Which Way to Die? Read Online Free

testy; apparently Mrs. Grant was a cross he found hard to bear. “He’s an excellent police officer, Elizabeth. The man was doing his job. I can’t find it in my heart to hold anything against him.”
    â€œYou may act the Christian if you wish, John,” she said, all fermentation now. “But I shall never forgive him for putting my son in prison. My innocent son. And your innocent son!”
    The uncomfortable expression on Alstrom’s face revealed something to Baer. There was no question in Alstrom’s mind about the two boys. Maternal blindness and a waspish character explained Elizabeth Grant, but John M. Alstrom was under no illusions. He knew the boys had killed the girl.
    â€œI’ll save you a stop Thursday morning,” Baer said. “Suppose you pick Captain Corrigan and me up at Police Headquarters. It’s closer to my place than here.”
    Alstrom rose with evident relief. “Of course. Thank you, Mr. Baer, for accepting the assignment. Come, Elizabeth.”

3.
    Corrigan was on the phone when his door swooshed open and Chuck Baer came in, straddled a chair, and lit a panatela.
    Corrigan said to the phone, “Okay, okay,” and hung up. He fixed the redhead with a stern glittering eye. “Didn’t your mother ever teach you to knock?”
    â€œI didn’t have a mother,” Baer said.
    â€œI know, you crawled out from under a rock.”
    â€œMy, my. Touchy this morning, aren’t we? Well, I can’t say I’m surprised. Having to play footsie with a couple of punk killers and all.”
    Corrigan’s one eye looked startled. “Where did you pick that up?”
    â€œI’m your nurse’s aide. John M. Alstrom and Mrs. Grant have hired me as those cute little tykes’ bodyguard.”
    The brown eye hardened. “Why’d you accept the assignment?”
    Baer looked at him.
    â€œI have to protect those lice because I’m under orders. But you have free choice. Lowering your standards, aren’t you?”
    â€œWhat standards?” Baer blew a stream of panatela smoke his way. “What’s the matter with you this morning? You’re supposed to be the guy who doesn’t believe in lynch law. Even killers have the right of physical protection against mobs and nuts and whatever. I’ve bodyguarded a hell of a lot of bastards I wouldn’t spit at. It’s a job. Were those two lawyers sent whimpering into the night because they defended Alstrom and Grant?”
    Corrigan grunted. “My apologies.”
    â€œIt’s about time.”
    â€œI guess this thing has me steamed up. To tell the truth, I’m glad to have you on the team. It may be a he-man’s job keeping the young gentlemen alive.”
    â€œMartello?”
    â€œAnd assorted bedbugs. I’ve already received one crank note—unsigned—from somebody who remembered I’d worked on the case.”
    Baer pursed his heavy lips. “Must be one of the original letter-writers.”
    Corrigan shook his head. “That was Yoder over at the lab I was talking to when you walked in. No fingerprints, and the typing and style don’t match any of the crank letters from four years ago. As a matter of fact, it’s the only really literate letter on the subject ever received. It was sure as hell written by someone who’s well-educated.”
    â€œFine. Now we have to worry about a literate nut.”
    â€œPlus the usual assortment of illiterate ones. By tomorrow I expect a dozen more threat-letters.”
    â€œPlus Marty Martello.”
    â€œPlus Harry Barber.”
    â€œYou think Barber’s a real threat? The clean-cut All-American boy?”
    â€œThe clean-cut All-American boy damn near killed both of them the day of their arrest. I had to knock him stiff to break his strangle-holds on their throats.”
    Baer looked surprised. “I never saw that in the papers.”
    â€œIt was