He didn’t say any more. I lay down on my bed fully clothed and slept about an hour later. I dreamed that Ellen and I had escaped together and were being chased through the woods. Snarling dogs kept catching up to us, and I kept kicking them aside. Ellen held on to me, crying and helpless, and we ran and ran but we never got away. Then Ellen tripped and fell into a deep hole and I grabbed for her but she fell away and I saw her face receding from me.
I woke up with a jolt and sat there, staring dumbly, hearing the birds singing in the gloom of early morning.
I had to see her.
5.
The visiting room in the Emmetsville jail was dingy. It was bare, the floor boards naked and scratched. The walls were rough plaster and there was one high window, wire-covered, opening on a shadow-dim alley. In the center of the room was a heavy oak table with one chair on each side of it and a partition in the middle.
Ellen was on the other side of the table when I was ushered into the room. Behind Ellen, standing with her back to the door which led to the cells, stood a bulky, gray-haired matron, arms crossed, face expressionless.
I felt a sinking in my stomach when I saw the matron. I had known all the time that Ellen and I wouldn’t be alone together, yet the sight of that cheerless-looking woman made me more tense than I already was.
Behind me, the door to the station room closed as I walked to the table, hoping that the smile I gave Ellen didn’t look as strained as it felt to me. Our hands met over the partition, hers cool and strengthless.
“No more contact, please,” the matron said in a bored voice and our hands fell away hastily. Ellen’s smile faded, then was restored with a compulsive effort.
“How are you, Ellen?” I asked.
“I’m okay, Matt,” she said, “thank you.”
We stood there awkwardly a moment, looking at each other, trying to smile and not much succeeding.
Then she said, “Well….” and we both sat down together. I noticed how pale she looked, how dark the circles were around her eyes. She clasped white hands on the table top. The gray smock she wore was clean and pressed but it looked wrong and ugly on her slender body. I sat staring at her. I couldn’t think of a thing to say.
“How are things in camp?” Ellen asked.
“We’re—closing up,” I said, hesitantly. “Too many cancellations. The—parents all taking their kids home.”
“I know,” she said, looking down at her hands, “I guess you can’t blame them, really.”
“I suppose not,” I said. “But—” I stopped and drew in a fast breath. “Well, never mind about that,” I said. “Tell me how you’ve been.”
She smiled sadly. “What can I say? They’ve treated me very fairly here. And Doc has been—so wonderful. I wish someone would make him rest.”
Silence. Our eyes held and, for a moment, it didn’t seem to matter that someone strange was in the room with us. My hand twitched empathetically as I cut off the impulse to reach out for her.
“I’m sorry I didn’t come before,” I said. “I wanted to.”
“I know you’ve been busy,” she said. I could hardly hear her voice.
Our eyes held again.
“It’s been awful, Ellen,” I said. “Going on with the kids. Pretending everything was the same. Eating with them, talking with them, answering their questions.”
“I know, Matt,” she said.
“Have you been all right?” I asked.
“It’s not too bad,” she said. “I’ve more or less resigned myself to it. I’m trying to believe it’s all for the—”
“I don’t want you to believe that,” I said.
Her eyes shut and I saw her white throat move painfully.
“Thank you, Matt,” she said.
“I’m going to be with you all through it,” I told her.
She looked up, an expression of conflict on her face. “Matt, I know you mean well but—”
“Ellen, don’t,” I cut her off. “I’m staying with you; no matter what happens.”
The skin drew taut across her pale cheeks and, for a second, there was pain-stricken life in her eyes.
“Matt, I don’t want you to,” she said. “You don’t know about me. What if I did it? What if I did it, Matt?”
“I love you, Ellen,” I said. She started to say something but I stopped her. “Let’s not argue about that any more,” I said. “It’s established.”
There was a glistening in her eyes. “Thank you, Matt. Thank you,” she barely whispered. “I … if I could tell you what that means to me—I would. But—” She swallowed and bit her lower lip. “Matt.” It was all she could say. “Matt.” And I knew that, no matter what had been unsaid, the visit had served its purpose. When we were separated fifteen minutes later, there was a look of almost peace on her face.
But then the door shut her away from me and I was alone again, shapeless terror returning again like a fever which has broken for a moment, only to return again, worse than ever.
1.
On the way back to camp, I stopped off at The Crossroads Tavern for a hamburger and a cup of coffee. It wasn’t dark enough yet for the table lights or the lights over the fireplace and the room was dim, the small dance floor laced with shadows.
I was drinking my coffee when I heard the screen door open and two sets of footsteps moving across the barroom into the shadowy room where I was. I looked up. At first, I didn’t recognize them. Then it hit me with a rush. The shorter of the two was Jackie.
The other was Merv Loomis.
The instant I pushed to my feet, they stopped and looked at me. As we stood staring at each other, I saw Merv say something and then the two of them turned hastily and left the room. I pushed out of the booth and started across the floor. I heard the screen door close loudly and I started running. Outside, I could hear their shoes moving rapidly down the gravel path.
“Hey, what about ya bill?” the man at the bar called as I started for the door.
I should have told him I’d be right back but I wasn’t thinking. I fumbled in my pocket, and realized that I didn’t have enough change. Jerking out my wallet, I pulled a dollar bill from it and slapped it on the bar.
“What about ya change?” the man called after me but I was already outside.
They were gone. I jumped down the three steps and sprinted down the path for the road. When I reached it, they weren’t in sight.
I stood there panting, looking up and down the road with confused eyes, my heart jolting heavily. They couldn’t have disappeared so quickly. I raced for the cross-roads, then reversed direction and started the other way toward the Bramblebush Restaurant and the Shady Haven Motel. As I ran along the edge of the road, looking to each side, a scene kept moving through my mind. A scene I hadn’t thought of for some time, but a scene that suddenly seemed to promise the answer I’d been looking for so desperately. Merv stumbling away from Camp Pleasant, nose bleeding, a hysterical look on his face. Merv’s voice, gasping. I could hear the words as if he were speaking them again in my mind.
He’ll pay.
I ran a few yards past the motel before it struck me. Then I dashed back and went into the office. It was empty. I slapped down the button on the desk bell and it broke the stillness. In the back room, I heard someone groan as if getting up from a chair. There was a slap of loose slippers on the floor boards. An old man came out, adjusting spectacles over his pale blue eyes. He shuffled to the counter.
“Sign outside says no vacancies, young man,” he said. “Guess ya didn’t see it.”
“Have you a couple of men living here?” I said.
“Couple o’men?” The old man looked blank.
“One’s named Jack something or other,” I said. “The other one’s named Loomis, Merv Loomis.”
“Loomis,” said the old man, pondering, “Loomis.”
“May I see your book?”
His lips pursed. “No Loomis here.”
“Are you sure?”
“Young man, I been
in the motel business since before you was born. Think I ought t’know if—”
“May I see your book?” I said.
“Already told ya,” he said. “Got no Loomis here. You try the Dan Boone Motel coupla miles west. Manager’s John Saylor, friend o’ mine. He’ll—”
“Is there anyone here named Jack then?” I insisted.
“What’s the first name?”
I gritted my teeth. “Jack is the first name,” I said impatiently.
Blowing out an undisguised breath of disgust, the old man reached down under the counter and came up grunting with a heavy log book.
“No Loomis here,” he said. “Told ya that already.”
I grabbed for the book but he pulled it away testily.
“Now, you look here, young man,” he started.
“Will you please look!” I begged. “This is important!”
He pressed irritated lips together, then flipped open the cover and, mumbling, looked for the current week. He adjusted his spectacles, tugged at his sleeves. I died while he perused the pages carefully, shaking his head.
“No Loomis,” he finally said.
“Is there a Jack something then?” I asked.
Lips pursed again.
“Well,” he said slowly, “there’s a … Jack Wakefield in Cabin Eight.”
“Is he alone?” I asked quickly.
“No,” he said. “No. Has a friend stayin’ with him.”
“What’s his name?”
“Name,” he mumbled. He looked carefully at the page. “Name’s … Larkin. Martin Larkin.”
“Cabin Eight,” I said, turning for the door.
“Don’t think they’re in,” the old man called after me.
“They’re in,” I said. The screen door slapped shut behind me and my shoes crunched over the gravel-strewn court. I stopped by the alleyway between cabins Seven and Eight and a breath of partial relief shuddered through me. I stood there a moment looking at Jackie’s tan coupe.
Then I heard a voice inside the cabin—Jackie’s. “Well, I just don’t see the point,” he said.
Silence.
“Oh, come on now,” Jackie said. “What are you worrying about? He can’t—”
“Be quiet,” I heard Merv’s voice break in, urgently.
“Why?”
“I thought I heard something.”
He had. I was on the porch by then, knocking on the door. There was a gasp inside. I stood there in silence, looking at the window curtain fluttering in the breeze.
“Who’s there?” I heard Jackie ask.
“Open the door,” I said.
Silence, then tentative footsteps. I heard Merv suddenly whisper, “No, don’t!” and Jackie’s answering scoff, “Oh, Merv.”
The door opened. “Well, hello there,” Jackie greeted me. “Would you like to—”
I pushed past him.
“Well, do come in,” he said.
Merv was standing by the bed, dressed in denims and a short-sleeve shirt. The humor was gone from his eyes; there was only dull resentment left.
“Hello, Merv,” I said.
“What do you want?” he asked.
“Why did you run away?” I asked.
“That’s my affair,” he said. “I don’t see where you have the right to follow me around.”
“I thought we were friends, Merv,” I said. “Why should you run away from me?”
“What is it you want?” he asked. Behind me, I heard Jackie close the door with a sigh of resignation.
“I want to know why you’re still here,” I said.
“I hardly think that’s any of your—”
“Come off it, Merv,” I said. “You’re in trouble.”
“Mister Harper, why don’t you—?” Jackie started, but I cut him off.
“I asked you why you ran off, Merv,” I said. “You didn’t answer me.
“I had no desire to see you,” he said, trying to sound assured, although I knew he wasn’t. The constant movement of his throat showed that.
“Why, Merv?” I asked.
“Listen, Harper, I don’t have to explain my movements to you!” he flared.
“Either you explain them to me or you’ll explain them to the sheriff!”
His lean face went blank. “What?”
“The sheriff?” Jackie said. “What in the name of God are—”
“You were going away, Merv,” I said. “You were fired and you said you were going away. But you’re still here—and Ed Nolan is dead.”
His face went slack. “You—you think that—”
“Why are you here?” I asked. “You said you were going away.”
“That’s my business.”
“Not any more it isn’t,” I answered.
“Oh, this is impossible!” Jackie said.
“Why are you still here?” I persisted.
“Get out of this cabin,” Merv told me. “I will not be—”
“All right, don’t tell me,” I said. “We’ll let the sheriff get it out of you.
He looked stunned again.
“I want facts,” I said. “You’re in a bad position. Either you tell me or you tell the sheriff. That’s it.”
Merv swallowed. He glanced at Jackie who was breathing fitfully, left hand pressing against his chest.
“Do you think I killed Ed Nolan?” Merv asked.
“Can you give me one good reason why I shouldn’t think it?” I said.
“Good God, what do you take me for?” he said loudly. “Do you think I could do a thing like that?”
“You hated him,” I said.
“I still hate him,” he said. “But I had nothing to do with—”
“I’m not going to argue with you, Merv,” I said. “Can you prove you were somewhere else when it happened?”
Merv still looked dazed. “I … I don’t know,” he said. “It happened so long ago.”
“Not so long,” I said.
“Well….” Merv looked helplessly toward Jackie. “I—I don’t know where we were but—”
“Undoubtedly here,” Jackie said pettishly. “We rarely rise before noon.”
“Why did you come back?” I asked, my confidence slipping.
“I told you,” Merv said, “that’s my business.”
All the tension seemed to explode in me.
“Well, the hell with you!” I found myself yelling at him. “I’m not going to waste my time on you any more! You can be as coy as you like with the sheriff!”
I jerked open the door but Merv was across the room suddenly, his hand tight on my arm. He shoved the door closed.
“No,” he said. “I don’t want to be—involved.”
A slow rise of elation in me again.
“Why? If you’re innocent, why should you care?”
“I don’t want you to tell the sheriff,” he said slowly, and there was something more than pleading in his voice.
“Give me one reason why I shouldn’t,” I said.
He swallowed. “I was not involved in Ed Nolan’s death,” he said.
My stomach muscles jerked in tautly. “That’s for the sheriff to decide,” I said, turning the door knob.
His swing came as a total surprise. If he’d been the physical type like Mack, it might have worked. As it was, his fist only grazed my chin and made me fall, off balance, against the door. I grabbed his flailing right arm and spun him around, locking it behind his back. Our shoes scraped wildly on the floor boards and Merv gasped with pain.
“Stop that!” Jackie cried shrilly.
“I want an answer, Merv,” I said.
“You filthy—” His voice broke off into a sobbing grunt of pain as I jerked up his arm.
“The story!” I snarled, feeling as if I could kill him where he stood.
“You filthy brute!” Jackie cried, shivering impotently.
“I didn’t kill Ed Nolan!” Merv gasped.
“Then why were you afraid of me calling the sheriff?”
“I can
’t—” Another twist of his arm. “Will you stop it!” he cried hysterically.
“God dam you, I’ll snap your arm right off if you don’t answer me!” I said, beyond sympathy, beyond reason. It was as if he were pushing Ellen toward her death and didn’t care.
“All right!” he said with a sharp break in his voice.
I let go abruptly and he stumbled toward the bed, sobbing.
“You filthy—” Jackie started to say, but I cut him off with a, “Shut up, damn it!” “Uh!”
Merv clumped down on the bed, his thin chest jerking with breaths. I should have felt sorry for him but I couldn’t.
“You’re like all of them,” he said in a trembling voice. “Like every one of them—blind, thoughtless. Without the sensitivity you were born with, without—”
“All right, cut the babbling,” I interrupted. “I want an answer to my question.”
His head lifted; his eyes burned into me.
“Why did I come back?” he asked, teeth gritted.
I tensed, anticipating.
“Because I was sick of fighting it,” he said. “Because I—” he forced it out—”wasn’t going to go home to my mother like a—defeated boy.”
I stared at him blankly.
“I was halfway home,” he went on brokenly. “Then—I knew I couldn’t face her. So I sent her a—a wire and said I’d left the camp and was going on a trip to the coast.” He swallowed. “And I came back here.”
“Why?” I was too far gone; I really didn’t know.
His lips shook. “You won’t leave me anything, will you?” he said, his voice as bitter as any voice I’ve heard in my life.
“I—”
“I came back to Jackie!” He flung the words at me in a spasm of rage and shame.
I started to say something but words didn’t come.
“Are you happy now?” Merv asked me. “Happy you blundered in and forced it out of me? Happy to find out that I’m—” He didn’t finish the sentence. He looked at me accusingly. “Well, what are you waiting for?” he lashed out. “Don’t you know enough? Do I have to give you details? Do I have to draw you an outline of—oh God, I hate what life is! I hate it!”
I felt something draining from me. It was hope.
“I don’t want the police to get my name because if they got my name it would appear in the papers and my mother would see it,” Merv went on mechanically. “Is that clear enough? I don’t want my mother to know that—” The masochistic impulse departed suddenly. “Oh damn your filthy interference!” he sobbed at me.
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