Nothing More Than Murder

by Jim Thompson

  I drove back to the courthouse, parked, and ran up the walk to the building. I went up the stairs and down the hall, not hurrying but not taking my time, either, just businesslike. I put the right kind of expression on my face—puzzled and a little put out—and then I opened Web’s door and went in.

  Web was sitting behind his desk, looking about as uncomfortable as I felt. Sheriff Rufe Waters was standing, leaning against the wall. He acted like he didn’t want any part of what was going on.

  I sat down in front of Web, slapped the rain from my hat, and waited. He made a job of clearing his throat.

  “Well, Joe,” he said at last. “I suppose you’re wondering why I asked you to come down here.”

  “You can’t blame me for that,” I said.

  Rufe laughed and muttered something under his breath, and Web gave him an angry look.

  “Rufe thinks I’m playing the fool,” he said. “But I’m running this office, and I’ve got to do what I think is best. I wouldn’t have had you come down here, Joe, if I hadn’t figured I had to.”

  “So?” I said.

  “Well, I just wanted to know, Joe—I wondered if you thought, perhaps—”

  Rufe Waters laughed again.

  “I’ll tell you, Joe. He thinks it wasn’t Mrs. Wilmot that got killed in the fire.”

  28

  I tried to keep from jumping. Then I remembered that I should, that anyone would be startled by a statement of that kind; and I gave a good healthy start.

  I leaned forward, frowning, interested.

  “Web must have some reason for thinking that,” I said. “What is it, Web?”

  He wiped his face, relieved that I wasn’t sore. “Has Appleton said anything to you about a woman he was looking for? A woman that came out here on the day of the fire and disappeared?”

  “Why, yes,” I said, “I believe he did make some mention of it.”

  “Well, that’s it. He prowled the town from one end to the other looking for her, and then he called us in and we checked with everyone that hires household help. Everyone but you, and, of course, Elizabeth.”

  “Yes,” I said. “Go on, Web.”

  “Well, Joe, we figure—Appleton and I figure—that that woman must have gone to your place.”

  “She didn’t,” I said. “Elizabeth didn’t say anything about hiring anyone.”

  “But that doesn’t mean she didn’t do it!” Web laughed apologetically. “No offense. I just mean she wouldn’t have been a Barclay if she hadn’t been a wee bit highhanded. All the Barclays were.”

  “You’re right about that,” I said. “But—”

  “You were in the city, Joe. You didn’t go home after you left in the morning. So the woman could have been there, and you wouldn’t have known a thing about it.”

  I shook my head, stalling; waiting to be convinced. I could see where the conversation was leading, but there wasn’t anything to do but follow it. It was a crazy way for things to turn out, to be tripped up by a dame that didn’t belong in the plot at all. But there it was.

  And I couldn’t help Carol. All I could do was save myself.

  “I don’t think Elizabeth would have done that,” I said. “But give me the rest of it.”

  “Here’s the way we see it,” said Web. “Mrs. Wilmot put an ad in one of the city papers and hired this woman. She hired her, and the Farmer girl didn’t know about it until Mrs. Wilmot picked her up that night in Wheat City. Probably Elizabeth was a little bit curt, and Carol got sore. You couldn’t blame her much. Here she was coming back from a vacation, with all her money spent more’n likely, and she finds herself out of a job.

  “It’s thirty miles from here to Wheat City. We figure that somewhere between here and there, Elizabeth was killed and her body hid. We figure that Carol drove on home by herself, killed the other woman to keep from giving her play away, and then put her in the garage and set it on fire.”

  “I—I can’t believe that Carol would do anything like that, Web.”

  “Oh, she could have.” Rufe Waters spoke up. “All them Farmers are a dead-hard lot. I wouldn’t put a killin’ or two past any member of that family. But the rest of it’s all bunk. I mean about this other woman, and all.”

  Web glared at him. “What’s bunk about it? It all fits in, don’t it?”

  “I ain’t going to argue,” said Rufe. “I’ll go along with you so far as to say that the girl might have had an argument with Mrs. Wilmot and killed her, but that’s as far as I will go.”

  “I can’t believe it,” I said again. “Carol and Elizabeth got along fine—at least, while I was around.”

  “Well,” drawled Web, “what getting-along is to a man isn’t the same as it is to a woman. A man doesn’t really know when womenfolks are at outs and when they’re not.”

  “But if Elizabeth hadn’t wanted her around—”

  “—she’d have fired her,” said Web. “And I’m claiming that’s just what she did do! She went right ahead without asking or telling anyone and canned her.”

  Rufe scratched his head thoughtfully. Web had made a point with him.

  “It’s a little too pat,” I said. “Carol had been with us for almost a year. If Elizabeth had wanted to fire her, it looks like she’d have done it long ago.”

  “Maybe the trouble just came up lately. Maybe Elizabeth couldn’t find anyone to take her place. Maybe she was waiting until Carol was out of town. That’s common sense, isn’t it?”

  “Well,” I hesitated, “it sounds reasonable.”

  “I tell you, Joe; it just had to be something like that. The more you think about, the more you see I’m right. I’m not saying that the girl just hauled off and deliberately started killing. Probably it was kind of an accident to begin with. She was mad. She flung out at Elizabeth and killed her before she knew what she was doing. Then she had to go on and do the rest to protect herself.”

  He stared at me, waiting, and I nodded my head a couple of times. “I don’t know, Web. The way you put it—”

  “It’s a cinch that fire didn’t start itself,” said Rufe Waters.

  “No, it didn’t,” said Web. “The girl had to do it, Joe. She was the only one that could have.”

  I could have said, “How can you be so damned sure that the woman stayed here? How do you know she’s not in some other burg right now, throwing herself a whing-ding?”

  But what I said was, “Maybe you’re right.”

  “It’s not just my idea,” Web went on. “This insurance fellow, Appleton, really thought of it. Didn’t he ask you anything about how things stood between Carol and Mrs. Wilmot?”

  “Yes, he did.”

  “Well, he—we hadn’t really started putting two and two together, then. We thought it was just a matter of a little work to turn this missing woman up. When we couldn’t find her he started putting two and two together, and we figured it like I just told you. He heard from his company tonight, and they think he’s on the right track. They’re willing to back him up in anything he does. That’s why I got you down here.”

  “I see,” I said.

  “Appleton’s going to ask that the bod—that the remains be exhumed and examined in the morning. He’s going to demand a real post mortem. If it don’t show it was Elizabeth that was killed in the fire, he’s going to put a murder charge against Carol Farmer. I don’t like to have him running things on me like that. I figure if there’s any murders to be solved we people here in the county ought to solve ’em ourselves.”

  “Especially with election coming up,” nodded Rufe.

  “That’s got nothing to do with it!” Web glared at him. “Now, here’s what I thought we’d better do, Joe. There’s no use in Rufe or me trying to talk to that girl. She’d just freeze up on us, like the rest of that ornery Farmer gang. So I want you to talk to her. Tell her—”

  “Me talk to her?” I said.

  “Yes, you, Joe.”

  “Well, gosh,” I said. “I—”

  “You know ho
w to gentle people along, get on the best side of ’em. You can get her to talk when no one else could get to first base. You know. Sympathize with her, but show her she hasn’t got a chance to beat the case. I know it’s asking a lot, but—”

  “I don’t think it is.” I looked from Web to Rufe, jutting my jaw out. “If things are like you think they are, it’s my duty to help to get to the bottom of ’em!”

  “I knew you’d see it that way, Joe.”

  “The only reason I’d hesitate at all is because of the possibility that I might gum things up. If the girl is guilty, I want to be sure she pays the penalty. What’ll I do if she tries to skip out, or—”

  “Just a minute,” said Rufe.

  He crossed the room, opened the connecting door to his offices, and went inside. He came back with a Colt automatic in his hand. He twirled it, caught it by the barrel, and handed it to me butt first.

  “You take that, Joe.”

  “Well,” I said, shying away. “I don’t know as that’s necessary.”

  “Take it, Joe,” said Web. “That girl may have a gun herself for all you or we know. She might come at you with a knife. She might try to knock you out with a club and make a run for it. You can’t take any chances. You take the gun, and if you have to use it, don’t hesitate.”

  I held back a few minutes longer. But finally they talked me into taking it.

  29

  Driving home in the rain, with my guts kind of knotting and unknotting, I thought about Elizabeth and how goddamn unfair it was that I had to do all the dirty work on a deal she’d really started.

  I hadn’t hired Carol. I never would have brought her into the house. Maybe I wasn’t too satisfied with married life, but it never occurred to me to do anything about it. It was Elizabeth who had brought her in. It was just one more stupid thing she’d done that I had to be the fall guy for.

  About a year after she’d had her miscarriage I went home one afternoon and some dame was in the living-room with Elizabeth. I stuck my head in the door to say hello, and she and this woman both looked kind of embarrassed. And then Elizabeth laughed and told me to come in.

  “This is Mrs. Fahrney, Joe,” she said. “Mrs. Fahrney is connected with the children’s protective society.”

  “Oh?” I said, wondering if she had a kick on some of the shows I’d been playing. “That must be very interesting work.”

  “Well—it is,” said the dame, glancing at Elizabeth.

  And Elizabeth laughed again.

  “We may as well tell him,” she said. “He’ll have to sign the papers, anyway.”

  “The papers?” I said.

  “I was keeping it for a surprise, dear. We’re going to have a son. The sweetest little boy baby you ever—”

  “Wait a minute,” I said. “You mean you want to adopt someone else’s kid?”

  “Not someone else’s, Joe. Ours. Perhaps I should have told you sooner, but—”

  “I guess you should have, too,” I said. “I guess you might have saved this lady a trip out here if you had. Any time I have any kids of my own I guarantee I’ll feed ’em and take care of ’em and do everything else I’m supposed to. But I’m not spending my dough and my time on other people’s brats. I don’t want any part of ’em.”

  Elizabeth sat biting her lip, looking down at the floor. This woman got up and walked over to her.

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Wilmot,” she said. “I’ll run along now.”

  “Oh, wait a minute,” I said. “I didn’t mean all that. If she wants to adopt this—boy, it’s all right with me.”

  “But it isn’t all right with me,” she said, looking straight through me. “Good-bye, Mrs. Wilmot.”

  And she sailed out the door without giving me a chance to reason with her.

  I tried to explain to Elizabeth how I felt. A kid is always a hell of a big expense and we just couldn’t spare the dough from the show. And, anyway, how could you tell what you were getting into when you take a kid out of an orphans’ home?

  All Elizabeth would say was, “I understand,” and she didn’t understand at all.

  Well, no one can say I’m not human, and I was kind of ashamed of the way I’d acted. I suppose she did get lonesome around the place by herself, and when she got a cat I didn’t say a word. I don’t like cats. They demand too much attention. If you’re trying to read or eat or no matter what you’re trying to do a cat will butt right in on you. Short of killing them, there’s no way of keeping them from rubbing against your legs or jumping into your lap or just bothering you in general.

  I didn’t say a word, though. When it got to where it bothered me too much I’d just go to my room and lock the door.

  I guess it finally got on Elizabeth’s nerves, too, because she gave it away to someone. I never asked who and she didn’t say. I was just satisfied that it was gone.

  About six months later she bought a dog—a tan-and-white collie pup. And I didn’t say anything about that, either, but I never knew a minute’s comfort at home until she got rid of it. I can’t stand dogs. I mean, I can’t. And if you’d been on the bum as much as I have, you’d know why.

  Well, so that brings us up to Carol. And I know what you’re thinking—it’s what I thought at first—but it’s not the case. She didn’t take Carol as a substitute for the cat or dog. She didn’t treat her half as good as she’d treated either one of them.

  I’ve already told you how she didn’t even give her a decent feed the first night she was there. That’s just a sample of the way she acted toward her. And it didn’t get me anywhere when I jumped her about it.

  “Really, Joe, you amaze me,” she said, sort of smiling down her nose. “How can you possibly be interested in the welfare of a girl like that? I’m already willing to admit it was a mistake to bring her here.”

  “Well, she’s here,” I said, “and she’s going to stay. And we’re going to treat her decent, too.”

  “Are we?”

  “All right, don’t, then,” I said. “But if you won’t do anything for her yourself, don’t stand in my way.”

  “I won’t,” she said, still smiling. “That’s a promise. I won’t stand in your way at all.” And that was the way it ended.

  All that was ever done for Carol was done by me. I hadn’t lied to Appleton about that. But it was Elizabeth that brought her into the house in the first place. I don’t know why, unless it was just another one of her ways of getting my goat, and I don’t know that it matters.

  All I know is that Carol coming there is what started all the trouble, and that it was left to me to clean it up.

  There was one thing that still puzzled me and always had—the money. The way Elizabeth had argued about a split. The way she’d kept telling me I’d be sorry if I tried to get out of sending her the insurance dough.

  The people who really care about money are those who lack something without it, and Elizabeth had always felt just as complete and respectable and important without a dollar as she had with a pocketful. She’d been saving and thrifty, sure, but that was more habit than anything else. She’d proved a hundred times over that money didn’t mean a thing to her.

  When she’d first begun to make an issue of it I thought she was just trying to put a spoke in my wheel, to make it harder to settle the problem between her and Carol and me. And right up until the last, I guess, I was expecting her to say, “All right, have your Carol and everything else. I’d scrub floors before I’d take a penny from you.”

  That would have been Elizabeth’s way of doing things, and maybe I would have taken her up on it and maybe I wouldn’t have. The point is that she did just the opposite—something that just didn’t fit in with her character. And now when it mattered least of all, I couldn’t get it out of my mind.

  I remembered how insistent Carol had been on sending Elizabeth the money herself, and the answer to that one popped into my head and made me shiver. She hadn’t intended sending it. She’d have burned it up first. She hated her enough to do that
, to risk getting us all in trouble just to take one final punch at Elizabeth.

  It had to be the answer, because I never wrote even a business letter if I could get out of it and I sure wouldn’t have written Elizabeth after we were all washed up. It was a standing joke around the house, my not writing to anyone. At least it had been a joke back in the beginning, back during the first year that Elizabeth and I were married.

  We were awfully cramped for dough that year. We had good prospects and I knew we’d pull out in the long run, but I was trying to do too many things at once and we ran short. It got so bad that I even considered closing down for a while and going back to driving film truck. But right at the time when things looked darkest this old uncle of Elizabeth’s died back East, and everything was jake. He left her twenty-five hundred dollars, enough to clear up the mortgage on the Barclay home with a thousand left over.

  Well, I took her down to the train when she started back to collect, and while we were waiting on the platform she asked me to send her a dollar.

  “Send you a dollar?” I laughed. “What’s the idea? Here, I’ll give you—”

  “No, I want you to send it to me, Joe. I know that’s the only way I’ll hear from you.”

  “Oh, now,” I said. “I don’t think I’m that bad. I’ll drop you a card.”

  “Oh, but you are that bad,” she said. “Send me the dollar or you’ll be sorry when I come back.”

  She was kidding, you know, like newly married people will. But I thought if it meant that much to her I’d play along. And that was the cause of two of the worst weeks I’ve ever spent in my life.

  I am careful about money; a businessman has got to be. I’d double-checked the hotel address where Elizabeth was supposed to be staying, and I put a five-day return on the envelope when I mailed it. And then, through some kind of mix-up, it came back to me, and the envelope was stamped Not known here.

  Scared? Worried? Brother!

  I didn’t know where else to write. I knew she was supposed to be at the address I had. And, of course, she thought I’d broken my promise so she didn’t write me, either. She finally broke down and sent me a wire, and I sent her one, and—and that was the end of it.