“No, no. I’m sorry.… No, it’s quite all right. Thank you.” She cradled the instrument slowly, still staring at him, and said: “David Payne. How—What are you doing here?”
Dave knew his face was hot and sweaty and he had an idea it was also red. In an effort to cover up his embarrassment then and present some semblance of poise he said: “You mean here, in the closet? Or what am I doing in Barbados?”
She thought it over, no longer startled but eyeing him closely with what might have been a glint of humor. “Well-both.”
“I’m in Barbados—I got in last night—because your uncle is worried about you.”
“Worried? Why?”
“He didn’t like the tone of that note you left. He said you were headstrong and stubborn”—he knew he could not speak of the gun—”and he was afraid you might try to get tough with Mike Ludlow.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“John didn’t think so and if he hadn’t convinced me of it, at least to some extent, I wouldn’t have bothered to make the trip.”
“All right, so you came. But this snooping business,” she added dryly, “is a little out of character, isn’t it, David? Or have I been misjudging you.” She hesitated, the mischievous glints in her eyes more evident as she studied his discomfiture. “Too bad I saw you,” she said. “You might have enjoyed the act.”
“Act? What act?”
“My strip act.”
He eyed her irritably before he replied. He was still upset by what had happened and her attitude nettled him. Because he did not want her to know how sheepish and embarrassed he had felt he decided to comment on her remark.
“I might have enjoyed it at that,” he said. “But I understand even nice girls who are proud of their figures are not always too reluctant to display them on occasion.”
“Oh?” She considered him anew, one brow lifting. “To strangers?”
“Well—no.”
“And how was I to know it was you in the closet?”
“All right,” he said, aware that he was not up to matching wits with her. “Let’s say it was out of character. That was the original question, wasn’t it? Not that you haven’t misjudged me in the past. I did a silly thing and I got caught. The point is—if you had been here I wouldn’t have had to snoop. I knocked first. When there wasn’t any answer I came in. I had to know.”
“Know? Know what?”
He produced the key then and she took it, her young face sobering now and wonderment showing in her eyes. She looked down at it. She turned it over in her hand and then sat down on the arm of the nearest chair.
When she made no immediate reply, he said: “Someone killed Mike last night. He was dead when I got there, but the front room was dark and this key was on the floor. I accidentally kicked it when I started for the veranda. I picked it up, not knowing what it was or particularly caring. I put it in my pocket. After that things happened pretty fast and I forgot it. I didn’t tell the police about it because I didn’t even remember I had it. I never really saw it until this morning when I emptied the pockets of the suit I wore yesterday. That’s why I came here,” he said. “I was afraid it might be yours.”
“I suppose I should thank you.”
“For not giving this to the police? No. I told you it wasn’t deliberate. I simply forgot it.”
“Then what you’re saying,” she said, “is that I must have been there last night?”
“Is there any other explanation?”
“No, I guess there isn’t.” She tossed the key onto the bed and put her palms on her knees. The dark-blue eyes inspected the backs of her hands and she said, not looking at him: “Could you tell me the rest of it? About the police, and all that?”
He gave her the details as he remembered them and tried to give them in the proper progression. He said nothing about Gloria Ludlow because it had no point here, but he did tell her everything else. When he finished, she nodded absently, her glance steady and her face composed.
“Yes, I was there,” she said. “I saw Mike twice. The first time he was alive; the second time he was dead.”
“You ran out?”
“Yes. In panic probably. I didn’t stop to think about it until later. Something told me to run and I did.” She tipped her head slightly, still watching him. “Maybe I ran for the same reason you tried to hide in that closet.”
The point was well taken and he knew that it was basically true. He was also impressed by her ability to point out so quickly the similarity of their actions.
“I want to tell you exactly what happened. I have to talk to someone and I’m awfully glad it’s you.” She stood up, replacing a shoulder strap that had slipped because the back of the suit was still unzippered. “But I’d like to get some clothes on first. Will you wait?”
Dave said he would. He said he would wander around down by the parking lot so he could see her when she came out. He crossed to the door and went out without looking back and the gun was still at his hip. He tried not to think too much about it as he wandered toward the driveway but it was impossible to ignore two facts—the gun had been fired recently and, if the police were right, a gun of similar caliber had killed Mike Ludlow.
He had been pacing back and forth near the entrance for not more than three or four minutes when he saw the police car swing into the drive. It was small and black and did not look much like the radio cars he had seen in the States except for one distinguishing characteristic—a buggy-whip antenna. A uniformed officer was at the wheel and when he had parked, a Negro in plain clothes stepped out and headed for the small lobby. He passed Dave without a glance and Dave idled along behind, lingering at the desk only long enough to hear the man ask which cottage Miss Joan Allison occupied.
The question was, in itself, discouraging. He could not imagine what had brought the police here at this time or why they should be interested in Joan unless some new evidence had come to light since the previous night; but because he had to know what happened next he continued on through the patio and turned left under the trees.
When he found a spot where he could watch the end cottage he stopped, wondering for a moment whether he should interfere and knowing, even as the question came, that it would be the worst thing he could do at this time. He could no longer see the plain-clothes man. He assumed that he was inside the cottage, and it was another four or five minutes before the door opened. When the officer reappeared with Joan at his side, he started for the bungalow, cutting toward the beach and moving along with his head bent and his mind busy.
He did not speculate as to what might happen next but he was concerned with the gun. He considered throwing it into the sea, decided against it, and knew the next best thing would be to hide it somewhere in the bungalow. Once he had talked to Joan and heard her story he would have a better idea of what should be done, and this was what he had in mind as he turned toward the bungalow steps. Not until then did he see the uniformed constable waiting on the veranda.
The constable touched his cap as Dave mounted the steps. He said: “Good morning, sir. You are Mr. David Payne?”
“Good morning. Yes, I’m Mr. Payne.”
“Major Fleming’s compliments, sir. He would like to see you in his office as soon as possible. I have a car waiting.”
“Fine,” Dave said, swallowing his disappointment. “Just wait until I get my jacket.”
He started through the front door and before he had gone very far he realized the constable was following him. He continued along the hall to the back bedroom and stepped inside to get a cord jacket. Because he wanted very much to get rid of the gun he came up with the idea that seemed worth trying.
“There’s a car in the garage,” he said as he stepped back into the hall. “Maybe I could use that and save you the trouble of bringing me back.”
The constable thought it over a minute, glanced off into the distance, then back at Dave. When he had considered the matter from every angle he said: “Do you have a license to drive on
the island, sir?”
“No, I don’t.”
“Then perhaps it would be better if you let me do the driving.”
“Yeah,” Dave said, and gave up. “Perhaps you’re right.”
7
ON THE OUTSIDE, Police Headquarters looked like part of an ancient fort. From the street, the only entrance in the weathered, rough-squared stone wall was an arched opening that was barely wide enough to admit a car. Here a constable in blue trousers, a white-drill jacket with a leather belt, and an immaculate white pith helmet stood guard, waving one in or out, depending on the traffic conditions in the street outside.
Inside was a paved quadrangle dominated by an enormous Indian evergreen that must have been as old as the building. At the rear and the left side were rows of one-story structures housing the C.I.D. and the Special Squads; on the right was a tin-roofed two-story barracks. At the front, and forming part of the outer wall, were the administration buildings with entrances on either side of the main gate and Demerara shutters jutting from the second-floor offices. Dave’s driver let him out under the evergreen tree, pointed to the doorway to the left of the gate.
“You will find the Commissioner’s office on the second floor.”
“Where do I go for a driver’s license?”
“Through that door on your right, sir. If you have your own license from the States you will have no trouble.”
The plain-clothes sergeant who had been at the bungalow the night before was seated behind a small table on the second-floor landing when Dave went up the stairs. He rose and said “Good morning,” and when Dave replied he sorted through some papers on the table and offered one to Dave.
“Will you read this please? If any changes are necessary you can make them.”
What Dave read then was a brief but accurate statement of the things he had told Major Fleming the night before. It was in longhand and he did not know who had written it, but the facts were essentially as he had given them and when he finished he said:
“You want me to sign this?”
“If you find it in order.”
He offered a pen and when Dave signed the statement the sergeant gestured to a doorway on his left. “Will you wait in there, please, until the Commissioner can see you?”
The room Dave entered was narrow and looked as if it had once been a gallery that was now closed in. The only furniture was a long bench and two chairs, one of which was occupied by a small, dark-haired, and neat-looking man Dave had never seen before. Alan Crawford sat at one end of the bench, his swart face bored and unconcerned and his dark glance indifferent as it touched Dave. Gloria Ludlow sat in the middle of the bench and although dark glasses obscured her eyes, her red-lipped smile came quickly when she saw him. She was wearing a simple beige dress with a narrow belt, her blond hair was attractively set, and her arms and legs were bare. She looked fresh and rested now and he was so glad to see her that he had it in mind to sit down beside her and ask how she was and if there had been any trouble when she got home last night. Then he caught himself in time and abruptly changed his tactics.
For he suddenly realized with something of a shock that, insofar as anyone else knew, he had not seen her the night before. This, then, should be their first meeting and he tried hard to give the impression that this was so.
“Gloria,” he said, making his voice surprised. “I was hoping I’d see you.”
He saw the momentary indecision in her face as he offered his hand but she recovered quickly as his message came through. She took his hand. She removed her glasses and drew him down beside her.
“David,” she said, sounding just as surprised as he had. “David Payne.… It’s been a long time.”
He sat close to her, aware that the two men were watching them. He kept talking, making the usual commonplace remarks that seemed proper under the circumstances, while she replied in kind. Not until the routine had been completed did he lean close and whisper to her. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.”
“No trouble last night?”
“They asked a lot of questions and I answered them. That was all.”
He straightened up as the door at the far end opened and Joan Allison came out with Major Fleming. He saw her glance take stock of the situation before it flicked away. If she recognized Gloria Ludlow she gave no sign but started past with her chin up and eyes fixed straight ahead. At the same time Major Fleming spoke to the man in the chair.
“All right, Mr. Eustis. Will you come in please?”
Joan Allison had stopped at the end of the room. When she started to fumble in her basket for a cigarette, Dave touched Gloria’s arm and said he’d be back. Because he had to talk to Joan he stepped up beside her and thought of a way to get her out of the room.
“I have to get a driver’s license,” he said. “There’s a place downstairs. What about you?”
“Me? Why should I—”
“You might want to rent a car while you’re here and you can’t drive without one.”
She gave a small shrug of her shoulders. “I suppose I might as well.”
Out on the landing he told the sergeant what he had in mind, and after considering the request, the man agreed that it might be all right. He reminded them that they were to return here when they finished and they went downstairs and out into the open air.
“Did you tell the major your story?” he asked.
“I had to. He found out I was there.” She watched him a moment, her dark-blue eyes speculative. “I also had some horrible thoughts about you on the ride in.”
“Thoughts?”
“I thought you had—well—turned me in. I thought you must have told the police about that key you found. I didn’t know how else they could know about me.”
“How did they find out?”
“I made a few inquiries yesterday,” she said. “I stopped in at the banks and asked a lot of questions about Mike and Uncle John and the option. Things like that. The major found out about it. That made him interested in me and what I was doing last night. The policeman who came to the cottage had a warrant. He wasn’t very thorough but he found a compact in my bag. I think that’s what he was looking for all the time.”
Dave put the pieces together and found the proper answer. He was also very conscious of the pressure of that automatic against his hip and offered silent thanks that he had been lucky enough to take it from the bureau drawer. He spoke of the section of broken mirror and the scattered powder that the police had found on the bungalow floor the night before.
“Yes,” she said. “When I saw Mike lying there I dropped my bag and my compact fell out and popped open. There wasn’t much light in the room and I didn’t know the mirror had broken. That key must have spilled out at the same time but I didn’t see it. I didn’t know it was gone.” She flipped the cigarette away. “When the major showed me that the pieces of the mirror fitted the compact, he knew I’d been there last night. I had to tell him the rest of it.”
Dave took her past the arched entrance to the steps which led to the traffic office. He wondered if she was as concerned about the gun as he was, but because he was afraid to speak of it now, he stepped up to the counter and spoke to one of the officers behind the wooden grillwork. They were given forms, which they filled out at a table in the corner, and returned them along with their own driving licenses and the two-dollar fee. As they came back to the quadrangle, the plain-clothes sergeant met them. He said the Commissioner was waiting for them and they followed him upstairs and through the narrow room to a large office which overlooked the street.
The major, who was looking very fit and dapper that morning, stood behind his desk. Inspector Gomes was seated at one end and a policewoman with a stenographer’s notebook sat at the other. All of the chairs but two—apparently some had been brought in for the occasion—were occupied and arranged in a rough semi-circle. The man called Eustis, Alan Crawford, and Gloria Ludlow were on one side; Mr. and Mrs. Dunning were on the other
. Dave and Joan took the two in the middle and when they were seated Fleming settled himself behind the desk.
“I’ve asked all of you here for a very good reason,” he said. “You’ve all made statements and signed them. When you hear what I have to say some of you may wish to change them. If so this is the time to do it.”
He leaned back and gave them time to consider his words; then he introduced Joan. He explained who she was and why she was here. He told enough about the option which was due on Monday and the offer from the Golf Syndicate so that everyone could understand the background.
“Miss Allison went to see Mike Ludlow about eight forty last night,” he said. “She had made some inquiries yesterday but no one seemed to know for sure whether Ludlow would be able to produce the necessary fifty thousand on Monday. Because she felt her uncle was being cheated she wanted to do everything in her power to stop that option from being exercised. She told Ludlow of her intentions. I suppose, in a manner of speaking, she defied him to produce that much money and he accepted the challenge.”
He hesitated and said: “There is a sideboard in one corner of the bungalow living room. It is used, in part, as a liquor cabinet and is kept locked. Ludlow unlocked a compartment in Miss Allison’s presence and took out a metal box. From Miss Allison’s description this box was made of gray metal and was about twelve inches by eight inches by eight inches. When Ludlow unlocked the box she could see that it was full of bank notes. She had no way of telling how much was there, but Ludlow stated that the box then contained forty thousand dollars in local currency. I might add that Ludlow had been drinking and was in what seemed like a reckless and boastful mood, but he further stated that before the evening was over he would have the other ten.… Am I correct so far, Miss Allison?”
“Yes.”
“Would you like to continue?”
“Well”—she sat a little straighter in her chair and moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue—“he had just finished showing me the money when we heard a car coming down the lane. I don’t know why, but before I understood what he had in mind, Mike had me by the arm and was hurrying me down the hall to that back bedroom. He said he hadn’t finished talking to me and I was to stay there and wait until he came and got me. I sat down on the edge of the bed as he closed the door—”
Moment of Violence Page 6