Part 11 (1/2)
She nodded thoughtfully. ”You'd like to buy a half-interest, and landscape it, as a speculation?”
”That's it. I'd match the present value of your equity in cash to be put into landscaping. And by doing most of the work myself, which is what I want to do, we could make a pretty good profit when we sell. I hope.”
”But aren't you forgetting something? You've just seen an example of the bitterness here. If someone hates me enough to do that to me, he isn't going to stop merely because he'd be hurting somebody else too. Are you sure you want to let yourself in for it?”
”I was just coming to that. The thing to do is stop it. I gather you think that's the work of some crackpot? Some joker with a warped mind who's taking his viciousness out on you because he thinks you're responsible for the death of your husband?”
”Yes,” she said, frowning. ”Don't you?”
”No. I think it's the people who killed him.”
She barely avoided spilling her drink. She put it down. ”But that was Strader-”
”And some woman. Well, she's still here, and she's got help. Maybe another boy friend, I don't know. Listen- in all the time the police were questioning you, did they ever consider the possibility somebody might have tried deliberately to frame you?”
”Why, no,” she said wonderingly. ”Not to my knowledge.”
”They could have kicked it around, of course, without telling you. At any rate, they should have.”
”Do you ready think so?”
”Yes. I don't mean just her leaving the car out there; she had to get rid of it in some place that wouldn't incriminate her, and it would be logical to put it back where Strader might have left it himself. I'm thinking of the telephone call.”
The one that woke me up?”
”Yes. You see-” I broke off then. ”I'm sorry,” I said. ”I didn't intend to start digging into it now and ruin your evening. I want you to eat that steak.”
She smiled. ”Don't worry. I intend to eat it, and this isn't going to ruin my evening. After what I've been through, a little sympathetic questioning is almost like having a big shoulder to cry on.”
”It was pretty rough?” I asked. ”The questioning, I mean?”
”It was bad enough.”
”Who questioned you? The Sheriff?”
”Mostly. And sometimes Redfield. And often both of them at once.”
”What kind of man is the Sheriff?”
She thought about it. ”A very competent one, I would say. He's in his sixties, and I understand he's held the job for over twenty years. But his health is failing; for the past month or more I believe he's been at the Mayo Clinic. But I wasn't mistreated, if that's what you mean; it was just so terrifying. The Sheriff himself is a very courteous old gentleman, and while I began to feel after a while that Redfield disliked me intensely there was nothing mean or vicious in the way he treated me. Certainly there were no third-degree methods used.”
”Were you arrested?”
”Yes. But not right at first. In the beginning they were just trying to find out whether my husband knew Strader and if they'd planned to go fis.h.i.+ng together and what time he'd left here, and so on and if I'd heard Strader's car leave or come back. Then about nine o'clock that morning they found out from the cook at the Silver King that he'd seen the car drive in and that it was a woman who got out of it. I was taken in to the Sheriff's office then, and late in the afternoon I was charged with suspicion of murder and put in jail. I was questioned for hours at a time for three days before they finally dropped the charge for lack of evidence and released me.”
”And all the time they were hammering at you along one line? They wanted an admission, or proof of some kind, that you and Strader were-I mean-”
She smiled faintly. ”Lovers,” she said calmly. ”Yes. And after a while I began to be terrified. It just didn't seem possible that they could believe a thing like that, but then I started seeing not only how they could but that it all looked so damaging they might even be able to convince a jury of it. In the first place, I'd told them originally I didn't know Strader, and didn't even know he was registered here. I'd just learned my husband had been killed and I was numb with shock, so naturally the name meant nothing to me. It didn't even register in my mind. Then later, when I was able to think a little, I did remember I'd been in the office the evening before when he came in and asked for a room. So they wanted to know if I'd ever seen him before. I told them no, which was true to the best of my knowledge. Then they showed me two registration cards for the previous month-October-both with Strader's name and automobile number on them. It was merely a simple matter of my husband's having been in the office on each of these times when he registered, but by now it had begun to s...o...b..ll and everything looked suspicious. There was the fact I'd gone to Miami, alone, near the middle of October, between the first and second time Strader had come up here-”
”You went to Miami?” I hadn't heard that part before.
”Yes.” She took another cigarette, and I lit it for her. ”I went to see a doctor. They wanted to know why, of course, when we had a family doctor here-Dr. Graham. My nerves were just about at the snapping point by this time and I was on the ragged edge of hysteria, so my reaction was enough to arouse suspicion in itself. I became furious and refused to tell them why. Naturally, as soon as I realized the stupidity of this, I did explain, and they verified it with the doctor by long distance, but it was still damaging because it was something that could have been deliberately arranged as an excuse for going to Miami to meet Strader if I were were carrying on an affair with him. I mean, I had appointments with the doctor for an hour each morning for two successive days, and while I did see an old friend or two while I was there, I was still alone in Miami for a large part of two afternoons and two nights. And then it wasn't a case of my being ill-” carrying on an affair with him. I mean, I had appointments with the doctor for an hour each morning for two successive days, and while I did see an old friend or two while I was there, I was still alone in Miami for a large part of two afternoons and two nights. And then it wasn't a case of my being ill-”
She hesitated.
”It's all right,” I said. ”You don't have to go into it.”
She made a little gesture, and smiled. ”Oh, why should it be embarra.s.sing? My husband and I were very anxious to have a baby and were beginning to be concerned. It happens all the time. But I was was furious when they were questioning me.” furious when they were questioning me.”
”Well, look,” I said. ”One of the big items against you was the fact that when they knocked on the door a little before five-thirty that morning it was obvious you were already awake. You explained it was a telephone call. Do you know whether they ever made any effort to check that?”
She shook her head. ”No-o. Not that I know of. Why?”
”Because that's the exact point it should have begun to occur to them there was a chance they had the wrong party. I understand the woman wanted to talk to somebody that wasn't even registered and that she sounded about half-drunk, or at least with enough of a heat on to want to argue about it?”
”That's right,” she said.
”Do you remember the name of the man she wanted to talk to?”
”Yes. It was a Mr. Carlson.”
”Well, do you know whether they ever made any attempt to find out if there was was a Mr. Carlson registered at that time in any other motel or hotel in the county?” a Mr. Carlson registered at that time in any other motel or hotel in the county?”
”They never did say so if they did.”
”Of course, they might have, without bothering to tell you. They should have, at least, because five-fifteen in the morning's a rather odd time to have a buzz on in a country town where the bars have been closed for hours. And either a little early or a little late to start trying to locate somebody in a motel. Did they ever challenge you on it?”
”Yes. They accused me several times of lying about it.”
”Sure. It could mean, then, that they'd found out there wasn't any Mr. Carlson registered anywhere. So there was a pretty good chance n.o.body was trying to reach him. And if you were lying, you were obviously guilty. But if they accepted that, they were also morally obliged to accept the other side of the coin along with it. And that is that, if you weren't lying, you were not only innocent, but were actually talking to the woman who did did kill your husband.” kill your husband.”
She stared at me. ”What kind of woman could do a thing like that?”
”A tough one and a smart one,” I said. ”Take a good look at her. In the s.p.a.ce of a little over an hour she'd helped to kill a man, she'd seen her lover shot down by a policeman, and still she was able to get herself off the hook and figure out a way to set you up for it so she could stay off. Not exactly a choke-up artist, and about as flighty and hysterical as a cobra.”
9
I cooked the steaks after a while and we had dinner, not talking about it any more until afterwards when we were having coffee. She was quiet, but she ate a little of the steak and drank some wine. I lit a cigarette for her.
”Are you positive your husband never knew Strader?” I asked.
”Yes,” she said definitely. ”I never heard him mention the name.”
”Then you realize he had to know the woman?”
”Why?” she asked.