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Before
leaving
that
night
,
I
arranged
with
Brutal
to
cover
for
me
the
next
day
,
should
I
come
in
a
little
late
,
and
when
I
got
up
the
following
morning
,
I
set
out
for
Tefton
,
down
in
Trapingus
County
.
"
I
'm
not
sure
I
like
you
worrying
so
much
about
this
fellow
Coffey
,
"
my
wife
said
,
handing
me
the
lunch
she
'd
put
up
for
me
--
Janice
never
believed
in
roadside
hamburger
stands
;
she
used
to
say
there
was
a
bellyache
waiting
in
every
one
.
"
It
's
not
like
you
,
Paul
.
"
"
I
'm
not
worried
about
him
,
"
I
said
.
"
I
'm
curious
,
that
's
all
.
"
"
In
my
experience
,
one
leads
to
the
other
,
"
Janice
said
tartly
,
then
gave
me
a
good
,
hearty
kiss
on
the
mouth
.
"
You
look
better
,
at
least
,
I
'll
say
that
.
For
awhile
there
,
you
had
me
nervous
.
Waterworks
all
cured
up
?
"
"
All
cured
up
,
"
I
said
,
and
off
I
went
,
singing
songs
like
"
Come
,
Josephine
,
in
My
Flying
Machine
"
and
"
We
're
in
the
Money
"
to
keep
myself
company
.
I
went
to
the
offices
of
the
Tefton
Intelligencer
first
,
and
they
told
me
that
Burt
Hammersmith
,
the
fellow
I
was
looking
for
,
was
most
likely
over
at
the
county
courthouse
.
At
the
courthouse
they
told
me
that
Hammersmith
had
been
there
but
had
left
when
a
burst
waterpipe
had
closed
down
the
main
proceedings
,
which
happened
to
be
a
rape
trial
(
in
the
pages
of
the
Intelligencer
the
crime
would
be
referred
to
as
"
assault
on
a
woman
,
"
which
was
how
such
things
were
done
in
the
days
before
Ricki
Lake
and
Carnie
Wilson
came
on
the
scene
)
.
They
guessed
he
'd
probably
gone
on
home
.
I
got
some
directions
out
a
dirt
road
so
rutted
and
narrow
I
just
about
did
n't
dare
take
my
Ford
up
it
,
and
there
I
found
my
man
.
Hammersmith
had
written
most
of
the
stories
on
the
Coffey
trial
,
and
it
was
from
him
I
found
out
most
of
the
details
about
the
brief
manhunt
that
had
netted
Coffey
in
the
first
place
.
The
details
the
Intelligencer
considered
too
gruesome
to
print
is
what
I
mean
,
of
course
.
Mrs.
Hammersmith
was
a
young
woman
with
a
tired
,
pretty
face
and
hands
red
from
lye
soap
.
She
did
n't
ask
my
business
,
just
led
me
through
a
small
house
fragrant
with
the
smell
of
baking
and
onto
the
back
porch
,
where
her
husband
sat
with
a
bottle
of
pop
in
his
hand
and
an
unopened
copy
of
Liberty
magazine
on
his
lap
.
There
was
a
small
,
sloping
backyard
;
at
the
foot
of
it
,
two
little
ones
were
squabbling
and
laughing
over
a
swing
.
From
the
porch
,
it
was
impossible
to
tell
their
sexes
,
but
I
thought
they
were
boy
and
girl
.
Maybe
even
twins
,
which
cast
an
interesting
sort
of
light
on
their
father
's
part
,
peripheral
as
it
had
been
,
in
the
Coffey
trial
.
Nearer
at
hand
,
set
like
an
island
in
the
middle
of
a
turdstudded
patch
of
bare
,
beatup-looking
ground
,
was
a
doghouse
.
No
sign
of
Fido
;
it
was
another
unseasonably
hot
day
,
and
I
guessed
he
was
probably
inside
,
snoozing
.
"
Burt
,
yew-all
got
you
a
cump
'n
y
,
"
Mrs.
Hammersmith
said
.
"
Allright
,
"
he
said
.
He
glanced
at
me
,
glanced
at
his
wife
,
then
looked
back
at
his
kids
,
which
was
where
his
heart
obviously
lay
.
