"murderwithoutacorpse" - читать интересную книгу автора (Daniels Norman A)

MURDER WITHOUT A CORPSE
by NORMAN A. DANIELS


The dead man got up and ran away and left Mike Conway framed with a murder rap!


Patrolman Mike Conway rounded the deserted corner of Ninth Avenue and Barrington Street.
He was stowing away his keys after the 1:15 duty call. Therefore Conway's hand wasn't very
far away from his holstered gun.

He saw two things, almost simultaneously. A sedan was moving slowly along the wrong
side of the street, and a man on the sidewalk was running crazily.

The blast of a gun broke the early morning quiet! The killer fired four shots, very
fast but apparently with remarkable accuracy for the man on the sidewalk stopped, straight-
ened up to his full height, and then pitched forward. He rolled limply off the sidewalk into
the gutter.

Conway's service pistol barked a warning shot. Not that he expected it to be obeyed, but
Conway was considered the crack shot of the force and knew that he could afford to waste a
shot. There was a marksman medal pinned beneath his badge.

The car gained speed. Conway slowed up, curved his left arm in front of him and rested
the muzzle of his pistol against it. He snapped three shots this time, and they didn't miss.
Conway knew they couldn't have. He'd wasted enough ammunition to be sure he'd never miss at
this range.

The car gave a wild lurch to the left. climbed the curb, rolled across the sidewalk and
smashed into the stone wall of a building. Instantly there was a puff of smoke and flames
leaped from the vehicle.

Conway cast a quick glance at the victim in the gutter, knew the man must be dead because
of the way he fell, and then raced toward the now fiercely burning car.

Someone jumped out of the rear, a slim man with hat brim pulled low and collar high. He
darted along the sidewalk for about ten feet, swerved and disappeared into the mouth of an
alley.

Conway had no time for him; there was someone else in the car. The driver, probably, be-
cause Conway saw an arm hanging limply through the window. He tried to approach the car, but
those flames beat him back. He curled an arm over his face and tried again. He felt his hair
and eyebrows singe; felt the searing heat and jumped back. The flames and smoke prevented him
from seeing the face of the man behind the wheel, but he did notice that there were three
bullet holes through the back of the sedan, attesting to his marksmanship.

Conway raced for a firebox on the next corner, yanked down the lever, then hurried back
to where the first victim had been sprawled in the gutter. Conway stopped and gaped.