Breathe No More My Lady

himself to say calmly and slowly, “Hadn't we better get a few things straight, officer? I'm not some migratory farmhand who doesn't know his rights. I'm a well-known writer, and not without influence. You're a small town cop and view this as a chance to make a name. Be careful you don't make a fool of yourself.”

“Yeah, I'm a hick cop. But before this I worked Homicide in Chicago for 14 years. Cut the bull, Anthony. You threaten to kill your wife and two hours later she's dead. For me, that adds. I ain't here asking if you did it—I want to know why you killed her.”

“Don't be an ass! My wife obviously tripped while standing in a boat, struck her head on the—”

Almost in slow motion Detective Kolcicki reached over and punched Matt in the stomach. It was a terrible blow, bent Matt double, paralyzing him with pain and fear. Matt had done a lot of careful boxing, once or twice even sparred with pros, but he had never been hit like this. His heart seemed to be galloping out of his open mouth.

“Bastard! Tell me why, then how you did it!” The voice was still low and horribly impersonal, except for the word 'bastard' which had the chill of death about it.

A hundred story twists for outwitting the stupid cop, a dozen Judo holds he had so well described in his books, ran through Matt's brain like a runaway film. He gasped, “You... you... don't you realize I glorify... guys... like you?” He took a deep and painful breath. “I... I... make you heroic... Yes... I make you guys famous...!”

Kolcicki didn't seem to hear, his eyes watching Matt with a cold calm as if he was studying him under a glass. More air returned to Matt's tortured lungs and scenes of swinging rubber hoses, gouged eyes, blackjacks and their metal cores, broken faces, joined the racing movie in his mind. He said, “See here... I... I demand a lawyer!”

“Yeah, when you've signed a confession. Louse, why did you do it?”

Matt frantically thought of yelling into the phone, of screaming for help, even of turning on the recorder switch, getting it all down on tape. Would the swish of a sap make enough sound? He said, “Listen to me; I have proof that I was with Joel Hunter at the time the medical examiner fixed Fran's death. The police know this...”

As his own hand crept toward the recording switch he saw the detective's wide fist coming at him again. Matt tried to scream, yell, but only a weak hiss came from his open mouth as the fist seemed to ram his jumping heart through his back. The blow knocked Matt over the back of the chair. He hit the floor hard, both hands pressing his agonized belly. Without showing any strain, Kolcicki straightened up the chair, then picked up Matt's big body, actually tossed him into the chair. He hadn't even disturbed his straw hat as he sat down and asked, “Come on, why?”

Matt gasped, “I... have... a bad... heart... you're... killing me.”

Kolcicki said his favorite four letter word again, almost spit it out. Through a jumble of thoughts flashing in his mind Matt thought: This dirty sonofabitch is treating me like a punk. If I can only get to my feet, clout him with a good right... but then he'll take out his blackjack and beat me to death. Lord, is this the end? Am I such a coward? Is this real? Is this stupid cop too smart for me? There mast be a way out of...

“I'm waiting, why did you kill her?”

“I demand the—” Matt saw Kolcicki draw back his pudgy fist again and Matt cried out, “I'll tell you! I'll tell you exactly what happened! I lied to the police. But it was an accident! I never touched her. We were in the pines and she wanted to know what I had in a box I was carrying. She tripped and fell against a rock. I'll show you the rock. I realized after what I'd said... about killing her... how things would look. I tried to make it look more like an accident. I took the body out into the bay in the boat. I'll show you the skin-diving outfit I used. I'll show you everything. That's the truth! I swear it!”

Kolcicki said the four letter word again and it hit Matt like a whip lash. The detective punched Matt squarely over the heart Matt went tumbling over and over into a welcome darkness. He thought he had escaped and it was a maddening shock to come to seconds later, find himself face down on his desk, hearing the dull voice saying, “Keep talking but give me the truth. You clever bastards with your fancy words. So you was skin-diving? What did you do, swim out underwater and take her by surprise?”

Mart's head was spinning so he suddenly wished his pounding heart would explode, take him out of this nightmare. But his heart began to beat normally, although the rest of his stomach and side were afire with pain. “I told you, I didn't—”

“Don't give me this accident jive unless you want another taste of my fist.”

“But it was a... a...”

Kolcicki punched him on the shoulder this time. Matt mumbled, “I really have a bad heart and—”

“Bastard, who you think you're stalling? Now the truth!”

Matt sat up. “Damn you, I am telling you the truth! It all happened the way I said. You see Fran had the fishing tackle in her hands, couldn't break her fall, so... her head struck first and—”

As the fist started for him Matt drew back hard against his chair and screamed—although hardly any sound came from his lips. There was a low thud of Kolcicki's fist smacking Mart's stomach. Matt collapsed in his chair, gasping for breath. He was sure of only one thing: he couldn't take another blow.

As Kolcicki stood up, Matt heard himself cry in a distant voice, “Don't! Don't hit me! All right, all right! Please don't hit me again. I'll say what you—you want. Tell me what to say, but don't hit me.” His words died in a whisper.

Kolcicki pulled Matt erect in the chair, grunted, “I ain't even started on your kidneys yet. I'll have you pissing blood for weeks.”

“Tell me what to say?”

“You know what to say. Just make it good. Good. You understand, bastard? None of your fancy crap. You ready?”

Hands pressed to his aching body, Matt nodded dumbly.

The detective glanced about, saw the typewriter on its little metal table. He carried it over to his chair, took a piece of clean paper from Matt's desk, inserted it in the machine. He said, “Now you start talking. If you talk right, you'll sign this. If you don't, I'll bust every rib in your goddam body. Now talk—and not too damn fast, either.”

Kolcicki began typing. Even in his daze, the opening sentence of a confession suddenly appeared very clearly in Matt's mind: I, Matt Anthony, voluntarily do....