Part 6

“I couldn’t help it. I love you, darling. I know I’m being unreasonable, but if Ted is alive--oh, I don’t know how to explain it--”

“Don’t try.”

“You do understand?”

He was not sure that he did. He knew that it had something to do with this thought in the back of her mind that questioned the legality of their marriage and robbed them of the right to live as husband and wife. He did not agree but he could not argue the point now, because her closeness and the pressure of her body wakened old desires and brought new tensions. He had to swallow before he could speak but he lied convincingly.

“Sure,” he said. “Just don’t worry about it. We’ll work it out.”

The words seemed to comfort her. She uttered a small, muffled sob and caught her breath, and then her arms relaxed and he knew the moment had passed. He let her go and she tried to smile up at him, and he could see the relief in the wet brightness of her eyes.

“All right,” she said and took another deep breath. “We’ve got to talk,” she said and backed into a chair. “Did you go to see him, John?”

“Adler? Yes. He was already dead.”

“Then the police were trying to trap us.”

“Trap us? How do you mean?”

She crossed her knees and seemed unaware that one leg was exposed beneath the dark blue robe. She leaned forward, her look intent.

“But don’t you see? Adler had those two pictures with him. The police would search his room and his clothes and his wallet, wouldn’t they?”

“Sure but--”

“So they couldn’t help but find those pictures. They probably already have them. They’re bound to find out what they mean.”

“How are they?”

“But I’ve already told you. Ted worked for the government. His fingerprints are on file. How long do you think it will take the police to find out that the fingerprints on that picture belong to him?”

Hayden made no immediate answer. He simply looked at her, a little amazed that she could be so emotionally feminine one moment and so practical the next. There was nothing weak and helpless in her attitude now, and it came to him that the only way he could reassure her was to tell her the truth. Reluctantly then, not sure he was doing the right thing, he took the two photographs from his pocket and displayed them.

“Oh,” she said and caught her breath as her eyes snapped open. “You took them.”

“I had to, didn’t I?”

“But he was dead.”

“Certainly he was dead. I walked in and found him and I wanted to get out in a hurry and then I remembered these and knew I had to look. I found them in his wallet.”

“Did--did anyone see you?”

“I don’t think so.”

He slipped the pictures back into his pocket and hoped what he said was true. For he remembered again the woman he had seen so vaguely in the motel quadrangle. She could have seen him, as he saw her. He did not know if she would remember or whether she would be able to describe him. In all that darkness it was even possible that she had not seen him at all. Then, as his mind went on, he knew that there was something else he had to know. He felt certain that she had lied to the two police officers, but it seemed now that it was important to understand to what extent she had lied.

“What about the phone call?” he asked.

“Phone call?”

“Adler did call, didn’t he?”

The lashes dipped to obscure her eyes as she hesitated. She seemed to notice the exposed leg and took time to cover it.

“Yes,” she said finally, and then her head came up and once more she met his gaze head-on. “But they can’t prove it. How can they? This man Freeman can say he dialed this number and I can say he didn’t, or at least that I didn’t hear it. It’s just his word against mine.”

This, he knew, was true but it was not enough for him, not now. Quietly, and with no overtones of censure in his voice, he said: “What did he want, baby?”

The unsettling effect of his question was at once apparent. Again she lowered her glance. She picked a piece of lint off the robe and smoothed out the fabric with her fingertips.

“It’s sort of hard to explain,” she said finally.

“Why?”

“Because I’m not sure I can make you understand.”

“Try.”

“Well, he was one of those men that seemed to think that all he had to do was make a pass at a woman and she would fall into his arms. I told you what he looked like. He was not bad-looking, actually. You could tell he thought he was pretty smooth. He was very glib and self-assured and much too familiar. At least he tried to be.”

“This was this afternoon?”

“Yes. Even when he was telling me what he wanted, when he knew how upset I must be by what he said, he was a little suggestive. He went out of his way to let me know he thought I was something special and men like that are usually hard to discourage.”

She lifted one shoulder in an empty shrug and said: “He called me a few minutes after you had left. He said he wanted to see me. I told him he must be out of his mind. I said you would probably stop and see him later but he said that didn’t matter. He said there was no reason why I couldn’t stop by for a friendly drink. He said he didn’t want to be unreasonable and it would be easier if we could talk things over in a friendly way.”

“What did you say?”

“I hung up on him.”

She paused, watching him now to see if he believed her, and this time he was the one who had to avert his glance. It was a convincing performance, and if he had not been aware of certain facts he might have believed her. As it was, his heart sank and a feeling of hopelessness began to undermine his thoughts. He knew now that she was lying, but some inner impulse he did not understand prevented him from saying so. He dared not accuse her now. He could not tell her that he had felt the radiator of the station wagon.

He believed that Adler had made that call. He believed that she had answered it. The station wagon had been used between the time he left and returned. If she had not gone to see Adler, then where had she gone? If the trip had been an innocent one, why had she not admitted it?

There had been a woman in the darkened quadrangle and that woman could have come from Adler’s room. The smell of perfume in the bathroom testified to the fact that a woman had been there for a minute or two and possibly longer. Furthermore Adler had been stabbed in the back by a kitchen knife, a woman’s weapon if there ever was one. The combination of such thoughts was so unacceptable that he tried to dismiss them by telling himself that even if Marion had gone to see Adler for some reason he could not understand, she never would have turned to murder. She could have been worked up to the point of desperation and probably was; she never would have gone there otherwise. Her condition had brought occasional moments of emotional instability, but murder was something else. He shook his head to dispel such thoughts, not knowing that he did so. Apparently she saw the movement.

“What’s the matter?” she asked anxiously. “Don’t you believe me?”

“Certainly I believe you,” he said, an edge in his voice he had not intended.

“The way you acted I wasn’t so sure.”

“And do you believe me?”

“If you mean that he was dead when you found him, of course I do.” She frowned then as a new thought came to disturb her. “Do you think Roger will tell them?”

The digression confused him momentarily and he had to concentrate to remember his call on the lawyer and what he had said. Denham, alone, knew that he intended to have it out with Sam Adler, and if the police questioned him, and they probably would since he had already told them of his appointment--The conclusion that came to him served only to add to his uncertainty and discouragement, but he answered as truthfully as he could.

“Probably.”

“Perhaps if we asked him--”

“No.” Hayden shook his head. “We’re not going to ask Denham to lie for me. Being the kind of proper guy he is, I’m not sure he would anyway.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Okay, I’m unfair.” He stood up. “But I’m not going to worry about that now. If I have to admit that I went to the motel I will, but no one can prove I actually went into the room. Let’s leave it at that for tonight, hunh? Let’s cross that bridge when we get to it. Will you do something for me?”

She gave him a quick, suspicious glance before she said: “What?”

“Take a sleeping pill and get some rest. We both need it. Would you like something first? Shall I make some coffee?”

“It would only keep me awake.”

“How about some orange juice or a glass of milk?”

“All right.” She came slowly to her feet, a sag in her shoulders now and defeat written in the soft lines of her face. “Milk, I guess.”

“And a cooky?”

“No cooky.”

“I’ll bring it in to you,” he said and turned away.

In the kitchen he poured two glasses of milk and found a couple of cookies for himself. He took his time and made sure the kitchen was in order. He tried the back door again and then went into the living room to turn off the lights. She was in bed when he entered the room, the covers well up under her chin. He put her glass of milk on the bedside table and looked down at her, trying not to let the worry he felt show in his face.

He went over to the closet and got his pajamas and robe and slippers. He piled them on his arm and put a clean shirt on top of them. Then, not caring what she thought about the legality of their marriage, he went to her and stooped down. He saw again the torment in her eyes before she made that slight turn of her head. He brushed the soft cool cheek with his lips, and as he straightened she reached out and caught his arm. She gave it a hard spasmodic squeeze and then turned quickly on her side, her back toward him.

_9_

Wednesday was a long hard day for John Hayden. The March weather continued raw and windy, and the sky, which was overcast and unpromising when he went to work, remained that way. He got his own breakfast as he did on those mornings when Marion did not feel well, leaving the percolator attached, so that the coffee would be hot when she wanted it. The bedroom door had remained closed as he had left it the night before, and because the thoughts he had taken to bed still remained insidiously in his mind he was glad he did not have to face her so early in the morning.

He made his usual telephone call around noon, but the conversation was polite, stilted, and conventional. There was no reference to their problems and he told her he would be home early. Two conferences with out-of-town clients helped divert his thoughts, but he could not concentrate on the routine of the business day. This was

## partly due to telephone calls that never came. Each time his buzzer

sounded and his secretary spoke he expected some word from the police or the State’s Attorney or Roger Denham. As the day dragged on, he felt a mounting irritation that was directed not only at his own dilemma but at those who ignored him.

But he did some constructive thinking and it had as its focus George Freeman and Doris Lamar. For it occurred to him with increasing frequency that little had been said the night before about Freeman by Lieutenant Garvey and Detective Ball.

Last night when he had discovered the body there had been no thought in his mind as to who might have done the killing. He had been too concerned about his personal problems and the two pictures which had become instruments of blackmail. He had made a decision then--to take them and get out. He had taken the gamble and was aware of the risks, but he had been prodded as much by the impulse and perhaps a touch of panic as he had been by a sensible evaluation of the odds.

He had not known then that the station wagon had been used in his absence. The telephone call the officers had mentioned both surprised and shocked him, and although he had always trusted his wife he knew now that she had lied to him.

But what about Freeman? Freeman was in love and he had already demonstrated his jealousy and his hate for Sam Adler the previous evening. Freeman had been brooding when he had seen him in the tavern in the late afternoon. Such jealousy and resentment could have exploded into violence and murder, not premeditated perhaps, but murder nonetheless. From his point of vantage in the motel Freeman could keep track of Adler. So where was he between eight and nine o’clock? If he had an alibi none had been mentioned. And Doris Lamar?

He remembered that he had not seen her when he had ordered the double brandy to steady his nerves. She might, he knew, have been in the kitchen during those brief minutes. But if not, where exactly was she and what had she been doing? Suppose she had sneaked over to the motel to see Adler, and Freeman had known this? There had been this momentary glimpse of some woman in the darkened courtyard. Until now he had considered her shadowy presence something of a possible threat to him, but he understood that it might be the other way round.

Such thoughts continued to plague him as the afternoon wore on, and by four o’clock he knew what he wanted to do. In his present frame of mind he was of no use to the company, and it seemed imperative that he talk to the woman and find out where she had been and how much she knew. It did not occur to him just how he could accomplish all this, but he was aware that she did not go to work until five. When he realized he had time to catch her at her cottage he made up his mind.

He had been there but once, on that rainy night when he offered her a ride, but he had seen the place before, a small three-room-and-bath cottage which stood back of a large, ornate, and run-down mansion that had long been for sale. It had been unoccupied for many months and he saw the signs of decay as he rolled along the driveway and took the fork at the end. He parked under the trees and saw the light in the cottage living room as he climbed two wooden steps to the tiny porch.

There may have been a moment as she opened the door when Doris Lamar’s green eyes showed surprise, but experience with men had taught her many things and the reaction was swiftly controlled. She was wearing a figured kimono and her face had a naked look without its make-up. But if she was disconcerted it did not show and her voice was casual and matter-of-fact.

“Oh, hello, Mr. Hayden.”

“Hello, Doris,” he said. “I’d like to talk to you for a few minutes.”

“Well”--she hesitated, pursed her lips, and shrugged indifferently--“I was getting dressed. I have to be at work at five.”

“It’s important, Doris. It shouldn’t take too long.”

“All right.” She turned away and let him enter and close the door. “I can finish my fingernails while you’re talking. Take off your coat if you want to. Throw it over there on the couch.”

He slipped off his coat, put it on the couch, and placed his hat on top of it. When he sat down the springs sagged protestingly under his weight and a glance about the squarish room told him that Doris had probably rented it as it stood.

The furniture had neither style nor quality. The carpet had been worn down to the nap in places, the occasional tables needed refinishing, and the slipcovers on two of the chairs were threadbare at the arms; a third chair was a wicker affair with a padded seat. From where he sat he could look into the bedroom and he could also see a corner of the kitchen with its old-fashioned sink and a stove that stood high on spindly metal legs.

The light that he had seen from outside came from a wooden floor lamp with a parchment shade. A circular shelf, which clung to the pedestal like a doughnut, served as a table of sorts and on it was a bottle of nail-polish remover, some cotton, tissues, and a bottle of dark red polish. Doris had pulled her chair close and her head was bent now as she daintily decorated the nails of her left hand.

“When you knocked,” she said, “I was afraid it would be another cop or a reporter.”

“Did the police question you?”

“Hah!” she said. “For three hours last night. Then they practically got me out of bed this morning and we had another two-hour session.”

“Have you seen George Freeman?”

“They were bringing him into Lieutenant Garvey’s office at the State Police barracks when I left this morning.”

“You haven’t seen him since?”

“No.”

“What about last night?”

“I saw him when you did. When he had those dark glasses on and was sulking at the bar.”

“You didn’t see him after he left?”

“No ... Is that what you wanted to talk about?”

“That’s part of it, Doris. Freeman was in love with you, wasn’t he?”

“I guess he thought he was.”

“I understand that jealousy makes a good motive for murder. If he thought Adler was cutting him out”--he hesitated and decided to guess--“if he thought you were going away with him, for instance, he could have gone to Adler’s room and--”

“I doubt it,” she said flatly. “I doubt if George would have guts enough to kill anyone.”

“How much guts does it take to stab a man in the back?”

She considered the question before she said: “I see what you mean. But I don’t believe it.”

Hayden rose and reached for a cigarette. He went over to offer the woman one and waited while she put the little brush back into the nail-polish bottle. She blew on the fingers of the hand she had just painted and took the cigarette with the other. When she leaned forward to accept a light he could see the dark roots in the blond hair. The front of the kimono had opened slightly and he saw that she had a slip on underneath but no stockings.

“It’s Adler that worries me,” he said and decided to demonstrate what he meant. He had no intention of telling her the truth but he needed all the help he could get and he was prepared to confide in her up to a point in order to see what sort of reaction he could get. “The police came to see us last night too.”

“You mean you and your wife? But why?”

“I thought you might know. Adler came into town a couple of days ago and asked a lot of questions about me. The police found it out and they wanted to know why he was so interested. I told them I never saw the man but I can’t seem to get the idea across.”

He had been moving idly about the room as he spoke, and now, stopping at the bedroom door, he glanced in and saw the two suitcases which stood against the wall beyond the double bed. For some reason they seemed strangely out of place, and because he found himself wondering if they had any particular significance he spoke of them now.

“Were you going somewhere, Doris?”

He was aware that she was looking at him. And she must have known what had prompted the question because there was no suggestion of reluctance in her reply.

“I may have been.”

“With Adler?”

“Does it make any difference?” she said, still watching him. “I’m not going now and that’s for sure.”

He came back and sat down on the couch. The green eyes were regarding him openly, but he could not tell whether the small gleam he saw in them came from speculation or amusement.

“Are you surprised?” she said. “I mean that Sam Adler could make a proposition I would accept? If you are, don’t be. Let me give you the case history of Doris Lamar in capsule form.”

She leaned back in her chair and crossed her knees. When she saw the exposed length of calf and thigh she flipped the kimono expertly to cover them. She sucked smoke into her lungs, blew it out, and watched it evaporate above her. Without make-up her face seemed younger somehow, but the lines of weariness remained at the corners of her mouth even though it twisted now into a half-smile.

“The name is really Doris Lasowitz and I grew up, if you could call it that, in a small town in West Virginia. Seven kids. A hard-working, worn-out mother, a father who never seemed able to earn quite enough money to take care of his own thirst and the food we needed. I was in my last year of high school when I got a chance to get out and I took it. I ran away with a boy who was three years older than I was. We got married.”

She made a small, throaty sound in deprecation of the mental picture she had drawn and her mouth twisted.

“Some marriage. It lasted a year. At seventeen I was a bride and at eighteen-and-a-half I was a pregnant widow. My husband was killed by a cop in Pennsylvania when he tried to hold up a liquor store, and I suppose I got a break in a way because I wasn’t with him. If I had been sitting in the car just then I probably would have done a few years in the penitentiary.”

She put out her cigarette and continued in the same sardonic tone. “I tried marriage again at twenty-three, this time to a musician of all people. This one lasted three years, and while I got the divorce, the reason we couldn’t work it out was probably more my fault than his. You see there were a lot of things wrong with Doris Lamar. I guess I never learned that in order to get anything worthwhile you have to give out. No one had bothered to teach me the fundamentals. I was lazy, selfish, greedy, and always looking for the easy way. When I discovered there wasn’t any easy way there was nothing to do but keep working. I didn’t have enough education to be much of a success in an office, so what was I? Waitress, barmaid, shill, hostess. You name it, Mr. Hayden.