‘I planned to clean up the kitchen this morning, Mr. Scott,’ he said. ‘It needs it. I won’t be in your way.’
Speaking slowly and controlling my voice with an effort, I said: ‘Leave it till Monday. It’s not often I have a weekend off, and I want to potter around here on my own.’
He shrugged his shoulders.
‘Okay, Mr. Scott, anything you say.’
Again I started towards the terrace.
‘Oh, Mr. Scott…’
‘Well? What is it?’
‘Could I have the key to the garage?’
My heart skipped a beat. He would naturally want to know what the Pontiac was doing there and where the Cadillac was. The Cadillac was one of his great prides. He kept it clean, and it was due to his continual attention that the car still looked brand new after eighteen months of hard driving.
‘What do you want it for?’
‘There’s some cleaning rag in there I want to take home, Mr. Scott. My sister said she’d wash it out for me.’
‘For the love of Mike, don’t bother me with that!’ I snarled at him. ‘Forget it! I want to read the papers.’
I went out on to the terrace and sat down. I didn’t move until I heard him go into the kitchen, then with an unsteady hand I unfolded the papers.
In banner headlines splashed across the front pages, the newspapers screamed that this was the hitand-run case to end all hit-and-run cases. This, they yelled, was the most callous, ruthless motor killing of all time.
According to the Palm City Inquirer, Patrol Officer Harry O’Brien, the dead man, had been one of the most popular officers on the City’s force. All three newspapers carried a picture of the dead man who looked a typical hard, brutal cop: a man around thirty years of age with small, granite-hard eyes, a lipless mouth and coarse heavy features.
The Palm City Inquirer said he was a good Catholic, a good son to his parents and a hard-working, conscientious police officer.
‘Only two days before he was so ruthlessly struck down, O’Brien had told friends that he was planning to get married at the end of next month,’ the account went on. ‘It is believed his fiancée is Miss Dolores Lane, the popular entertainer at the Little Tavern nightclub.’
The editors of all three newspapers shrilly demanded that the City’s Administration should find the driver of the car and punish him as he deserved.
But it wasn’t the hysterical yapping of the press that really scared me. The attitude of the police was far more menacing.
John Sullivan, Captain of Police, in a press interview held late last night, said that not one of his men would rest until they had found the driver who had killed O’Brien.
‘Make no mistake about it,’ Sullivan had concluded in a ten-minute speech in which he had extolled O’Brien’s qualities, ‘we will find this man. This is no ordinary accident. There have been police officers in the past who have been unlucky enough to have been killed in motoring accidents, but the drivers involved have faced tip to a court hearing. They didn’t run away. By running away, this man has branded himself as a killer, and I will not tolerate killers in this city. I will find him! We know his car is badly damaged. Every car in this city is going to be checked. I mean exactly that. Every car owner will be given a clearance certificate. Any driver damaging his car after the time of the accident must report the damage to the police or he will find himself on a hook. He will have to convince my men just how the damage was done, and if he can’t, then I’ll talk to him and I’ll be sorry for him if he can’t convince me. Road blocks have been set up. No car can leave the city without being checked for damage. I am satisfied we have the killer’s car trapped. It’s hidden somewhere and we only have to find it. And when we’ve found it, I’ll teach the owner it is damn bad medicine to kill one of my boys and run away.’
So by the time it was ten minutes to ten, by the time I had got rid of Toti, by the time I had thought over what I had read, I was glad to drink two double shots of whisky.
It seemed incredible to me that the police should be planning to check every car in the city. The task would be enormous, but then I remembered once reading of how a police force had searched practically every refuse bin in a city while hunting for a murder weapon, and after four days of incredible labour and patience, had found it. I told myself it would be dangerous to under-estimate Sullivan. If he really meant what he said, and if he wasn’t just putting on a show for the press, it might perhaps be possible to check every car, even if it did take weeks.
At ten o’clock, I went down the path and stood at the gate to watch for Lucille.
I hadn’t had much time to make up my mind what my immediate moves should be, but I had come to two important decisions. I decided there was no question of going to the police and telling them the truth. I also decided that if the Cadillac was found, I would have to take the blame for the accident.
It wasn’t entirely my infatuation for Lucille that prompted me to take this decision. It was obvious to me I had little choice. There was no point in both of us getting into trouble, and besides, I felt I was really to blame. If I hadn’t lost my head and had behaved as I had done, she wouldn’t have driven off on her own.
If I let her take the blame, the truth would come out and I would not only lose my job but I could go to prison as an accessory. If I kept her out of it, and I was lucky to get off with a light sentence, it was possible Aitken would give me back my job after I had served my sentence.
I was still brooding about this when Lucille arrived.
I put her bicycle in the garage and then took her into the lounge.
‘You’ve seen the papers?’ I said as I shut the door.
‘Yes, and it’s on the radio this morning. Did you hear what they said?’
‘The radio? No, I didn’t think of that. What did they say?’
‘They are asking for information.’ Her voice was unsteady. ‘They want anyone who saw a damaged car on the roads last night to come forward. They’re asking all garages to report at once if anyone asks them to repair a damaged car.’ She stood, staring at me, her face white and drawn. ‘Oh, Ches…’ Then she was suddenly in my arms, her face against my shoulder. ‘I’m frightened. I’m sure they will find me. What am I going to do?’
I held her close to me.
‘It’s going to be all right,’ I said. ‘I’ve been thinking about it. You don’t have to be frightened. Let’s talk it over. You have nothing to worry about.’
She pushed away from me and frowned at me.
‘How can you say that? What do you mean?’
She had on an open-neck shirt and pale green snug-fitting slacks. Even in this crisis I found myself thinking what a beautiful little creature she was.
‘Sit down,’ I said and I led her over to the settee.
She sat down and I took an easy chair opposite her.
‘There’s no point in both of us being in this mess,’ I said. ‘If the car is found, I’m taking the entire blame.’
She stiffened, her hands turning into fists as she gazed blankly at me.
‘But you can’t do that. It was my fault…’
‘It was an accident. If you had stopped and if you had got help, Lucille, you would have most likely got away with it. But to have got away with it, you would have had to tell the court the truth. You would have had to tell them why you went off in the car. It would have kept you out of prison, but landed you in the middle if a scandal. You can imagine how the press would have picked on us both. Your husband would probably have divorced you, and I would most certainly have lost my job. So even if you go now and tell the police what happened we would be both in a very serious jam. You see that, don’t you?’
She nodded.
‘I don’t intend to tell the police what happened,’ I went on. ‘There’s just a chance they won’t find the Cadillac, and I’m going to take that chance. But if they do find it, then I’m going to tell them I was driving and I hit the policeman. It’s important to both of us that you ar
e kept out of it. I might be lucky and get off with a light sentence. Your husband seems to think a lot of me, and he might have me back when I come out. But once you are involved, he would black-list me and I’ll never get another job in advertising. So you see I’m thinking of myself as much as you when I say I’ll take the blame.’
She sat motionless for a long moment, then her hands suddenly relaxed.
‘You really mean it, Ches? You really will tell them you did it?’
‘Yes, that’s what I mean.’
She drew in a deep breath.
‘Well, if you’re sure…’
‘I’m sure.’
She lifted her hair off her shoulders, frowning. She didn’t look as relieved as I expected her to look.
‘Doesn’t that make you feel better, Lucille?’
‘Oh, yes, of course.’ She stared down at her hands, then said: ‘There is one thing, Ches. I left my swim-suit in your car.’
I felt a little pang of disappointment. I thought she might have thanked me for letting her out of this mess.
‘Well, that’s all right. I’m going to check the car when you have gone. I’ll get the swim-suit, and when next I come to the house, I’ll bring it with me.’
She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue.
‘Could we go now and get it?’
‘I’ll get it when I check the car.’
‘I would like it now.’
Then I realized why she was being so persistent. If the police found the car and the swim-suit, they might trace the swim-suit to her,
‘All right. You wait here. I’ll get it now.’
‘I’d like to come with you…’
‘You’d better not. We can’t afford to be seen together.’
‘I’d rather come.’
I stared at her.
‘What is it, Lucille? Don’t you trust me to give it to you?’
She looked away.
‘It’s very important to me.’
‘Of course, but it’s also important no one sees us together. I’ll get it for you.’
She got to her feet.
‘I’d rather come with you, Ches.’
I restrained my rising temper with difficulty. Turning, I walked into the hall. She followed me.
‘Wait here,’ I said. ‘I’ll get the car.’
Leaving her on the top step, I went to the garage and drove the Pontiac out on to the road. I got out and looked up and down the road. There was no one in sight.
‘Come on,’ I said, waving to her.
She ran down the steps, down the path and scrambled into the car. I got in beside her and drove fast the quarter of a mile to Seaborne’s house.
We both got out.
Leading the way, I started up the drive towards the garage, then I suddenly came to an abrupt stop. Lucille paused at my side.
The garage door stood ajar
The previous night I had locked the doors after I had put the Cadillac away. There was no question about that. I had not only locked them, but I had taken care to make certain they had been secure.
‘What is it, Ches?’ Lucille asked sharply.
‘Wait here,’ I said, and breaking into a run, I covered the last twenty yards to the garage, pushed open the doors and looked inside.
The Cadillac was still there. The hard sunlight made the bent fender and the broken lamp look uglier than they had looked the previous night in the light of my flash-lamp.
I looked at the lack on the double doors. A chill snaked up my spine as I saw the lock was bent and twisted. There were claw marks of a jemmy dug into the woodwork.
Lucille joined me.
‘What is it?’
‘Someone has been here.’
She caught her breath sharply.
‘Who?’
‘How should I know?’
She caught hold of my arm.
‘Do you think it was the police?’
‘No. If it had been the police they would have come for me. My name’s on the licence tag.’
‘The swim-suit, Ches!’
‘Where did you leave it?’
‘On the floor at the back.’
I moved into the garage, opened the rear door of the car and looked inside.
If she had left the swim-suit on the floor of the car, it wasn’t there now.
II
Overhead an aircraft droned: there was no other sound. The silence seemed to me to go on for a long time. I stood by the car looking into the emptiness of the back seat and the floor, aware that my heart was thumping.
Then Lucille said in a small voice: ‘What is it?’
I turned and looked at her.
‘It’s not here.’
Her eyes opened very wide.
‘It must be there! Let me look!’
I stood aside and she peered into the car.
‘It must be here,’ she muttered and got into the car, her hands feeling under the scat.
‘Are you sure you didn’t leave it on the beach?’
‘Of course I’m sure!’ Her voice was strident. ‘I put it on the floor!’
She got out of the car, her eyes were wide with panic.
‘Perhaps you put it in the boot,’ I said, and going around to the car, I lifted the boot lid and looked inside. There was no swim-suit. I closed the boot and came back to where she was standing.
‘What have you done with it?’ she demanded.
I stared at her.
‘What do you mean? I’ve done nothing with it. I didn’t even know you had left it in the car.’
She moved away from me.
‘You’re lying! You’ve taken it and hidden it!’
‘How can you say such a thing! I tell you I didn’t even know it was in the car!’
Her face was now tense, and her eyes glittered. She no longer looked young and fresh and beautiful. I scarcely recognized her.
‘Don’t lie to me!’ she said furiously. ‘You’ve taken it! Where is it?’
‘Have you gone crazy? Someone’s been here! You can see that for yourself! Look at the door! Whoever it was found the swim-suit and has taken it!’
‘Oh, no! No one’s been here. It was you who forced the door! So that’s why you are so willing to take the blame,’ she said, her voice low and furious. ‘You thought I’d be so grateful to you I’d fall down and kiss your feet, didn’t you? You thought you could make love to me, didn’t you? I’d be so grateful to you, I’d let you! That was the idea, wasn’t it? And all the time you were planning to give me away! You planned to put the swim-suit back in the car so the police would know I had been with you in the car!’
I very nearly slapped her face, but controlled myself in time.
‘All right, Lucille, if you want to believe that, then believe it,’ I said. ‘I didn’t take your swim-suit. You frightened little fool! Someone has been here and has taken it, but it wasn’t me.’
She stood motionless, staring at me, then she put her hands up to her face.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Of course.’
Her voice was so soft I could scarcely hear it.
‘What does that mean?’ I asked, watching her.
She pressed her temples with her finger-tips, then suddenly she gave me a ghost of a smile.
‘I’m sorry, Ches. I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to speak to you like that. I didn’t sleep last night. My nerves are in a dreadful state. Please forgive me.’
‘Oh, forget it.’
‘Who could hare taken it, Ches? It could have been the police, couldn’t it.’
‘No. It wasn’t the police.’
She looked away from me. I had a sudden feeling I no longer existed for her, that her thoughts had carried her far away.
‘There’s no point in you staying here, Lucille,’ I said. ‘It’s dangerous.’
She started slightly, looked at me for a moment, her eyes appeared to be slightly out of focus, then a more lively expression came into them as if she was suddenly seeing me clearly.
/> ‘Yes. Will you give me a cigarette, please?’
Surprised, I took out my pack of Camels and offered her one. She took the cigarette, put it between her lips and accepted the light from my lighter. She pulled hard on the cigarette, then let the smoke come rolling out of her mouth. All the time she stared fixedly at the oily, concrete floor of the garage.
I watched her. It was like seeing a child after several years: a child that had grown suddenly into a woman.
She looked up and saw I was watching her. She smiled: it wasn’t any easy smile, but it made her look very desirable and lovely.
‘So we’re in this mess now together aren’t we, Ches?’
‘Not necessarily. It could have been a sneak thief.’
‘Do you think so? It could have been a blackmailer.’
I stared at her.
‘Why do you say that?’
‘It’s something I feel,’ she said, after a moment’s hesitation. ‘We are in an ideal position to be blackmailed, aren’t we? I for killing this policeman, and you for trying to seduce me.’
For several seconds I said nothing. That angle hadn’t struck me, but now she had put it into words, I could see she could be right.
‘It doesn’t necessarily follow…’
‘No. We must wait and see what happens.’ She moved past me to the garage door. ‘I suppose I had better get back.’
‘Yes.’
We moved out into the hot sunshine. She waited while I closed the garage doors.
I’ll have to come back and fix this lock,’ I said after I had tried to wedge the two doors together and had failed.
‘Yes.’
She walked down the path, the sun making the lights in her glossy hair glitter. From behind, she made a trim little figure in her slacks and yellow shirt: trim and excitingly feminine.
She got into the Pontiac and sat upright, her slim hands resting on her knees.
I got in beside her, started the engine, U-turned and drove back fast to my bungalow.
During the short run back to the bungalow neither of us said anything.
I pulled up outside the gate.
‘I’ll get your cycle.’
Hit and Run Page 7