A tall, fat, imposing looking man with thick white hair was talking to Mrs. Harriet. They spoke in undertones. I could see him clearly. A heavy face with jowls of good eating, dressed in a dark immaculate suit, he exuded authority and arrogant confidence.
Obviously, Dr. Weissman.
He moved to kneel by Loretta, touching her gently, turning her head slightly, lifting an eyelid. Then he stood up.
‘There is nothing to be done, Mrs. Ferguson. The poor lady is dead,’ he said in a rich baritone. ‘Leave this to me. We mustn’t move her. I will telephone Chief of Police Terrell.’
‘I think, dear doctor, we should have a little talk first,’ Mrs. Harriet said. ‘It won’t take long.’ She put her old hand firmly on his arm and drew him into the living room and closed the door.
I rested my arms on the banister rail and waited.
Mazzo began to prowl around the hall. I could see by the expression on his face, he was uneasy.
Ten minutes crawled by, then the living room door opened, and Mrs. Harriet and Dr. Weissman emerged.
‘My son is stricken, doctor,’ Mrs. Harriet said. ‘I don’t want him to be disturbed.’
‘Of course not. Should I see him? Perhaps I could give him a tranquillizer?’
‘He needs to be alone.’
‘I quite understand. Now, Mrs. Ferguson, please go to your room and lie down. Leave everything to me. If it is necessary, I will call you.’
‘I rely on you, doctor.’ She patted his arm. This terrible old woman was good at arm patting. ‘I will be available if you need me.’
As she turned to mount the stairs, I moved quickly back into my living room and shut the door. Then I went out onto the balcony.
The police arrived in two cars within ten minutes.
They were followed by an ambulance.
Dr. Weissman had certainly got action.
I watched two plainclothes detectives and a uniformed sergeant mount the steps.
I went to the living room door and opened it a crack.
Mrs. Harriet was standing where I had been standing, watching in the darkness, her old arms resting on the banister rail.
I heard voices. Dr.’s fruity voice was predominant, but I couldn’t hear what he was saying.
The whole charade was over in less than twenty minutes.
As I stood, peering through the crack of the door, I wondered how much Mrs. Harriet was going to pay Dr. Weissman.
My immediate impression of him was that he was a man who could be bought, always providing the sum was big enough.
I watched Mrs. Harriet leave the banister rail and walk slowly down the stairs. I moved out of my living room and took her place.
Below were the two detectives. The Sergeant stood by the door. Dt. Weissman dominated the scene.
Mrs. Harriet reached the bottom of the stairs.
‘I’m sorry, Madame, to have to ask you questions at this time,’ one of the detectives said.
‘Of course, of course.’ Mrs. Harriet dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief. ‘You must understand that my son knows nothing about this. He mustn’t be disturbed. He is in shock as Dr. Weissman will tell you.’
‘That’s okay, Madame,’ the detective said and moved towards the living room door. Harriet followed him with Dr. Weissman.
Two ambulance men entered. They whisked Loretta’s body onto a stretcher, covered it with a sheet and carried it out.
The other detective talked softly to Mazzo who kept shrugging his ape-like shoulders.
I returned to the living room and sat down. I sat there, holding my head in my hands, too sick even to think.
The slamming of car doors, the sound of engines being revved up brought me upright. I went onto the balcony to see the police cars, following the ambulance, drive away.
As simple and as easy as that! The power of money!
I returned to the living room as my door opened and Mrs. Harriet came in. She shut the door and stood looking at me.
‘Dear Jerry, it has all been arranged. You are not needed.’ A tiny smile of triumph moved on her old lips. ‘Go to bed. Take a sleeping pill, and remember, for poor Etta, it is a merciful release.’ As she turned to the door, she paused, ‘You will not have to attend the inquest, Jerry. Dr. Weissman will arrange everything: such a dear, helpful man. You will, of course, have to attend the cremation, but no one will worry you. Good night.’
She waved her fingers at me and left.
The next six days dragged by like six years.
Mazzo brought my meals. He said nothing and I had nothing to say to him. I spent hours on the balcony, reading paperbacks. In the evenings, I watched TV I slept with the aid of pills. I tried to comfort myself that I was Ferguson’s hired man at one hundred thousand dollars a year.
But there were too many times when I thought of that scream and that thud; when I thought of Loretta’s despairing eyes and remembered what she had said:
On the sixth morning, Mazzo, while serving breakfast, said, ‘It’s all fixed. The inquest went like a dream. Get with the mask. They’re burning her this morning at eleven.’
I wanted to smash my fist into his ape-like face. I wanted to yell at him: You killed her! I got up and went into the bedroom.
‘Something wrong?’ he asked, following me.
‘I don’t want anything. Get out!’
‘I tell you: no problems,’ Mazzo said with grin. ‘Get with the mask and wear the mohair.’
Mrs. Harriet, her poodle and I were the only mourners. We drove to the crematorium in the Rolls.
There was a car in front and two behind.
The news had leaked, and the press were at the gates of the crematorium: the jackals, the camera men, the TV crews, the lights and the gaping crowd. The guards spilled out from the three cars. They let the Rolls through, then shut off the surge of the jackals.
There was an aged priest, his lined face set in professional sadness. He seemed in awe of Mrs. Harriet and spoke mumbling words of sympathy. He lingered over the service as if anxious to give value for money.
When the coffin began to roll into the furnace, I sank onto my knees. I hadn’t said a prayer since I was a kid, but I said a prayer for Loretta.
The poodle began yapping.
As I tried to find words for Loretta, I heard Mrs. Harriet say to the poodle, ‘Hush, darling. Show respect.’
* * *
The next two days dragged by.
I ate, sat on the balcony, read and waited.
On the third morning while I was sitting on the balcony after breakfast, I saw the Rolls drive up.
Jonas appeared with luggage which he put in the boot, then Mrs. Harriet appeared, carrying the poodle. She paused to talk to Jonas who bowed, then she got into the car and was driven away.
Was I thankful to see her go!
Mazzo came silently into the room.
‘You go to the office this morning,’ he said, ‘Get with the mask.’
He drove me in the Jaguar to the front entrance of the office where the guards got me through the waiting press. There were the usual plaintive cries and flashlights.
We went up in the elevator and Mazzo led me to Ferguson ‘s office where I found Joe Durant behind the big
