The Mike Hammer Collection - Mickey Spillane [88]
“Am I supposed to know you?”
She flicked her eyes to her hands, to Velda, then to me. “I have another name.”
“Oh?”
“Torrence. I never use it. He had me legally adopted a long time ago but I never use his name. I hate it.”
I shook my head. “Sorry, kid. I don’t make you at all.”
Velda reached out and touched my hand. “Sim Torrence. He was the District Attorney once; now he’s running in the primaries for governor of the state.”
“Win with Sim?”
“That’s right.”
“I remember seeing posters around but I never tied him up with the D.A.’s office.” I let a grin ease out. “It’s been a rough seven years. I didn’t keep up with politics. Now let’s hear the rest of this.”
Sue nodded, her hair tumbling around her face. She bit at her lip with even white teeth, her hands clasped so tight the knuckles showed white. “I ran away from him.”
“Why?”
The fear was a live thing in her eyes. “I think . . . he killed my mother. Now he wants to kill me.”
When I glanced at Velda I knew she was thinking the same thing I was. I said, “People running for governor don’t usually kill people.”
“He killed my mother,” she repeated.
“You said you thought he did.” She didn’t answer so I asked, “When was this supposed to have happened?”
“A long time ago.”
“How long?”
“I . . . was a baby. Eighteen years ago.”
“How do you know he did this?”
She wouldn’t look at me. “I just know it, that’s all.”
“Honey,” I said, “you can’t accuse a man of murder with a reason like that.”
She made a little shrug and worked her fingers together.
I said, “You have something else in your mind. What is it?”
Velda slipped her arm around her shoulders and squeezed. Sue looked at her gratefully and turned back to me again. “I remember Mama talking. Before she died. Whatever she said . . . is in my mind . . . but I can’t pick out the words. I was terribly frightened. She was dying and she talked to me and told me something and I don’t remember what it was!” She sucked her breath in and held it while the tears welled up in her eyes.
When she relaxed I said, “And what makes you think he wants to kill you?”
“I know . . . the way he looks at me. He . . . touches me.”
“Better, baby. You’ll have to do better than that.”
“Very well. There was a car. It almost hit me.”
“Did you recognize it?”
“No.”
“Go on.”
“There was a man one night. He followed me home from the theater. He tried to cut me off but I knew the roads and lost him not far from the house.”
“Did you recognize him or his car?”
“No.”
“Did you report the incidents?”
“No,” she said softly.
“Okay, Sue, my turn. Do you know you’re an exceptionally pretty girl?” She looked up at me. “Sure you do. Men are going to follow you, so get used to dodging. Nearly everybody has had a close call with a car, so don’t put too much store in that. And so far as your stepfather is concerned, he’d look at you like any man would his daughter and touch you the same way. You haven’t said anything concrete yet.”
“Then what about that man you killed and the other one?”
“Touché,” I said. But I couldn’t let it lay there. She was waiting and she was scared. I looked at Velda. “Did you tell her where you’ve been for seven years and what happened?”
“She knows.”
“And about me?”
“Everything.”
“Then maybe this is an answer . . . those men were part of an enemy organization who had to destroy Velda before she talked. They moved in to get her, not you. And now it’s over. Nobody’s going to kill her because now she’s said her piece and it’s too late. What do you think about that?”
“I’m not going back,” she said simply.
“Supposing I go see your stepfather. Suppose I can really find out the truth, even to what your mother told you. Would that help any?”
“Maybe.” Her voice was a whisper.
“Okay, kid, I’ll play Big Daddy.”
Velda looked up with eyes so full of thanks I had to laugh at her. She scooted the kid off to the other end of the room, took my arm, and walked me to the door. “You’ll do all you can?”
“You know, you’d think I’d know better by now.”
“Mike . . . don’t change.”
“No chance, baby.”
She opened the door. “Do you . .