The Red Scarf

by Gil Brewer

  “I wish they’d come.”

  “They will, don’t worry.”

  “Roy. Who d’you think she was? Murdered—murdered right here in our place. I didn’t hear a thing. Did you hear anything after we came back from over there?”

  “Nope.”

  I got up and went out into the kitchen and washed my hands in the sink. I dried them on the dish towel. Then I took a glass down from the cupboard and filled it with water and stood there drinking. You could taste the chlorine, and the water wasn’t very cold.

  “What are you going to tell them, Roy?”

  “What can I tell them?”

  She was in the doorway. She came over and stood by the kitchen table. I didn’t want to look at her. At the same time, I wanted to tell Bess everything I knew, all I’d been through.

  “You’re spilling water all over the floor, Roy.”

  Well, I took that damned glass and I let her go. It whizzed across the room and smashed against the cupboards and busted, and water and glass showered.

  She didn’t move. Just stood there, watching me. “Honey,” she said, “what’s the matter?”

  “It’s all right,” I said. “It’s nothing. I’m sorry I did that. It’s just things, that’s all. Just things!”

  Chapter 13

  We stood there for a time without saying anything. It began to scare me a little, understanding how easy it is to start a canyon of doubt between two people. We’d been as close as any two people can get in every way, and now I could sense the separation because of doubt, and because I couldn’t, or wouldn’t tell her about things. I couldn’t. And then I knew I wouldn’t ever let it be like that.

  “It’s nothing, Bess. I’m just wrought up, I guess. Not getting the money from Albert, and then I went and lied to you about it all, and he writes. All the money we owe, and I can’t see my way clear.”

  I went over to her and put my arms around her. She was kind of stiff, then she let loose and laid her head on my chest and it was kind of like old times.

  “And now this,” I said. “Can you understand how I feel?”

  “It scares me, Roy.”

  “It’s damned well enough to scare anybody.”

  “I mean the way she looked. She was beautiful, Roy.”

  “I guess maybe she was.”

  “How could anybody do a thing like that? And us finding her. Why? Why?”

  I patted her head and squeezed my hand on her arm. I wanted it to be right with us. But how could it ever be right from now on in?

  So finally I let her go, and went in and flopped down on the bed. And I kept seeing that face, red and black. With the tongue.

  Well, you either win—or you lose.

  “Roy, that man in the car like a hearse drove by again.”

  “Oh? Yeah? Him?”

  “He just keeps driving by. It’s the third time I’ve seen him today, Roy. Maybe he’s gone past other times. Just driving by, like he’s going around and around the block. I wonder what he’s up to.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Well, he’s sure up to something.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Please don’t act that way, Roy!”

  I lay my face down on the bed, with my head buried in the pillow.

  “I wish the police would come. Why don’t they hurry up?”

  They came quick enough for me. They came to the office and Bess went out there. I stuck with the bed. She told them about number six and they went over there. You could hear them, like elephants.

  You could hear them talking. There’s something about the voice of the law. It’s a jumble of solemn and righteous sound. It reached me all the way in the bedroom and I lay there, listening, wondering what I was going to do. What would I tell them? My mind was all cluttered up with that briefcase, and how it had been for the past few days. I kept being with Noel Teece and Vivian in the Lincoln, off and on, cracking up on the Georgia road. And then the hotel room, and the brief case again, around and around.

  “Roy?”

  I didn’t move. She came into the bedroom and over to the bed. After a little while, she sat on the bed and put her hand on my shoulder. What did she figure was the matter with me? I’d make a fine crook, all right—running off and trying to hide my head like an ostrich.

  “They’re still over there,” she said. “One of them says he wants to talk with you. He said he’d be over here.”

  “Okay.”

  “They’re going to take the body away. They’ve been over there an awful long time.” She paused, then said, “I think you’d better come into the office—kind of show yourself. That one, he said—”

  “I heard you.”

  “Don’t snap so.” Her hand rubbed on my shoulder, the fingers squeezing. I rolled over and looked at her and she grinned at me. So I grinned at her, and it was like she’d come back to me after she’d been away a long time. And then I knew she wasn’t really back at all. Because she still didn’t know. But she was with me. That much of it paid for a lot.

  I sat on the edge of the bed. “Okay, honey,” I said. “Thanks.”

  We watched each other, and she put her hand on mine and I took her hand and squeezed it and it was almost as if she knew everything and was with me. So I knew everything was all right, even if she didn’t know.

  “What are you going to tell them?”

  I kept looking at her, kind of drinking her in. Then I grunted and got up and went into the bathroom. When I came back, she was still sitting there on the bed.

  “They took the body away. I told them we found it together.”

  “But, Bess—we didn’t.”

  “I told them that, though.”

  “Well, all right.”

  “I haven’t seen him drive by any more, Roy—not since the police have been here.”

  I looked at her and she looked at me, then down at the floor, then up at me again. I grinned at her and turned and went into the office and sat down at the desk. I felt plenty shaky inside. Maybe she really thought I did it. She was acting funny. Acting good, but—would they think that?

  I heard her come through the hall. She leaned against the jamb in the doorway, with her hands together just the same way Vivian used to do. “Here he comes, Roy.”

  “Okay. Everything’s going to be all right, now.”

  “Shhh! Here he comes!”

  I stared at her. Her eyebrows were all hiked up and, my God, I didn’t know what to do. Really, I hadn’t done anything, and yet she suddenly had me feeling so guilty and I was rotten with it. And then I knew it wasn’t her fault. She was trying to do right by me, and I was kicking her for it…

  Knock—knock…

  Bess went across the room, stumbling once on the rug, and opened the door. “Yes, Officer?”

  “Mrs. Nichols, hate to bother you again. Is your husband awake yet?”

  So I’d been asleep. Great.

  “Yes, Officer.”

  She held the door open, stepping out of the way, and he came into the office and took his hat off. He stood in the doorway, so she couldn’t close the door. He looked over at me. “Mr. Nichols?”

  “Yes?”

  He stepped into the room and she closed the door and leaned back against it. I could hear old Hughes talking from outside.

  The plain-clothes cop was a little guy, not big at all. His voice was very soft, kind of like purring. He wore dark-brown pants and a light sand-colored jacket, white shirt, and a clean maroon tie. The tie was clipped halfway down with a silver sword, and his coat was open so you could just see the hump and the edge of the butt of his holstered revolver. On the left side, for a cross draw.

  “Could we talk for a little?”

  “Sure thing.”

  He had a moon face and it was buttered like a bun with sweat. There were little pouches under his eyebrows, and his eyes looked at you through slits in the pouches. Brown, bright eyes. This was the man whom I’d deal with.

  I couldn’t help staring at him. I’d been
waiting to meet him for a long time. Almost ever since that Lincoln picked me up on the Georgia road… His hat was brown, like a chocolate drop.

  “I’m Ernest Gant.”

  I got up and went around the desk and stuck out my hand. He transferred his hat and we shook once and dropped clean. He had a waistline shake, palm down.

  “Well, I guess I’ll be in the kitchen,” Bess said.

  “That’s all right, Mrs. Nichols. You needn’t leave.”

  “I just thought—”

  He smiled at her, then looked at me. “I wonder if you’d just step over to the other apartment with me a moment, Mr. Nichols?”

  “Sure thing.”

  He grabbed the door and held it open and grinned at Bess again. The grin went away and we were outside and the door was closed.

  “What do you think?” I asked him.

  He didn’t say anything. We walked across the grass. A uniformed cop hurried across the lawn toward an official car parked by the curb. The Southern Comfort Motel had become a busy place.

  Gant was nearly as tall as I was, after all—it was just that he seemed smaller somehow. He wasn’t, though. Not really.

  We went inside number six. There was nobody there. The body was gone.

  “Your wife tells me you found the body together?”

  I started to go along with that. Then there was something in the tone of his voice, in the way he looked at me. It gave me a queer feeling and a certain respect for him, too. “I want to clear that up. She said that, but it wasn’t quite that way. I came in first.”

  “I understand.”

  He went over and stood by a chair. Then he sat down. His actions seemed to be thought out beforehand. He put his hat over his knee and patted his pockets. He came up with a crumpled package of cigarettes.

  “Smoke, Mr. Nichols?”

  “No, thanks.”

  “Sure?”

  “Well, all right—I guess I could.”

  I took one and fumbled for a match. By the time I found one, he had a Zippo going under my nose. It was nice and steady with a big flame. He went over and sat down again.

  “Why don’t you sit down?”

  I got over on the couch. I kept looking toward the hall doorway, the area drew my gaze. They had cleared the body away and there wasn’t a trace.

  Somebody came clomping heavily through from the back way. I looked up and it was another harness cop. He walked into the room, his leather creaking, and stepped around the place on the floor where the body had been.

  “You want anybody posted outside, Lieutenant?”

  “You stick around, all right?”

  “Burke’s with me.”

  “Tell him to stick around, too. I’ll let you know. They’re finished with the floor?”

  “I guess so.”

  The cop looked at me. He was a man of perhaps thirty-five and there was nothing at all in his look, the way they look at you. He had very pale blue eyes, and his cap was on very straight. “We’ll be out in the car, then.”

  Gant nodded and went on smoking. He had very dark hair, parted neatly on one side and brushed straight back. “You came in first?”

  “That’s right.”

  “When was that? What time about?”

  “This morning.”

  “This is the morning. Could you narrow it down some?”

  “Well.” I didn’t have any idea about time. Time was suddenly all run together like syrup. “Maybe nine?”

  He smoked. He would come back to the time later, after I’d thought about it a while. He really had me thinking about time now. When had I come in here?

  “And your wife? When did she some in?”

  “A little after I came in.”

  “Oh. I see. Let me get this straight. I thought you both came over here together, and you came in first. But she—?”

  “No. That’s not right. I came over alone.”

  He nodded. “That’s straight enough. Then your wife came along. That it?”

  “Well, she—yes. That’s right.”

  “You just kind of—well waited around until she decided to come and find the body, too—huh?”

  I looked at him.

  He held his hand up. He grinned. The grin went away and he began to smoke again, really working on the cigarette. He would take a drag and inhale, and hold it and then let it out, and stare at the cigarette, and do it all over again. The cigarette was finished, with that treatment. He held the lungful of smoke and ground the cigarette out in a standing ash tray. Then he let the smoke out in a long sight, down into his shirt.

  I was getting mixed up, and it made me mad.

  “What did you do when you found the body of this woman—girl—in here?”

  I started to blurt something, then paused, and that was all he needed. I could see it in his eyes, no real expression, just a shadow. I wanted to cover it, he was thinking. You couldn’t cover it. You make your slip just once and it stands there, laughing, sneering at you for the rest of your life.

  “Did you touch it?”

  “No. Of—yes. Yes, I did.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know why, I just touched it, that’s all. Wouldn’t you touch it?”

  “I would. But then, that’s my job. It doesn’t matter, Mr. Nichols. Don’t misunderstand, please. I’ve got to get everything as straight as I can. You see, your wife was rather, well—nervous? She tried not to be, but she was. A normal reaction.”

  I nodded.

  His voice was soft, like velvet. Honest, it purred like a little well-oiled motor. There was nothing sleepy about his eyes.

  He just seemed to be holding cards, that’s all. He hadn’t said anything to make me know that for sure, but I couldn’t help believing it. I was guilty of a lot of stuff that had to do with this crime, and it was stuff I didn’t want known. I had to catch hold of myself, and keep the grip.

  There was something about Gant… I didn’t like him. So what could I do about that?

  “Was the body cold?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then what?”

  “How do you mean?”

  “What did you do then?”

  I started to say something and he leaned back in the chair and held up his hand and cleared his throat. “Wait. I mean, let’s get back a little bit. Why did you come over here?”

  “Didn’t my wife tell you anything about—?”

  “Just answer the question.”

  “I don’t have to answer anything.”

  He sighed and stared down into his lap. He lifted his hat and rapped it on his knee and looked out the window. Then he tipped his head a little to one side and said, “Would you really mind answering a few questions, Mr. Nichols? You’ll have to sooner or later. Why not now?”

  “I didn’t say I wouldn’t. I just—”

  “Fine! That’s the way to talk.”

  I could feel the shaking start in my stomach and spread. “No reason in the world why I wouldn’t answer some questions.”

  “Look,” he said. “I have to go about this in my own way. This is a serious thing.”

  “I know it.”

  “This woman was murdered. Somebody choked her to death with a silk scarf. She took quite a beating, too.”

  “I know.”

  “Oh. You know?”

  “I saw the bruises.”

  “Mr. Nichols, don’t you think you’d better put that cigarette out? It’s going to burn your fingers. It makes me nervous.”

  Chapter 14

  “Let’s relax. All right?”

  I jammed the cigarette into the dirt around the cactus plant on the table by the couch. I wanted to relax. I had to get hold of myself, but it wasn’t working right. Like if I tried to lean one way, I’d really be leaning in the opposite direction. I looked at my hands and they seemed steady, yet I could feel them tremble. The shaking was all through me. I couldn’t control it.

  If I refused to answer his questions, it would only make things worse.

/>   “You have a nice place here.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Been here long?”

  “Oh, not too long.”

  “Must be expensive, the upkeep.” He shook his head. “Especially now. Must be a headache, with the highway all torn up. Hasn’t that done something to your business?”

  “It’s knocked it off a little.”

  He wasn’t looking at me. Then he did. “Mrs. Nichols said something about a man’s suitcase being in here.”

  I didn’t say anything. “Did you see it?”

  “I didn’t really notice.”

  “Did Miss Latimer mention anything about a man by chance?”

  “No.”

  “Nothing like her being married, anything like that?”

  “I didn’t talk with her much.”

  It troubled me that he thought her name was Latimer. I didn’t know why. Then I began to realize just how snarled up things were. With me smack in the middle. And I was already off on the wrong track with Gant. There was nothing to do about that, either.

  “What about this man who was here last night?” He had left it open. I didn’t know what to say. “You met him, didn’t you?”

  “Yeah—I met him.”

  “How did you happen to meet him?”

  I told him how I’d thought he was a prowler and had gone to see if Miss Latimer was all right. Telling it to him that way, it came out easy. Then after it was out I sat there and felt the sweat. Every word I said, it got deeper. Why couldn’t I just tell him? Tell him everything?

  I knew why, and it was hell. That money hidden in the garage. There was no reason why the law should ever find it, because they knew nothing about it. It didn’t concern them. The only thing they were after was the killer of Vivian. I couldn’t tell them that, either. Sooner or later they’d find out. And I hadn’t killed her, so I was all right.

  “Were they arguing, Mr. Nichols?”

  “Who?”

  “This man and Miss Latimer. Did you notice whether or not they got along—seemed to?”

  “Oh, sure. There might have been some argument.”

  “Your wife said something about it. When she came in she said you—”