Corrigan and the Corpse

There was a stumpy ring fence along one side of the Belasco estate, separating the landscaped lawn from the graveled driveway. In Corrigan’s wild dash toward his parked car, he forgot this fence. But he remembered it when iron spikes scratched at his wet pants legs and jumbled with the bottom of his raincoat. He tripped, went over the stumpy fence in a powerless dive and landed on his face on the wet gravel.1

The corpse of Hank Belasco bounced out of his arms, skidded monstrously, and brought up alongside the passenger side rear wheel of Corrigan’s sedan.2

Corrigan scrambled up, swearing anxiously. Behind him, Laura Belasco was still leaning out the window, screaming in piercing barks of tormented horror. Other voices, probably roused servants, were taking up the uproar. Lights exploded on along the storm-swept street and somewhere horribly close, a police siren wailed piercingly.3

With terror tearing at his nerves, Corrigan snatched up the lifeless corpse, pushed it into the car and wriggled under the wheel beside it. The vehicle revved and the sedan tossed wet gravel at the night and blasted down the drive like a startled deer.4

Corrigan caught one sight of a security guard on front running from the corner of Rogers Street, waving his gun and yelling at him to stop. Then he was scraping the sedan’s wheel, sliding violently to the right and screaming off down the dark suburban street. In the rear view mirror, Corrigan could see the guard’s gun come down and belch fire, but no lead touched the sedan and another scathing turn blurred out even that sight.5

The dead body of Hank Belasco unexpectedly nodded forward and fell against Corrigan’s shoulder. Corrigan cursed gutturally and pushed the corpse back with his right hand. When he brought that hand back to the wheel, it was darkly wet and sticky with blood.6

Corrigan made a retching sound deep in his throat and rubbed the bloody hand against his wet raincoat. His eyes were cloudy; his scrawny raw-boned face taut and gleaming from the rain and the tension of rigid nerves and muscles. Rain beat progressively on the car’s metal roof and the windshield wipers screeched tediously, deafeningly and more disturbing than the continual sucking hum of the tires on the wet pavement.7

Nevertheless louder than all these sounds was the doleful, howling cry of police cars tearing through the night, congregating on the neighborhood Corrigan was frantically escaping.8

Corrigan could effortlessly picture the radio call that was sending them to the hunt.9

“Ted Corrigan, age thirty-seven, private investigator, thought to have shot and killed the banker, Hank Belasco, at the Belasco home tonight, afterward running off with the victim’s corpse.”10

“At it again, Corrigan!” he snarled angrily, talking aloud to his reflection in the rearview mirror. “Screw up Corrigan is at it again. Get your guns, boys, we’re all in for one hell of a night.”11

Turmoil, it seemed, basically floated around waiting for an opportunity to drop with steel-toed boots onto Corrigan’s vulnerable neck. Every case he got was worse than the ones before and everyone put him that much closer to the day when the profane and bitter Tampa Police Detective Buck Vreeland would make good his threat to see Corrigan headed either got life, the needle or a welcomed death by a hail of bullets.12

It wasn’t that Private Detective Ted Corrigan wanted trouble. He ran from it with a hunger that craved for peace and quiet. But some devilish luck seemed to doom him to a life of wild cases and tight escapes. Corrigan swore solemnly that if he took the job of discovering who stole the socks at the local boys and girls club, it would turn into a wholesale slaughter the moment he appeared.13

That was merely the way his luck ran— and this latest uninvited quarrel was a culmination that dimmed the madness of anything he had ever previously met. Although this one was his own fault.14

The louder screech of a siren tore into Corrigan’s thoughts. A police cruiser was headed toward him on the cross street ahead and there was no time to turn around and get out of sight. Corrigan took the only other option.15

He smashed on the brakes, went into a whirl, sliding glide and straightened in time to dive into a private driveway between two darkened houses. A moment later, sitting with the lights out and the motor idling, Corrigan saw the cruiser flash meteorically past on the street behind.16

When sight and sound of the police car had died away, Corrigan backed into the street and headed toward the enthusiastic glow of the city lights in the dripping sky ahead. Using side streets and alleys, Corrigan managed to avoid any more close shaves before he had circled the downtown section and drawn up at the rear of a small, square, dark building.17

He got out, leaving the engine running, and pounded on the back door. At this time the door opened, leaking orange light around the shape of a diminutive, complex modest man.18

“Okay, smart ass!” the little man growled. “Beat it. This ain’t no . . . Hey, Ted, I didn’t recognize you. Come on in and—”19

“Can’t, John,” Corrigan said roughly. “You alone?”20

The diminutive man smiled wolfishly. “Do you need to ask. What, you think I throw parties in a joint like this?”21

Corrigan bowed close and began to whisper seriously. The miniature man started aggressively, fluttering his hands in negation.22

“That’s garbage, Ted, you know what they’d do to me if I did. No! Not even for a friend, we are friends aren’t we, Ted? They would —”23

It took Corrigan fifteen solid minutes of passionate talking before he won his point. Ultimately the little man heaved a sigh, cursed indignantly, and tagged behind Corrigan out to the waiting sedan.24

Sandwiched between them they got the body of Hank Belasco out and lugged it into the building. Corrigan came out a few minutes later, alone, and got back into the car. He was breathing easier, now, and color was coming back into his face. Before driving off, he reached down and turned on the police scanner. The voice of a rapid- fire police commentator wafted in as the engine warmed. He picked up his laptop and signing on immediately found the news report he had wanted to watch.25

“—Mrs. Belasco was alone in her room when she heard the sounds of gunshots from her husband’s den downstairs. Running down the stairway, she saw her husband lying on the rug before his desk, the front of his dressing gown smeared with blood. Bending over him, gun in hand, was Ted Corrigan, a private investigator who has repeatedly been under police fire over his methods of operation. Mrs. Belasco positively identified Corrigan, whom she says has visited her husband several times recently on some mysterious business.26

“At the sight of Mrs. Belasco, Corrigan snatched up the banker’s body and fled with it, sprinting out through an open garage door onto the terrace and getting away in his car. Neither Mrs. Belasco nor the police can offer any explanation of the mystery or the reason for the shooting. It is not even known for certain that Hank Belasco is dead, although his wife is sure that what she glimpsed so briefly was his lifeless corpse. Corrigan is still at large, but the object of an intensive police man- hunt. Stay tuned to this station for further developments in the myst—”27

Corrigan swore harshly and snapped the laptop shut. He backed the car, turned around and headed south, following dark, twisting streets deep into the maze of warehouses and factories that hovered close to the railroad and shipyards. Twisting through this district, he came at last to a little, silence street lined with modest houses.28

Driving down this street, Corrigan swung off and parked the car in the dark driveway of a warehouse a block away. Then he returned on foot, and swung in at the third house from the corner.29

The place was tiny and tidy and shadowy. No lights showed anywhere in the little house nor in the houses on either side. Corrigan went around the house to the garage in the rear and peeked in through the dark window. Enough light filtered in from the distant street light to show that there was no car inside. Corrigan mumbled in approval, backed into the bushes close by and made himself as at ease as possible on the damp ground.30

An painful hour dragged by and Corrigan was gradually going crazy with the idleness and the endless dropping of rain when the headlights of a car bounced down the street and turned into the drive. Corrigan tensed, shrinking deeper into the concealing bushes. He got a heavy .45 caliber automatic out of its holster under his right arm and slipped it into the pocket of his raincoat, keeping his right hand tight on the butt.31

The car roared leisurely up to the garage and stopped. A large, thickset man got out, bent against the rain, and stood briefly in the beams of the headlights, groping with a padlock on the garage doors. The garage door was pushed up, cutting off Corrigan’s view, and the car scrambled its way inside. Corrigan slide out of concealment, went around the doors in a running crouch and into the garage.32

When the large man shut off lights and engine and started to get out of his car, he backed right into the rock-hard threat of Corrigan’s gun. He became rigid, standing frozen with one foot on the concrete floor and the other still on the running board.33

Corrigan could see the white round features of the man’s immense face swimming around unhurriedly, trying to identify the man behind him. The private investigator could feel an almost indiscernible tremble run up the gun to his own tight nerves, a announced warning of big muscles setting themselves for quick-tempered action.34

“Don’t do it, Buck,” Corrigan said flatly, through his teeth. “I’m way past fucked tonight, so bad now that a little more won’t matter. Come out the rest of the way slow and easy.”35

“Ted?” Homicide Detective Buck Vreeland’s voice sounded syrupy and choked. “Let me help you Ted.” 36

“I am getting to that point.” Corrigan barked as his fumbling left hand found and snatched the big detective’s gun. “Relax, now. All I want is to talk a few minutes while you listen. I knew you’d be home about midnight, even with your family away on a visit, so waited for you.”37

“You‘re in deep shit, Ted” Vreeland spat heatedly. “This time you won’t be able to wiggle out of it. This time they’ll make sure you get the needle, Ted. Come on, let’s talk, put the gun down.”38

“Not so fast, Vreeland,” Corrigan interrupted dryly. “For the record, I didn’t kill Hank Belasco.”39

“That‘s a start. But it looks like you did. You know I can‘t take your word. Why take the body then?”40

“You’ll get the answer to that one when I’m ready to give it. Nobody’s tried to make any trouble for Mrs. Belasco yet, have they?”41

“Trouble?” Vreeland asked. “No more than seeing someone break into her house, apparently shot and kill her husband then run off with his corpse, then no.”42

“I didn’t kill him!” Corrigan thundered. “And she didn’t even see him get shot. All she saw was a poor, dumb asshole sticking his neck out, to save her life.”43

“Listen, Ted.” Vreeland's tone grew cajoled. “What’s this all about anyhow? Why’d you go there in the first place? What have you done with that man’s body? You got some crazy idea in your brain?”44

“I know this all seems crazy, hell it is,” Corrigan agreed soberly. “Listen, Buck, while I tell you what happened. You won’t believe it, but listen anyhow. About a month ago, Hank Belasco hired me to guard him from attempts being my on his life. Threatening voice mails, emails and the like.”45

“Who’d he think was goin’ knock him off?” Vreeland questioned.46

“Laura Belasco—his wife.”47

“What? Why? She would get half of everything if not more in a divorce, you mean to tell me she wanted more?”48

“Shut up!” Corrigan shouted loudly. “I’m telling you what Hank, Mr. Belasco, told me. His wife talked him into taking out a mega million dollar life insurance policy two months ago. She bickered with him that it was the only safe investment with conditions the way they are today and Belasco did it. This policy was only payable to his wife. Belasco didn’t think anything of that until, a few days later, he unintentionally opened some of his wife’s email and found it was all answers to her inquiries about plane tickets and mansions abroad. When he asked her about this, she denied knowing anything about them or ever making the inquiries.”49

Vreeland growled something incomprehensible. “That’s all circumstantial evidence, she could have been planning a vacation for him and her.”50

“Belasco wasn’t convinced, but he loved his wife. He tried to shut out his suspicions, but they wouldn’t shut. To top things off, a man calls him at his office and says to tell Mrs. Belasco she can get a special bargain on some jewelry she was pricing. Belasco carried the word home and again his wife denied ever hearing of the firm or the jewelry.”51

“You mean,” Vreeland said heavily, “she never bought jewelry before with all the money that Belasco was worth. This sounds ridiculous Ted.”52

“That’s how it looked. Belasco was frightened and sick, but he wouldn’t go to the police. Instead, he came to me, pleading with for protection for himself but for me to figure some way to break up the plan before his wife got into trouble. He still was thinking only of her.”53

“So where do you come in?”54

“Looked into it a little,” Corrigan shrugged. “It sounded foolish and after I saw Laura Belasco, I was sure it was old rich man‘s nightmare to lose his trophy wife. You’ve seen her. She’s one of the most beautiful, and finest women on earth. Nobody could imagine her as a killer. At least I couldn’t and I told Belasco so. I tried to quit and he raised the ante to keep me on. I stuck a few more days, with no signs of trouble, and went out there tonight to tell him I was all washed up.”55

“So,” Vreeland broke in, “you got to arguing and he called you some names and maybe made a pass at you so you grabbed out your gun—”56

“Don’t be an asshole,” Corrigan snarled. “I got there and followed him into his den to talk. He stepped in first and some guy outside opened up through the window. At least two shots got Belasco and knocked him back into me. Before I could disentangle and draw my own gun, the guy had vanished. Then Mrs. Belasco appeared and like a flash, I saw the whole dirty frame job. So I grabbed his body—”57

“Like a flash,” Vreeland growled sardonically. “You and your flashes. Of all the shit I hear from criminals all day this one is pretty smelly Ted.”58

“All right,” Corrigan rapped abruptly. “The hell with you. I didn’t figure you’d hear me out. Im going to play it my own way and let chips fall where they may.”59

“Wait, Ted!” Vreeland caught at Corrigan’s arm, pulling him back.60

“Look, I’m sorry I ran off at the mouth. Finish what it is you‘re tryin‘ to tell me.”61

“Okay. Here’s the way the whole thing came to me. Somebody on the outside put a bug in Mrs. Belasco's ear about the insurance. They sold her such a bill of goods that she sold her husband, figuring it was the right thing. When he took out the insurance, that set the stage. After that, this outsider went ahead with these false inquiries to big firms, using Mrs. Belasco’s name and fixing it so the answers would get to her husband, apparently by accident.”62

“But, why? Why? It doesn’t make a bit of sense, Ted.”63

“Why? You aren‘t listening shithead, to make Belasco suspect his wife and go to the police, that’s why. He’d go to you and you’d do just what I did—look around, tell him he was crazy and forget the whole thing. Then he’d really get killed and you’d say ‘ta-da’ and pull her in.”64

Vreeland slumped against his vehicle, holding his head.65

“So we pull her in and who collects any insurance?” he groaned. “You know damn well insurance companies won’t payoff if the beneficiary’s supposed to have killed the policy holder.”66

“Sure. But it wouldn’t take you more than a few days at the most to run into a brick wall on your investigation. You couldn’t pin anything on her because there’d be nothing to put on her. You’d let her go and she’d collect the insurance.”67

“So?” Vreeland growled belligerently. “Wouldn’t she collect everything anyway, she is after all his wife?”68

Corrigan exhaled, as if in derision at Vreeland's ignorance.69

“So whoever’s behind the insurance fraud,” he said, “forces her to hand over the money, telling her he has proof she killed her husband, and making the frame look so good that it frightens her into doing as he says. Then he kills her, making it look like suicide, and leaving a false suicide note confessing the murder of her husband. Maybe he even burns up a pile of dollar bills and says in the note that her conscience nagged her until she ruined the blood money. That would close the case forever. Murder solved, guilty party punished and money accounted for. The real murderer would be completely in the clear, with all that money to spend as he pleased and nobody to trip him up.”70

“That,” Vreeland breezed, “is completely the most outlandish pipe dream I ever heard. You've done a whale of a lot of talking but you still don't give any reason for beating it off with Belasco's corpse.”71

“You’re sitting on your brains again,” Corrigan said jadedly. “Look. Without the corpse you can’t prove death, can you? All right, and until you can prove Belasco’s death, the insurance company won’t payoff. So I’m standing between somebody and a mighty take, and Mrs. Belasco’s in the clear. The killer had a good plan, but I going to make sure it backfires. Sure Belasco’s dead but nobody will know it publicly until the guy who killed him is dead or behind bars. Or unless they stop me?”72

Vreeland tugged at his thinning hair. “When I think how peaceful crime was before you opened shop!” he mumbled. “So who’s behind this festival of murder you got so wonderfully doped out, you son of a bitch? How you going trap the murderer?”73

“I’ve narrowed it down to three men,” Corrigan said considerately. “When I walked into the murder tonight, I got a spark of this idea and worked by instinct when I snatched the body. Most of this I reconstructed afterward when I had time to think. At first it was simply that nobody had any other reason to kill Belasco. He was such a innocuous, likable little guy, with no enemies and his business completely legal. That was why I jumped to this idea of why he was killed. Then, thinking back, I figured who might be behind it.74

“For starters, there’s a fellow named Rochelle, the insurance agent who wrote the policy. He’d insured Laura Belasco before and was a frequent caller there. Then there’s Martin Delacruz, Belasco’s lawyer, who was an old family friend and the guy she walked out on to marry Belasco. The third possibility is Louis Carmody, the family physician. When Belasco first came to me, he’d been doing some nosing and had found out that either Carmody or Delacruz suggested the insurance. He thought Rochelle, the agent, hadn’t been brought in until afterward, though nobody’s in a better spot to scheme such a deal than the guy who sold the policy.”75

“All right,” Vreeland said smartly, getting to his feet. “You maybe on to something, at that, Ted. I’ll put men to work on all three of them right away. You hand over Belasco’s body, turn yourself in and let us handle the investigation, if something stinks we‘ll find it. Of course, you’ll have to stew in jail for a couple of days but if this works out like you got it figured, I’ll see you get clear.”76

“Oh, fuck no,” Corrigan cried fiercely.77

“You not gonna slap my ass in any jail cell while you investigate. The guy behind this will be too clever to leave holes, and I’ll wind up taking the rap. There’s only one way to get the killer. I keep the body of Belasco and use it to ferret out the rat. He’ll be desperate to get his hands on that corpse.”78

“You crazy motherfucker” Vreeland howled heatedly. “You play ball my way or I’ll send you over if it’s the last thing I do!”79

“And I thought you’d be stubborn.”80

Ted Corrigan sighed apologetically. His left fist balled and came up from his side. Vreeland heard the sharp rustle of Corrigan’s raincoat as the blow started. He tried to dodge and succeeded only in smashing his big square jaw straight into the punch. He exhaled noisily and went down in a heap .81

Corrigan fumbled around the garage, found a coil of fishing rope and used it successfully. Lastly he gagged the large detective and rolled his limp form into a corner.82

“You’re a good cop, Vreeland,” Corrigan grunted. “You forgot to tell me I was under arrest.”83

He climbed into the detective’s small sedan, kicked over the motor and backed out the driveway into the street. Ten minutes of circuitous driving along awry streets brought him to the south edge of the city. He turned onto a small, potholed country road and drove steadily until the road ended abruptly at the edge of a spacious pit.84

Corrigan got out and stood for a moment, staring down into the pit. It had stopped raining, now, and the lightening sky mirrored on the gleam of water far below. Off to one side, the headlights caught the skeletal framework of a backhoe and the towering bulk of sifting screens.85

This was a phosphate pit, one of its many in Florida and the Tampa Bay area, from which a local phosphate companies dug for ore or matrix, which is found about 15-50 feet below the earth’s surface and is about 10-20 feet thick. It was deserted at this hour of the night, with not even a night watchman on duty.86

Corrigan stood for a moment, staring grimly down at the blackness of the pit. Then he cautiously let himself over the edge, slid down the slippery clay slope for a few yards and scrambled back up. When he reached the top, he was a mess. His pants legs and raincoat were copiously smeared with clay and his feet were merely shapeless blobs of the substance.87

Corrigan spent about half an hour cleaning himself off, removing the worst of the buildup. Then he got back into Vreeland’s car and drove hastily back into the city.88

He stopped presently beside a coral colored house, set back from a wide street. A tiny illuminate sign on the lawn gave the name “Louis J. Carmody, M. D.” There were lights on in the house, despite the late hour, and a big SUV was parked in the driveway.89

Corrigan paused , scowling. At last he shifted his gun back to his side pocket, went up over the lawn and rang the doorbell.90

A light came on overhead. The door opened, outlining a plump man with a white beard and glasses. He stared at Corrigan’s thin, mud-smeared figure and his lips tautened.91

“May I help you?”92

“Only if you’re Dr. Louis Carmody?” Corrigan growled.93

“I am. What is that to you?”94

“Nothing yet, Doc,” Corrigan said dourly. “Listen to me, if you don’t I’ll cave your face in.”95

“Really there’s no need for violence…” 96

He stuck his gun into the round man’s paunch and pressed. The pressure of the gun and Corrigan’s threatening attitude drove the bearded man backward. Corrigan followed him into a stark, almost hospital-like, white entry hall, kicked the door shut with one muddy heel, and wrenched his head toward a lighted doorway down the hall.97

“Move it, Doc! I don‘t want any trouble. This thing goes off and somebody gets hurt every time.”98

“What—what’s the meaning of this invasion , you want money, I have some cash in my wallet, upstairs, wait right here?” Carmody found his voice. 99

“Stop you’re not going anywhere. What, you think I‘m stupid?” A thin, spotless , gray-haired man unexpectedly appeared in the hall doorway, his eyes widening at the sight of Corrigan and the gun. “What’s the meaning of this?”100

“Shut your hole,” Corrigan suggested, moving the gun. “Join the Doc here.” He pulled his head toward Carmody. “Who’s your friend, Doc?”101

“I,” the thin man said callously, “am Martin Delacruz, attorney. I demand to know the meaning of this indignation!”102

“Delacruz!” Corrigan’s breath burst out and a smile pulled at his wide lips. “This is just perfect. Inside, you two. If you behave, nobody will be hurt.”103

He forced the two angry men ahead of him, into a comfortable, book-lined den, smacked a casual hand over their pockets, then shoved them down into chairs. Corrigan himself took a stand in the center of the floor, gun in hand, face twisted in an ugly sneer.104

“The Doc and the snake, I mean lawyer. Isn‘t this a hoot.” His lips twisted in a crooked smile. “You want to see Belasco again?”105

He shot that question out suddenly, unsympathetically, studying them narrowly. Both men started aggressively and suspicion came into their eyes.106

“Yeah, I’m Ted Corrigan, if that’s what you’re thinking. Private investigator and number one fuck up, that Corrigan. The only guy in this whole town who knows where Belasco is this very minute.”107

“Where would that be?” Dr. Carmody croaked, leaning forward. “Is he hurt? What have you done to him? I’ve got to see him. He may need medical—”108

“Anything he needs,” Corrigan cut in flatly, “I’ll see he gets it. If you want to see Hank Belasco again, start talkin.”109

“Talking about what?” Delacruz echoed blankly.110

“Talking—telling me what’s really going on with you two and the Belasco’s. I’ve got Belasco and I aim to keep him until someone tells me what I want to know.”111

“You—you think you can blackmail us?” Delacruz burst out heatedly. “Don’t you realize that kidnapping is a felony? You may be put away for a long time because of this!”112

“Just remember that,” Corrigan grinned maliciously—“when you get any ideas about tricking me. I’ll bash your brains in.”113

“This is outrageous!” Carmody cried hoarsely. “If Hank is wounded. He may die for lack of medical attention.”114

“If you love him so,” Corrigan sneered, “buy him back and get to work, Doc. It’s all up to you.”115

“Look just put the gun down, and walk away, leave this house and we agree to give you a thirty minute, no make it an hour head start before we call the police. But you must tell us where Hank is so that we can help him.”116

“That‘s just grand, Doc.” Corrigan shrugged expansively. “To think you two would just let me walk away before calling the cops. If I take you up on your generous offer the cops would be right behind me, I‘m no fool. I got him at a place where nobody will ever find him—dead or alive. You wanted talk, then talk. I’m all ears.”117

He stood in the doorway a moment, studying their livid faces. Then, with a scornful salute, he turned around and ran out of the house. No one followed or tried to stop him.118

Twenty minutes later, Corrigan drew up in front of an imposing apartment building. It was the type using an automatic elevator and at this hour, the lobby was deserted. Corrigan barged courageously in, consulted the directory, then took the stairs to the third floor. At the door of four-ten he pushed on the button and waited, hearing the muted whine of the buzzer inside.119

After several minutes he heard shuffling steps beyond the panels and the door slid open, to frame a serious-eyed man in boxers only. The man’s sleepy eyes slid over Corrigan and down to the gun in his hand. Suddenly the sleepiness disappeared, replaced by startled terror.120

“You Rochelle, who sells insurance?” Corrigan barked.121

“Who wants to know?”122

“Fuck you, move inside, you asshole!”123

Driving the terrified salesman backward, Corrigan banged the door and wrenched his head at a chair.124

“I’ll make this short and sweet, fuck face. You know what happened to Belasco tonight, don’t you?“ He waited, watching Rochelle’s eyes flick over his mud-smeared clothing. “You know who I am and you know I’m tough and desperate. I got me a new wrinkle and I need you to help me play it, see. I’ve got Belasco in a safe place and he’s not too badly knocked around. If he gets fixed up soon enough, he might live. If he lives, your company doesn’t have to pay out those mega million. If he dies, you’re stuck. So how much is it worth to keep your trap shut and buy him back, all in one piece?”125

“What is your name sir?” Rochelle wet his lips, gulped noisily, and tried again. “I don’t—I mean, I never heard of such a thing. You want the Prestige Insurance Company to pay ransom for one of their policy holders to keep him from being killed?”126

“Right,” Corrigan barked crisply. “You pay half a million or you pay Belasco’s widow mega millions. Make up your mind—but make it fast. . I’ll give you until noon tomorrow to work it out. I’ll phone you here, at noon. If you want to save your company‘s ass, this is your only chance.”127

“I—I’ll talk it over with them,” Rochelle said.128

“Don’t disappoint me in doing it,” Corrigan growled, and turned to the door. “Remember, one wrong move anywhere along the line and Belasco is all through. Whether he lives or dies is up to you.”129

He went out, slamming the door.130

In the humid, ink-black darkness that preceded dawn, Corrigan crouched in the mud beside the little supply shed on the edge of the phosphate pit. His gun was in his hand and every nerve in his body was wired with a stress that put an aching sickness in the pit of his stomach.131

This was the payoff. He had stuck his neck out to the limit, now. If his plan failed, it was the needle for Ted Corrigan, and no fooling about it.132

He had Hank Belasco’s body and he had attempted extortion. Whatever his motive, those were the irrefutable facts as the law would see them.133

And from those facts, a jury could deduce only one answer— “We find the defendant, Ted Corrigan, guilty as charged!”134

Suddenly the tension flowed out of Corrigan’s body, leaving him cold and ready. Somewhere, off in the near darkness, a faint splash had betrayed an incautious footstep. Someone was coming, walking silently through the night.135

His scheme was working! But so much still depended on the accuracy of Corrigan’s guesses—and it was all foolish guesswork.136

Softly Corrigan stood up close to the wall, waiting. Now that he was listening in the right direction, he heard other little sounds. The shape was coming closer, closer.137

Without warning it was there—a blacker blackness at the door of the shed. Corrigan could hear subdued breathing, then the gentle scratch of metal against wood. He tensed himself, lifted the gun and leapt at the dark shape.138

He crashed into a chunky, well-built body. There was a sudden groan of surprise and the body yanked angrily. Corrigan felt the cold rigidity of a gun and smacked it away with his left hand, an instant before its flaming rumble split the night. Cursing, Corrigan struggled with his unknown victim, falling and splashing through the rain-soaked clay. He was gripping to the man’s gun hand, fighting to keep the gun from discharging again, and his opponent was hanging on with equal nervousness to Corrigan’s gun. Neither said a word beyond mumbled profanity.139

Unexpectedly Corrigan’s foot slipped and he started skidding. The movement help wrench his own gun hand free. He fell onto the body before him and crashed the barrel of his gun at a spot where he figured the head would be. It connected with a solid, satisfying thud. The wriggling body went limp and Corrigan fell on it. This time he used his free hand to locate the unseen head and struck it again, hard enough to insure a long period of unconsciousness .140

Then, grunting and wheezing, Corrigan kicked open the shed’s door and hauled his victim inside. With the door shut, he used his cellphone to look at the blank face of the man he had jumped. A winded curse rushed out of his lungs.141

He was staring at a cube, totally unknown face. For a moment, a nauseous sense of failure inundated Corrigan. He had banked his life on a reckless gamble and had failed.142

Finding a dry math he lit it and fumbled at the stranger’s pocket, turning out a sheaf of papers and a small, black case. He looked inside the case and the sickness went out of his nerves. It bore the card with the name, “Vincent Nielsen, Insurance Investigator.” Corrigan got up swiftly, blowing out the match.143

“One down and two to go,” he said softly. “The killer had better be one of those two, or . . .” He started to turn away and swung his face full into the beam of an flashlight that out of the blue flamed at him from the doorway. He had left the shed door open when he hauled the insurance investigator inside and this other man had tripped up to it without a betraying sound.144

The flashlight’s beam caught Corrigan flatfooted. He batted an eyelid at it for a dazed moment while a man’s voice, harsh and scratchy with stress, cried:145

“There you are, you murdering motherfucker!”146

The words were still coming from the unseen lips when the gun went off. It flamed behind the light and something like a cushioned sledge hammer crashed into Corrigan’s shoulder and spun him around. He felt his own gun go flying across the shed, then he was sinking down onto his knees, digging for it with his left hand.147

The man with the flashlight came leapt forward and slammed into him, sending spears of pain through Corrigan’s wounded shoulder. He went over backward, using his knees and his left hand to fight off the kicking, scrabbling ferocity of the attack. He was weak and faint from the wound, but he managed to get control for his knees and force the other man back so that he could swing a solid punch with his left hand.148

The punch connected and the flashlight went rolling across the floor. Corrigan reared up, following his advantage, and punched again. The man groaned and rolled away from him.149

A face slumped into the wash of the light and Corrigan’s breath caught as he saw the unmistakable white beard of Dr. Louis J. Carmody, the Belasco’s personal physician.150

Carmody still held the nickel-plated pistol with which he had shot Corrigan, but he had been knocked silly from the blows, and was slow in getting up. Corrigan reared forward and punched again. The doctor went out for keeps.151

“That almost makes us even,” Corrigan panted, struggling to his feet and using the flashlight to find his own gun. “Now to finish this.”152

Exhausted and wobbly, he struggled across the shed and staggered out into the darkness. He had taken two steps across the wet clay when his knees abruptly gave out and he went down.153

He was still pitching forward when bright lights stabbed out from all sides, pinning him mercilessly in their glare. Corrigan knew the lights were on him and that men were pounding forward, but all he could do was sit in the mud and sob raucously. Then machine-guns in the hands of the sharply halting men were on him.154

“You’re covered, Corrigan!” It was Detective Vreeland’s voice, lashing at him out of the darkness. “One move and you we will shoot! Throw down your gun.”155

Corrigan moved feebly and the gun tumbled into the mud. Then Vreeland and half a dozen of his men, some in plain clothes, followed by uniformed officers were swarming over and around him, covering him with machine-guns, shotguns, and pistols and automatic rifles as Vreeland slapped at his clothing.156

“You crazy fucker, you’ve really fixed yourself now!” hollered Vreeland. “I almost believed your insane story back there until you knocked me out. Then, when I came to and worked myself loose, I found out about your going to Belasco’s friends with a ransom demand and—”157

“Sitting—on your—brains,” Corrigan gasped, then he managed a twisted grin. “You stupid son of a bitch, I—”158

“Detective, sir!” One of the uniformed men was racing back from an inspection of the shed. “Belasco’s not there, but two other men are—Dr. Louis Carmody and an investigator named Vincent from Prestige Insurance.”159

“Carmody?” Vreeland whirled, staring at Corrigan’s grinning face through narrowed eyes. “Ted, what’s going on? What has Carmody to do with this”160

“Who called you in?” Corrigan cut in, recovering some of his strength. “Delacruz, the lawyer, was it?”161

“What if it was?” Vreeland snapped. “He was right. Carmody fell for your plan and wanted to alert us to save Belasco. Delacruz did the right thing, more than I can say fro you. He came straight to the police and told the whole story.”162

“Up yours, Corrigan,” Delacruz himself barked, pushing his white face into the circle of light. “You ought to know better than to expect an attorney, sworn to uphold the law, to play along with your cons.”163

“You dick,” Corrigan growled, smiling at Vreeland. “Delacruz’s the guy who shot Belasco. I got a good look at him as he fired through the window but I didn’t know who he was, then. Later, when I went around calling, I saw him and recognized him immediately as the killer I’d seen shooting lead into Belasco.”164

“That’s a damn lie!” Delacruz bellowed angrily, his face twisted with wrath. “You were out of sight in the den—”165

He stopped short, catching at the words, staring wildly around at the circle of gaping faces.166

“That was what Corrigan himself told me, tonight,” he creaked throatily. “He said he’d been out in the hall so he couldn’t see the killer. He—”167

Corrigan laughed callously. “That won’t buy you anything in court, Buck, but it points the way. You can see he’s the guilty one, Detective, and with that to go on you’ll be able to dig up evidence enough to burn him. Of course I didn’t get a look at the killer, or I wouldn’t have gone out on a limb like I did tonight. I had to smoke him out the hard way—and I did.”168

“But—but Carmody and that detective—” Vreeland cried, befuddled.169

“My ass,” Corrigan said unassumingly. “I called on all three suspects with a wild tale.” But I first came out here and smeared myself with clay. It’s the only clay in this section and I took good care to exhibit around where they’d notice it. I could just see their eyes sparkled when they spotted my ‘carelessness.’ This would make a good hideout, so each one figured I had Belasco hidden out here at the phosphate pit. I wanted them to think that so their reactions would betray the guilty one. But I made it positive that any police interference would get Belasco killed.170

“Rochelle and Dr. Louis Carmody both wanted Belasco found alive, if possible, so they kept away from the police. Carmody showed the most guts by coming out alone to try to ‘rescue’ his friend. Rochelle brought in a cunning insurance detective. But Delacruz, here, didn’t want Belasco found alive. All he wanted was his corpse located, to establish evidence of death so the insurance money would be paid. So Delacruz went straight to the cops—and in doing so may as well put the needle in his own arm and save the Florida taxpayers some money.”171

Vreeland tightened his fists and looked at the sky.172

“What in the hell,” he groaned. “the son of a bitch has done it again. I get that private dick asshole ticketed for the last walk and he worms out of . . . Damn it all to hell!”173

Delacruz, taking advantage of fleeting inattention, was spinning away in a frantic bid for freedom. He kneed one officer, head-butted another, and leapt out of the light.174

A police officer off to one side raised his revolver. It faltered for a second and something heavy and lifeless went crashing down into the deep phosphate pit to land with a splatter far below. There were no further sounds of movement.175

Vreeland mopped his forehead.176

“Ah, fuck! That's the only kind of a trial where you can’t fix the jury. Listen, you son of a bitch, where is Belasco’s body? We’ve torn the town apart tonight—”177

Corrigan chuckled. “You always said the only friend I had in town was John, the morgue keeper, Buck. John was a real friend, tonight. He helped me undress Belasco’s corpse, marked it as a floater out of the river, and stuck it in the John Doe cooler at the police morgue.”178

“You son of a motherfucking crosskicking…”179

“Good night, Detective. I think I need a doctor.” With that Corrigan collapsed. 180