“Why, sure,” I said. “Even sooner. But—”
“Good! Do it, then.”
He left. I went back out into the hall.
The nearest undertaking service was thirty miles away, so it would be some time before Luane’s body could be removed. Sheriff Jameson agreed to stick around until the job was over; also to see that Ralph was taken care of comfortably for the night. He had one of his deputies put a couple of things of Ralph’s into my car—things I was taking custody of temporarily—and then I left for town.
Jim Ashton was parked in front of the courthouse. He got out of his car as I drove up, started talking while I was still climbing out of mine.
“You asked me a question about fixing the time of death, Hank. Here’s the answer. When a fatality is discovered as quickly as this one was, you can come damned close to fixing the time it occurred. Oh, you can’t pin it down to a matter of minutes and seconds, but you can place it within a very narrow period. And, Hank, I can’t account for my time during that period in this case!”
“But it was an accident,” I said. “Anyway, you’re not the only one who—”
“Who else is there? My son is in the clear. You and Lily are. Ralph is. There’s that girl he’s been chasing around with, of course, but if he’s out of the picture she just about has to be, too. Anyway, she’s in a lot better spot than I am. And, damn her, it’s her fault that I’m—but, let it go. The time of Luane’s death can be placed within a certain period, and everyone but me can—”
“Just a minute.” I put a hand on his arm. “Calm down, Jim. You were the one who examined Luane. What’s to stop you from saying she died during a period that you can account for?”
He looked at me blankly. Jim’s supposed to be a very intelligent man—and I’m sure he is—but he certainly couldn’t keep up with me tonight. No one could have.
“Oh,” he said, at last. “Why, yes, I guess I could, couldn’t I?”
“Why not?” I winked and nudged him. “What’s to stop you?”
A relieved smile spread over his face. Then he glanced over my shoulder, and the smile went away.
“There,” he nodded grimly, and I turned around and looked. “That’s what’s to stop me!”
I’d expected Kossmeyer to be tipped off, and I knew he’d move fast as soon as he was. But I hadn’t thought he would move this fast. And I hadn’t planned on his doing what he had done—or, rather, what he was preparing to do.
His convertible was just about in the middle of the block, opposite us. Just passing under a streetlight. We could see him plain as day, and the man he had with him. The doctor who sometimes came here from out of town.
They passed on by, took the road that led toward the Devore place. Jim sighed and said, well, that was that, he guessed.
I told him I was sure everything would work out all right, but it didn’t seem to help much. He drove away, still looking mighty sickish, and I took the stuff out of my car and carried it up to my office.
I was feeling a mite let-down myself. Kind of, you know, like someone had given me a little punch in the stomach. And it wasn’t because I was worried about Jim. Jim hadn’t killed Luane, I was positive of it. So unless he confessed—and I doubted if even Kossmeyer could break Jim Ashton down—he couldn’t be convicted. He could be put to plenty of grief, of course; so much that he might just about as well be guilty as innocent. But—
Dammit, he almost deserved to be. If he hadn’t been so careless or unlucky or dumb or something, I’d have had Kossmeyer against a stone wall. I could have put that little louse in his place, and made him like it.
I cussed, and took a kick at my wastebasket. I got busy on the telephone, trying to make the best of the situation. About thirty minutes passed. I’d just hung up after a call when the phone rang.
It was Jim. He had an alibi for the time of Luane’s death, after all. Not only that, but the Lee girl also had one! They were each other’s alibi!
I almost let out a war whoop when he told me the news. I think I would have if I hadn’t glanced out the window and seen Kossmeyer coming up the walk.
I hung up the phone, thinking by God that this made everything perfect—hell, better than perfect!
I listened, grinning, as Kossmeyer came up the steps and down the hall. As he neared the door, I wiped off my grin and stood up.
I was very polite to him. Oh, extremely. I said it was a great honor to have such a distinguished visitor, and that I would feel privileged to assist him in any poor way that I could.
He looked a little startled, then embarrassed. Then, as he sat down across from me, he laughed sort of shyly. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I just supposed that since we knew each other so well, and since it’s pretty common practice to call in an outside doctor—”
“I’m delighted that you did,” I said. “Nothing could have pleased me more. Now, as long as you’re taking such an extraordinary interest in the case—”
“Extraordinary? It’s extraordinary to be interested in the death of a client?”
“If you please,” I said. “Perhaps if you will not interrupt we can conclude our business quickly. Now, I have here a canvas sack containing approximately fifty-seven thousand dollars. It belongs to Ralph Devore, and here is conclusive proof in the form of a ledger. I think you’ll agree with me that—”
“Sure, I will,” he nodded. “I’d sure as hell agree anyway that the guy could never be convicted. Luane couldn’t have kept him from leaving her. He had no monetary motive for killing her. He was on the scene right about the time of her death, but—Yeah, counsellor? Go right ahead.”
Go right ahead? Hell, there was hardly anything to go ahead with! I’d been all set to surprise him; I’d had it all planned. Just how he’d look and what he’d say, and what I’d say and—and everything. And then that damned stupid Jameson or one of his deputies had had to spoil it all.
“Well,” I said, “as long as you’ve already been told…”
“Ought to have known without being told.” He shook his head. “Ought to have been able to guess how things stood. On the other hand, who’d’ve ever thought that a guy like Devore would have that kind of dough? Or any considerable sum?”
“What’s the difference?” I said. “It was his money. He certainly wouldn’t have had to kill her to get his own money, would he?”
“You’re quite right,” he said gravely. “He would not have had to. I have no grounds for thinking that he did kill her—or, for that matter, that anyone did.”
“You—” I paused. “You don’t think that anyone did? You mean, you think it was an accident?”
“Well,” he shrugged, “why not? There’s that broken telephone line, of course, but you can’t make anything out of that. Yeah, I’d be willing to let it go as an accident.”
He looked at me, frowning a little. I looked down at my desk, feeling my face turn red, hardly knowing what to do or say next. He’d spoiled everything. Everything I’d planned to say, why—why, now I couldn’t. All I could do was just sit there, like a bump on a log. Looking like a damned fool, and knowing that he thought I was one.
He cleared his throat. He murmured something about not envying me my job, and a prosecutor’s really having a hard row to hoe.
“Used to be on that side of the desk myself, y’know,” he added. “Guess a lot of trial lawyers start off as prosecutors. Gives ’em all around experience, and the longer they stick to it the better they get. You know what I always say, Mr. County Attorney? I say, you show me an experienced prosecutor, and I’ll show you a topflight lawyer!”
I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t even make myself look up at him. He cleared his throat again.
“I’m afraid I’ve interrupted you so much that I’ve broken your chain of thought. Were you going to—uh—May I see that list?”
I shoved it toward him, the list of people who had a good reason for wanting Luane dead and who they had been with at the time of her death. He went down the double-column o
f names, murmuring aloud, kind of talking to himself but also speaking to me:
“Bobbie Ashton and Myra Pavlov…Lily and Henry C. Will—Oh, now, really. I hope you don’t think that was necessary on my account…Doctor Ashton and Danny Lee. Hmm, hmm. Well, what the hell, though?”
He laid the list back on my desk. He murmured that I had certainly done a first-rate job of investigation; then, after a long awkward pause, he suddenly laughed.
My head came up. It was such a warm-sounding, friendly laugh that it was hard for me to keep from joining in.
“Y’know, Mr. County Attorney,” he chuckled, “sometimes I feel like one of those characters in a Western movie. The guy that gets such an exaggerated reputation for toughness that he can’t hardly tip his hat without someone thinking he’s going for a gun. Sure, I try to take care of my clients, and maybe I’m overly conscientious about it. But I certainly don’t go hunting for trouble. I don’t like trouble, y’know? There’s too damned much of it already without creating any.”
He laughed again, giving me a sidewise glance, trying to draw me into his laughter. I looked back at him coldly—letting him squirm for a change, letting him feel as foolish as I had.
“Well—” He stood up awkwardly. “I guess—uh—I guess I’d better be going. See you around, huh? And my compliments on your thoroughness in handling this investigation.”
He nodded, and started for the door. I let him get halfway there before I spoke.
“Just a moment, Mr. Kossmeyer…”
“Yeah?” He turned around.
“Come back here,” I said. “I haven’t told you you could leave yet.”
“Wh-aat?” He laughed, kind of frowning. “What the hell is this?”
I stared at him silently. He came slowly back and again sat down across from me.
“You complimented me on my thoroughness,” I said. “It suddenly occurred to me that I haven’t been thorough enough. Where were you at the time of Luane Devore’s death?”
“Where was—? Aw, now—”
“Luane said a great many ugly things about you. Whether they were true or not I don’t know, but—”
“Then maybe we’d better stick to your question,” he said quietly. “I was with my wife at the time.”
“Oh? Your wife, eh?” I shook my head, kind of grinning down my nose. “Just your wife? You have no one else to support your story?”
“No one. There’s only the one person. I’m in the same boat with those other people on your list—with you, for example.”
“Well,” I shrugged. “I suppose I’ll have to accept that, then. I can’t say that I’m completely satisfied, but—uh—”
His face had gone white. The pale had pushed up, spread over the summer’s tan; and all his color seemed concentrated in his burning black eyes.
“Why ain’t you satisfied?” he said. “What’s there about me or my wife that makes our word less reliable than that of these other people?”
His voice was kind of a low, quivering purr. A kind of wound-up, coiled-tight undertone. He spoke again, repeating his question, and the quiver became stronger. The tenseness, the coiling seemed to extend to his body.
I began to get a little nervous, but I couldn’t stop now. Not the way he was looking at me, the way he sounded: the way, in so many words, he was threatening me. If he’d just laughed again or even smiled a little; given me an opening to say, oh, hell, of course I was just joking…
“You’ve been kicking me in the teeth all evening,” he said, “and I took it. But I ain’t taking that last. When you tell me that my wife’s word is no good—that she and I ain’t as decent and upright as other people—then you throw the door wide open. You got a hell of a lot more tellin’ to do then, buster, and by God you’d better not clown around when you do it. Because if you do—”
“Now, w-wait a minute,” I said. “I—I—”
“What are you trying to cover up, Williams? Why did you go to such lengths to prove that this was an accident? You felt you had to, right? You had a guilty conscience, right? You knew—you sit there now, knowing that it was not an accident but murder. And knowing full well who the murderer is. That’s right, isn’t it, Williams? Answer me! You know who killed Luane Devore, and by God, I think I do, too! You’ve as good as admitted it. You’ve put the finger right on yourself! You’ve—”
“N-no! NO!” I said. “I w-was with my sister! I—”
“Suppose I told you I’d talked with your sister? Suppose I told you she’s admitted that you weren’t with her? Suppose I told you I’ve only been playing with you all evening—getting you out on a limb with this one-person alibi deal? Suppose…”
His voice had uncoiled; he had uncoiled. He was in front of me, leaning toward me, pounding on the desk. He was there, but he was also behind me, to the side of me, above me. He seemed to surround me like his voice, closing in, shutting out everything else. Chasing me further and further into a black, bewildering labyrinth where only he and the voice could follow. I couldn’t think. I—I—
I thought, Isn’t it funny? How, when you feel so much one way, you act just the opposite?
I thought, She never said nothin’. Mama and Papa said I did real good…and she hated it. She hated me. All her life she’s—
“She did it!” It was me, screaming. “S-she said she was going to! S-she—she—she says I wasn’t to home, why she wasn’t either! S-she—she—”
“Then she can’t alibi for you, can she? You can’t prove you were at home. And you weren’t, were you, Williams? You were at the Devore house, weren’t you, Williams? You were killing Luane, weren’t you, Williams? Killing her and then faking—”
“N-N-NO! NO! Don’t you s-see? I couldn’t I—I couldn’t hurt no one! H-honest, Mr. Kossmeyer! I—I ain’t that way. I k-know it l-looks like—like—but that ain’t me! I couldn’t do it. I didn’t, d-didn’t, didn’t, didn’t…”
He was making little motions with his hands, motioning for me to stop. The whiteness was gone from his face, giving way to a deep flush. He looked ashamed and embarrassed, and kind of sick.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t really think you killed Luane. I just got sore, and—”
“He didn’t kill her,” said a voice from the doorway. “I did.”
11
Myra Pavlov
Papa just about scared me to death when he came home for lunch. He didn’t act much different or say anything much more out of the way than he usually does—I guess he really didn’t actually. But I kept feeling like he knew about Bobbie and me, and that that was why he was acting and talking the way he was. And finally I just got so nervous and scared that I jumped up from the table, and ran up to my room.
Afterwards, sitting up on the edge of my bed, I was scared even more. I thought, Oh, golly, now I have done it. Now, he will know there’s something wrong, if he doesn’t already. I shivered and shook. I began to get sick to my stomach; kind of a morning sickness like I’ve had a lot lately. But I didn’t dare go to the bathroom. He might hear me, and come upstairs. He might start asking Mama questions, and that would be just as bad, because she’s even scareder of him than I am.
It’s funny how we feel about him; I mean, the way we’re always so scared of him. Because there’s actually no real reason to be. He’s never hit Mama or me. He’s never threatened us or cussed us out. He’s never done anything of the things that mean men are supposed to do to their families, and yet we’ve always been scared of him. Almost as far back as I can remember, anyway.
Well, after a moment or so, Mama left the table too, and came upstairs, stopped in the doorway of my room. I held my hand over my mouth and pointed. She pointed to my shoes. I slipped them off, and followed her down the hall to the bathroom. And, golly, was it a relief to get in there.
I used the sink to vomit in, and Mama kept running the water to cover up the noise. It was sure a relief.
We went back to my room, she in her shoes and me in my stocking feet. We sat down o
n my bed, and she put her arms around me and held me. She was kind of stiff and awkward about it, since we’ve never done much kissing and hugging or anything like that in our family. But it was nice, just the same.
It wasn’t much later, but it seemed like hours before Papa left. Mama’s arms slid away from me, and we both heaved a big sigh. And then we laughed, kind of weakly, because it was sort of funny, you know.
“How are you feeling, girl?” Mama said. “Girl” is about as close as she ever comes to calling me a pet name. I said I was feeling pretty good now.
“Stand up and let me take a look at you,” Mama said.
I stood up. I pulled my dress up above my waist, and Mama looked at me. Then, she motioned for me to sit down again.
“It doesn’t show none at all,” she said. “You couldn’t tell there’s a thing wrong by looking at you. Of course, it wouldn’t need to show if he’s—he’s—”
“Do you think he has, Mama?” I started to tremble a little. “Y-you don’t think he has heard anything, do you, Mama?”
“Well, sure, now,” Mama said quickly. “Of course, he hasn’t. I reckon he’d sure let us know if he had.”
“But—but what makes him act so funny then?”
“Mean, you mean,” Mama said. “When did he ever act any other way?”
She sat, turning her hands in her lap, looking down at the big blue veins in the rough red flesh. Her legs were bare, and they were red and rough, too; bruised-looking where the varicose veins were broken. She was just kind of a mass of redness and roughness, from her face to her feet. And all at once I began to cry.
“There, there, girl,” she said, giving me an awkward pat. “Want me to get you something to eat?”
“N-no.” I shook my head.
She said I’d better eat; I’d hardly touched my lunch. She said she could bake me up something real quick—some puff bread or something else real tasty.
“Oh, Mama.” I wiped my eyes, suddenly smiling a little. “That’s all you ever think of! I’ll bet if a person had a broken leg you’d try to feed them!”