. It was the blue Buick as I had expected. The headlights went off, plunging darkness down over the pier and the boat. The car stopped, its front bumper only a few feet from the rear of my heap.
    The driver’s door opened and the dome light flashed on briefly. Any doubts I had that I was not the real quarry of the driver went away quickly. The light revealed to me the same blonde woman I had glimpsed at the wheel of the boat that had buzzed me twenty-four hours ago.
    But this time I was closer to her, and so I had a chance to take a good look. And what I saw I could have liked, only I was in no position to appreciate her. She was one of those blondes blessed with superb facial bone structure, and she had made the most of it. Her thick pile of bright, yellow-gold hair was pulled back to reveal her long, narrow face and emphasize large and luminous dark gray eyes. They were outlined with just enough make-up to bring out her high cheekbones and handsome, slightly arrogant nose. Her ears were small and close to her head and adorned with small emeralds set tight to the lobes.
    When she stepped from the car, she was momentarily silhouetted against the light from inside. The brief glimpse I had left me with few illusions about her figure. It, too, was superb. She was wearing a fitted dress of some thin, summery material, and what she wore beneath it could