“Within a hundred yards of them take to the grass. They mustn’t hear our footsteps stopping. Let’s go.”
He entered the park by the paved path, and I trailed. The first thirty paces it was upgrade, curving right. Under a park light two young couples had stopped to have an argument, and we detoured around them. The path leveled and straightened under overhanging branches of trees. We passed another light. A man swinging a cane came striding from the opposite direction and on by. The path turned left, crossed an open space, and entered shrubbery. A little further on there was a fork, and Doyle stopped.
“They’re down there a couple of hundred feet,” he whispered, pointing to the left branch of the fork. “Or they were. Saul’s over that way.”
“Okay, I’ll lead. Steer me by touch.”
I stepped onto the grass and started alongside the right branch of the fork. It was uphill a little, and I had to duck under branches. I hadn’t gone far when Doyle tugged at my sleeve, and when I turned he pointed to the left. “That bunch of bushes there,” he whispered. “The big one in the middle. That’s where he went, but I can’t see him.”
My sight is twenty-twenty, and my eyes had got adjusted to the night, but for a minute I couldn’t pick him up. When I did the huddled hump under the bush was perfectly plain. A ripple ran up my spine. Since Saul was still there, Heath was still there too, under his eye, and almost certainly the woman with the dog was there also. Of course I couldn’t see them, on account of the bushes. I considered what to do. I wanted to confront them together, before they separated, but if Saul was close enough to hear their words I didn’t want to bust it up. The most attractive idea was to sneak across to Saul’s bush and join him, but I might be heard, if not by them by the dog. Standing there, peering toward Saul’s bush, concentrated, with Doyle beside me, I became aware of footsteps behind me, approaching along the path, but supposed it was just a late park stroller and didn’t turn — until the footsteps stopped and a voice came.
“Looking for tigers?”
I wheeled. It was a flatfoot on park patrol. “Good evening, officer,” I said respectfully. “Nope, just getting air.”
“The air’s the same if you stay on the path.” He approached on the grass, looking not at us but past us, in the direction we had been gazing. Suddenly he grunted, quickened his step, and headed straight for Saul’s bush. Apparently he had good eyes too. There was no time to consider. I muttered fast at Doyle’s ear, “Grab his cap and run — jump, damn it!”
He did. I will always love him for it, especially for not hesitating a tenth of a second. Four leaps got him to the cop, a swoop of his hand got the cap, and away he scooted, swerving right to double back to the path. I stood in my tracks. The cop acted by reflex. Instead of ignoring the playful prank and proceeding to inspect the object under the bush, or making for me, he bounded after Doyle and his cap, calling a command to halt. Doyle, reaching the path and streaking along it, had a good lead, but the cop was no snail. They disappeared.