by Gil Brewer
“Sure.” She looked at me anxiously. “I came back just a few minutes ago. What’s the matter? You’re all over mud.”
“Never mind that. How’d the car get back to the cabin if you stopped here?”
“I didn’t take the car, darling. I took one of those little buses that run into town.” She shrugged. “I went to the drugstore, got the tooth paste and the other stuff you wanted.” She moved her hand to the counter, flicked her finger against a paper bag. “I took the bus on around the town and back out here. The lights weren’t on in the cabin so I figured you were asleep. Didn’t want to wake you yet.” Her eyes told me what no one else could see. But she kept looking at my mud-stained clothes. “What’s the matter, Eric?”
“You sure you didn’t take the car?”
“Certainly.”
Redfern and Hartly said nothing. I felt hollow inside—hollow and dead. Then I seemed to wake up a little and knew I’d be able to explain it easily enough. It was all foolish.
I jerked my head at Redfern and Hartly. “They say I had the car in town. That I hit somebody, then drove back here.”
Leda made a face. “For God’s sake, that’s silly.”
Redfern grunted and wiped his finger across his nose. I looked at them both. They were as soaked with rain as I, but I got no satisfaction from it.
“This man’s been very sick,” Leda said. “He just left the hospital a few days ago. This sort of thing isn’t good for him. I can vouch for him.”
Redfern nodded. “Sure, sure.”
The kitchen door flapped and Amelia Woodruff stalked into the room. She stood with both hands on the counter and looked at me. “Mr. Garth. We’d take it as a kindness if you and Mrs. Garth would leave right away.” Her eyes narrowed, her black hair shone in the bright blue neon light that gleamed from bars along the ceiling. “We don’t like your kind here. Please leave immediately.”
“Amelia,” Herb Woodruff called. “Get back here!”
She made a wry face and the brooch swung pendulously along her empty bosom. As her husband started through the door, she turned and went back into the kitchen. The door flapped. I could hear them talking out there.
“Darling, just tell these men that you were asleep in the cabin. That you didn’t take the car.” She turned to Redfern. “He didn’t drive into town. I’m telling you that. Ask Mr. Woodruff. He’d know if the car left here.”
“We did,” Redfern said. “Woodruff was on the other side of the lake digging night crawlers.”
“Ah, it’s an obvious tip,” Hartly said. “Let’s take him in.”
Leda looked at me. “You didn’t drive out with the car, did you, Eric?”
“Of course not.”
“What’s the matter?” Redfern said. “Can’t you trust him?”
“She can trust me,” I said. “You’re not taking me any place.”
Hartly made a face.
“Just what’s so obvious about all this?” Leda said.
It was like having the doctors work on your wounds. You were off someplace, yet you were there, watching it. What they said didn’t mean anything to you; it was of you, yet not for you. At the same time, it concerned you altogether.
There was something in Leda’s eyes behind the smoke; something bright and what the hell. I didn’t like it.
Hartly was talking. “The tip was phoned in and radioed to me. The license number and description of the car. Mercury convertible, gun-metal color. California plates. Probably the only Mercury convertible of that color with a California license in this county.” He shrugged. “It was an anonymous tip.”
“Where’s this person I’m supposed to have hit?”
“The hospital,” Redfern said. “He’s not dead. Reckon you was scared of that.”
I hadn’t thought about death. Not this way.
“We’ll go down to the station,” Redfern said.
“Me, too?” Leda asked.
“Yeah, lady,” Hartly said. “You, too.”
“We’ll stop by the hospital,” Redfern said. “Maybe Allen got a look at Garth.”
“I’ll have to change,” Leda said. She ran one hand across her shorts and all eyes followed the movement.
“You look all right, Mrs. Garth.”
Riding into Sordell, no one spoke. The tires hissed on the wet pavement. Rain drummed on the car’s roof.
Leda and I didn’t speak to each other. Once when I glanced at her and she looked at me, I saw that her face was very pale. She drew close into the rear corner of the seat against the window.
The antiseptic odor, the stillness, the whisking, unruffled quiet reached me. A gray-haired, stout nurse sat at the hospital reception desk in the front hall.
“Hit-and-run? Oh, yes. Allen. Gerald Allen. In two-nineteen. Second floor. Just up those stairs right there, turn right. It’s the second door on your left.” She was big bosomed and she fussed with a pad of paper. “The doctor said if you all came you all could look in.”
This was no dream. Maybe the dream was better. For some reason I thought of Norma, back home. She would have fought. She would have climbed all over Redfern and spat in Hartly’s eye.
“Thanks, nurse.” Redfern took my arm and the four of us paraded up the stairs.
Outside the door another nurse confronted us. Slim and too quiet, she spoke in whispers. She was impressed with her duty, probably a new nurse.
“I’m Sheriff Redfern.”
“Oh, yes,” the nurse said. “You can go right in, but you can only stay a minute. Dr. Morton said he can talk, but not to excite him. He’s hurt pretty bad, you know.”
Redfern’s gaze swiveled to me. The nurse opened the door and we walked in.
The dimly shaded bed light above the white-painted hospital bed was the only light in the bare room. A white screen on rollers was to the right of the bed. The blinds were drawn and the man in the bed was detectable only as a hump beneath the tautly smooth white covers.
Bright-eyed, he watched us enter. He lay very still. Redfern drew me over beside the bed. The man’s right arm lay in a cast and there were bandages on his chest and shoulder. There was tape on his jaw and dressings over his left ear.
“Mr. Allen,” Redfern said. “We don’t aim to bother you. So if you’ll just say yes or no. Can you identify this man as the man who struck you with a car early this evening in Sordell?”
The man’s gaze turned to me. He said nothing.
Then an odd feeling took hold of me. I turned to Leda, pressed her hand, started to say something, changed my mind. I stared hard at Gerald Allen.
I had seen him before. I was sure of it. Red hair. Not much of it but it was red, all right, and he was small, too. It was noticeable even in the bed. My mind went back to the hospital in California. Where a carrot-colored head of hair shone in sunlight and its owner stood on the hospital steps. Yes. Allen was the one—he had to be. But how could I prove a thing like that—and why?
“How about that, Mr. Allen,” Redfern said. “You get a look at this guy?”
Allen shook his head slowly. “No.” He closed his eyes. “I hurt. Leave me be.”
I bent over the bed. “Allen,” I said. “Allen, were you ever in California? Just lately? Were you?”
Leda pulled at my arm. “Eric, what’s the matter?”
The door of the room opened. The nurse looked in. “Your minute’s up,” she said. “I’m sorry, you’ll have to leave.”
Was it sudden fright, then relief, that I noticed in Allen’s eyes?
Chapter 5
“I want to speak with my wife—alone.”
We were starting down the hall toward the hospital stairs. Redfern frowned.
“All right,” he said. “We’ll wait on the stairs. You been cooperative. You didn’t have to do this, y’know.”
I just looked at him.
“Why’d they want to do that?” Hartly said.
“Maybe he wants to hold her hand,” Redfern said. “Come on.” They moved down to the first lan
ding and stood there, talking quietly.
“Listen,” I said to Leda. “Did you recognize Allen? Have you ever seen him before? Think hard, baby.”
She looked at me. “Eric, what’s all this about? Are you sure you didn’t leave the cabin and go out with the car after I went into town?”
I felt anger and bitterness and I couldn’t keep that out of my voice. “You know better than that. I’d tell you if I went into town. What’s the matter with you?”
“Of course,” she said. She looked at the floor, then at me. “What did you say about Allen?”
“Have you seen him before?”
She shook her head. “No, Eric. I’ve never seen the man.”
I reminded her about the day at the hospital in California.
She recalled the men. “But I’m sure you’re wrong, Eric. It couldn’t possibly be.”
I groaned inside. What use was it? It was like shouting in a tornado. I might have known she’d see no resemblance. But it was there for me. I read it and it was there. “Listen,” I said. “I don’t know what’s up, Leda. I didn’t take the car out. The fender’s dented and there was blood on it. If they type that blood with Allen’s and find it’s the same, they’ve got the car. I know I didn’t do it. Why would anybody want to say I did?”
Leda’s lips were damp and her eyes glistened, her lids heavy as always. Her hair was moist from the rain. She touched my arm. “Eric, whatever it is, it can be explained. I’m sure of that. I didn’t have the car and neither did you. So there’s nothing to worry about. I just keep wondering about—”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“It was the same man. I know it.”
“Darling, you’re excited and tired. Thinking of your dreams too much. You get back to the cabin, go to bed. You’ll feel better in the morning.”
I looked down the stairs toward Redfern and Hartly. Redfern motioned. “Come on, Garth.”
I nodded at Leda. “Sure—home and bed. That’s a long way off, baby, and I know it. You better learn it now. There’s plenty of explaining to do. All I can see is I’m framed for something I had no hand in. It’s more than just a mistake. Don’t you see?” And somebody had moved that car—but I couldn’t prove that, either.
She took my arm. “Come on, let’s go,” she said. “See if we can’t find what it’s all about.”
We went down the stairs and joined Redfern.
“Look,” Leda said. “My husband—” she glanced quickly at me, “isn’t well. He’s a war veteran. Just left a hospital in California. We’re going to his home in Florida. He needs rest. This excitement is the worst possible thing that can happen to him.”
“Doesn’t look sick to me,” Hartly said.
“Something the matter with him upstairs?” Redfern said.
I glanced at Leda. “Never mind.” I didn’t want her to start talking about that. Could be it would make things worse. This was bad enough.
Hartly watched the tight fleshy way of Leda’s hips as she walked down the stairs ahead of us. I glared at him. He turned to me and winked.
Police headquarters was downstairs in the courthouse. The officer in charge of the desk, Lieutenant Morgan, was alone in the room of many sins. A row of lockers sloped against the far wall and there was a low bench at the back. The desk itself was on a small platform behind which a steel door with a small barred window shielded the cell block.
Hartly closed the door against the rain and we stood there dripping. The other cop had remained with the car. Leda seemed the least affected, but she was pale and her hands worked together.
Redfern said, “Here we are. A good night for a murder, too.” He glanced at me shrewdly. “One thing I hate’s a hit-and-run.”
Lieutenant Morgan rested an elbow on the desk, planed fingers above his eyes, and stared at us. The fingers of his left hand drummed on the desk blotter. He had a long thin face with bad teeth and dark eyes beneath his blue cap. He took off the cap, laid it on the desk. He was bald save for a fringe of brown hair above his ears. His nose was bulbous and looked wormy.
Hartly stepped up, put one hand against the desk, and told Morgan the story. “This is Mrs. Garth,” he finished. “She claims she was in town, too. She knows nothing of her husband’s whereabouts at the time of the accident.”
“I do,” Leda said. “He was asleep in our cabin.”
“Are you sure? Did you see your husband sleeping?” When Morgan spoke, he expelled a great deal of air with each word, like a dry whistle. “You really can’t be sure of anything, Mrs. Garth. From what Officer Hartly says, you all were in the lunchroom after Hartly returned. You didn’t go to the cabin as you didn’t wish to disturb your husband.”
“This is all rot,” I said. “You know it’s rot!”
“Is that right?” Morgan said. “Can you prove you were in the cabin?”
“I was there, that’s all.”
Morgan lifted a sheet of paper from his desk. Redfern slumped on the bench at the back of the room. I could hear him breathing.
Morgan said, “I have here a report from the hospital lab. Gerald Allen’s blood type and the type of the blood found on the front of your car, Mr. Garth, correspond. It was human blood, and that alone is enough. Also, hair found with particles of human tissue on the bumper, headlights, and grille of your car, has definitely proved to be hair from the victim—Gerald Allen. Particles of glass from the headlights of your car were picked up at the scene of the accident. They’ll doubtless be matched with what glass remains in the headlight of your car. Thus absolute verification seems to be the case, Mr. Garth. That in view of the fact that a witness, unknown but nevertheless a witness, gave us your license number and description of the car.” He laid the paper down and folded his hands.
“I’ve seen the man before,” I said. I told him of the California car delivery.
Lieutenant Morgan’s gaze shifted to Leda. “What about that, Mrs. Garth?”
Leda chewed her lip, looked down, then up at Morgan. “I—I—”
“Leda,” I said. “Leda, tell him!”
She turned to me. “Yes, Eric. I did see what you saw. But we really can’t swear it’s the same man.”
Morgan carefully smoothed the sheet of paper with both hands. Redfern struck a match against the wall and lit a cigarette. He tossed the match to the floor, looked at me and shrugged. He blew a cloud of blue smoke at the ceiling.
Morgan watched Redfern over our heads. Redfern quietly inspected his cigarette.
Hartly kept rocking back and forth on his heels. His shoes squeaked. He made many faces.
“Leda. Can’t you tell them anything?”
Her lips pressed tight as she shook her head. She made a vague gesture with her hand, looked appealingly at me.
Morgan said, “Sorry. We’ll have to hold you. He reached in the desk drawer, came up with a bunch of keys, tossed them to Hartly. “Cell number three.”
“I want a lawyer.”
Nobody said anything. Hartly coughed twice.
“Would you be so kind as to see Mrs. Garth home?” Morgan said over our heads to Redfern.
Redfern stood, took a last drag on his cigarette, dropped the butt and tamped it out with the toe of his shoe. He talked around the smoke. “It’d be a pleasure.” He nodded to me, frowned and said, “Come along, Mrs. Garth.”
It was like swimming behind glass.
Leda turned to me, touched my arm. “Don’t worry, Eric. It’ll be all right. I’ll be back as soon as I can. I’ll think of something.”
“Won’t be able to see him till tomorrow,” Morgan said.
Hartly already held my arm. I could only stare at Leda. She winked at me and nodded slightly.
Redfern said, “Coming, Mrs. Garth?” He frowned at me again as if puzzled, shook his head.
Leda smiled reassuringly, touched her lips with her tongue, swung sharply about, and went through the door, followed by Redfern. Her quick footsteps were swallowed in the rainy night. It was like a
movie scene.
“Okay, Garth,” Hartly said. He shoved me gently toward the steel door. He unlocked the door.
We went down the row of shadowy cells. He didn’t bother with the cell-block light. It was dim, with only a single bulb at the far end.
He unlocked the third cell from the end, motioned me in with a contemptuous grin. “Pleasant dreams.” He locked the cell, went away, and I heard the steel door clang shut. Then their voices reached me from up there, a dull mumble.
The cell smelled sour. The walls were damp. Light from a street lamp through an outside window threw a pale glow on an iron cot which swung chained against the wall. I unhooked the chain, let the cot down. A ratty blanket covered steel slats which were supposed to pass as springs. I dropped the blanket on the floor, sat on the bare springs. To hell with that. I picked up the blanket, spread it on the cot, sat down again.
So there were bugs. Fleas. So what? There was nothing I could do about that.
I hadn’t walked in my sleep. In the hospital I had walked from my room in sleep, slammed the walls with my fists, howled and carried on till I’d landed in a strait jacket. But I could never have blanked out, run the car to Sordell, hit a man in the street, returned to the Seven Pines.
Somebody had moved that car.
I was plenty tired. If I did get out of here tonight there’d be nothing I could do. The possibility of bail was there. I nearly called Morgan, but passed it up. This was as good a place as any to think.
Leda could turn herself on and off like a faucet. I remembered occasions at the hospital when she’d acted peculiarly. The way she’d acted tonight was something. It was as if she’d pulled a shade and run off with her true personality, leaving one behind that knew nothing about anything.
Once, at the hospital, she tripped a patient and he fell down two flights of stairs, breaking his arm in two places. Because he looked at her hips and waggled his eyebrows. But she told everyone she knew nothing about it. Even though some had seen her do it. She absolutely knew nothing, period.
Another time a nurse whom Leda disliked spilled some coffee on Leda’s dress. It was an accident and the nurse apologized. But Leda knew of a patient who was in love with the nurse, but too shy to come out with it.
