Extra Kill - Dell Shannon (32 page)

"Weren't you," he asked of private
curiosity, "at all nervous down there in the dark with a dead
man?"

She stared up at him. "I was waiting for them to
go, so I could get on with burying him. No, why? You said, about
later on, I couldn't face going down again—how silly—it wasn't
that, it was my shoes—I'd almost ruined them, quite expensive
shoes, and I didn't want to get them dirty again after I'd . . . And
I did think, those things—to plant on someone else, if . . . I
remembered to wear my gloves all the time, except just at first, and
I wiped off things I remembered touching then. Only I lost a button
from one of them, somewhere—"

"Yes, we have both the button and the glove."

"Oh—have you? You are clever .... And, you
know, when I slid him down the trap—I have been a little worried
about this—there was a lot of money, all in a great roll, fell out
of his trouser pocket, and the bankbooks—for the Temple accounts, I
mean. I've been worried about those, I didn't know what to do—Martin
should have them back, but—Oh, and I kept the money, of course—
You needn't say I stole it, the way Brooke did, because you know, I'd
spent that much and more on him, it was only fair! . . . And I
cleaned everything up tidily, the last thing—that was after I came
back in the cab, of course. I emptied the ashtray and put some scraps
of waste paper into the wastepaper basket, an empty pack of
cigarettes and tom paper, there on the bureau—"

(Yes, of course, Kingman's note, and Mrs. Bragg
emptying the basket.)

"The car was an awful nuisance. Of course it had
to go too, and I thought if it was found near the station people
would think he'd gone away on a train. That was stupid—I didn't
think until I was almost there—I should have left it at the
airport, much closer to the apartment, so much easier. I took along
the smallest suitcase because I thought that would look to a cab
driver as if I'd just got off a train—but then I realized I
couldn't take a cab right at the station, in the light. You know,"
she simpered at him, "people always do look at me, and they'd be
bound to remember. So I thought, something to put over my hair, and I
put on a lot more make-up too, heavy eyebrows and so on, like that,
as a disguise. And, oh, that suitcase was so heavy! I walked and
walked, looking for some place I could get a scarf, something like
that—but everything was going right for me that night, I found a
place open—and you're lying when you say that man, and the driver
too, knew I was acting a part! I always said I could do character
work, though it's not necessary, of course—I am better, I admit
that, at ingenue types. And when I did get back, such a time it took
too, I put the note back on the door where it had been, and the key,
and—I never thought anyone would find out, and what did it matter?
But you were cleverer than I thought—I can't imagine how you came
to find him .... All the same, I don't think I mind, because I really
believe this might be the great turning point for me, you know? Some
really useful publicity—and of course a good new agent, someone
young——"

"Maybe so, Miss Ferne," said Mendoza.
"Thank you very much, I think that's all we'll ask of you right
now. You can sign a typed statement later."

"Come on, dear," said the policewoman.

"Oh, may I go now? I
must see about a lawyer, I suppose. Goodbye, Lieutenant." As she
was led out the door she was saying again, to herself, "Someone
young—with the youthful outlook—that's the main thing, the
important thing—"

* * *

Hackett said angrily, wonderingly, "She never
asked about Angel at all. Where she is, how she feels. And, my God,
this is going to be tough on Angel .... Even without a trial, if the
lawyer persuades the Ferne not to try denying that confession—"

"She'll probably try," said Mendoza. "Claim
the brutal police forced her to sign it. Rather odd business
altogether, but then—as Madame Cara said to me—people are. And,
speaking of clichés, that's one we always come back to in our
business, don't we?—you look far enough, there's a woman at the
bottom of every piece of mischief. For me,
nada
de eso
, thanks. Too dangerous."

Hackett looked at him there, leaning back in his
swiveled—around chair, looking out the window. Hackett said,
"There's another one says the most accomplished and wary
Casanova meets his downfall sooner or later and gets led to the
slaughter. I'm just waiting for the day it happens to you—I'll be
there to cheer on true love."

Mendoza swung around and laughed up at him. "A
lot of people are waiting for that day, boy. You'll all wait a long,
long time. Maybe forever."

"
Cuanto apuestas
,
how much do you bet?" asked Hackett.

Mendoza looked interested at once. "At what
odds, friend? If they're long enough— But what'd we make the
terminus ad quem
?
Retiring age, maybe?"

"I was just talking," said Hackett hastily,
"no bets. Not with you. Retiring age? My God, you'd get up out
of your coffin to chase a pretty woman—"

"Probably," said Mendoza, "probably.
But not so headlong that I'd run into the trap."

Hackett laughed a little shortly and went out.
Mendoza looked after him and shook his head: a pity about Hackett, if
he was really serious over this girl. However, these things happened.
"
Eso allá el
,”
said Mendoza to himself, "his own business." But very
probably he'd be of little use for a while until he recovered from
temporary lunacy ....

At which point Sergeant Lake came in with a sheaf of
new reports, and Mendoza sat up, demanded coffee, lit a cigarette,
and began to go through them with interest. Always another job coming
up, in this business.

This accidental poisoning, for instance, had it
really been accidental? Sergeant Galeano thought not. Better hear
what he had to say, and begin to think about it ....