The Maine Massacre Read Online Free PDF Page A

somewhat and the fleeing car's back fender came closer. The microphone popped back into the sheriff's hand.
    "You there?"
    "Yes, Jim."
    "You got that complaint about the missing Olds yesterday?"
    "Right here on the desk, Jim."
    "Number?"
    "Four-five-two, seven-four-six."
    "Could be, this plate starts with four-five. Sixty-nine black Olds, right?"
    "Right, Jim. Sure you don't want assistance? Bob's cruiser is on Route One, too. I can raise him."
    "Sure, raise him. Ten four."
    The cruiser's engine made its doors vibrate as the two cars raced side by side. The sheriff put his foot all the way down and began to steer to the side. There was a squeal of brakes. De Gier looked round. The Oldsmobile skidded and seemed to be ready to overturn, but it touched a snowbank and dug itself in, its rear wheels spinning frantically.
    "Right," the sheriff said and opened his door. De Gier got out too. "Careful, sergeant. You're not too steady on your legs."
    When de Gier reached the Oldsmobile the driver was facing the sheriff, dwarfing the tight upright figure that stood nailed on the glistening asphalt. Very nice, de Gier thought, a three-hundred-and-fifty-pound suspect. Like many big men the driver seemed pleasant, jolly almost.
    "You're not taking me in, sheriff." The voice boomed and came from a pink slit in a thick beard that grew up to the man's deep-set eyes. De Gier stopped, his feet slightly apart, his arms dangling. The giant turned to look at him.
    "Who are your
    "A rider," the sheriff said.
    "So why is he here?"
    "A curious rider. I'm taking you in, Leroux. Speeding."
    "Curiosity killed the cat." A strong waft of whiskey hit de Gier's nostrils. It hit the sheriff too.
    "You've been drinking, Leroux. That's another charge. And I have a third. You stole the car."
    The pink slit in the beard curled. "No, sheriff. The car belongs to my buddy. You know him—Charlie, young Charlie Bouchier. Charlie had the loan of my chain saw, but he didn't give it back. He gave me some parts back, not the chain saw. He owes me a couple of hundred to have it fixed again, but Charlie has no money."
    The sheriff walked to the Oldsmobile and looked in. He came back. "There's no key in the car. How did you start her, Leroux?"
    "I can start a car without a key."
    "So you stole it. Charlie didn't give you the key, right?"
    "You're not taking me in, sheriff." Leroux hadn't raised his voice, but his eyelids dropped halfway and the fist on his right arm swung, just a few inches forward, then dropped back again.
    "Yes I am, Leroux. Get into the cruiser."
    "Not unless you pull your gun on me."
    De Gier looked at the gun. It stuck obscenely from a narrow holster on the sheriff's belt, secured only by a thin leather strap that would spring open if the sheriff flicked a finger. A wicked gun, an oversized revolver, the wooden butt shining in the low sunlight.
    "I won't pull a gun on you, Leroux."
    Leroux's throaty laugh rumbled around the sheriff. "You want to fight me, sheriff?"
    "Get into the cruiser."
    Leroux's hand came up slowly and a forefinger poked out of the fist. The finger touched the sheriff's nose and pressed down. The nose flattened. The sheriff hadn't moved.
    De Gier's reaction wasn't conscious. His mind had appraised the situation and determined it to be dangerous. The suspect was big and undoubtedly strong. He was also armored, for the thick jacket, padded with down or plastic fluff, would absorb any blow. The only exposed part of the suspect's body was the face, but Leroux had his chin down and his left arm was free to block the sheriff's punch. The sheriff didn't have enough weight to resist the pressure of the suspect's hand. Leroux's action constituted a charge: harassing an officer. There was little the sheriff could do except try to stand his ground, but de Gier could attack. Leroux's neck was free. De Gier's knees buckled slightly and his left hand was chopped upward, forming a blade, and hit Leroux's arm a half inch below the elbow joint.