Manhunt. Volume 14, Number 1, February/March, 1966

Anita came to the hospital early the next morning. She’d driven my station wagon in and I didn’t object when she insisted on driving me home. I didn’t really feel up to leaving the hospital but I was anxious to get back to work. Anita started the car and then turned to me before pulling out of the parking lot.

“Clyde called early this morning. He’d like to talk with you again. Do you feel up to it?”

I didn’t really but I didn’t want to admit it. I had a feeling Anita was about ready to take me back inside that hospital as soon as I gave her the slightest hint that I felt like going back to bed.

Clyde looked even grimmer this morning, if that were possible.

“The man who rented out that car says it wasn’t Cal, Matt. Says the man who rented it gave the name of Henry C. Marshall and showed some credit cards in that name. Said he looked to be in his early forties or late thirties, was tall, well-built, and his hair was receding slightly. And that certainly doesn’t fit Cal. Cal’s tall and skinny and he couldn’t make that shock of red hair of his look receding if he tried. Also the man who took out that car had brown hair.”

“Hum.” I thought a minute. “That description sounds more like Charles Henry Lane than Cal.”

“I hope you’re kidding, Matt.”

“I am. Just thought of him because his was the last portrait I took. No. Maybe I’m not kidding. Lane was out of town, too, that day. Or said he was. He was telling me Wednesday when I took his picture. Telling me what a terrible thing this was to come home to. We were talking about the murder. Matter of fact I told him about it. He hadn’t heard about it yet.”

“What time was this, Matt?”

“Oh, about ten-thirty. Right after I got back from the Banning farm. He acted funny about that. When I mentioned the Banning farm. Maybe you’d better take his picture down to the capitol and show it to that clerk.”

Clyde scoffed. “Look, Matt, I want to believe Cal didn’t do this just as badly as you do. But Charles Henry Lane! I can’t buy that. Think about it a while and you won’t either.”

“Now wait just a minute, Clyde. Why not Charles Henry Lane? If it’s possible for a guy like Cal Lewis to go wrong why not Charles Henry Lane. Look. Give it a try anyway. Send somebody with a picture of Lane to the capitol.”

“Not me, Matt. It’d get around and then I would have troubles. I’m not sticking my neck out for a damn fool hunch of yours like that.”

“Then I’ll do it, Clyde. I’ll print up one of those pictures I took Wednesday and take it down there myself.”

Clyde shrugged his shoulders. “I’ll give you a letter to take with you in case they object to talking with you. But other than that you’re on your own.”

I regretted saying I’d go as soon as I walked out of Clyde’s office. I didn’t feel at all like driving to the capitol. But then I thought of Cal and I knew I had to do it. Halfway out to the station wagon I thought of something else and I went back to Clyde’s office.

“Do one thing for me, Clyde,” I said to him. “Find out where Charles Henry Lane spent his Army days.”

Clyde sighed. “All right. I’ll do that much for you.”

When I explained my idea to Anita she wasn’t at all skeptical. Maybe it was because she’d been away so long and Charles Henry Lane was rather unreal to her. And when she insisted on going to the capitol with me I didn’t object. I needed her now if only for moral support.

It’s about 65 miles one way to the capitol. Anita offered to drive down. My head was hurting again from printing up some enlargements of Lane so I let her drive. By the time we reached the capitol I was feeling pretty good. It was about three o’clock when we reached the edge of the city and three-thirty when we got to the car rental agency.

Fortunately the man who rented the car on Sunday night was on duty again. It took only a few minutes to get what I wanted. Charles Henry Lane was the man in our mystery car and our clerk was quite willing to make an identification in person.

Anita and I were both elated as we started homeward. I felt we really had something now. I drove and as the miles clicked by Anita dozed, her head resting near my shoulder. About twenty miles from home and just inside our county line there’s a bad curve and a drop-off on one side. It’s a bad spot and a lot of cars have gone over the bank. I don’t think anyone has lived who’s gone over. We were nearing it now and I began to slow down. Anita had awakened and was sitting sideways in the seat looking out the rear window. Suddenly she sat up straight.

“Matt! That car behind you is coming up awfully fast isn’t it?”

I’d been watching him in my rearview mirror. He was coming awfully fast. I swung off the road just as he cut around me, half on our side of the road. We hit the guard rail but stopped.

“Matt! He crowded you off the road!” Anita cried.