Stranger At Home

by George Sanders

“Why the hell should I let you see her? You’ve been seeing her for four years. My turn now.”

  Crandall came still closer.

  “I’ve got to see her. Alone. I’ve got to talk to her.”

  “What about, Job? Something her husband shouldn’t hear?” Vickers’ expression was almost benign, except for his eyes. “What have you to say that couldn’t have been said in four years, when she was alone?”

  Job Crandall went up and took hold of the lapel of Vickers’ jacket. He said, “If you’ve done anything to harm her...”

  Vickers did not move from his easy position against the wall. He bent his head and studied Job. He seemed mildly amused.

  Crandall let go of his jacket and turned away. His whole body now looked broken, very old, very tired.

  “Yes,” he said, “I suppose I am funny. Poor old Job, his wife nags him and he drinks too much, but he’s really a lamb. Oh Christ. I look back and I try to see where I went wrong, and I don’t know. I get married, I have children. It’s normal. People are supposed to do it. So what are you going to do? If you run out on your family you’re a louse, and if you stay you’re poor sweet Job, the bloody fool.” He paused, and then said in a completely impersonal voice, as though he were talking about somebody else, “All I ever wanted, really, was a home.”

  He sat down. Presently he said, “I’ve killed Harriet.”

  Vickers’ body tightened and a certain intentness came into his face. Presently he asked,

  “Why?”

  “I...” Crandall seemed to be having trouble with his breathing. His chin lif ted and turned. “I just suddenly couldn’t help it.”

  Vickers came softly into the room and across the floor to where Crandall was sitting.

  “How did you kill her, Job? Did you hit her over the head, the way you hit me?”

  The cords stood out like ropes in Crandall’s neck. His eyeballs were suffused with blood. “I hit her,” he said. “I didn’t know I was going to. She said something, and I hit her. I didn’t hit you, Vick. I’ve never hit anyone before.” His chin lifted and turned. He was beginning to tremble uncontrollably. Vickers slapped him, not very hard, on both cheeks.

  “Stop that,” he said. “We haven’t any time for fits. What did Harriet say?”

  “She couldn’t have seen it. I was all alone on the terrace...”

  “She couldn’t have seen what?”

  “I didn’t go down to the beach. She was lying.”

  “And so are you.” Vickers’ tone was gentle, almost friendly. “You’ve committed a murder, Job. You know what they do to murderers in this state. They take you into a little room with a heavy door, and they strap you into a big chair, and they go away and leave you. I suppose it’s quite comfortable until the gas begins to get strong. There’s a window in the wall. They stand outside and watch you, and there’s a man with a stopwatch. The dial numbers it in seconds. But I wonder how long it seems to you.”

  He leaned forward. He took Crandall’s jaw between his thumb and fingers and held it steady and looked deep into Crandall’s eyes.

  “It doesn’t matter now, Job. You might as well tell the truth.”

  Crandall didn’t flinch. He didn’t even blink. “That’s what I mean, Vick. It doesn’t matter now.” He drew a long breath. “I didn’t try to kill you, Vick. I don’t know who did. And I haven’t touched your wife. Not because I haven’t wanted to. Because she wouldn’t let me.”

  He reached up and put his hand on Vickers’ chest. “Please,” he said. “Let me see her.”

  Vickers turned away. “All right,” he said. He took a cigarette from a box on the table. His face waS hidden from Crandall. It was very intent, alert. “There’s no need to see her alone.” He flicked the lighter into flame and breathed out a long feather of smoke. “I know what you’re going to say.”

  He heard the silence behind him. It was the sort of silence that can be heard. Presently Job said, “You couldn’t know.”

  Vickers shrugged. He did not turn around. The shrug was the only casual thing about him. “It’s quite obvious, isn’t it?”

  “But you weren’t there. You couldn’t have...”

  “I hadn’t come into the house yet. I saw you. You were alone on the terrace.”

  “Then you saw her?”

  “Who – Harriet?”

  “Don’t play with me! You know who I mean.”

  “Of course I saw her.”

  Crandall’s voice dropped. The tone changed and softened. “Then you’ve known all along.”

  Vickers nodded.

  “I guess,” Crandall said, “you really do love her, then.”

  Vickers stood for a moment without moving. The lines in his face were drawn suddenly very deep. At the end of the room the white louver doors that closed off the dining room were opened. Angie came in. She wore loose satin trousers that matched her black hair, and a gold lamé top that matched her eyes. She looked from Vickers to Job Crandall and back again. She said, with hardly any voice at all, “What are you both talking about?”

  Crandall got up. He went and stood in front of her, and over his shoulder Angie watched Vickers, who had not stirred. His eyes were on her face. They were unreadable. There was nothing in them to be read.

  Crandall said, “Are you all right, Angie?”

  “Of course.” She did not look away from Vickers.

  “Harriet’s dead, Angie. I killed her.”

  “I heard.” For the first time she looked at Crandall. She caught his hands. “Oh Job, what a horrible thing! If only you hadn’t...”

  “It wasn’t because of what she said, or what she threatened to do.” Crandall talked rapidly, like a man who has not much time. “I mean, I don’t think she could have hurt you, not really, and I couldn’t have killed her anyway, if I’d stopped to think even that far. I didn’t do it because of you, Angie. Remember that. It was just – herself. But it’s done now and I can’t do the kids any more harm, and they can only kill me once, and so I’m going to say I did for Harry, too.”

  Angie backed off a little. “Job...”

  “I want to do it, Angie. Murder’s wrong, but I know you didn’t murder him, not the way they mean it. You haven’t it in you to do that. I know you killed him because you had to. He was drunk that night, and upset, and he was crazy for you. You didn’t even mean to kill him, I know. You just hit him, and -“ He stopped. “The way I hit Harriet.”

  Angie was staring at Vickers again, and Vickers had not moved. He seemed completely detached, just a man watching some other people talk. Angie said again,

  “Job...”

  He rushed on. “All those things would be hard to prove. They’d take you into court and say horrible things about you.” He caught her by the shoulders. “You will let me do this. You can see that it doesn’t matter. I want to do it. It’ll make me feel better about – the other. I wanted you to know, so you wouldn’t say anything, so you wouldn’t try to save me. You understand, now?”

  She put her hands on his shoulders. “Job,” she said. She spoke very slowly and distinctly. “Job, what makes you think I killed Harry?”

  He looked at her blankly. “But I saw you. I was on the terrace, trying to find you, and I saw you down on the landing. I saw your black hair and the light dress you wore. Harry was with you. I didn’t know it was Harry then. I saw him sort of crumpling up, and I heard something heavy fall onto the wood, and then you tried to catch him and he went partly off into the water. You bent over him and then finally you straightened up and Harry wasn’t there anymore. I heard my wife yelling for me, and I went inside. I didn’t want anyone out there. Especially Harriet.”

  He pulled her closer into his arms. “It’s all right, now, darling. You don’t have to worry. Vick said...”

  “Yes,” said Angie. “I heard what Vick said.”

  Crandall let her go. He walked across the room and up the steps to the hall. He paused in the archway.

  “Well,” he said. “Good night.”


  He turned and went away. The only person who watched him go was Joan Merrill. She had come, like Angie, from the darkened room beyond the louver doors. She stood quite still and watched Job Crandall go. Her pale-gold hair gleamed almost white in the lamplight. It was no whiter than her face.

  Outside, Crandall got into his car and drove away down the hill. In the darkness, eyes watched him. They were Brownie’s eyes. Brownie lay on his side in the bushes. There was a gag in his mouth. His hands and feet were tied together skilfully behind his back. He was not comfortable, and there was an ant walking around the edge of his ear. He watched the taillight of Crandall’s car vanish down the hill.

  His chin had stopped bleeding, but his tongue, exploring the gap where two teeth were missing, tasted the fresh sweetish liquid. He had found that you cannot spit with a gag in your mouth. He swallowed instead, and prayed that he would not be sick.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The closing of the door on Job Crandall’s heels left a silence in the living room. The lamps burned pleasantly. The chairs were deep and inviting. Coolin and Molly sprawled on the hearthrug and there were books to be read and cigarettes to be smoked. A nice room. A homely room. But the silence was there. It was quite dead. It lay there, and nobody touched it.

  Vickers moved. He sat on the edge of the table and caught Joan Merrill’s eye, and lifted his chin at her. The gesture said, “Out.” Joan opened her mouth to speak. She got a clearer view of Vickers, and closed it again. She went back into the dining room. The white doors swung shut behind her.

  Vickers sat on the edge of the table and looked at Angie. His brow made two cold arches. He said nothing.

  Angie shrugged. “Well,” she said, “that seems to settle the matter.”

  Her words sounded very loud. She went over to the fireplace and leaned on the mantel. There was no fire. The hounds gazed up at her adoringly. Vickers could sec only half of her face, the warm brown curve of a cheek.

  Angie said, “We’ll have to stop Job, of course.”

  “Let’s worry about Job later.” He watched her a moment. “Well? Aren’t you going to say anything?”

  “That would be rather silly, wouldn’t it?”

  “I don’t know.” Vickers got up. He went to her and pulled her around facing him. He put one arm across the small of her back, bracing her to him. He slid the other hand up along her neck and knotted his fingers in her hair at the base of her skull. He drew her head back slowly. She did not whimper. She looked up at him, and her eyes were hot and there was a shadow of fear in them. Only a shadow.

  He said softly, ‘I’m not the police, nor a court of law. I’m your husband. I’m more than that, because I love you. I don’t give a damn whether you killed Harry Bryce or not. I only want to know that you’re not lying to me.”

  He held her, and she did not move nor try to break away.

  “I did not kill Harry Bryce,” she said. “I was not the woman Job saw.”

  “All right,” said Vickers.

  He bent and kissed her throat. It was beautiful, the cords shaped in smooth strength against the backward pull of his hand. He released it, and as she straightened he met her mouth with his.

  After a while he whispered, “I trust you, darling. If I ever find I’ve been wrong, God help you.”

  He felt her move against him as she laughed. “At least I know now that you didn’t kill Harry.”

  “Bitch,” he said, and kissed her again. “Poor old Job. I wonder who he did see.”

  “I don’t know. I was in the cabana then, I guess. I wanted to give Harry plenty of time to clear out of the way. He wasn’t behaving nicely at all. I didn’t see any other woman on the beach at all that night. But then, I wasn’t watching.”

  “You didn’t hear anything.”

  She shook her head. “I had the radio on. Sort of reflex action, I guess. I wasn’t listening to it.”

  Vickers guided her over to the couch. They sat down. “A woman with black hair and a light dress,” he said. “It was night, of course, and Job was drunk, but those are details you couldn’t get confused on. Might have been Jennie Bryce. Her hair is dark enough to look black.”

  “She was wearing a black dress. I particularly remember. It was cut clear down to her navel in front, and the skirt was so tight she could hardly walk.”

  Vickers laughed softly. “Do I detect a slight ring of jealousy behind that righteous virtue?”

  She took a deep breath, threw her shoulders back, and grinned at him. “What do you think?”

  Vickers got up. “Stop that,” he said. “I’ve got to keep my mind on what we’re doing.” He went over and got cigarettes from the table. Angie, sobering very quickly, curled up in the corner and said quietly,

  “We ought to be ashamed of ourselves. We make cracks, and Job’s on his way to...” She broke off, shaking her head. “Vick, I can’t believe it. It just won’t sink in.”

  “I know.” He gave her a cigarette and held the light for her. “Poor devil. Can’t say I blame him much.”

  “No,” she said slowly, “but... Vick, you don’t think they’ll kill him, do you? After all, it wasn’t premeditated...” He sat down beside her and she leaned wearily into the angle of his shoulder. “Oh God, what a mess everything is in. How can so many things happen so quickly – and all of them bad.”

  “Perhaps,” said Vickers, “I should have stayed away. I don’t seem to have brought anybody luck.”

  “Except me.”

  He looked down at her. “Do you really mean that?”

  She reached up and kissed him, the light sweet kiss of lovers who are also friends. Then she sighed and slipped back again, her head rolling in against him. She was like an exhausted child.

  “Will this ever be over, Vick? Can we ever just go back to being people again? I don’t want to see another policeman as long as I live. I don’t want to read another newspaper. And if anyone ever gives me a mystery story, I’ll...” She shut her teeth on what she would do. Presently she made a small, rather peculiar sound. “I want to laugh, Vick,” she said, “but it isn’t really funny. It isn’t funny at all. Don’t let me laugh.”

  He turned to her quickly. “Here, here, now,” he said gently. “None of that. Darling, you can’t fold up in the stretch.”

  “I won’t,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

  “Look, darling. We’re going to get one thing cleared up very soon.” He touched the scar on his forehead. “It wasn’t Harry Bryce who did this. And we know now it wasn’t Job. He’s willing to take on an extra murder – no reason to fight shy of one that didn’t come off. So that leaves Bill Saul.”

  “I know,” said Angie. “I’ve been afraid to think.” She looked at Vickers with wide, shadowed eyes. “There isn’t going to be much left, is there?”

  He shook his head somberly. “Harry, Job, and Bill. I can understand what’s happened to Job, but I’m damned if I can see why anyone should want to kill Harry. Even his discarded loves never seemed to bear him any malice.”

  “It still looks,” said Angie, “as though I’m the only logical choice.” He didn’t answer. After a minute she asked, “Do you think Bill will come?”

  “He’s in love with you,” said Vickers. “He hasn’t spoken to you, or had word of you for two or three days. He’d come for that alone. But he’s got me, too, to think about. And if I won’t come out where he can get at me, he’ll have to come in.”

  “Let me call the police, Vick.” She faced him earnestly. “Now that we know who it is, let me call the police.”

  “Not till he’s actually in the house, Angie. I don’t want him scared off. I want a confession from him, before witnesses – which is the precise and only reason why I had you get Joan Merrill up here. Because your word alone might not be enough. I want this over with.” He laughed, not very humorously, with a definite overtone of nerves. “Christ, I’m no man of iron! I don’t like being shot at. I’m like you. I could use a little peace and quiet.”

  She said
quietly, “He may kill you, Vick.”

  “I’ve learned a lot in four years,” he said. His mouth was hard. He turned suddenly to Angie. “You don’t have to stay, you know. If you’re frightened, if you just don’t want to stay...”

  She looked at him.

  “All right,” he said. “Only for God’s sake keep out of sight. Don’t fire that little popgun unless you have to, and Angie – darling – be careful where you shoot!”

  She smiled shakily. “You don’t sound very trustful.”

  “I’m not.” He watched her for a moment. His eyes changed. He whispered, “We’ll get this over with. All of it. Then we’ll lock the doors on the whole world.” He bent his head until his cheek touched her hair. His hands found her breasts. “Darling,” he whispered. “Darling.”

  “You’re hurting me...”

  “Do you want me to stop?”

  “No... Oh Vick, I’ve missed you so!”

  “What about me?”

  Coolin sprang to his feet with the beginning of a growl in his throat, and the doorbell chimed sweetly through the empty house.

  Vickers got to his feet. Angie sat frozen for one brief moment. Then she rose and looked at Vickers, and he put his hand on her shoulder. He seemed, now, to be almost unaware of her presence.

  “Go on,” he said. “If that’s Bill, wait until he’s in here with me. Then go round the back way and call the police. Quick.”

  She nodded and went into the dining room and closed the doors tightly behind her. Joan Merrill was sitting in the dark. She put out her hand and Angie took it.

  “Listen,” she whispered. “Remember everything they say.”

  There was a little automatic lying on a side table, beside a bowl of flowers. Angie picked it up. Through the louvers she could watch Vickers crossing the living room. She could see him disappear into the hallway. She could hear, after a moment, the opening of the outer door, and Bill Saul’s voice saying easily,

  “Hello, Vick. May I come in?”

  Vickers said, “I suppose so. Though I can’t recall having invited you.”

  He closed the door. Saul walked ahead of him to the archway. He said, “That’s all right. I know you didn’t intend to be rude.” He glanced into the living room. “Where’s Angie?”