by Lionel White
Mrs. Julio turned to her and stared for a moment wildly.
“Didn’t read about it? No, the papers didn't have that. They didn’t write about what really goes on out here. But we should have known. A man like that Neilsen allowed to move into a decent neighborhood. A sex fiend and a killer!”
“He’s not a killer!”
Allie put her hand to her mouth even as the words left it. She had spoken instinctively and without thinking. She knew that it would be of no use to argue with this woman in her present condition. Any sensible conversation would be futile.
But Mrs. Julio had not even heard the words. She was in the middle of a tirade about the neighborhood and her dead daughter and nothing would stop her.
Suddenly, in the very midst of her outburst, she turned from the dressing table and stopped speaking and stared silently for a moment at Allie.
“You,” she said. “Why aren’t you out helping with the children? That’s what the agency sent you here for, didn’t they? That’s what we have to pay for. Get out and help...”
Allie opened the door and started to slip through it. As she did she saw that the other woman had reached for a half-filled bottle which had been sitting on the floor at the side of the dressing table and had raised its uncorked neck to her lips. Allie could have made her exit without trouble if at just that moment someone hadn’t approached the door and started to open it from the other side. As it was, the twoof them collided and jammed together in the narrow space between the doorjambs.
The girl was as tall as Allie and only a few years younger. She had Mrs. Julio’s hair and features, but had dark, somber eyes. She was talking as she pushed into the room.
“Mother,” she said, “for God’s sake Mother get hold of yourself. They can hear you yelling all over the neighborhood.” Suddenly she spotted the bottle in the older woman’s hands.
“I told you to lay off that juice,” she said.
Mrs. Julio looked up at her and there was a pout on her heavy lips.
“I was just talking to this woman here,” shesaid. “I had to tell her what to do while we’re at the funeral. About taking care of the kids while we bury poor Louisa.” The tears came to her eyes as she spoke her daughter’s name.
The girl turned from her mother and looked at Allie, who still stood in the doorway. Suddenly her eyes went wide. She turned quickly to her mother.
“Mother, you fool, ” she said. “This isn’t the woman who is to take care of the children. This is Mrs. Neilsen. Mrs. Neilsen, don’t you understand? You’ve seen her picture in the paper.” She swung back toward Allie “What do you think...”
But she never finished the sentence.
Mrs. Julio had staggered to her feet. Her clawlike fingers reached out and she started to lurch across the room as she began to scream.
“Murderer! Murderer! You killed my...”
Allie didn’t hear the rest of it. In one confused headlong rush, she turned and ran. She half stumbled over a child and almost fell, but quickly reached her feet and continued on. A moment later she flung open the front door and ran down the flagstone path to the street. It wasn’t until she was a block from the house, breathless and shaking, that she slowed down.
Allie was so shaken by her experience that she decided for the time being she would call off her investigation and return home. She wanted a chance to rest and to think, a chance to recuperate. Turning into Crescent Drive a few
minutes later, she hurried toward her house. She was walking fast and with her eyes straight ahead, hardly seeing where she was going and oblivious to anything but her own churning thoughts. Instinctively, she turned in when she came to the front of her house. It was only in the nick of time that she saw a child standing there, leaning over and tying a shoelace. As it was she brushed against the little girl.
Allie stepped quickly to one side.
"Oh—Г m sorry,” she said. She’d pushed the youngster and almost upset her.
Patsy Tomlinson looked up, her eyes frightened. She reached with one slender hand and pushed the lock of dark brown hair from in front of her face, and then quickly smiled.
“Hello,” she said.
Allie smiled back.
"Hello.”
"Can I play with your little boy?”
Allie hesitated for a moment. She recognized the youngster as belonging to the people who had recently moved into the house next door. She was an attractive little thing, in spite of the large frightened eyes and the plain clothes she wore.
Allie slowly shook her head.
“I’msorry,” shesaid, “but I’mafraid not.” She hesitated, seeing the quick hurt look on the little girl’s face. “You see my little boy has to stay inside. He has, well, he has a bad cold.”
She hesitated again for a second, on the verge of turning away, and then asked, not wishing to sound abrupt, “Shouldn’t you be in school, honey?”
The girl opened her mouth to answer when the call came from the house next door.
“Patsy—Patsy, you come home. Come here right now!”
As Allie hurried to her front door, her eyes slid sidewise and she saw the tall, thin figure of the dark-haired woman standing in the doorway. A moment later and she was in her own house. She wanted to take a few minutes to have something to eat; to plan her campaign for the afternoon.
Gerald Tomlinson stood at the end of the hallway, knuckled fists on his hips, as the child entered the house and the mother closed the door quickly and locked it from the inside. He had been shaving and one side of his face was still covered with lather. His thin hair was uncombed and there was a vicious expression on his dour face. His feet were bare and he wore only a pair of canvas trousers. He was naked from the waist up.
The mother said, “Go to your room, Patsy.”
The child had to pass him and she cowered instinctively as she went by.
Tomlinson’s open hand reached out and struck the girl a sharp blow across the face. He waited then until the door had closed behind the child. Almost casually, he unthreaded the wide leather belt from around his waist.
“I told you,” he said. “I told you not to let her out. I warned you about it. She had to talk, eh? Had to get gabby with the neighbors, eh? Well all right. I’ll give her a lesson she won't forget.”
Marian Tomlinson put her hand to her mouth, fear glowing in her eyes.
“No, Jerry,” she said. “No. You can’t do it. It wasn’t the child’s fault. She didn’t mean anything. Please don’t...”
“Shut up. Shut up right now. I told you. I warned you. You had to let her out. Well I’ll see to it...”
Marian rushed up and put out her hands imploringly.
“For God sake’s Jerry, don’t. You ’ ve already misused her enough. I just can’t take any more. ’ ’ She was half crying and looked pleadingly at him.
“Oh God, I never bargained for anything like this,” she said. “I just can’t stand any more. You said you’d take care of us, after Bill died. You said.
Tomlinson lifted his hand and struck her across the mouth.
“I said shut up. You want a lesson, too? You want a beating?”
He turned toward the door of the bedroom which the child had closed softly behind herself.
Marian again reached out, half throwing her arms around him to stop him. There were tears in her eyes from the blow and her face felt numb, but her voice had a deadly calmness.
“You touch that child, ” she said, “you touch her and I swear to God I'll call the police. I don’t care what you do to me. It doesn’t matter any longer. But if you touch that... ”
She never got to finish the sentence. Tomlinson’s fist caught her full in the face. He felt the soft crunch as the bridge of her nose shattered.
He made no effort to touch her then, after she fell to the floor.
Walking into the kitchen, he tossed the belt on the sinkboard and reached for the bottle of whiskey. He poured a water glass a third of the way full and downed it in a single swal
low. Then he took a pitcher from the shelf above the sink and filled it from the cold water tap. Returning to the hallway he went to the fallen woman and poured it over her face.
He lifted her from the floor as she moaned and carried her to the couch. He waited until her eyes had opened and he was sure that she was fully conscious. He spoke in a voice without passion; almost without feeling.
“You’ll do as I say,” he said. “From now on you’ll do as I say. Otherwisel 11 kill that kid of yours. You know I’m not fooling. I’ll kill that kid.
Marian Tomlinson began to cry softly.
Allie Neilsen, sitting across the dinette table from Billy—Mrs. Manning f was in the other room on the telephone—was thinking what a shame it was
she hadn’t been able to have the little girl in to play. But there was no telling what the child may have heard and might say. She had to protect Billy at all costs. She hated to keep him in the house, hated to see the puzzled, unhappy look on his face as he asked her questions which she was unable to answer. But she didn’t dare let him out and she didn’t dare have any children from the
neighborhood in the house.
They were eating lunch of sandwiches and milk and Allie was hurrying. She had a lot to do.
Already she felt she had learned a lot. Learned a lot but it didn’t really mean too much. Not unless she could find a good many other pieces of the puzzle to fit in the vacant places. The thing to do was try and get a complete picture of that Friday night. Find out what each and every person who might have been involved or might even have been near the neighborhood, had been doing. There was no telling who may have seen Len, or may have seen the Julio child after she had left the McNallys’.
An odd thought occurred to her then. Had the child actually ever left the McNallys’?
She shook her head and dismissed it. Obviously she had. But, again, obviously she had been murdered within minutes, or even seconds of leaving that house where she had been baby-sitting.
Mrs. Manning returned to the kitchen.
“I’ve been talking with Mr. Leavy,” shesaid. Her voice was just the slightest bit sharp. “He doesn’t think you should be going out.”
Allie looked at the older woman.
“Have you been reporting my movements, Mrs. Manning?” she asked.
“No. Only he called while you were gone and I...”
"It doesn’t matter. I’m sorry if I was abrupt. But my understanding was that you are here to take care of the child. I’m going out again, in fact. And if Mr. Leavy calls you can tell him I’ll be back later in the day.”
She walked around and kissed Billy, and then quickly left the room. A moment later Mrs. Manning heard the outside door slam. Immediately she went back to the telephone. Little Billy reached for the piece of cake which his mother had left uneaten on her plate.
One of the principal reasons that the Swansons had chosen Fairlawn as an ideal place to settle was that fact that Tom worked for an aircraft company which was located not more than a mile and a half away. Getting back and forth in the mornings and evenings was such a simple matter that he figured it gave him an extra hour of leisure each day. In fact, should he feel like it, he could even make it home for lunch. Being a sort of junior executive, it didn’t matter if he stretched the lunch hour a little now and then. Of course it wouldn’t do to abuse the privilege, but then Tom Swanson wasn’t a man to abuse any privilege. On this particular Tuesday, however, he felt justified in taking an hour extra.
Grace had been feeling nervous, what with all of the excitement going on in the neighborhood and so he’d driven home at twelve-thirty to have lunch with her. It was now after one, but Tom was in no rush to get back. They’d understand over at the plant and anyway, it was nice to sit around and have a couple of beers. God knows he could use them; things had been just a bit tense ever since that party.
He was still on the first beer when the doorbell rang and Grace got up to answer it. She came back to the room—the Swansons Eke the Kitteridges, not having children, were able to convert one of the bedrooms into a dining room—a moment later with Allie Nielsen. Grace sounded embarrassed as she made the introduction.
“This is Mrs. Neilsen, Tom. From across the street, you know,” she said.
Swanson stood up. He was, after all, a gentleman.
“Glad to...” he began.
“I’m awfully sorry to bother you,” Allie said quickly, “but you see, I thought maybe I could ask you a few questions.”
Both of the Swansons looked at her a Ettle vaguely. They felt extremely uncomfortable, knowing who she was and aU. They couldn’t imagine why she had caUed. Tom’s first thought was that she must want help of some kind. But when she mentioned asking questions, he quickly spoke up.
“Really,” he said. “ReaUy Mrs. Neilsen, we’d be glad to help in any way we can, but there isn’t anything...”
“Do sit down,” Grace Swanson said. “I’m sure that if there’s anything...”
Tom glared at his wife and reluctantly pulled a chair out for AUie. She sat down and started fumbling for her package of cigarettes. Quickly Grace leaned across the table and handed her her own pack. She smiled sympathetically as she did.
Grace Swanson felt terribly sorry for Ettle Mrs. Neilsen. She wasn’t even thinking of whether her husband had committed the murder or hadn’t committed it. All she knew was that this woman, who looked Ettle more than a school girl, was in deep and serious trouble and Grace felt a certain kinship for any woman who was in trouble. She felt this way especially if the trouble was caused by a man. She determined to do anything she could to help her.
“You had a party over here on Friday night?” AlEe said. “There must have been a lot of people and I... ”
“Mrs. Neilsen,” Tom said, “the police have been all over that with us.
They’ve questioned us several times. They’ve also questioned all of our guests. I'm sure that if there’s anything.
“We did tell the police,” Grace interrupted, not looking at her husband, "but we’ll be glad to tell you anything you might want to know.”
Once more Tom glared at his wife.
Allie drew a couple of quick, nervous puffs on the cigarette and turned toward the woman.
“Well, you see, because the girl, the Julio girl was baby-sitting for one of your guests, I just thought that maybe.
“But we’ve been all through that,” Swanson said. “It can’t possibly have anything to do with us.”
“I didn’t think it had anything to do with us either,” Allie said bitterly, "but now my husband... ”
Grace stood up and walked around the table.
“Now dear,” she said, "don’t you let yourself get upset. You go ahead and ask anything you want.”
This time she glared at Tom. He in turn sank back with a resigned expression and reached for his beer.
Allie waited a second and then again spoke. It was more difficult than she’d realized. She really didn’t know where to start, what to ask. Didn’t quite know what she was even looking for.
“I thought maybe when the party broke up and people were leaving,” she began.
“They left at the same time. Long after midnight. After the girl was killed, according to the way the police figured it,” Tom said.
“Did anyone leave earlier, or maybe arrive very late?” Allie asked.
“No one.”
Once more Allie hesitated before continuing. She looked lost and helpless and Grace Swanson, watching her little pointed face and seeing how pale she was, felt a surge of compassion. She wanted to do something—anything—to help and comfort her.
“Then perhaps,” Allie said, "one of the guests may have gone out at some time or another—you know, for a breath of air or something.”
Grace looked up quickly.
“There was Myrtle, remember...”
“No one left this house,” Tom quickly interrupted. He looked at Grace as though he would have liked to have killed her on the spot.
<
br /> Allie ignored him. She looked directly at Grace.
“Myrtle?” she asked. “You say...”
Grace glared at her husband as she spoke up.
Yes, Myrtle McNally. From across the street. I know that she went out once
late in the evening. I think it was to go over and see if the baby was all right. But I’m not sure. Maybe it was to look for Howard. Howard’s her husband. He was out in back a couple of times. You know we only have one bathroom, ” she added, almost coyly.
“Goddam it all, Grace,” Tom said, “what’s the matter with you, anyway? No one left this house. I’m damned sure no one did. That’s what we’ve told the police and that’s what we’re going to stick by. I'd like to help you, Mrs. Neilsen,” he added, turning, to Allie, "but there’s no point in digging up a lot of stuff that just doesn’t have any possible bearing on the matter.”
Allie might even have agreed with him, if she’d had time to think it over, but Grace didn’t give her time.
“Don’t you tell me, Tom Swanson,” she said. “That bitch was out of this house for a good fifteen minutes. And you know it. So was her husband, although from the looks of her, it would have been more likely to have been someone else's husband. And another thing, with all the people running around and half of them soused, how the hell can anyone say who was where or when.”
Tom banged the empty beer bottle down on the table.
“Grace,” he said, “Grace, you are a bigger goddamned fool than even I thought you could be.” He turned to Allie. “All right, Mrs. Neilsen, maybe someone did go out at one time or other. It could have happened that way. Maybe it was Myrtle McNally or maybe it was Howard McNally. I don’t know. But as far as I’m concerned, I’m still sticking to my story. I didn’t see anyone leave.”
He stood up and went to the icebox for another glass of beer. Allie left while he was out of the room. She thanked Grace Swanson for her help and Grace patted her on the shoulder and told her she could call on her any time. She’d do anything she could, she said.
At the front door, she said, “Men! My God, there isn’t a damned one of them that’s worth a spot in hell. They’re all double-crossers.”
