8
By the time John Hayden came back to the living room the hall door was closed and he thought Marion had gone to bed, but when he stepped from the kitchen where he had gone to rinse out the beer glass she was waiting for him. He saw, as he stopped in front of her, that the look of composure and aloofness she had maintained for so long had dissolved into one of concern and helplessness. The hazel eyes seemed close to tears as they searched his face, and reaction made her voice unsteady as she put up her arms and said:
“Hold me. Hold me tight, please.”
He drew her swiftly to him, grateful for the chance, his palms hard against the small of her back as her arms encircled his neck. He could feel the softness of her body, the full length of it. He could feel her tremble before she relaxed, and the fragrance of her hair was in the back of his throat as her head snuggled against his jaw. She kept it there and spoke against the side of his neck.
“Remember before you left when I told you not to touch me?”
“Yes.”
“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.