I went into the bedroom, undressed, took a shower and put on my pyjamas. Then I went back to the lounge and mixed myself a stiff whisky and soda. I sat down by the telephone and lit a cigarette. When I had finished my drink and had stubbed out my cigarette I looked at my watch.
The time was now twenty minutes to two a.m. My mind went out into space to Santa Barba to the sordid little bungalow on East Shore. Rima and Vasari would be preparing for bed: maybe they would be in bed already.
I now had to go ahead with the second move in this plan of mine. I took up my pocket diary, lying on the table, checked the telephone number of the bungalow, then called ‘Long Distance.’ When the operator came on the line, I gave her the number. I said I would hold on.
I sat motionless, staring up-at the ceiling, listening to the humming and the ghost voices that came to me over the open line. Then suddenly I heard the steady burr-burr-burr that told me the telephone bell was ringing.
It rang for some time, then there was a click and Rima’s voice said angrily, ‘East 6684. Who is it?’
I felt my heart contract at the sound of her voice.
Making my voice hard and rough, I said, ‘Is Ed there?’
‘Who’s calling?’
The connection was so good I could hear her quick, uneven breathing.
‘A pal of his. Never mind who it is. I want to talk to him.’
‘You don’t talk to him unless you tell me who you are,’ she said, and I caught the note of uneasiness in her voice.
Then there was the sound of a sudden commotion.
I heard Rima say, ‘Don’t be a fool, Ed!’
‘Shut up!’ I heard Vasari say. ‘I’ll handle this!’
Then his voice barked in my ear: ‘Who is it?’
‘Just a pal,’ I said, speaking slowly and distinctly. ‘You’d better beat it, Ed, and pronto. The cops spotted you this morning. By now they know where you are. They are waiting to get a warrant, then they’re coming for you…’
I heard his quick intake of breath, and as he began to speak I hung up.
I sat there, my hand on the telephone receiver, staring across the room. For what it was worth, the stage was now set. Within six hours Wilbur would be opening my letter. He might or might not grab the first train to Santa Barba. If he did, I was pretty sure he would murder Rima, but in the meantime, Vasari might or might not go on the run. If he did, there was just that chance that Rima would go with him, so if Wilbur arrived he would find the bungalow deserted. On the other hand, Vasari might leave Rima, and Wilbur would find her. And yet again Vasari might not be stampeded and remain with Rima, in which case Wilbur would come up against some opposition. As a murder plan it was cock-eyed, but as a problem it did offer a number of solutions. So many it was like the toss of a coin.
At least it was now out of my hands. I had set the stage and I would have to abide by the results.
I turned off the light and went into the bedroom. The empty bed alongside mine made me think of Sarita.
I wanted to pray for her, but the words wouldn’t come.
I got into bed, but I didn’t turn off the light. Darkness has a way of sharpening one’s conscience.
CHAPTER SEVEN
I
Soon after six o’clock the next morning I drove down to the site of the bridge.
Already men were working and I had a brief word with the foreman. Jack had made tremendous progress since I had been away. The ground had been cleared either side of the river. A number of piles had already been sunk.
I prowled around, watching the men work for ten minutes or so, then I saw Jack’s black and white Thunderbird coming fast down the hill. He pulled up near me, got out of the car and came over, his good-natured face split in a wide grin of welcome.
‘Hi, Jeff! Good to see you. All fixed up?’
I shook his hand.
‘Yes, all fixed up, and I have a surprise for you. I can get all the steel we want at two per cent under the best estimate we’ve already had.’
He stared at me.
‘Do you mean you’ve been working while you’ve been away? I thought you had gone on some private business.’
‘I’m always working,’ I said. ‘How do you like it, Jack? We make a saving of twenty five thousand.’
‘I like it fine! Tell me about it.’
We talked business for the next twenty minutes, then he said, ‘We’d better talk to our contractors, Jeff. This is good news. Look, I have a couple of jobs here to do, then I’ll be back at the office. See you then.’
He walked over to my car with me.
‘And Sarita?’ he asked.
‘The news is good,’ I said. ‘I’m seeing Zimmerman tomorrow morning.’
I told him about Zimmerman wanting to perform a second operation.
He listened sympathetically, but I could see the bridge was foremost in his mind, and I understood.
‘That’s fine, Jeff,’ he said. ‘Well, I guess…’
‘Sure,’ I said. ‘I’ll get over to the office. How is Weston shaping?’
‘He’s okay, but you’re back in time, Jeff. He wants help, and I haven’t time to give it to him.’
‘I’ll take care of him.’
‘Fine. Okay, see you around eleven,’ and he went off, shouting to the foreman to come on over.
As I drove back to the office I looked at the clock on the dashboard. The time was seven forty five a.m. In another quarter of an hour Wilbur would get my letter. What would he do? I was aware that there was sudden sweat on my hands.
I parked the car, went up to the office where I found Ted Weston and Clara already at work.
They greeted me and then Clara gave me a pile of letters and documents, estimates and files.
I sat down and started in to work.
It wasn’t until ten o’clock as I paused to light a cigarette that I suddenly remembered Wilbur. There was a train to Santa Barba at ten minutes past ten. Had he taken it? I had a sudden urge to find out.
I had already made a number of notes for Jack, and I pinned them together, then tossed them onto Weston’s desk.
‘Be a pal and take those down to Jack,’ I said. ‘He’ll want them. I’ll hold down this end.’
‘Why, sure, Mr. Halliday.’
I looked at him.
He was a nice-looking kid, eager and right on the ball. The kind of youngster I wish I had been. I watched him pick up the notes and hurry out of the office. I watched him enviously. I wished I had been like him. With any luck at all, he wouldn’t get a lump of red hot shrapnel in his face and spend months in a plastic surgery ward, listening to the groans and screams of those patients who just hadn’t what it takes to accept a new face. He wouldn’t tangle with a silver-headed, golden-voiced junky who could kill a man without blinking an eyelid. He wouldn’t live under the threat of blackmail nor would he plan a murder… one of the lucky ones, and I envied him.
