“Fred swallowed it. I was glad, not just for myself. I knew the boy would be safe with Fred, as long as Fred had breath in his body. He did take good care of Jamie, didn’t he?”
“Better care than he took of himself,” I said.
Helen’s bright head was bowed forward into her hands.
Amy Miner said: “Fred was always like that. Even after he knew about me and Kerry, he was a kind husband to me. He said that he would give me another chance, and I tried to love him. I tried to be good for him. It’s funny, after I killed Kerry Snow, I really did start to love him, but it was too late.”
Her father leaned forward: “You ruined Fred.”
“Shut up, Danny.”
He withdrew his head and neck tortoiselike into the shabby armchair. The time-laden air in the room, cross-sectioned by a single slash of light, was heavy and oppressive. I tried to imagine the childhood that had been passed here, the family life from which Amy had sprung defiantly into the world and fallen beating her angry fists against it.
Helen lifted her face. It was grave and lovely. She said: “Fred Miner was a good man, the decentest man I’ve known. Thank you for giving him back to us.”
“You’re thanking me?” Amy said incredulously.
“Just for that one thing, and for caring about what happened to Jamie. I can’t forgive you for the rest.”
“I didn’t ever expect to be forgiven. I didn’t hardly expect to come out of it alive. If Fred didn’t believe me about the message from you, Lemp was going to make me steal the boy myself. I knew that much. I didn’t know all his plans. He was cagy about them. But I caught on fast when I saw that letter he sent you. I said to myself right away: ‘Art Lemp, your days are numbered.’ ” Her voice rang out in the room.
“I had this icepick in the house. I snitched it from Danny’s store last time I was down here.”
“You always were a snitcher,” her father said.
Her mouth twisted scornfully. “Which is worse, a snitcher or a cheapskate? What did you ever give me in my life, except a damn good beating whenever you got the chance?”
“I should have licked you oftener and harder.”
“Go on, Mrs. Miner,” Sam said.
She drew a deep, sighing breath. “Well, as soon as I could get away, I took the bus into town and went to the station. I could see the front of the newsstand from the window in the ladies’ waiting-room. I could see everything that happened: Mr. Johnson leaving the suitcase there, and then the bellhop taking it away. I saw Lemp come out of the Pacific Inn with the suitcase, and I followed him down to the beach. It was such a nice bright day. I thought to myself: ‘Art Lemp, you’ve lived long enough. The sun will shine brighter without you.’
“He was trying to start the engine of his car and back out of the sand. I walked right up to the side window. I said: ‘Do you need any help, Mr. Lemp?’ Before he could answer me or move from his seat I leaned in through the window and stabbed him to death. He was surprised. You should have seen his face.”
“I saw it, Amy.”
“Not when he died, you didn’t. I saw him die. He just lay over on the seat and died with his eyes open. It wasn’t like killing Kerry, when I felt so calm and empty. I was excited. It was what I wanted, to see that old man die.”
“No,” her father said. “You oughtn’t to talk like that. What kind of an impression—?”
“Shut up, Danny.”
He fell silent. In the fading light his face was a pair of eyebrows mounted on a white receding blur, his body a pair of thin knees clasped by large hairy hands.
She said: “I was only doing what I had to do, getting rid of him for good and all. It was funny when it turned out that it was what I wanted to do. And then there was the money. I had this wrapping-paper and string I brought from home. I thought if it worked out, if I really had the nerve to kill him, why shouldn’t I get the money out of it? Mr. Johnson had plenty left. I never had any money in my life.
“But I couldn’t let them catch me with it on me. I took it out of the suitcase and made a parcel out of it and addressed it down here. One thing, I forgot my pen but Lemp had a pen in his pocket. I took the rest of his stuff and buried it in the sand behind the billboard. Then I walked back to the express office and sent off the money to myself. I didn’t know they were going to put me in jail. I thought I could get away on Saturday or Sunday and be down here long before the money got here. But first I figured I needed some kind of an alibi. I had to have a reason for being in town Saturday morning.”
“So you came to me,” I said. “You’re a good actress, Amy.”
“I always wanted to be one. Only I wasn’t putting it on when I talked to you Saturday morning. I was worried about Fred, that they might shoot him. I had to find out how much he said to you. And I knew if he came back before I could get away, and caught on to the lies I told him—Well, I was really worried, and I had a terrible letdown after I killed Art Lemp. The sun wasn’t brighter like I thought it was going to be. It was darker. I could hardly see for a while. I guess I would have gone right off my rocker if I hadn’t kept holding on to the thought of the money.”
Her eyes brooded heavily on the torn parcel lying across my knees. She forced herself to look away from it.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Cross,” she said woodenly. “You were a good friend to me, and you were too, Mrs. Johnson. I didn’t mean to do bad things to you. I just got caught, through my own fault in the first place. I couldn’t see any other way out. Then, when I saw my chance to get that money and keep it for myself—I went for it. That’s the whole story.”
But she looked around the room as if her story didn’t satisfy her, as if its final meaning had been omitted. The room was still and waiting.
“I’ll never be anybody now,” she said. “They’re both dead, Fred and Kerry both. I haven’t got anybody left to love me. I’ll never get to have a baby of my own.”
She had tears left after all. Helen comforted her. Her father watched her from the dim security of the armchair. After a while she ran out of grief, and Sam took her out to the radio car. He was gentle with her, but the handcuffs stayed on.
Helen came up to me on the sidewalk. “Drive me home, Howard, please. I’m afraid I’m exhausted.”
“You don’t have to say please to me.”
“I don’t mind saying please to you.”
She fumbled in her bag for the car keys.
“I have the other set,” I said. “I held on to them yesterday.”
“I know you did.”
We drove out through the sprawling suburbs, keeping the radio car in sight. The highway gradually curved back to the sea. The sea flowed backward through the rushing twilight like a broad white river on our left.
“I got your message,” I said. “No hard feelings?”
“I’m not proud. I can’t afford to be proud. I’ve lost so much.”
“I have so much to gain.”
“You hurt me yesterday, Howard.”
“I was hurt, too. The difference is that it wasn’t you who hurt me.”
“We’ll forget it,” she said. “But you mustn’t ever mistrust me again.”
Her body lay away from me in the seat like a mysterious country I had dreamed of all my life.
“I suppose I should feel guilty about your money and about your husband.”
“No. It’s entirely my problem. I’ve been thinking it out.”
“Already?”
“We’re old enough to tell each other the truth. I fell in love with you yesterday, when we quarreled. When I saw that you were falling in love with me. I gave six years of my life to Abel. I’m being repaid in a way, but it doesn’t mean I have to give him all the rest of my life. He lived as he chose, and died as he chose. Most of the money goes into a trust for Jamie, anyway.”
“I want the rest of your life. And I don’t feel guilty. I never will.”
“I’m glad. Of course we’ll have to wait.”
“I can wait.”
Her hand touched my shoulder, lightly.
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Available at your local bookstore, or visit www.randomhouse.com.
Meet Me at the Morgue Page 20