The Follower Read Free Page B

good.
    He squeezed past a Town and Country Buick and reached the driver’s door of the Cadillac. As he opened it he happened to glance towards the doors to Dead Storage. They were ajar. A sudden idea came. He skirted the Buick again and moved through the narrow aperture between the sliding doors into the dark interior of the space beyond.
    Around him, visible only as faint, unrelated gleams of metal, stretched the cars, set up on blocks, which had been put away for the winter. Why wouldn’t this be a far safer dumping place for Corey than a haphazard location by the river or in the park, where he would certainly be discovered before morning? Once a car was laid up for the winter, who would look for it? It was cold here too - cold like a refrigeration plant. If he could smuggle the body past the attendant, it might not be discovered for weeks. That would give him excellent control of the time element. Corey could stay there until he was ready to produce him again.
    He groped his way to the car nearest him and tried the door handle. It opened. With a twinge of elation, he returned to the garage proper. It would be safer if Joe didn’t hear him take the Cadillac out, even though it would be no tragedy if he did. He pushed the car to the head of the ramp and coasted down, going into gear only when he had swung into the street. He was practically sure that Joe had noticed nothing.
    He drove to the apartment house, parked the Cadillac at the opening of the alley and returned to the apartment by the service elevator.
    As he passed the bedroom, he caught once again the fleeting fragrance of Ellie’s perfume. A sudden longing for his wife and for a reasonable, ordinary homecoming overwhelmed him, almost cracking his somnambulistic calm.
    ‘Ellie,’ he thought, Ellie, baby, where are you?’
    But in a moment he had the situation in hand again. Later - for all that. He turned on one light in the living-room and climbed the stairs, past the iron balustrade with its trailing vines - back into the bar.

3
    IN the vague light from downstairs the body seemed large and menacing. He dropped at its side. In his mind he still called it Corey Lathrop, but he had made himself deny its humanity and think of it as an object - a nondescript something which had to be removed from here and dumped in a winter-stored car.
    He rolled it over on its face. Easing his shoulder under its stomach, he rose slowly until he was erect with it slumped over his shoulder, the long legs dangling in front of him. He moved to the head of the stairs and started down them, steadying himself with his free hand against the iron banister. Although his muscles were in perfect condition, he found Corey far heavier than he had imagined possible. On the bottom step he stumbled and the corpse sagged off balance. Before he could right himself, he fell sprawling into the living-room. The body, cold and impersonal, rolled after him.
    He got up and stood for a moment panting. It would probably be easier to drag it. He gripped the hands and started to pull the resisting hulk towards the front door. It knocked against the table leg, making a lamp totter. He felt absurd anger welling up against it.
    At the door he dumped it and moved out into the vestibule. The service elevator was still there from his upward trip. He propped the door back with the mop and the pail of dirty water and, dragging Corey inside, laid him half upright against the wall. He brought the mop and pail in and closed the door.
    As he did so, Corey lurched sideways and down, sending the mop clattering and overtilting the pail. The noise, in that confined space, seemed deafening, and Mark felt the dirty water sliding clammily around his shoes.
    Downstairs, he made sure the coast was clear and then brought the body out into the alley. With the snow acting as a slide, it was easy to pull it along and the tracks would soon be obliterated. There were lighted windows above him, but he was almost sure the alley itself