nothing but iron self-control, and that she was walking very carefully along the edge of screaming. That part of it, however, I couldn’t help her with.
The tarpaulin I’d bought was in a broom closet in the kitchen. I carried it into the living room, spread it on the rug, and rolled him on to it. I didn’t like looking at his face, so I threw a fold of the canvas over it. There was blood on his shirt, and some on the rug where he’d lain. I went through his pockets, taking everything out— wallet, traveler checks, car keys, room key from the Dauphine, small address book, the letter from Marian, cigarette holder, lighter, cigarettes, and a small plastic vial of some kind of pills. I tore up the letter and shoved it back in his coat pocket, along with the pills and the cigarette holder. His glasses had fallen off. I put them in his pocket also. All the other items I placed on the coffee table. He wore no rings. I left his watch on his wrist. The gun, a small .32, was on the rug near the phonograph. I put it in another coat pocket.
I rolled him in the tarpaulin and pulled him out into the kitchen, beside the back door. I cut two strips off the canvas to use for ropes, doubled him into the fetal position, and bound him. I was shaking badly now, and my stomach was acting up again. I leaned against the sink, poured a drink of whisky from the bottle in a cupboard, and downed it. In a minute I felt a little better.
I filled a pan with water, located a sponge, and scrubbed at the blood stain on the living-room rug. It took nearly ten minutes and four pans of water. I knew a lot of it had gone through to the pad beneath, and that the rug would show a water stain when it dried, but I could take care of that later. I’d have the whole rug shampooed. I washed the pan, and the sink, and turned out the kitchen light. It was a relief to get away from him.
She was just getting up from the bed. I took her in my arms. “I’m all right now,” she said. “I’m sorry I broke up that way.”
“Everything’s under control,” I told her. “He had the room key. That was the only thing I was worried about. What time is your flight?”
“I’m wait-listed at five-fifteen, and confirmed at six-thirty.”
I looked at my watch. It was five minutes to two. She’d have a long wait, alone, at the airport, but it couldn’t be helped. She couldn’t stay here. She seemed to be in full control of herself, and rational. She put on some lipstick, and her hat, and I closed the overnight case and found her coat, gloves, and purse. I dropped the Dauphine room key in my pocket. There was horror in her eyes just for an instant as we went out through the living room.
“The car’s about a block away,” I said. “I didn’t want any more traffic in and out of here than we had to have.”
She made no reply. I turned out the lights and locked the door. When we got to the car, I lit her a cigarette. She remained silent all the way up Collins Avenue. I reached over once and took her hand. It was like ice, even through the mesh of the glove.
I parked about a block from the Dauphine. Turning to her, I took her face between my hands, and asked, “I’ll be about ten minutes; are you sure you’ll be all right?”
“Yes, of course,” she replied, in that same quiet, beautifully controlled sort of way.
I walked up past the Dauphine and entered the driveway at the exit end. There was an extensive parking area here, going back along the side of this wing of the building. About two-thirds of the way back there was a doorway. I entered it, and was in one of the ground-floor corridors. I took the key from my pocket. It was No. 226. At the end of the corridor there was a self-service elevator and a stairway. I took the stairway. In the corridor above, I began checking the numbers—216—214—I was going the wrong way. I went back around the corner. A waiter came past, carrying a tray. I swung the key absently, and nodded. He smiled, and went on. 222—224—Here it was. The corridor was empty now. I unlocked the door, slipped inside, and closed it.
The curtains were drawn over the window at the other end of the room. A light was burning on the night table beside the bed, and the bathroom lights were on. One of the three matching fiberglass suitcases was on the luggage stand, unopened, and the others were on the floor beside it. I didn’t like the look of that. He’d been up here approximately ten minutes without unpacking anything, so maybe he’d been on the phone. He might have called Coral Blaine to tell her he’d arrived. We hadn’t believed he would, because of the late hour. But if he had,
Well, there was nothing I could do about it at the moment, and I had plenty of other armed hand grenades to juggle without worrying about that one. I rumpled the bed, and reached for the phone. The front office should know he’d been out; they’d probably called the cab for him. Play it that way.
The operator answered.
“Desk, please,” I said.
“Yes, sir.” Then she added quickly. “Oh, Mr. Chapman, would you like me to try that Thomaston call again
I breathed softly in relief. “No. Just cancel. I’ll call in the morning.”
“Yes, sir.”
The night clerk came on. “Desk.”
“Chapman,” I said, “in two-two-six. There haven’t been any messages for me?”
“Uuuuh—let’s see. No, sir, not a thing.”
“Okay,” I said. “I won’t want to be disturbed until about noon. Would you notify the switchboard not to put any calls through?”
“Yes, sir. And just hang the sign on the doorknob. The maids won’t come in.”
“Thank you,” I said. I got the DO NOT DISTURB sign off the dresser, switched off the lights, and peered out. The corridor was clear. I draped the sign on the knob, made sure the door was locked, and walked along to the stairs. I met no one. When I was on the sidewalk in front I breathed freely again. One more hurdle was past.
I swung the car around, went back down Collins Avenue, and took the North Bay Causeway, headed for the airport. She sat perfectly erect and composed beside me, but she spoke only once during the whole trip.
“I took advantage of you,” she said musingly. “God forgive me for that. I’m sorry, Jerry.”
“What?” I asked. “What do you mean, you took advantage of me?”
She made no reply.
Just before we reached the terminal, I pulled to the curb and parked. It was ten minutes to three.
“What day is this?” I asked quickly.
“Thursday, November fourteen. That isn’t necessary; I tell you I’m perfectly all right.”
I had to be sure. She was on her own from here on. “Tell me your schedule.”
”I leave here at five-fifteen or six-thirty. Either way, I’ll be back in my room in New York before noon. I check out of the hotel tomorrow at one p.m. and fly to New Orleans. I’ll be in Thomaston Saturday morning. From then on, it’s exactly as we have it written down.”
“Right,” I said.
“You’ll make certain about the tapes, won’t you? And under no circumstances are you to try to call me.”
“Don’t worry about the tapes. Or about anything. I can handle it. We’ll say good-bye here. Then I’ll swing in, drop you at the terminal, and run. Okay?”
“Yes.” She turned, her face lifted to mine.
I kissed her, holding her very tightly for a moment, and whispered against her cheek. “I’ll just be going through the motions until I’m with you again. That’s all I’m going to say now. Break. And let’s go.”
I swung in, stopped in front of the terminal, and helped her out. She lifted a hand, turned, and went inside.
* * *
It was three-thirty-five when I backed into the driveway beside the apartment. The house beyond the high and shadowy wall was dark, and the streets were deserted. I stopped short of the garage doors, cut the ignition and lights, and got out. I unlocked the trunk, and eased it open. Letting myself in at the front, I went through to the bedroom, and changed into fishing clothes. I went out into the kitchen, without turning on the lights, and poured another drink. I dreaded this part of it.
I wasn’t even sure I could do it, except for one thing— I had to. I weighed a hundred and eighty and he a hundred and ninety-five. But I was in fairly good condition. I eased the kitchen door open, pulled him through it to the edge of the concrete slab, and bent my knees to get my arms round him. Three minutes later the trunk was closed again and I was draped across it, trembling and sweaty and sick at my stomach. They say madmen don’t know their own strength. Neither do desperate ones.
I slipped back into the kitchen, closed and locked the door, turned out the light in the bedroom, and went out
