Leave Her to Hell

by Flora, Fletcher

  The scream was not loud, not long, and there was no shadow and no sound by the time Lawler and I reached the porch. I was faster than he, running on longer legs, and he was a step behind me when I threw open the door to see Constance Markley hanging by the neck from the hands of her husband.

  Interrupted in murder, he turned his face toward us in the precise instant that Lawler fired, and in another instant he was dead.

  Constance Markley began to scream again.

  She screamed and screamed and screamed.

  I had a notion that the screams were two years old.

  16

  It took a week to get things cleared up. I stayed in Amity that week, and then I went home, and the first thing I did after getting there was to go see Lieutenant Haskett.

  “Hello, Percy,” he said. “I’ve been expecting you.”

  “Sorry to keep you waiting.”

  “It’s all right. I hear you’ve been pretty busy. Sit down and explain the connection between that mess at Amity and the mess you called me into up at Colly Alder’s.”

  “What makes you think there’s a connection?”

  “Isn’t there?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s what makes me think so.”

  I sat down and fished for a smoke, and he patiently rubbed his bald head with the knuckles of one hand while I found the smoke and a light and got them together.

  “Graham Markley killed Colly and Rosie,” I said. “It was the result of a situation that developed from his killing of Regis Lawler two years before.”

  “You can skip the Lawler killing. I’m briefed on it.”

  “Okay. The point is, Colly knew Markley had killed Lawler, and he lived comfortably off the knowledge for a couple of years. He was discreet in his demands, and Markley apparently preferred to tolerate a nuisance rather than risk another murder at that time. Besides, Colly was incriminated himself, and probably Markley thought he might be useful in certain ways. Then I got on the trail of Constance Markley, and Graham Markley put Colly on mine, and Colly got his wind up. Like Markley himself, he was afraid that Constance knew all about the murder of Lawler, and Colly had made himself, besides a blackmailer, a kind of accessory. He could see the possibility of a long prison term ahead of him if Constance was found and the truth came out. So he decided to go for a big bundle and get out, and that was his mistake. Markley could be pushed only gently, and only so far. He went to his meeting with Colly, and he killed Colly and killed Rosie, and I think it happened just about the way I told you that night.”

  “A very savory character. Lovable. How did Colly learn about the murder of Lawler?”

  “He’d been gathering evidence for Markley concerning Constance and Lawler. Apparently Markley planned to use the evidence to beat an alimony rap if it became necessary. Alimony and blackmail seem to have been the big problems in Markley’s life. Besides murder, I mean. Anyhow, the night Markley went to Regis Lawler’s apartment and killed him, Colly was outside and saw him arrive and saw him leave later. Colly was supposed to be tailing Constance, I think, and I don’t know certainly how he happened to be waiting outside Lawler’s place. Maybe he’d lost Constance and intended to pick her up there if and when she came that night. Maybe he knew she’d show up eventually and just came on ahead to short-circuit the job of following her. However it happened, he was there and saw Markley, and you can imagine the jolt it gave him. Right away, being Colly, he began to sniff something. As soon as Markley left, Colly went up to Lawler’s apartment. He found Lawler dead, just as Constance was to find him later, and that was the beginning of Colly’s affluence. The beginning of his own death too.”

  I took a breath, and Haskett knuckled his skull and squinted at me dourly.

  “You got any evidence to support this?”

  “No. But it fits. It’s neat.”

  “It is. Convenient too. It’s always a help if you can hang several murders on one guy. Sort of tidies things up in a hurry. Well, it won’t hurt Markley to take the rap. You can only execute a man once at the most, and you can’t even do that if he happens to be dead.”

  There wasn’t a lot to say after that was said, and after a while, being very tired, I went home and went to bed, although it was still daylight, and I slept with only a few bad dreams until the next day, when I went up to the apartment of Faith Salem. I made a point of going when the sun was on the terrace. Maria let me in, and I crossed the acres of pile and tile and went out where Faith was. She was lying on her back on the bright soft pad with one forearm across her eyes to shade them from the light. She didn’t move the arm when I came out.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Hand,” she said.

  “Good afternoon,” I said.

  “Excuse me for not getting up. Will you please sit down?”

  “It’s all right,” I said. “Thanks.”

  I sat down in a wicker chair. It was very warm on the terrace in the sun, but the warmth was pleasant, and after a few minutes I began to feel it in my bones. Faith Salem’s lean brown body remained motionless, except for the barely perceptible rise and fall of her breasts in breathing, and I suspected that her eyes were closed under her arm.

  “So it was Graham after all,” she said.

  “That’s what you suspected, wasn’t it?”

  “In a way. I had a feeling, but it was a feeling that he had done something to Constance. I can’t understand why he killed this man.”

  “Not because of the affair. He didn’t care about that.”

  “Why, then?”

  “As I told someone yesterday, there seemed to be two big problems in Graham Markley’s life. Alimony and blackmail. They both happened to him more than once. As for the blackmail, Regis Lawler was the first to try it. It went back to something that happened about three years ago. Graham Markley and Constance were driving back from the country. They’d been on a party, and Graham was drunk. He hit a woman on the highway and killed her and kept right on driving. It was a nasty business. Constance isn’t a strong person, nor even a very pleasant person, and she agreed with Graham that it was better to keep quiet about the incident. It’s easy for some people to rationalize that kind of position. Then, in due time, after the death of her child, she met Regis Lawler, and she wanted to do with Regis just what everyone actually assumed she had done. She wanted to run away from everything — her marriage, her guilt, everything associated with her child’s death, all the unhappiness that people like her seem doomed to accumulate.

  “Apparently Regis let her believe that he might be willing to go along with this, but he had no money. Silas Lawler told me that Regis stole seventy-five grand from a wall safe at the restaurant, but it wasn’t so. It was only a rather clumsy lie Silas used to make their running away plausible. What really happened was that Constance told Regis about the woman’s death on the highway, and Regis tried the blackmail, although he actually had no intention, it seems, of going anywhere at all with Constance. The blackmail didn’t work. Whatever passes for pride in an egoist like Markley would never let him hand over a small fortune to his wife’s lover, although he could and did submit to blackmail for a while under other circumstances. He went to Lawler’s apartment and killed him.

  “When Constance went there later the same night and found his body, she knew immediately what had surely happened. Her own burden of guilt was too heavy to bear in addition to everything else, and so she escaped it by becoming another person to whom none of this had ever happened. It was something that could only have happened under certain conditions to a certain kind of person. She became you, the one person she had ever known that she completely admired and envied, and she went back to the place where she had, for a time, been happier than she had ever been before or since. She became you, and she went back to Amity.

  “With a break or two and a couple of hunches, I got the idea that she might be there, and I went there to see if I could find her, and Graham Markley learned from you where I was going. He was terribly afraid of what Constance mig
ht know and tell if she was found, and it was imperative, as he saw it, to get rid of her for good and all. And so he followed me and found her and tried to kill her, but it didn’t turn out that way.”

  “I’m sorry I told him,” she said. “It was a mistake.”

  “Not for me,” I said. “It made me a smart guy instead of a corpse.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Nothing,” I said. “It’s not important.”

  The sun in the sky was nearing the tooled ridge of stone. I wished for a drink, but nobody brought one. Faith Salem’s breasts rose and fell, rose and fell. Her long brown legs stirred slightly in the sun. I wondered if I should tell her about Colly and Rosie and decided not. Maybe, if I didn’t, she would never know, depending on whether the police broke the case wide open or closed it quietly on a theory.

  “Did Constance tell all this?” she said.

  “The part about the accident and the blackmail and the murder. Not the rest.”

  “How strange it is. How strange simply to forget everything and become someone else.”

  “Strange enough, but not incredible. It’s happened before. People have gone half around the world and lived undetected in new identities for years.”

  “Is she all right now?”

  “She remembers who she is and everything that happened until she found the body of Regis Lawler in his apartment. She doesn’t remember anything that happened in the time of the fugue. That’s a long way from all right, I guess, but it’s as good as she can hope for.”

  “Why become me? Why me of all people?”

  There was honest wonderment in her voice. Looking at her, the lean brown length of her, I could have told her why, but I didn’t. I had a feeling that it was time to be going, and I stood up.

  “I think I’d better leave now,” I said.

  “Yes,” she said. “I think you’d better.”

  “I’ll send you a bill.”

  “Of course. I’ll be here as long as the rent’s paid. That’s about three months.”

  “Are you going to look at me before I leave?”

  “I don’t think so. Do you mind letting yourself out?”

  “I don’t mind.”

  “Good-bye, then, Mr. Hand. I wish you had a lot of money. It’s a shame you’re so poor.”

  “Yes, it is,” I said. “It’s a crying shame.”

  She never moved or looked at me, and I went away. The next day I sent her a bill, and two days after that I got a check. I saw her her twice again, but not to speak to. Once she was coming out of a shop alone, and once she was going into a theater on the arm of a man. I learned later that she married a very rich brewer and went to live in Milwaukee.

  Robin? I see her every now and then on a fair day.

  If you liked Leave Her to Hell check out:

  Killing Cousins

  ONE

  The town of Quivera, in spite of its intrusion upon a legend, is not an exceptional town, and Ouichita Road, which is a street in Quivera, is not an exceptional street. There was a time, however, when it tried to be, and the signs of the attempt are still apparent. It is eight winding blocks of black macadam, narrow and tree-lined, in an area that achieves an atmosphere of indigenous rusticity. This atmosphere, not really so much achieved as retained, is due to a lack of artificial landscaping and a vague agreement among Ouichita property owners to preserve as much as possible the natural growth of the area. Oaks and maples and sycamores and elms and dogwood and redbud are thick on the deep lawns that slope rather steeply to the street on both sides, and the houses appear to have been dropped down among them casually. The rusticity thus preserved somehow manages, ironically, to seem more artificial than any amount of designing and planting would have made it.

  There are a few very expensive houses on Ouichita Road, but most of them are not. Most of them are only moderately pretentious, and were built by people in the upper-middle-income bracket who were willing to risk a bigger mortgage than they could comfortably carry. The same people drive a somewhat bigger car than they ought to drive. Or, if they do not, drive two smaller ones, one of which is usually a Renault or a Volkswagon or an MG or something else of foreign extraction. They operate shops, work in banks, sell insurance and real estate, practice professions. They usually belong to the Country Club, and occasionally become delinquent in the payment of their dues. They think of themselves as rather more sophisticated than the average run of Quiverans, and perhaps they are. On Ouichita Road there is a high incidence of marginal promiscuity, a lower incidence of adultery.

  Several Ouichita Road residents have achieved fame. One, a lawyer by the name of Chalmers, is remembered as the only Republican candidate for governor to be defeated in a period of thirty years. Another, the daughter of a certified public accountant, went to Hollywood and appeared briefly in two adult westerns, in one of which she was photographed in the proximity of John Wayne. Still another, the nephew of the gubernatorial candidate and eventually the husband of the actress, was an All-American tackle at the state university, and played two seasons with the Pittsburgh Steelers before coming home to sell insurance for his mother’s cousin.

  But the most famous by far of all Ouichita Road residents, or all Quiverans together, was Mrs. Willie Hogan.

  Willie committed murder.

  Read more of Killing Cousins

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  This edition published by

  Prologue Books

  a division of F+W Media, Inc.

  4700 East Galbraith Road

  Cincinnati, Ohio 45236

  www.prologuebooks.com

  Text Copyright © 1958 by Fletcher Flora

  Cover Art, Design, and Layout Copyright © 2012 by F+W Media, Inc.

  All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction.

  Names, characters, corporations, institutions, organizations, events, or locales in this novel are either the product of the author's imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. The resemblance of any character to actual persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.

  eISBN 10: 1-4405-3688-0

  eISBN 13: 978-1-4405-3688-5