CHAPTER IV
I
The strident clamour of the alarm clock brought Ken out of a heavy sleep. He smothered the alarm, opened his eyes and looked around the bright familiar bedroom. Then into his sleep-heavy mind the events of the previous evening formed a stark picture, and immediately he was awake, a cold, sick feeling of fear laying hold of him.
He looked at the clock. It was just after seven.
Throwing his bedclothes aside, he swung his feet to the floor, slid them into his waiting slippers and walked into the bathroom.
His head ached, and when he looked at himself in the shaving mirror he saw his face was pale and gaunt and his eyes bloodshot and dark-ringed.
After he had shaved and taken a cold shower, he looked a little better, but his headache persisted.
He went into the bedroom to dress, and, as he fixed his tie, he wondered how long it would be before Fay's body was discovered. If she lived alone it might be days. The longer she remained undiscovered, the better it would be for him. People's memories became uncertain after a few days. The parking lot attendant would be unlikely to give the police a convincing description of him unless the police questioned him fairly soon. The plump blonde might also be a scatterbrain, but Ken had no delusions about Sweeting. His memory, Ken was sure, was dangerously reliable.
Goddam it! he said aloud, what a hell of a mess I've got myself into! What an utter fool I've been! Well, I've got to behave now as if nothing had happened. I've got to keep my nerve. I'm safe as long as Sweeting or that blonde doesn't run into me and I'll have to take good care to see them first.
He went into tile kitchen and put on the kettle. While he was waiting for the water to boil, he wondered how he was going to get rid of his bloodstained suit.
He had read enough detective stories to know the danger of keeping the suit. Police chemists had methods of discovering blood-stains no matter how carefully they were washed out.
He was worried sick about the suit. He had only recently bought it, and Ann would know at once if it was missing. But he had to get rid of it: several people had seen him wearing it last night. If the police found it here, he would be sunk. It was easier said than done to get rid of it, but he had to think of a way, and think of it quickly.
He made the coffee, poured out a cup and carried the cup to the bedroom. Setting the cup down, he went over to the suit he had thrown over the back of a chair when he had stripped it off last night, and examined it carefully in the hard morning sunlight. The two stains showed up alarmingly against the light-grey material.
Then he remembered his shoes. He had stepped into a puddle of blood at Fay's apartment. They would also be stained. He picked them up and examined them. The side of the left shoe was stained. He would have to get rid of the shoes too.
He sat on the edge of the bed and drank the coffee. He wondered if he would ever be free of this empty sick feeling of fear and tension he now had. Finishing the coffee, he lit a cigarette, noticing how unsteady his hand was. For some moments he sat still, concentrating on ways and means of getting rid of the suit.
Fortunately he had bought the suit from one of the big stores. It had been ready-made, and he had paid cash for it. The same applied to the shoes. In both transactions it was extremely unlikely that the salesman who had served him would remember him.
He recollected the department where he had brought the suit with its rows of suits hanging in orderly lines, and that recollection gave him an idea.
He would take the blood-stained suit in a parcel to the stores this morning. He would buy a suit exactly like it. While the assistant was wrapping up his purchase, he would take the blood-stained suit out of the parcel and include it among the suits on the hangers. It might be weeks before the suit was discovered, and then it would be impossible for it to be traced to him.
His shoes were almost new too. He had bought them at the same store. He could work the same dodge with them. He would then have replaced the suit and shoes so Ann wouldn't know he had got rid of the original suit and shoes.
He made a parcel of the suit and another parcel of the shoes and put them in the hall. As he was turning back to the bedroom he saw the newspaper delivery boy coming up the path. As soon as the newspaper came through the letter-box, he grabbed it and took it into the sittingroom. He went through the paper from cover to cover, his heart thumping and his hands clammy.
He didn't expect to find any mention of Fay's murder, and he wasn't disappointed. If there was anything to report, the evening newspapers would have it.
It was almost time now for him to leave for the bank. He put on his hat, picked up the two parcels, locked the front door, and left the key under the mat for Carrie to find.
As he walked down the path to the gate, a car drew up outside the bungalow with a squeal of brakes.
Ken felt his heart turn a somersault, and for one ghastly moment he had to fight against a mad impulse to turn around and bolt back indoors. But he kept hold of himself with an effort, and stared at the car, his heart thudding.
Parker, red-faced and cheerful, waved to him from the car.
'Hello, sport,' he said. 'Thought I'd pick you up. One good turn deserves another. Come on - hop in.'
Ken opened the gate and crossed the sidewalk to the car, aware that his knees felt weak and the muscles in his legs were fluttering. He opened the car door and got in.
'Thanks,' he muttered. 'I didn't know you were driving up this morning.'
'I didn't know myself until I got home,' Parker said gloomily. He took out his cigarette-case and offered it to Ken. 'My ma-in-law's coming to spend a few days with us. Why the old cow can't take a taxi instead of expecting me to meet her beats me. It's not as if she's hard up, although the way she acts you'd think she was on relief. I told Maisie not to invite her, but she never does what I want.'
Ken took the cigarette and accepted a light from Parker.
