Two figures debouched into the alley from the street and came toward her, silhouetted against the opening, and she recognized Joyson and Kermein. She started to climb into the car — and stopped, as the sound of voices reached her.
At the end of the alley, where two shapes had been visible a second ago, there were now four. And then she heard a voice she recognized.
“I want you boys to meet a friend of mine,” said the grim tones of Sergeant Bill Harvey, followed on the instant by the sound of knuckles and jaws in violent collision. The group of shadows leaped into frenetic motion and gave off scrambled sound effects of flesh smacking flesh, scuffling feet, smothered grunts, and gasps of pain.
Luella snatched off a high-heeled shoe and hobbled swiftly toward the commotion, but as she ran, it resolved itself into two recumbent shapes, with two more moving swiftly toward the street. They were gone by the time Luella reached the scene.
She had a sickening suspicion of the identity of the fallen two even before she bent over them, but as she stooped, a fresh horrifying sound jerked her bolt upright again. The sound was the starting of a car’s engine.
Uttering a small scream, Luella sprang towards the long black sedan.
The taillight seemed to wink mockingly at her as it dwindled toward the far end of the alley and vanished into the street.
The photographer called Smith, whose obviously new civilian clothes would normally have branded him at once to a less rattled Matthew Joyson, leered at the 4x5 print and chuckled.
“Sarge, do you look silly,” he remarked.
“Go to hell, Corporal,” said Sergeant Harvey genially. He tore the picture and the negative into small pieces and scattered them out of the car window.