Out of Time

by Michael Z. Lewin

  ‘Why didn’t you say so at the trial?’

  ‘Normal said it would look bad.’

  ‘It does,’ I said.

  ‘I can’t help that!’ she said explosively. ‘True things don’t always look true.’

  ‘So you all three lied at the trial.’

  ‘One way or another, yes.’

  ‘And you ran off with the father of your impending child, having shot your husband and become a very rich woman.’

  ‘Koichi and I didn’t leave together. But I loved him and we planned to meet.’

  ‘Just as you planned the murder of your husband?’

  ‘There was no plan.’

  ‘Not even in the back of your mind?’

  ‘I hardly had a mind,’ she said.

  It was almost a concession.

  She said, ‘I lived with a man who put me in constant physical fear. With his family who hated me. My only relief was to visit my daughter. I tried, Mr Samson. I tried to cope with it all for Paula’s sake. It was a terrible responsibility. Unending pressure.’ She seemed to relive it.

  ‘Yet you left Paula behind,’ I said.

  ‘She was happy where she was. In the circumstances it seemed best for her.’ She played with her glass. ‘But if I could roll back the years, choose again, I would take her with me.’

  ‘Who is Paula’s father?’ I asked. ‘The Wingfield boy?’

  She reacted to the name, surprised that I knew it. ‘Yes,’ she said.

  ‘Not Michael Carson?’

  ‘Mike? No. Not him.’

  ‘He was nice to you, wasn’t he?’

  ‘Not like that. Businesslike.’

  ‘You didn’t bed him?’

  ‘I didn’t go with anybody else until Koichi.’

  ‘Not with your husband?’

  ‘Not in ways to make babies,’ she said.

  I was not nearly finished. But we were interrupted by the shots.

  Chapter Thirty Three

  They were muffled, because they came from elsewhere in the house.

  But I knew the sound immediately.

  I ran to the entrance hall.

  Miller crouched over the crumpled figure of the athletic policewoman. Her grey wig lay like an aged tarantula in the middle of the floor. There was blood. The front door was open.

  ‘How is she?’ I asked.

  Miller turned and looked up. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Have you called an ambulance?’

  ‘Of course I’ve called for an ambulance!’ he roared.

  I headed for the open door.

  I nearly ran into one of the detectives, who was coming into the house.

  I stopped and made way for him.

  ‘We got her. Lieutenant. But I think we broke her arm.’

  ‘Go break the other one,’ Miller said.

  The policewoman groaned.

  ‘Is she all right?’

  ‘I don’t know!’ Miller said with frustration. He shook his head. ‘You give them protective vests and then the lunatic goes for head shots.’ He turned to the detective. ‘She took one in the side of the head, but I think it’s a graze. There’s blood on the shoulder and I don’t know if there’s anything lower down. How many shots did you hear?’

  ‘Two? Three?’

  ‘Three, I think,’ Miller said. He looked around. ‘Could somebody get me a damp cloth?’

  ‘I will,’ Vera Edwards said. She had followed me.

  I went outside.

  Against the front wall of the house another woman sat. Despite a fur coat and a fur hat she looked tiny beside the policeman who stood above her with his gun pointed at her head. A second, much smaller, gun lay on the driveway, a skid mark in the snow now leading to it.

  The policeman was breathing heavily and looked furious.

  Wanda Edwards cradled her left arm.

  I crouched beside her.

  She looked at me without recognition. Only vengeance showed in her eyes. ‘Is she dead?’ she asked. ‘Did I get her this time?’

  ‘Who?’ I asked.

  ‘That slut in there, of course. She murdered my brother, you know. It’s only justice.’

  ‘Was it justice to kill Ella Murchison?’ I asked.

  Her concentration seemed to fade as she absorbed my question. ‘Kill who?’ she asked.

  ‘You killed Ella Murchison,’ I said. ‘Vera Edwards’ friend.’

  ‘That was Ella Murchison? She said she was Vera Edwards. I asked and she said she was Vera Edwards.’

  ‘I don’t mean here. You killed Ella Murchison at the Biarritz nursing home.’

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ she snapped. ‘You think I go around shooting everybody in town? I’ve waited half a life-time for my brother’s murderer. But I haven’t killed anybody else.’

  Chapter Thirty Four

  When I told Miller I was leaving he seemed surprised, but he was too busy making the wounded policewoman comfortable to give it much thought.

  When he got around to questioning Wanda Edwards he would find for himself that the theory on which we had based the whole exercise was wrong.

  I had assumed that the fierce hatred for Vera Edwards had carried over to people associated with Vera Edwards. I had told Wanda Edwards where she could find Ella Murchison. Jane Smith had said Wanda Edwards had gone out, had become active. I had felt responsible.

  But I was wrong.

  I drove to Tarkington Tower. I buzzed Normal Bates and told him over the intercom that I wanted to tell him what had happened at the Belters’ house.

  ‘Is she all right?’ he asked.

  ‘Just let me in,’ I said. And he did.

  The door was ajar. When I entered the living room the silhouette of Bates and his chair appeared as only a minor break in the spectacular view over the city. The early sunset decorated the western side of the sky. It was a glorious sight.

  Once again I moved the straight-backed chair from the computer table and sat facing him.

  He didn’t face me. He just repeated, slowly and emphatically, ‘Is she all right?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Vera Edwards is all right.’

  ‘I knew you knew,’ he said, ‘when she phoned me to say that she had been asked to stay behind even though it meant missing Ella’s funeral.’ He was silent for a few seconds. Then he said, ‘I will never forgive you for making her miss it.’

  ‘Will she ever forgive you for killing Ella Murchison?’

  There was a silence before he said, ‘No. Not if she finds out.’

  ‘Just how do you expect her not to find out?’

  He turned his chair to face mine, and although the light in the room was not very strong, it was plenty good enough for me to make out a large pearl-handled revolver on his lap.

  ‘Oh, I see!’ I said. ‘You blow me away. And then you knock off the people who saw you at the Biarritz. And then—’

  ‘People saw me, but nobody noticed,’ he said. ‘I dressed down and who notices an old man in an old people’s home?’

  ‘Someone might have,’ I said. ‘Have you got enough shells for that thing to cover all contingencies? Have you got enough for my cop friend, who will work it out eventually? And for all his cop friends once you blow him away? No, no, no, Mr Bates. You know as well as I do that there just isn’t any point.’

  He said nothing.

  ‘Besides,’ I said, ‘I think she already suspects.’

  ‘It’s not the same as knowing,’ he said.

  We considered that for a moment.

  ‘Why did you kill Ella?’

  His hands gripped each other. He said, ‘I never saw her after 1940, you know. And recently all I’d heard about was this fixation with poisons. I knew Vera was worried because of the pressure Paula was putting on. So I tried to balance what sort of life Ella had left against the damage she might do to Vera. Ella didn’t have anything to look forward to. And Vera is a young woman yet. The more I thought about it, the more it seemed the only way to put the lid back on, where it belonged
. I have a friend who let me have the doings. Ella was asleep when I got there and it seemed that if I used the drug there was a good chance they would think she just died. It was a reasonable risk at the time.’

  I thought of my meeting with Ella Murchison. That she had had more than enough wits about her to keep me at bay. That she had friends, and pleasures.

  ‘You murdered her in cold blood.’

  ‘I shortened her life a little bit,’ Bates said. ‘That’s the worst you can say. I speeded up the inevitable.’

  ‘Oh, great,’ I said. ‘And you sounded so convincing yesterday when you were lecturing me about moral decisions. You almost had me believing I was a heel for quibbling at perjury to get your mistress off a murder charge.’

  ‘If it means anything to you, I regret what I’ve done,’ Bates said quietly.

  I thought about it. ‘I suppose that’s worth something.’

  He glanced away from me, then stared into my eyes. ‘Mr Samson, is there anything, anything at all, that I can do, give or say that would keep you from telling Vera what I have done?’

  I looked at his bright eyes. Then I looked away.

  ‘Think what I am offering. Think how much the quality of your life could be improved. Right or wrong, what’s happened cannot be undone.’

  ‘Your argument for expediency doesn’t have the same compelling ring to it that the one for morality had.’

  He sniffed. ‘Your romanticism is almost a certifiable disease.’

  We were both silent for a minute. Then I said, ‘I think it’s time for me to go.’

  I rose, and put the chair back in its place before the computer.

  As I walked to the door I heard the revolver’s hammer click behind me. But I didn’t feel afraid and I didn’t turn around.

  He waited till the door was closed and locked behind me before he did the only thing that might keep me quiet.

  Chapter Thirty Five

  I made an anonymous telephone call to the police. I had been walking past apartment 1203 when. . . .

  Then I dialled the Belters’ number. Vera Edwards answered. I asked her whether Miller was still there. She said that he had left with his prisoner a few minutes after the ambulance had collected the policewoman.

  ‘How is she?’

  ‘They say it’s not serious,’ Vera Edwards said.

  I was very much relieved.

  ‘What did Lieutenant Miller say about Wanda Edwards?’

  ‘That he thought she had killed Ella.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘Did she kill Ella?’ Vera Edwards asked.

  ‘Let me talk to Mr Belter, will you?’

  She hesitated, but in the gap I heard voices in the background.

  The receiver was transferred and Paula Belter burst into my ear. ‘Tamae says that is Mr Samson. Is it Mr Samson?’

  ‘Hello Mrs Belter.’

  ‘Have you heard the good news?’

  ‘Which good news is that?’

  ‘I’m going to be a mother-in-law! I’ve been practising being wicked, but the picture Chip’s shown me is so beautiful I just don’t think I’m going to be able to rise to the part. She’s wonderful and they want to get married in June and I just love her!’

  ‘I’m pleased for you,’ I said, but while I did so I was being transferred again.

  Douglas Belter’s voice said, ‘Tamae said you want a word with me, Samson. If I can get a little space here. Thank you.’

  Even Belter’s grey personality came across more silver, a reflection of his wife’s ecstasies.

  I said, ‘I would like to talk to you. Preferably alone.’

  He said, ‘Well, if it’s necessary, I suppose I could come in for a chat.’

  ‘This evening?’

  ‘All right. Is it by way of a wrap-up?’

  ‘Probably.’

  ‘Although I haven’t given it much thought, I think it’s fair to say we don’t feel the urgency about things that we did before.’

  ‘Give it to me, Doug,’ Paula Belter said near him. She took the telephone and bubbled to me, ‘We couldn’t go to Europe this summer now even if we still wanted to, what with the wedding. Isn’t it a wonderful anniversary present, Mr Samson? What could be better?’

  I left the phone booth and went home to a depressed solitude.

  I didn’t make any notes.

  I didn’t do any thinking.

  I put some effort into cooking myself a palatable meal and sat down with it in front of the television in time to watch the local news on WTRH.

  The wounded policewoman was the lead item. The reporter was Tanya Wilkerson and she interviewed Miller live.

  Tanya!

  Miller came across well, projecting the solidity and competence we like to associate with our law enforcement personnel. He praised highly the bravery of the officer whom I had put into the line of fire.

  But I was able to deduce that he had had time to talk to Wanda Edwards: while he explained that Miss Edwards would be charged with attempted murder and that the situation which had led to the arrest had arisen from information supplied to him by a personal source, he said nothing about the Murchison murder.

  And he wouldn’t need to. I would tell him what I knew and he could close the case quietly.

  There would still be plenty of PR for him as he gradually revealed more background to the press. Tanya would love it when she found out that Wanda Edwards had already tried to kill Vera Edwards, forty odd years before.

  I finished my meal and washed up the dishes.

  Chapter Thirty Six

  Douglas Belter was the first of two visitors that evening. He came in just before eight. We went to my inner office.

  I asked, ‘Is your wife still flying high on the wedding and plans?’

  Sombrely he said, ‘She’s magnificent when she’s like this. So full of life.’

  We waited to see who was going to start saying the serious things.

  It had to be me. I said, ‘The woman Lieutenant Miller arrested was looking for Vera Edwards.’

  He examined me. ‘What reason did this woman have for believing that Vera Edwards was at my house?’ He stopped. ‘Vera Edwards is alive, isn’t she?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said.

  ‘And nearby?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said.

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘The last day or so you’ve not been available for me to talk to.’

  He looked at me directly and asked, ‘Is the news about her bad?’

  I said, ‘It is complicated.’

  We were both quiet for a moment, but before he asked anything else I said, ‘I have decided that you should have a talk with Mrs Mitsuki. Tell her I think she should be frank with you.’

  ‘With . . . Tamae,’ he stated. Then, ‘Oh,’ and I felt he suddenly understood. Though he looked disbelieving.

  I said, ‘Perhaps you can sort out what to say between you. And when. She has opinions on what would be best, but you’ll make up your own mind.’

  He nodded, very slowly.

  ‘Your wife will ask questions again, before long,’ I said. ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘Yes.’ Then he asked, ‘And this woman they arrested today?’

  I said, ‘Vera Edwards’ husband’s sister.’

  ‘I see. And did she kill Ella?’

  ‘I think Lieutenant Miller is still uncertain who killed Mrs Murchison.’

  ‘But ... not ...?’

  ‘No. Definitely not Mrs Edwards.’

  Belter said slowly, ‘May I have a beer, Mr Samson?’

  I got it for him with pleasure.

  Before he left I also gave him the photograph of Vera Wert and her family which I had bought in Peru from her sister.

  When I was alone again, I called my lady friend. She agreed to come out for a drink.

  As I got off the phone my second visitor arrived. Albert Connah, landlord.

  He asked for beer too. I told him I was about to leave.

  ‘I’ll drink it fast,’ he said.

 
; I got him a can and we sat.

  By way of conversation he said, ‘My son is an asshole.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘He’s decided he wants to become a community worker, maybe get into politics.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘I used to hope the kid would go to law school and come into the business. I’m glad he didn’t now. Who could take advice from a kid that ends up wanting to go into politics?’

  I watched him for a moment. I said, ‘You’ve decided to sell this place, haven’t you?’

  ‘What? Oh. Yeah. Too good a deal to turn down. But that’s not what I wanted to tell you. I think maybe I have somewhere else, might even be better for you.’

  I didn’t say anything for several seconds. Then I said, ‘You arranged for those two men to come here and shoot up your glass, didn’t you?’

  We looked at each other for a long moment.

  I said, ‘I can’t take another place from you.’

  He drained the beer and stood up. ‘If you change your mind, let me know,’ he said. He went to the door, but before he left he said, ‘Price of glass just wasn’t going up as fast as I expected. Then this offer came along . . .’ He shrugged. ‘It’s a hard world out there, Al.’ He left.

  Although I was late, I tidied a few things up before I set off.

  The first was the $4500 in used fifties Wanda Edwards had paid me for fingering Vera Edwards. Originally I thought to give it to Miller. And then I thought, no. Rather than rush I would think about giving it to something worthy – the helping hand programme that had the sticker in Miller’s window maybe. It felt the only way I would be able to say to myself that one small, good thing had come out of all the ugliness of the case.

  Then I locked away my notebook. It crossed my mind that bestseller-writer Jane Smith might eventually seek me out one day. She had said that Wanda Edwards told her ‘a weird story about her brother’s murder.’ If Jane Smith had anything about her she would follow it all up, one day. Perhaps I would help her.

  And, finally, I got out Charlie Carson’s photograph.

  My lady friend and I went to Carson’s Rovers Lounge. We had a terrific time returning the huge man’s picture and drinking in his grin when he saw that it hadn’t been damaged. We drank other things too, and watched the floor show, and ate, and didn’t talk at all about the future, beyond the night to come.