“Sit down,” Hicks said.
“I want—”
“Sit down.”
She sat on an edge of the boulder. On her upper cheek two thin red lines were the scratches the smudge had covered and were vivid on the gray of her skin. Hicks sat on an angle of the boulder facing her and said:
“You’d better put that ten bucks back in your purse or you’ll lose it.”
She looked at the bill still clutched in her fingers as if in an effort to make out what it was. “Oh,” she said. “That’s for you.”
She looked at him. “I remembered what that article said, that you like to pretend you do things only as a matter of business.” The hand she held out with the bill in it was trembling.
Hicks took the bill from her fingers, got her handbag from where she had laid it on the rock, put the bill in the bag and placed it back on the rock. When his eyes returned to her face he saw that her eyes were shut.
“What am I supposed to be doing?” he asked.
Heather didn’t reply. After a silence she said in a dull dead voice, “All of a sudden I see her. The way she was—her head. Then I shut my eyes, and then I see her plainer than ever.”
“Sure,” Hicks agreed. “It wasn’t anything to look at. What am I supposed to be doing?”
“Somebody did that to her. Didn’t they?”
“Yeah, somebody killed her.”
“George didn’t do it.” Her eyes opened. “It wasn’t George. He said he didn’t. And he had only just got there—Mrs. Powell told him she thought she was on the terrace and he found her there—”
“You say he had just got there?”
“Yes, he came in his car.”
“Even so.” Hicks shook his head. “Do you want to make a deal? I’ll make a deal with you. Dundee has decided he made a show of himself there in the office, when he came in and saw me. In case you’re asked about that, you can forget about him ordering me off the place. Just say he wanted to speak privately with Brager and I went outside to wait. It’s a small detail, but if you’ll do that I’ll forget you were crying when I first saw you, and also I’ll forget what you said there on the bridge. Isn’t that what you wanted to retain me to do?”
Heather was staring at him. “How did you know?”
“That was pretty obvious. Was there anything else?”
“No.”
“There ought to be.” Hicks stared back at her, not with approval. “Naturally you’re all shot to pieces, but that only makes it worse if you’re going to try to conceal the tangle George’s emotions had got into. For instance, there on the bridge you started to tell me something he did Monday evening, and then stopped. What did he do, phone you?”
“No.” She tried to swallow. “He came out here and talked with me.”
“Did anyone else see him?”
“Yes. Mrs. Powell and Ross Dundee—and I guess Mr. Brager too. I don’t know.”
“Then you can’t conceal the fact that he was here. Have you already lied about it?”
She shook her head. “They didn’t ask me anything like that. They didn’t ask me hardly anything.”
“They will before they’re through. Have you had a talk with George and agreed on what you’re going to say about his visit Monday evening?”
“Of course not, how could I? At first—you saw how he was—and then they came, the doctor and the police—”
“Then don’t be silly. This isn’t for matches. Don’t you realize your sister was murdered?”
“Yes. I shouldn’t—” Suddenly she stood up and held her head up. “I’m sorry,” she said, “I shouldn’t—” She started off.
In two steps Hicks had her arm and headed her back. “You sit there and decide what you’re going to do,” he said gruffly. “Or decide who to get to decide for you. Do you know a lawyer?”
“No.”
“Where’s your father and mother?”
“They’re dead.”
“Brother?”
“No.”
“Fiancé?”
“No.”
“Have you got any money?”
“I’ve got three hundred and twelve dollars in Postal Savings.”
“My God.” Hicks was glaring at her. “What did you do there at the house, skip out and dive for the woods?”
“I didn’t skip out.” Heather’s voice was no longer from a constricted throat. “They wouldn’t let me stay there on the terrace and I went inside. One of them was talking to George and another one to Mrs. Powell and Ross Dundee. Then Mr. Brager came and wanted to ask me things, but I couldn’t talk, and I went up to my room, but after a while I decided to see you and I came down and went out the back door—”
She stopped and turned her head to listen. The sound of a car engine came from the direction of the laboratory. It grew faint, then was louder again, loudest when they could also hear the noise of the wheels on gravel as they passed on the near-by road through the woods, and they caught one glimpse of the car.
“That guy may have come for Dundee and me,” Hicks observed, “but if he was after you they’ll be starting to yell in a minute. Of course you can stall them for today at least by being overcome by shock, but sooner or later you’ll have to talk.”
Heather wet her lips with her tongue, and the tongue stayed there, visible, its red tip quivering. It disappeared and she said, “She was murdered.”
“Yes.”
“Murdered!”
“Yes. About what you told me there on the bridge, was that straight? I mean about George’s emotions. Sure you weren’t in love with him too?”
“Of course I’m sure. That’s not it.”
“What’s not what?”
“George didn’t do it, I know he didn’t, but I’m thinking about Martha.” Her lip trembled on the name, and she halted to control it. “I suppose I’m thinking about myself too, but anyway Martha wouldn’t want—”
She buried her face in her hands.
Hicks looked at her in silence, and finally shook his head.
“One thing certain,” he declared, “the cops are going to be partial to George, no matter when he got there. He could have—are you listening to me?”
She nodded without uncovering her face.
“He could have come twice, the first time without knocking. I advise you to go back to the house and go up to your room and be overcome. You are, anyway. I’m a good lawyer, probably the best disbarred lawyer in the country. They have no legal right to any information from you about anything, but it isn’t a good idea to go dumb. By tomorrow morning your wits may be good enough to stand them off. You can take it for granted that they already know about George’s visit Monday evening, since Ross Dundee and Mrs. Powell saw him, and when they ask you what he came for, say you prefer not to tell them. Then they’ll jump on you, but just keep your head and stay polite, and above all don’t try to invent anything or they’ll tie you in a knot. If you get a chance alone with George, don’t try to cook up a story. That’s impossible. By the way, do you happen to know whether your sister knew a man named Vail? James Vail? Jimmie Vail?”
Heather shook her head.
“Sure?” Hicks insisted. “Did you ever hear her mention him? It may be important.”
Heather’s face came up, grayer than ever. “Why would it be important?”
“It might be. Have you ever heard mention that name, Vail?”
“No.”
“Did Brager or either of the Dundees know your sister?”
“No, how could they? She was in Europe.”
“She only went to Europe a year ago. Didn’t she ever come here to see you?”
“Just once—no, twice. I’ve only been working here a little over a year. I went into town oftener when she was there.”
“The twice she came, didn’t Brager or Ross Dundee meet her?”
“Mr. Dundee wasn’t here. He came in June, just three months ago. And Mr. Brager—I’m sure he was away both times. He often goes to town in the evening to
confer with Mr. Dundee Senior.”
“Have you ever met Mrs. Dundee? Dundee Senior’s wife?”
“No.”
“Have you ever talked with her on the phone?”
“No, I haven’t, and I don’t know what you think you’re doing, unless you think I need practice answering questions, and I don’t think—”
“Call it practice,” Hicks conceded. “But you seem to be convinced that Cooper didn’t do it, and in that case who did? There’s only Mrs. Powell and the two Dundees. You can’t count you and me and Brager, because we were at the laboratory all the time. Unless someone sneaked in from the road and then sneaked out again. What did your sister do before she married Cooper?”
“She was an actress. You must have heard of her.”
“I’m not much up on actresses.”
“She was good. She wasn’t a star, but she would have been. That’s another thing—she gave up her career for him—” Heather’s chin started to tremble, and she clamped it.
“Did she know anyone connected with the Dundee outfit? Or with Republic Products? Anyone at all?”
“Not that I know of. I’m sure she didn’t, because I knew everyone she did. I had a job in New York then. Even then George was trying to make a fool of himself, and I got a job out of town because I thought that would be better, and then I got to like it out here, and the pay was good.…”
“Well.” Hicks stood up. “We’d better make an appearance. At least I had, and you can take to your room.”
A shudder ran over her. “I hate that house now. I’m going to stay here a while.”
He looked at her keenly. “What about you?”
“I’m all right.”
“You’re not considering anything childish like running away from it?”
“Certainly not.”
“Okay. Can I cut through that way to the path?”
“It would be better to go by the road.”
He went, diving into the undergrowth, and in a moment was hidden by it. The sound of his progress, slashing through it, grew fainter in Heather’s ears, then abruptly ceased and was replaced by the barely audible crunch of his steps on the graveled road, which soon was gone too. Heather remained motionless on the boulder for long minutes, then her head dropped forward until her chin touched, her eyes closed, and she was motionless again.
Suddenly her head jerked up and her eyes came open startled. A noise—something in the brush—I’m silly, she thought, it’s just him returning. But as the noise grew louder and she realized it was from the wrong direction, she leaped to her feet and stood peering toward it, all her muscles tensed. I’m afraid, she thought. That’s ridiculous; there’s absolutely nothing to be afraid of, but I’m afraid. I’m a hot one, I am.… Then abruptly her muscles went loose as she saw and recognized him, when nothing interevened but brush lower than his shoulders.
Ross Dundee emerged into the open spot and encircled the boulder to get around to her side. He had discarded the soiled white coveralls, but was scarcely more elegant in flappy gray slacks and an old gray sweater. He was hatless, and a limp tuft of his brown hair slanted down to a corner of his eye and was ignored, as he stopped six paces short of Heather and stood gazing at her.
“I’m alone here,” Heather said.
Neither of them appeared to be cognizant of the fatuity of that. In fact, Ross matched it.
“Excuse me,” he said. He took a step and stopped again. “I was looking for you. Dad said you started back to the house. I heard voices and saw you, but I didn’t want to intrude. I waited until he had gone—Who is that fellow?”
“If you don’t want to intrude, then don’t.”
The young man’s cheeks flushed, but if from resentment, there was no flash of it in his deep sober eyes. “Now look here,” he protested, “you might as well forget you don’t like me, at least temporarily. Petty things like that at a time like this. What do you know about that fellow Hicks? You never saw him before. It might have been him—”
“I never said I didn’t like you—Oh, go away!”
Ross sat down on the angle of the boulder that Hicks had occupied and said firmly, “I’m not going to go away.”
“Then I will.”
“All right, I will too when you do.”
A ridiculous silence ensued. Heather shut her eyes. Ross sat and gazed at her, with his arms folded, while the flush gradually left his cheeks. At length he broke the silence.
“Not that it is of any importance under the circumstances,” he said stiffly, “but you did say that you don’t like me. I heard you say it to Mrs. Powell. But I have a right to say I am sorry about your sister—I mean I’m very very sorry—and if there is anything I can do and if you will let me do it—”
He stopped. After a moment Heather opened her eyes and said:
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. And also, as a business associate and living in the same house with you, I have the right to see that the same thing doesn’t happen to you that happened to your sister. How do I know it wasn’t that fellow that did it? Anyhow, I’m not going to leave you here alone in the middle of the woods, and if you start off I’m going to follow you. If you regard that as merely obnoxious, I’m sorry. You may have forgotten about telling Mrs. Powell you didn’t like me. It was on the front terrace one evening about a month ago.” He unfolded his arms to make a gesture of dismissal. “Anyway, you’ve made it plenty obvious enough without that.”
Heather had nothing to say. She sat with sagging shoulders and no muscle in her, looking not at the young man but vacantly at a chipmunk perched on the end of a log. Ross gazed at her steadily.
He broke the silence again. “Since I’m here, and there’s nothing I can do about your trouble, or if there is you won’t let me, I’ll try to do something about a trouble of my own. I hate to ask you, but I’ve got to. It’s very humiliating, but I’ve got to. I’ve lost a sonograph plate.”
He paused, but Heather said nothing and didn’t move.
“I’ve got to ask you about it,” he went on, “because it’s important. Maybe you know where it is. It may have got into one of the racks I’ve taken to you from laboratory, among the other plates. When you were running them off, have you come onto one that was—well, peculiar?”
Heather’s face turned to him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she declared.
Her eyes met his, and Ross’s face was suddenly flushed again, redder than before, in a wave of embarrassment. “It’s hard to explain,” he said, half stammering, “because it’s complicated by those other plates. I don’t mean one of them. I don’t even know whether you played them through. This plate wasn’t marked, and I thought maybe I put it in the rack through carelessness, and you thought it was the same as the other plates that weren’t marked, and you didn’t put it on the machine at all and for that reason didn’t find out that it was different. You see?”
“I certainly don’t see.”
“But you must,” he insisted. “It’s a question of where those unmarked plates are, because I’m almost sure it’s among them. God knows I wouldn’t be asking you this if I didn’t have to. I never intended to mention them if you didn’t. And all I want now is just to get them so I can run them through and find the one I’m looking for. I don’t suppose you kept them, but you couldn’t destroy them because they won’t break and they won’t burn. I know you didn’t put them in the waste, because I looked. So I suppose you just threw them away. Will you tell me where?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Ross stared at her. “Certainly you have.”
“I have not.”
“But my God—I’m talking about the unmarked plates that I—that you have found in the racks mixed in with the others! I admit I was an ass! I know you don’t like me and never will! But there’s no reason why you shouldn’t tell me what you did with them—”
He stopped abruptly because Heather had buried her face in her hands. A shive
r ran over her, all over her body.
Ross’s jaw fell. He got up and started for her, then dropped back again and sat there with his clenched fists at his sides on the rock.
“Don’t do that!” he implored her. “For God’s sake—”
“Go away,” she said from behind her hands. “Oh, go away.…”
“I will not go away,” he said doggedly. “I won’t talk any more. I won’t say anything, but I won’t go away.”
After a minute the chipmunk appeared at the end of the log again, then ran to the middle of it and perched there for a good look at them. A last ray of the setting sun found its way through the foliage of the trees and brush and made his coat a spot of golden fire.
At the house Hicks found about what he expected to find.
A jumble of parked cars filled a large graveled space in front of the garage. Through a rear window he caught a glimpse of the florid face and large form of Mrs. Powell, in the kitchen. Encircling the house to the side fronting the woods, he came to the side terrace with its screen of shrubbery. A glance showed him that the body of Heather Gladd’s sister was no longer there; but a rough outline in chalk showed where it had been. A man in a Palm Beach suit and a battered Panama hat stood at the edge of the terrace staring thoughtfully at the sky as if to read the weather, and in chairs against the house two other men sat. One wore the uniform of the State Police; the other was George Cooper. When Hicks had first seen that face with the sharp pointed nose, in a booth in Joyce’s restaurant, it had been white and puckered with distress; now it was a deadpan, drained of all expression by shattering disaster.
Rex Stout Page 5