The Madman Theory Read Online Free PDF Page B

side, where you can put this thing down.”
    â€œKeep your eyes open,” said Collins. “It’s just possible we might surprise somebody.”
    But the trail seemed empty of life.
    Then they saw Lomax Falls, and the wooded flat below.
    â€œThat’s it,” said Phelps.
    The pilot examined the meadow with a sad expression. “I thought you said there was a place to sit down.”
    â€œSure. In that meadow.”
    â€œI’m glad there’s no wind. We’ve got about ten feet to spare.” He settled slowly. The downwash thrashed through the foliage. The helicopter landed with one wheel in the stream.
    The five men descended and stood in the bright green growth that covered the meadow—tarweed, fern, sorrel, miner’s lettuce, watercress in the stream—while they assessed the dark forest all about. Then they crossed the meadow to the trail. A hundred feet north they found Genneman’s body, apparently as his friends had left it, wrapped in plastic and suspended from a tree.
    Collins, in the lead, said, “Everybody stay on the trail. There just might be tracks.” He proceeded slowly, and stopped where the dust was stained an evil reddish black. He looked about him. Trees grew on both sides of the trail. To the left, after twenty feet, they gave way to the rearing mountainside, its granite glaring in the sunlight. To the right, the trees grew in a belt, perhaps sixty or seventy feet across, extending parallel to the trail. Then the ground sloped sharply and became granite once more, with occasional areas of loose scree.
    From the puddle of dry blood, an avenue about five feet wide led to a copse of four young cedars thirty feet from the trail. The shot which had killed Earl Genneman had obviously been fired from these cedars. There, on a heavy outsprung branch, the shotgun had undoubtedly rested.
    It required half a minute of peering among the tree trunks before Collins could rid himself of the conviction that malevolent eyes watched his every move. He dismissed this fancy impatiently and appraised the terrain. The ground here, yellowish sand and crumbled granite sprinkled with needles, showed no footprints. The four cedars outlined a square, with a small space at the center where a man could stand. Here the ground showed signs of disturbance—a scuffing of needles, a scraping into the dusty gravel. From within the area a waiting man had a view of the trail and could have watched without fear of detection.
    Collins reconnoitered the area with great care, while the others lowered the plastic-swathed corpse and carried it to the helicopter. He went to the edge of the slope and looked down into the valley. Far below a little river ran, among great boulders, trees, vines and scrub. The mountainside offered no cover; the assassin could not have escaped by sliding downhill; he would have been seen—if he could have avoided breaking his neck. Likewise he could not have escaped to the south. He would have met the dead man’s companions. A single avenue of escape lay open: north, behind the screen of trees. A few seconds would have been ample. Collins moved north, searching for traces of such a flight.
    Almost at once he found a disturbance among the needles, indentations in the ground. He called Sergeant Easley over, instructed him to photograph the marks, and to look around for others. Collins himself returned to the four cedars from which the shot had been fired.
    He inspected the branch on which the gun apparently had rested. The bark showed a faint bruise or two. Collins cut away a strip of the bark with his pen-knife and dropped it into a cellophane envelope. Then, on hands and knees, he scrutinised the ground. But he found nothing remotely resembling a clue. He scooped a sample of dirt into another envelope, and for good measure added a few dead cedar fronds.
    He walked out to the trail and reconnoitered. In a tree a few feet off the trail he found several