Werner had gone through the bedroom and into the bathroom. He ran the water at a rate that sounded like someone urinating and, reaching into his sleeve, he extracted the long slender autopsy knife. He grabbed it in his right hand like a dagger, then moved silently back through the bedroom.
Philips was sitting fifteen feet away, his back to Werner, his head bowed, looking at the photos in his lap. Werner paused just beyond the bedroom doorway. His slender fingers tightened around the worn wooden handle of the knife and he pressed his lips tightly together.
Philips picked up the pictures and lifted them in preparation of putting them face-down on the table. He got them as far as his chest when he was aware of motion behind him. He started to turn. There was a scream!
The knife blade plunged down just behind the right clavicle at the base of the neck, slicing through the upper lobe of the lung before piercing the right pulmonary artery. Blood poured into the opened bronchus, causing a reflex agonal cough, which sent the blood hurling from the mouth in a ballistic arc over the top of Philips’ head, drenching the table in front of him.
Martin moved by animal reflex, jumping to the right and grabbing the beer bottle in the process. Spinning around, he was confronted by the sight of Werner staggering forward, his hand groping vainly to pull out a stiletto buried to the hilt in his neck. With only a gurgle issuing from his throat, his thrashing body fell forward onto the table before crashing in a heap on the floor. The autopsy knife Werner had been holding clattered as it hit the table and skidded off with a thump.
“Don’t move, and don’t touch anything,” yelled Werner’s assailant, who had come through the open door to the hallway. “It’s a good thing we decided to put you under surveillance.” He was the Spanish-American with the heavy mustache and polyester suit Philips remembered seeing on the subway. “The idea is to hit either a major vessel or the heart, but this guy wasn’t going to give me any time.” The man leaned over and tried to pull his knife from Werner’s neck. Werner had collapsed with his head against his right shoulder and the blade was trapped. The assailant stepped over the twitching diener to give himself a better purchase on the weapon.
Philips had recovered enough from the initial shock to react as the man bent down by the table. Swinging the beer bottle in a full arc, Martin brought it down on the intruder’s head. The man had seen the blow coming and, at the last minute, had turned slightly away so some of the force was dissipated on his shoulder. Still, it sent him sprawling on top of his dying victim.
In the grip of utter panic, Philips started to run, still clutching the beer bottle. But, at the door, he thought he heard noises in the hallway below, making him afraid that the killer wasn’t alone. (Stabbing the doorjamb to reverse his direction, he dashed back through Werner’s apartment. He saw that the killer had regained his feet but was still stunned, holding his head with both hands.
Martin rushed to a rear window in the bedroom and threw up the sash. He tried to open the screen but couldn’t, so he bashed it out with his foot. Once out on the fire escape, he plummeted down. It was miraculous he didn’t stumble, because his exit was more like a controlled fall. On the ground, he had no choice of direction; he had to run east. Just beyond the neighboring building, he entered a vegetable garden in a vacant lot. To his right there was a hurricane fence that barred the way back to Hamilton Terrace.
The ground fell off sharply as he ran eastward and he found himself sliding and falling down a steep rock-strewn hill. The light was now behind him and he advanced into darkness. Soon he tumbled against a wire fence. Beyond it was a drop often feet into an automobile junkyard. Beyond that was the weakly illuminated expanse of St. Nicholas Avenue. Philips was about to scale the low fence when he realized it had been cut. He squeezed through the convenient opening and swung himself down the cement wall, dropping the last few feet blindly.