Girl out back

by Charles Williams

  The curtains were drawn in the kitchen and the Venetian blinds closed in the dining- and living-rooms. We went on through to the living-room and I put down her bag.

  She dropped her purse on the coffee table and turned. I caught her to me and kissed the upraised lips and closed eyes and then whispered rapturously against her ear, “Darling, darling; it won t be long,” at the same time reminding myself she probably wouldn’t want to get very sweaty about it here, under the circumstances, and that there was a lot to be done.

  She surrendered to it for an instant, and then began pushing me away, breathless and confused but radiantly happy. “No, Barney. No. Let’s hurry and get started.”

  “All right, sweet,” I said. “Make yourself comfortable.”

  She sat down on the sofa near the phonograph and took a cigarette from her bag. I lit it for her. She smiled and said, “It’s so wonderful it’s like a dream.”

  I turned toward the stairs, and then stopped, struck by an odd thought.

  “Look,” I asked, “how did you know she was gone?”

  She smilingly shook her head at me. “It was in the paper, silly. Don’t you ever look at it?”

  “Oh,” I said. I went on up the stairs. Well, there was that to be said for having a rich wife; you could always read the paper and find out what she was doing. I grabbed two of my suitcases from the hall closet, took them into the bedroom, and began throwing clothes into them. It required less than a minute to see I was never going to get more than a quarter of my personal gear into them. And I needed the other bag for the money; it was the only one to which I hadn’t lost the key.

  Well, why not ship the trunk? I could put the money in that other bag, throw away most of the useless rubbish that was stored in it now, and pack it with things I wanted to take. I could leave it on the kitchen porch and phone to have it picked up and forwarded collect care Railway Express in Miami. Right. That was it.

  I picked up the other bag from the closet and hurried down the stairs. She was still on the sofa. I made the circle sign with the thumb and forefinger of my right hand and said, “I’m gaining on it,” as I hurried on toward the kitchen. She looked up and smiled, but remained where she was.

  Down in the den, I pulled the trunk away from the wall and unlocked it. Just as I was about to throw the first of the stuff out, I looked at my watch. I whistled. It was two twenty. The bank closed in ten minutes. And I had to cash that check. Sure, I had over a hundred thousand dollars right here under my hand; but how would it look to the F.B.I., in case they investigated, if I ran off like this without bothering to withdraw any of the over fifteen hundred I had in my personal current account? I couldn’t speak for them, but I knew it would look damned suspicious to me.

  I slammed the trunk shut and hurried back up the stairs. “Have to get to the bank before it closes,” I called out to her from the door of the dining-room. “I’ll be back as soon as I can, sweet.”

  She smiled and waved. “Please hurry, darling.”

  I went out the kitchen door and backed the car out of the garage. Luck was with me and I found a parking place right across the street from the bank.

  I made a quick calculation of my balance and wrote out a check for $1,540. Arthur Pressler gave it to me in fifties and twenties, looked up once as if to ask me why I was withdrawing my account, and then decided it wasn’t efficient to indulge in such human foibles as curiosity. I glanced at my watch and stopped in Joey’s for a quick cup of coffee. He waited on me himself.

  He was a fat and humorous man with six or seven long hairs combed diagonally across a head as slick and shiny on top as a steel roller bearing, and he was the best wing shot I have ever seen. I’d hunted quail with him a lot.

  “Hey, Barney,” he asked genially, “what’s with you and these F.B.I, jokers?”

  I just saved spilling the coffee. “Why?”

  “A quiet type named Ramsey. He’s been in here twice pumping me about you. Where you came from, how long you been here, all that routine. You applied for a Federal job?”

  “Oh,” I said. “Something like that. It’s indefinite yet.”

  “Well, you’re in, boy. With the send-off I gave you, you can have Hoover’s job. You think that boy’s not honest, I said, there’s been a paved street in front of his house for two years now, and the last time I looked it was still there. . . .”

  “You’re a real pal,” I said. I put a dime on the counter and went out, feeling uneasy for no reason I could pin down. Ramsey didn’t have anything to work on. That’s the reason he was poking around here asking silly questions. He was outside in the cold; the moat was filled and the drawbridge was up. But still I didn’t like it; he made me nervous with that knack he had of seeming to be there at my elbow every time I turned around, as if ubiquity were an end in itself. What was the name of that Russian detective in Crime and Punishment? Rock. Something like rock.

  I shrugged it off; that was some private eye. Private eyes always had virile names like Rock and Mike. That way you could tell how tough they were.

  I drove over to the store. It was twenty to three. When I went in, Otis was out in the showroom where he could keep an eye on the front door, rubbing down the wax on a runabout hull. He saw me and went on back to the shop. I looked around, wondering why I had come back; there wasn’t anything I had to do here. Otis had a key; he’d open it in the morning, and when I didn’t show up he’d call his boy to come in. They’d keep it going until she came back from wherever she was and whatever she was doing; in fact, he could probably take over and run it for her. He knew the business, and he was so honest Diogenes could have put out his lantern and found him in the dark. Maybe he didn’t know how to get out and keep a fire burning under those prospects, or how to work the publicity angles so they’d talk about you and know where you were, but he’d do a good solid job of running a business for her. . . . I stopped. What the hell did I care what she did with the place? She could grind it up for cat food.

  I heard tires on the gravel outside, and looked around. Ramsey was getting out of his car with his briefcase in his hand. Maybe there are really several of him, I thought; there might be a Ramsey-duplicating machine somewhere that somebody’d forgotten to turn off. Well, in about another hour he could start looking around for somebody else to haunt.

  He came in. “Good afternoon, Mr. Godwin,” he said in that courteous and unhurried way he had.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Ramsey.” We should have mint juleps and goatees.

  “I was hoping I’d catch you in.”

  Now what had he meant by that! Was he implying I did an inordinate amount of running around, or that he thought I was trying to dodge him?

  “I’d like to take a few more minutes of your time, if you’re not too busy.”

  “Certainly,” I said. We went back to the office and I sat down in the swivel chair behind the desk. He took the one in front of it and opened the briefcase.

  “I hate to keep interfering with your work all the rime,” he said. “But I still have hope we may eventually stumble on to a lead as to who spent that twenty-dollar bill here. The mystifying thing is that just one should show up. There should have been more, somewhere in this area.”

  I frowned. “The only thing I can see is that he must have been a transient.” I wondered what the devil had become of those I’d put on the bus. There should have been some action up there by this time, you’d think.

  He nodded. “Yes, that’s a possibility, of course. Among others.”

  I read you, Mr. Ramsey. This is the needle. Otherwise you wouldn’t have told me there were no others; the F.B.I, doesn’t go around throwing out information like some neighborhood gossip. You mean there should have been others if the person passing it hadn’t been warned the F.B.I, was after him.

  “Well,” I said hopefully, “can you think of any new approach? I’ve racked my brains. . . .”

  No. Except that I wanted to pass along to you the request we’re making of all the merchants in the
area, and that is to be on the lookout for any currency, new or old, that appears to be stained in an unusual manner. . . .”

  “Stained?”

  He nodded. “A reddish-brown discoloration. Similar to rust stains. If you come across any, I’d appreciate your calling us immediately and making a note of who gave it to you.”

  “Sure. Of course,” I said. “Anything else?”

  He smiled. “Just some more pictures, if you can spare the time.”

  He must have had fifty or more. They were just props, I was pretty sure, but I went through them carefully in spite of the fact I was impatient to get away. Haig was there again.

  “I have a vague impression I’ve seen that one somewhere,” I said. “But I don’t know where, or when.”

  He nodded. “I see. Lately, do you think?”

  “No. I’m not even sure I have seen him, but if I did it must have been a long time ago.”

  He put them back in the briefcase and stood up, holding out his hand. “I want to thank you again for your co-operation, Mr. Godwin. We appreciate it.”

  “Not at all,” I said. “I wish I could be of more help.” We shook hands and I followed him out to the front door.

  He stopped and turned just before he went out. “I’m still hoping to get away for that fishing trip in October,” he said. “What do you think of Javier Lake?”

  I managed to keep my face expressionless. “Well, I haven’t fished it a great deal myself,” I said. “But they say it’s usually pretty good, especially after the water starts to turn cool.”

  He nodded. “Well, thanks a lot.”

  He drove off. I remained rooted there by the showcase, thinking swiftly. Maybe I was playing right into their hands. Suppose they suspected me, for some reason, but knew they were going to have a hard time digging up any proof? Wouldn’t they try to scare me into making a break, knowing I’d have the stuff with me and that they’d merely have to search the car? I had to leave it here. Hide it somewhere; even bury it again. I could come back for it six months or a year from now, when the heat was gone. It wouldn’t take that long, actually; as soon as they were convinced she was the only thing I’d been after. . .

  I stopped. If they searched the car, she’d be in it. You mean you’re looking for Mr. Haig’s money? Why, I thought you got that when you arrested Mr. Cliffords. Oh, sweet Jesus.

  All right, I had her. Now what was I going to do with her? Put her on a bus, at least until Sanport? I looked at my watch. There was one through in about twenty minutes. But she might talk to somebody, some local. Which was the less risky? Wait. . . . If she weren’t with me, what were they supposed to think I was running for? No. She had to go in the car with me. That was the only way. Actually, the chances were that if they did stop me they wouldn’t even say what they were after. They’d just look.

  But at any rate, I had to get that money disposed of before we left. I could find something waterproof at the house to put it in, and take it out in the country somewhere. I’d tell her I had to do one more errand. She could wait at the house. But I had to get started. Was I going to stand here all day?

  I called out to Otis. He stuck his head out the door at the rear. “I’m going home,” I said. “Probably won’t be back.” “Right,” he said.

  I wished there was some way I could say good-bye to him, but there didn’t appear to be any under the circumstances. I went out. Just as I was getting in the car around at the side of the building I thought I heard the telephone ringing. I went on. He came running out the front door waving his arm as I drove off, but I looked straight ahead, pretending not to see. I didn’t have time to answer the phone. When I came to the street and was about to drive into it, I had to wait for a car coming from my left. It was a police car, one of those belonging to the Sheriff’s Department. It didn’t go past, however; it turned in, and stopped right alongside me.

  It was Grady Collins, the deputy who was stationed here in Wardlow. He was a stocky and pleasant-faced younger type of about twenty-five, a Marine Corps veteran of the Korean war.

  He pushed the white hat back on his head and grinned. “Hi, Barney. I was just headed for your place.”

  “What’s on your mind, Grady?” I asked. Why didn’t some lab come up with a liquid cop-repellant you could rub on yourself?

  “You don’t know a guy named Nunn, do you? George Nunn?”

  What now? “Well, I’ve seen him once or twice. Why?”

  Before he could answer, I heard somebody running across the gravel behind me, and looked back. It was Otis.

  “Long distance call for you,” he said. “From Felton.”

  As far as I knew, I didn’t know anybody in Felton. Nor want to.

  “Tell the operator to transfer it home,” I said. “In five minutes or so. Thanks, Otis.” He turned and went back.

  “What about this Nunn?” I asked Collins. If I ever got out of this place maybe I ought to take a vacation.

  “I don’t know. He sounds Asiatic. Called up a little while ago with some goofy line of crap his wife’s with you and he wants her picked up so he can talk to her. Get her to come back.”

  What was his angle in that? Oh. Trying to delay us until he could get hold of another gun and start looking for us.

  “With me?” I said. “Where’d he call from? Some opium den?”

  Collins grinned and shook his head. “You got me, pal. From that camp of his, I guess. Anyway, you haven’t seen her, have you?”

  “No,” I said.

  “Well, that’s what I told the meat-head. Also that I couldn’t pick her up, anyway, unless he came in and swore out a complaint. If he calls back, I”ll tell him to go sleep it off. Brother, this job.”

  “Well, I’ll see you,” I said.

  He lifted a hand and grinned. “See you, Barney.”

  I hit the light green crossing Main and was home in two minutes or less. I put the car in the garage, pulled down the overhead door, and started in the front of the house. Just as I was going up the steps I remembered I hadn’t called the express company. Well, I’d do that now. God, would I ever get away from here? And what was I going to pack that money in? It had to be something waterproof. And I’d have to come up with something to tell her, some new errand.

  I stepped into the living-room, and looked around in surprise. She wasn’t there. “Jewel,” I called.

  There was no answer. Maybe she’d gone upstairs to the bathroom. I called again, a little louder, and received only silence in reply. There were four cigarettes, smeared with lipstick, in the ash-tray she had been using. I turned toward the dining-room. There was her overnight bag, lying on its side under the edge of the table. I stepped quickly over and looked in.

  She wasn’t there, but two of the chain were overturned. And near them lay one of her shoes.

  I began to run then. I took the stairs three at a time and made the turn into the bedroom so fast I almost lost my balance and crashed into the wall. She was on the bed, lying face up with most of her clothes torn off and the cord of my electric razor around her throat. I took one look at her and headed for the bathroom. I fell to my knees in front of the John and tried not to be sick.

  The telephone began ringing downstairs. It went on and on.

  My arms shook as if with a bad chill as I braced myself against the wall. I had to get out of there, to some place where I could think. Away from her. I kept seeing her, even behind me and with my eyes closed.

  The police, I thought. I had to call the police so they could catch the unspeakable son of a bitch and hang him before he could get out of the country. The phone went on ringing. Well, maybe it would stop some day. I got up unsteadily, went through the bedroom without looking at her, and started down the stairs.

  It struck me then. Wasn’t I overdoing the righteous indignation just a little, and being a trifle dramatic? It hadn’t been three hours since I’d been trying to think of some way. . . . I closed my eyes and shuddered. Good God, no. Not like that. Nor any way. I hadn’t, had I?


  Hang him? Him? I stopped dead.

  They’d hang me. She was strangled in my bedroom with the cord of my electric razor while my wife was away. That torn clothing— And I had just five minutes ago told the police I hadn’t seen her. Right after drawing fifteen hundred dollars from the bank so I could skip the country. Oh, they’d hang Nunn, all right. I’d be lucky if they didn’t hand him a gun and tell him to shoot me.

  I was at the foot of the stairs. The telephone went on ringing. Maybe if I answered it, it would stop, but I wasn’t sure. I picked it up.

  “Mr. Godwin?” a bright female voice asked. “We have a long-distance call from Felton.”

  “I don’t know anybody in Fel . . .”

  “Barney, darling!” It was Jessica. “Oh, it’s good to hear your voice again.

  I leaned against the wall. “Where . . .?” I began, and then stopped as it occurred to me in a great burst of deductive reasoning that if she were calling from Felton that must be where she was.

  “How are you?” I asked stupidly.

  “Just fine, dear. And dying to see you. I’m on my way home now, and I’ll be there in about two hours. I stopped here for a cup of coffee, and I just thought I’d call and let you know.”

  “You’ll be here in about two hours?” I could absorb practically anything if it were repeated two or three times. “Good. That’s fine.”

  “You lamb. You great, big, beautiful, woolly lamb you. I’ll run now, honey, and be on my way. See you soon.”

  “Good-bye,” I said.

  I hung up. A very white gesture, I thought. After two years of accusing me of chasing everything in this end of the State that didn’t shave twice a day, she wanted to give me enough advance notice to clear the place of women if I had any here, so there wouldn’t be a fight when she got home. That was really decent. Well, for once she was right. There was one here.

  Sixteen