That was her philosophy. She had no mercy for me nor for Sarita: why then should I have any mercy for her?
I steeled myself. I would have to go ahead with this.
But before I told Wilbur where to find her, I had to get Vasari out of the way. There was a chance that Wilbur would be too quick for this ox of a man and would kill him if he tried to protect Rima. I wasn’t going to be responsible for Vasari’s death. I had nothing against him.
My first move was to find out where I could contact Wilbur. I had no intention of letting him know who I was. When I gave him Rima’s address it would be over the telephone: an anonymous tip.
I then had to get Vasari out of the way. From the conversation I had overheard while he and Rima had been quarrelling, the police were looking for him. Again an anonymous telephone call, warning him the police were coming for him, should send him on the run, but would Rima go with him?
The plan was complicated, but it was the best I could do. And time was running out. I now only had nine more days before I had to pay out the thirty thousand.
I watched Wilbur and the girl talking. He seemed to be trying to persuade her to do something. He leaned on the table, talking in a soft undertone, while he picked at a red pimple on his chin.
Finally, she shrugged impatiently, got up and walked over to the cloakroom.
Wilbur went over to the bar, ordered a Scotch which he tossed down and then moved over to the exit.
The band was playing again, and as he left he snapped his fingers and waved his hands in time with the music.
I got my hat and raincoat from the hat check girl as the dark girl came out of the cloakroom, wearing a plastic mac over her evening dress.
She went out into the darkness with me just behind her.
I paused at the kerbside as if looking for a taxi. The girl hurried down the road. I could see Wilbur waiting for her. The girl joined him, and they crossed the road, walking quickly, and went up a side street.
I followed them, keeping in the shadows. At the corner I paused and looked cautiously around. I was in time to see the girl starting up the steps of an apartment house with Wilbur on her heels.
They disappeared from sight.
I didn’t know if he was planning to stay the night with the girl, but I thought it was unlikely. I took up a position in a dark doorway and waited.
I waited half an hour, then I saw him come down the steps and saunter off down the road.
I went after him.
He wasn’t difficult to follow. He didn’t once look back, and he loitered along, whistling shrilly, and every now and then he went into a complicated dance step.
Finally he entered a dingy hotel near the waterfront. I paused and watched him through the glass panel door take a key off a rack and then wander out of sight up a steep flight of stairs.
I stepped back to read the overhanging sign:
I walked fast to the end of the street where I picked up a taxi and drove back to my hotel.
Was Wilbur staying at the hotel for the night or for longer? I couldn’t risk losing him now I had found him.
But even then I found myself hesitating. Only the thought of Sarita and my urgent need to protect my money stiffened my nerves.
I went to a pay booth in the lobby, turned up the Anderson Hotel in the book and dialled the number.
After a while a girl said, ‘Yeah? What is it?’
I drew in a long deep breath. I had to make a conscious effort not to put the receiver back on its cradle.
‘You got a little guy who wears glasses staying with you?’ I said, making my voice sound tough.
‘So what?’ The girl’s voice sharpened. ‘Who’s calling?’
‘A friend of his. Get him to the phone, sister, and hurry it up.’
‘If you’re a friend of his, what’s his name?’
‘Stop talking so much. Get him to the phone.’
‘Oh, hang on,’ she said, her voice suddenly bored.
There was a long wait. I stood in the stuffy pay booth, the receiver clamped against my ear while I listened.
Five minutes dragged by, then I heard sounds. I heard the girl say angrily, ‘How do I know who it is?
I keep telling you, don’t I? Find out for yourself!’ Then she gave a sudden squeal of pain. ‘Oh! You dirty little rat! Keep your filthy paws off me!’
I heard the receiver being picked up.
‘Yeah? Who is it?’
I imagined him standing there, the light glittering on his spectacles, his white cruel face expectant.
‘Wilbur?’ I said.
‘That’s me. Who is it?’
Speaking slowly and distinctly, I said, ‘I saw Rima Marshall last night.’
I heard him draw his breath in a tight little hiss.
‘Who are you?’
‘Never mind. Would you be interested to know where she is?’
I felt cold sweat on my face as I talked.
‘Yeah. Where is she?’
‘I’ll send you her address in two days’ time – on Friday morning, and some money to get to where she is,’ I said. ‘Stick around until Friday.’
‘Who the hell are you?’ he demanded. ‘Are you a pal of hers?’
‘Do I sound like a pal of hers?’ I said, and hung up.
II
Early the next morning, from my hotel room, I put a call through to Dr. Zimmerman’s sanatorium.
The receptionist said Dr. Zimmerman wanted to talk to me and would I hold on?
When he came on the line, he sounded cheerful.
‘I have good news for you, Mr. Halliday. Your wife is now making very steady progress. She has come out of her coma, and in a couple of days I think you can see her. We’ll have to think about this second operation. When will you be back?’
‘Sometime on Friday,’ I said. ‘I’ll call you as soon as I get in. You really think she’s over the worst now?’
‘I’m sure she is. If you will come to the sanatorium on Saturday morning it is possible you can see her.’
I said I would be along, and after some more talk I hung up.
The news that Sarita was so much better got me out of my mood of depression. My resolve to get rid of Rima began to weaken again.
Perhaps on Saturday I would be with Sarita. I would know while I stood by her bed that I had deliberately destroyed a life. I wondered how I would feel when our eyes met. Would she see the guilt in mine?
I got up and began to pace the floor. What right had I to take Rima’s life? I asked myself. I was only destroying her to save myself going either to the gas chamber or to jail. Would I be able to live with myself if I were the direct cause of her death? This was a problem of conscience and it tormented me.
I looked for another solution. Suppose I refused to give Rima any more money – what then? I believed she would go to the police and I would be arrested. What would happen to Sarita without me?
True, she would have my money, but how would she manage, alone and a cripple?
I tried to be honest with myself. Was I planning to get rid of Rima to save myself going to jail or because of Sarita’s helplessness and her need for me?
I couldn’t decide about this, but I did know Sarita needed me and I did know Rima’s life was worthless.
I realised that my plan to get rid of her was as full of holes as a sieve. Even if I sent Wilbur her address, there was no guarantee that he would kill her. His hatred for her might already have petered out and he might not
