She Woke to Darkness ms-25

by Brett Halliday

  Aline had never felt less susceptible to hypnotism. She glared back into his eyes and said, “Get out of my apartment before I call the police.”

  He continued to lean over her and his expression did not change. It was as though he had not heard her. She felt a strange dizziness coming over her, and closed her eyes suddenly. She kept them closed while he pressed his lips hard against hers.

  Gerry Howard withdrew his lips quickly, crossed the room to the door and went out.

  Aline didn’t open her eyes until she heard the door close behind him. She felt dazed and bewildered, and the familiar room looked unfamiliar. She got up and went to the couch and slumped down on it, pressed her hands over her eyes and tried to put Gerry Howard out of her thoughts.

  What now? What could she do next?

  While she was debating that question her telephone rang. She jumped, startled by the sound. Then she steeled herself to answer it, trying to steady the beat of her heart as she lifted the receiver.

  “Hello,” she breathed into the mouthpiece.

  A woman’s angry voice answered, strident, and speaking fast as though she had keyed herself up to the task:

  “Aline! This is Ina Dreer and I’m warning you to stay away from Dirk after this. Do you hear me? Stay away from him. If he’s with you now, you can tell him it’s me calling and he’d better get out of there fast if he ever expects to come home again.”

  “Whatever are you talking about, Ina?” asked Aline, aghast. “Why would Dirk be here?”

  “Isn’t he?”

  “No.”

  “If he shows up, you send him packing. Hear me?”

  “I hear you,” said Aline coldly. “But nothing you’ve said makes any sense. I have no reason to expect Dirk here.”

  “Oh, no? Well, when he flung away from me an hour ago he said he’d see you any damned time he wanted to and what could I do to stop him? You slut, you!” Ina’s voice sprayed venom. “Keeping him out all hours and then sending him back to me so nasty-drunk I have to clean up his vomit. Let me tell you a thing or two right now. If you think for one minute…”

  “But I didn’t,” Aline broke in determinedly.

  “Didn’t what?”

  “Keep him out all hours. I’ve never been out with Dirk in my life.”

  “That’s what he said, too,” shrilled Ina. “But don’t think I didn’t do some checking up last night when he didn’t come home from Bart’s party where he slipped off by himself. I’ve got some friends, too, you know. And they told me plenty. I know well enough where he was… and why you didn’t answer your phone all last night. I suppose you precious two lay up in bed together and laughed and laughed while it rang… while I tore my heart out trying to call him. Well, you listen to me, Miss Bitch! Dirk’s my husband. He’s never done such a thing to me before, and he never will again if I have to castrate him. How’d you like that? You tell him I said so and to come home!”

  Ina Dreer was sobbing hysterically when she hung up.

  Aline replaced the receiver with shaking hands. Her legs felt rubbery and there was a churning in her stomach. What a mess it all was! Somehow, the problem of the dead man wasn’t nearly so acute, now, as this new development.

  Poor, dear Dirk. Just because he had kissed her a couple of times at the party. Just because he had sought a little human sympathy and understanding. How could this horrid accusation be built on so small a foundation? It hadn’t meant anything. Really it hadn’t. Just a little amorous dalliance between good friends.

  Then a frightening realization came to her: That’s the way she remembered it. Up to the third martini. Up to the point she had blacked out.

  Again she flung herself on the couch, this time because she felt too weak to stand.

  What had happened after that? How much of Ina’s hysterical accusation was true? Why had she and Ralph fought over the way she and Dirk were carrying on, as Doris had said?

  Dirk, and the stranger named Vincent Torn!

  What in the name of God had she done after that third martini?

  9

  Aline was still lying face down on the couch fifteen minutes later when there was a knock on her door. She rolled over dazedly and sat up.

  The knock was repeated. It wasn’t exactly a furtive knock, but it sounded hesitant. As though the person standing outside weren’t exactly sure whether it was the right door or not, or whether Aline would welcome his or her presence.

  She pulled herself to her feet and went to the door and opened it. The sight of the big, blond Viking standing there, with boyishly tousled hair and a wistful, wishful sort of smile on his lips brought a sudden smarting to Aline’s eyes.

  She whispered, “Dirk! My God, Dirk! What are you doing here? Ina just telephoned. She’s terribly upset.”

  He said, “I know. I’m horribly sorry, my dear. Everything seems to have gotten itself in pretty much of a tangle.” He hesitated momentarily. “May I come in? Or would you rather I went away and never came back?”

  Aline laughed shakily. “Please do come in.” She held the door open wide for him. “After what Ina suspects about last night, nothing that happens now can matter very much.

  “I know exactly what you mean.” His eyes were bloodshot and his suit looked as though he had slept in the gutter in it. He entered her living room and sat down heavily. “I’m in an apologetic mood this morning,” he confessed unhappily. “If I owe you one… or many… please consider them as being very humbly offered.”

  “I’m not at all sure that you owe me any.” Aline closed the door and turned to look down at him curiously. “Before we go into any of that, how the dickens did you get up to my apartment without buzzing me from outside?”

  “I used your key.” He looked surprised and opened his clenched palm to show her a flat key. “An extra you had last night. Don’t you remember giving it to me at Bart’s?”

  Aline shook her head slowly, sinking down onto the couch opposite him. “I’m sorry, Dirk,” she said wearily. “I don’t remember. Did I really?”

  “Dear God!” Dirk spread out his hands piously. “Don’t tell me you forget things too?”

  “I’m afraid I lost a lot of last night.”

  “Oh, no! I’d depended on you. Didn’t I come up here after the party as you asked me to?”

  “I don’t know,” Aline confessed miserably. “You see, I passed out, too. Honestly, Dirk, I don’t remember a single thing after my third martini.” She hesitated, biting her underlip in embarrassment. “What the hell?” she burst out angrily. “We won’t get anywhere beating around the bush. I remember you making love to me. Not too much, but nicely. But I didn’t know I gave you my key.”

  “Then you passed out before I did,” Dirk said lugubriously.

  “And I’d depended on you to put me straight on what happened.” He paused to take a deep breath, and went on rapidly, “I came to in my own place about four o’clock this morning with Ina in hysterics and accusing me of having spent the night with you. Seems she’d phoned around and had been told that you and I had sort of made some passes at each other at the party. I indignantly denied everything, but when I found your key in my pocket, I thought of course this is where I’d been all the time. If I didn’t come here, where the devil did I go?”

  “I’m sure you weren’t here. Or, if you were, you were here alone.”

  “When did you get in?” he asked unhappily.

  Aline hesitated. A dreadful and horrible doubt was beginning to take possession of her mind. “How much do you remember about Bart’s party?” she demanded.

  Dirk shrugged. “Dimly, right up to the last. You deserted me, you know. For some other man. A chap I’d never met before. Most unattractive, I thought him. But you whispered to me that it would be much safer for us both, there among people who knew us, if you pretended to be interested in someone else. You promised me faithfully,” he added sadly, “that you would get rid of him and be waiting for me here. Then you disappeared, and I lost track of just what h
appened. I naturally supposed I had come here.”

  “You don’t remember anything after the party broke up?” demanded Aline.

  “Nothing. It remains a complete blank. I couldn’t admit that to Ina, of course,” he went on hurriedly. “I made up a long story for her benefit about meeting a couple of strange men in a bar and drinking with them. Not that she believed me. She’s convinced I was here with you, and her conviction strengthened my own. Where were you if not here?”

  Aline Ferris hesitated before answering him, biting her underlip uncertainly. She wanted terribly to confide in Dirk. To pour out every horrible detail to him and to beg for his advice. Did she dare to do it?

  Could he be mixed up in it, too, somehow? The thought was utterly fantastic, but she couldn’t put it wholly away from her. She evidently had given him her extra key last night and invited him to come up after the party even though she didn’t remember doing so. With that incentive, and in a state of drunkenness, could he possibly have followed her… seen her meet Vincent Torn outside the cocktail lounge?

  She shuddered violently and avoided his eyes, saying miserably, “I’m in a terrible mess, Dirk. I don’t know what to do, where to turn. I wish you had come here last night. If you only had! And stayed with me. I’d be almost willing to have Ina know about it, if it were only true.”

  Dirk settled back in his chair and studied her downcast face with troubled eyes. “Tell me about it, Aline. Perhaps I can help. God knows, I’ll try.”

  “I… I… all right, Dirk,” she burst out. “I think I’ll have to. I feel as though I’ll go mad if I don’t talk to someone. You say I passed out first at the party… that you remember another man whom I played up to in order to keep the others from suspecting the truth about us. Do you remember his name?”

  “I don’t believe I heard it. He was a complete stranger to me. I know I was quite jealous of him, but kept telling myself you didn’t mean it really and were just doing it for camouflage.”

  “Does the name Vincent Torn mean anything to you?”

  He shook his head wearily. “Afraid not.”

  She drew in a deep breath and told him swiftly: “It will by this time tomorrow after you read the paper. He’s dead, Dirk. Lying alone in a hotel room where I went with him, God help me. I don’t know why I did it,” she cried out wildly. “Don’t ask me why. I don’t even know the man. Consciously, I mean. I’m not aware of ever having seen him until I woke up early this morning in a hotel room with his dead body the only other occupant.”

  “Are you serious, Aline? How did the man die?”

  “I don’t know,” she confessed piteously. “That is, I do know how, of course. He was murdered, Dirk. With a knife. There was blood all over. But I didn’t do it!” Her voice rose, hysterical and shrill. “I couldn’t have. Don’t you see? Even though I was unconscious at the time it happened. There was no knife there in the room. Nothing that could possibly have done it to him.”

  Dirk’s face was pale, his eyes deeply troubled. He said gently, “I think you had better tell me all about it. Every single thing. This sounds very serious.”

  “Serious?” With an effort she choked off wild laughter. “That’s one of the understatements of all times. Any moment now, the police will be here accusing me of his murder. And I can’t possibly prove I didn’t do it. This is the way it happened, Dirk.”

  She paused and asked uncertainly, “Would you like a drink before I start?”

  Dirk shook his blond head decidedly. “I’m afraid there’s already been much too much drinking. We both need clear heads to cope with this.”

  Aline sat very erect and began her story in a small, tight voice. She omitted nothing, or at least, tried to omit nothing. Not even the horrible detail about the two-dollar bill tucked in her stocking and her own reaction on discovering it there.

  Dirk did not speak once or move while she went rapidly over every incident that had occurred after she awakened in the hotel room. His face was gravely concerned and he sat well back on the sofa, long legs stretched out in front of him, eyes narrowed and brooding down at the tips of his shoes.

  “So I just don’t know what to think,” Aline ended despairingly after quoting his wife’s virulent words over the telephone. “That was the first time I knew you and I had gotten serious about each other last night.”

  “And the thought immediately sprang into your mind,” he told her morosely, “that I might be the one who killed your friend.”

  “I… I…,” she faltered and was silent.

  “And the fact is, Aline, that neither of us can possibly say it wasn’t I who did it.” Dirk’s voice was controlled and dispassionate. “It seems quite possible. I was jealous of the man, you know. I’ve admitted that. Suppose I did see you leave with him? Suppose I drove here a short time later, feeling fully confident that you would get rid of him and be waiting for me as you had promised; and as I passed the cocktail lounge down the street I saw you waiting outside and get in a car with him?”

  Dirk paused and his full lips twisted painfully. “How can I truthfully say what I might or might not have done under those circumstances? How can any man know? I don’t believe any man has ever truthfully known himself. It takes a psychoanalyst years to dig beneath the surface of any one human being and know what really lies beneath.”

  “Do you mean that, Dirk? Do you think…?”

  “How do I know what to think?” he demanded somberly. “You admit that the most obvious motive for Torn’s death is sexual jealousy. Yet you were forced to discard that because you didn’t believe any man cared enough about you to be jealous. But I loved you last night, Aline, in my fashion. Who can possibly know or judge what happened to my reasoning faculties last night when alcohol took possession of me? Who knows what savage, atavistic traits came up from far beneath the surface? Of course, I don’t believe it for a moment. How can I? What civilized man could believe such a thing about himself? On the other hand, how can I possibly be sure?”

  “Oh God, Dirk!” she sobbed, throwing herself forward on her knees before him and pressing her face into his lap. “What are we going to do?”

  “We’re going to face every possibility as calmly as possible and then go on from there,” he told her sternly. “Hysterics won’t help. There’s nothing definite, yet, to connect you with Torn or the hotel room except the telephone call you made to him at midnight. In other words, though many persons seem to suspect you left the party with Torn, you know you didn’t. You can prove that. Ralph Barnes drove you home and left you here. But for the accident of having left your bag and keys in his car, I’d like to think you would have come right upstairs and waited for me.”

  “But I didn’t,” she said tearfully. “As soon as the police learn that I telephoned Mr. Torn, they’ll know I met him and went to the hotel with him.”

  “They’ll suspect it strongly,” he agreed. “Not only that, Aline, they’ll also suspect strongly that I may have followed you there, gained access to the room somehow, and killed Torn in a jealous rage. With no knowledge or proof as to where I was at the time, I’m wide open to any sort of accusation.”

  “What are we going to do?” Aline sank back on her haunches and looked up into his face appealingly. “It’s all my fault, you see. Whether you did or didn’t do anything. My untamed sexiness when I get tight. First, leading you on and making an assignation with you, and then faithlessly switching my desire to Vincent Torn whom I didn’t even know from Adam. I deserve anything that happens to me.”

  “We’re going to see that nothing happens,” he said sternly. Then he sighed and added wistfully, “If we could only prove we spent the four hours from midnight onward here together. That would solve everything… for both of us.”

  “No one can prove we didn’t,” she said hopefully.

  He shook his head. “Except Ralph Barnes with his knowledge of your telephone call. If you’d only foreseen this, and gone to the bar yourself to inquire. Then we’d be quite safe. The bartender do
esn’t know who you phoned, and there’d be no reason for him to come forward with information about the matter.”

  “It’s too late to think about that now. Ralph does know. He even knows the number I called. As soon as he learns that Mr. Torn is dead, he’ll check the number and then he’ll know.”

  “That’s true.” Dirk was frowning thoughtfully. He cleared his throat and said, “Please tell me honestly, Aline. Ralph goes for you in a big way, doesn’t he?”

  Aline hesitated before replying. She wanted desperately to be honest with Dirk. It was easy, somehow. She said thoughtfully, “Just about as big as Ralph is capable of going for any woman. You know how he is.” She was thinking about Doris as she spoke. How Ralph had turned to her so easily last night… and then turned away from her back to Aline just as easily this morning. “He’s completely amoral. Like any tomcat prowling the back alleys.”

  “I know,” said Dirk rapidly, “but he does like you, and I gather his ego was severely wounded when you sent him away last night. You didn’t tell him anything about Torn?” he asked urgently. “He has no idea at all that the midnight telephone call you made may involve you in a murder case as a suspect?”

  “No!” Aline shuddered. “I told him nothing. I didn’t dare. You’re the only person who knows, Dirk.”

  “If he did know how important that telephone call is to you,” pointed out Dirk, “isn’t it quite possible he would be willing to remain quiet about it? As a favor to you?”

  “I don’t know,” said Aline doubtfully. “Just at this moment, Ralph isn’t in a mood to do me any favors.”

  “But he could be put into such a mood without too much trouble,” said Dirk. He rose and strode across the living room, his face grave and deeply troubled. “You and I are both caught in the same sort of trap,” he told her despondently. “Without knowing what we did last night, neither of us can possibly prove we had no hand in Vincent Torn’s death. Once the police get onto the affair and dig into what happened at Bart’s party, we’ll be equally suspect. Don’t you see how perfect it would be for us both if we could alibi each other by swearing we were here in your place together from midnight until four o’clock?”