The Ravagers by Donald Hamilton

door.
    Presently the girl, Penny, stuck her head out. She was still wired for interstellar communication, but tonight, instead of her plastic nightcap, she was wearing a pink net hood to keep the precious curlers undisturbed.
    “I’d like to speak with your mother,” I said.
    Her small face looked pinched and frightened. She hesitated, and turned jerkily. “It’s that man,” she said. “That private detective man. He wants to see you, Mummy.”
    I said, “Tell her it’s about a murder.”
    That brought a space of silence. I heard Genevieve rise and come to the door. The kid disappeared. Genevieve looked down at me from the trailer door. “What about a murder, Mr. Clevenger?”
    “Aren’t you going to ask me in?”
    She started to glance over her shoulder, as if looking for advice, but checked herself. “No, I’m not going to ask you in!” she snapped. “What do you want?”
    I regretted having come. Obviously there was someone in the trailer who didn’t belong there, and if it was the man I thought, I didn’t want to betray his presence to Larry or Johnston, one of whom was probably watching.
    I gave a phony sigh of resignation, and said, “All right, ma’am. Ill go away. I just thought you’d like to hear the latest on Mike Green. He was murdered, all right, like I said, and the young lady who did it committed suicide in Brandon this evening. I thought you’d like to know.”
    The woman above me said stiffly, “I can’t think why you’d think so. If there’s anything that interests me less than Mr. Green and his sordid death...”
    I said, “I know. It’s Mr. Clevenger and his sordid life. Good night, ma’am.”
    As I walked away, I heard the trailer door slam behind me. Well, I’d given them the good news; they could relax now. With a slight assist from me, they’d got away with two murders. I wondered why Ruyter had been fool enough to come here, if it was Ruyter—and if it was, I hoped he managed to get himself away unseen before morning.
    If not, I’d probably have to figure out some cute way of helping him get clear. The next bodyguard assignment I was given, I hoped I’d get to protect somebody I liked, for a change, but it wasn’t a great hope. There are plenty of nice, high-principled guys to do the nice assignments. We just get the ones no one else will have.

10
    In the morning it was drizzling again. The Drilling outfit broke camp much earlier today, shortly after seven. This might have caught me asleep, or at least breakfastless, if my evening visit to the trailer hadn’t prepared me for a possible change in the behavior pattern.
    The early start seemed to foreshadow a long day of hard driving, but here again there was a change. Genevieve wasn’t her dashing, truck-driving self this morning. Even after we reached the open highway, she poked along cautiously, passing nobody who wasn’t next to standing still, making life very easy for me—but I doubted it was my welfare she was thinking of. I noted that she seemed to be alone in the truck cab. Apparently Penny was in the trailer, and I didn’t really think the kid was sitting back there by herself.
    House trailers are not designed to be occupied in transit; in fact I believe it’s illegal in many places to ride in one. Genevieve was driving as if she was afraid somebody might get seasick back there; she was also driving as if she didn’t want to take the slightest chance of attracting the attention of a speed cop or becoming involved in an accident.
    We were well into the province of Manitoba by now, and the prairie scenery of Saskatchewan was giving way to more rolling country with patches of woods. As we cruised through a stretch of piney forest, Genevieve suddenly pulled out onto the shoulder of the highway and brought her truck and trailer to a halt. I drove past, intending to park beyond the next curve and sneak back for a look, but right around the corner I ran into a police roadblock.
    There was nothing to do but act