This Way for a Shroud

"If this girl gets killed, the D.A. will raise all the hell McCann will ever want! Get your men into action!"

"Hey! Wait a minute," Bardin said, putting his hand on Conrad's arm. "Look who's coming," and he jerked his thumb towards a tall young fellow with a crew hair-cut, who was wearing a red-patterned shirt outside his trousers. In his arms he held a collection of dolls, vases and boxes of candy. By his side walked a blonde girl in a white sports frock. "Think those are the two we're looking for?"

"There must be ten thousand punks who're wearing their shirts like that right in this park," Conrad growled, "but I'll ask him." He strode up to Buster Walker. "You just come from Lennox Avenue?" he demanded, and felt a little shrill crawl up his spine at Buster's look of blank astonishment.

"Why, sure," Buster said. "How did you know?"

Conrad looked at Bunty.

"You Miss Boyd?"

"Yes," Bunty said blankly.

Conrad signalled to Bardin, who joined them.

"These are the two. You'd better handle it, Sam."

Bardin flashed his buzzer.

"I'm Lieutenant Bardin, City Police. Where's Miss Coleman?"

"Frankie?" Buster gaped at him. "What do you want her for? What's the idea?"

"Answer the question and snap it up!" Bardin barked. "Where is she?"

"We left her in the amusement park."

"Alone?"

"No, she's with Burt."

"Burt – who?"

"Why, Burt Stevens, of course. What's all this about?"

Bardin glanced at Conrad, who asked, "Has this Stevens guy got a birth-mark ?"

"That's right. A port-wine stain down the right side of his face."

"Are you sure his name is Stevens?"

"He said it was. Is there something wrong, then?"

"But you don't know for certain?"

"No, we don't," Bunty broke in. "I didn't like the look of him when he came to the house. You see, we were all going to the beach: Frankie, Buster, Terry Lancing and myself. Terry phoned to say he couldn't make it, and was sending his friend Burt to take his place. This boy turned up. He said he was Burt Stevens, but of course as I've never seen him before I don't know for certain if he really is Burt Stevens."

"Where exactly did you leave Miss Coleman?"

"They were going into the maze," Buster said.

"What maze?"

"The mirror maze. It's at the end of that avenue, next to the big tent. I wish you'd tell me what this is all about."

"No time right now," Conrad said curtly. "Stay right here. We may need you again." He turned to Bardin. "Come on!" He didn't wait to see Bardin's reaction, but broke into a run, and began forcing his way through the crowds towards the big tent.

Bardin paused only long enough to give instructions to his sergeant.

"Get that maze surrounded. Don't let anyone out. You know who to look for. Watch out for Moe. He'll try to shoot his way out."

He turned and ran after Conrad, leaving Buster and Bunty staring blankly after him.

II

The rays of the sun, striking obliquely into the maze, caught the nickel plate of the automatic and made the gun glitter in Moe's hand.

For a brief moment Frances stared at the pointing gun. Moe s appearance struck terror in her heart. His black suit, his hunched shoulders and his stillness sent a cold dull up her spine. She knew instinctively that he was a killer, and she realized he was about to shoot at her.

There was no retreat. She looked desperately along the row of mirrors and saw an opening about ten feet ahead of her. She braced herself and jumped forward. As she moved Moe shot at her.

The crash of gunfire, hemmed in by the confined space, sounded like a bomb exploding. Frances screamed wildly as a mirror right by her smashed into pieces. Fragments of glass flew like shrapnel. A splinter of glass sliced her frock missing her flesh by a hair's breadth.

She bolted down the turning, and ran as she had never run before. Ahead of her stretched an endless path of mirrors. Behind her she heard the soft padpad-pad of running feet, coming at a much faster speed than she was going. She flew over the ground, reached another turning and sped round it, cannoning into a mirror as she took the turning.

She tried desperately to regain her balance, then slid down on one knee. As she struggled up, the automatic cracked again and a bullet zipped past her face, smashed a mirror, ricocheted against another mirror and smashed that too.

The narrow path became full of flying fragments of glass. Covering her face with her arms, Frances blundered on down the path, running slower now, her breath coming in hard sobbing gasps.