“It won’t do, Netta,” I said, putting my hand on her knee.
We’ll start from the beginning. Never mind about the little guy.
Forget him for the moment. Start right from the beginning.”
She clenched her fists, not looking up.
“I can’t go through all that. I can’t.”
“You’ve got to. Come on, Netta. If I’m to help you, I must know
how bad it is. Right from the beginning.”
“No!” She sprang to her feet, upsetting the glass she had balanced
on the divan. “Let me go! I can’t stay here with him in there. You’ve
got to get me away.”
I grabbed her wrists, shook her, dragged her down beside me on
the bed.
“Shut up!” I said fiercely. “You’re not moving out of here until
you’ve talked. Do you know what you’re asking me to do? You’re
asking me to stick my neck in a noose.”
She gasped, tried to break away, but I held her close.
“I won’t do that for anyone, Netta. Not unless I’m sure whoever it
is is worth it and deserves it. That goes for you, so if you want my
help, sit still and talk, and talk fast.”
She went limp against me, her breath coming in shuddering gasps.
“Listen, Netta,” I went on, “that little guy was working for me.
Maybe you didn’t mean to kill him, but you killed him just the same,
and nothing either of us can do can bring him back to life again. I liked
him, and I feel bad about it. He had a lot of guts. If it’d been anyone
else but you I’d be calling the police right now. But I haven’t forgotten
what you did for me in the past. I owe you plenty, but I’m not helping
you until you talk. Now relax and tell me. Tell me everything from the
beginning.”
She beat her hands together. “But what do you want to know?”
she gasped. “Can’t you see, Steve, the longer we stay here the worse
it’ll be? They’ll find us . . . find me.”
“Who was the girl in your flat . . . the one who died?” I asked,
deciding questions were more direct, would get me quicker results.
She shuddered. “Anne . . . my sister.”
“Who was the guy with her?”
She looked up. “How did you know . . . ?”
I took hold of her chin between finger and thumb, looked into her
eves. She didn’t flinch.
“Quit stalling,” I said. “Answer my questions. Who was the guy
with her.”
“Peter French.”
“What was he to her?”
“Her lover.”
“And to you?”
“Nothing.”
“Sure?”
“Yes.”
“He killed her, didn’t he?”
Her face went paler, her teeth chewed her lower lip, but she said
it, “Yes.”
I drew back, wiped my face with the back of my hand.
“Why?”
“She found out he killed George Jacobi.”
“How?”
She shook her head. “She never had the chance to tel me.”
“French and you were seen around together. How did that come
about?”
“He was trying to find Anne. He thought if he kept near me I’d
lead him to her.”
“Where was she?”
“Hiding. She found out he and Jacobi were behind the Allenby
robbery, and then later that French had killed Jacobi. She was scared,
so she hid.”
“And French found her?”
She nodded. “He found her in a night club. She was drunk. Anne
was always getting drunk. French knew that, and he was afraid she’d
talk. He brought her to me.”
Why?
She twisted her hands in her lap. “He wanted to talk to her, to
find out how much she knew. The night club was close and there
wasn’t much time.”
“When did they arrive?”
“About one. I was asleep. I let them in. I could see Anne was
terrified, although she was very drunk. She managed to whisper to me
that French was going to kill her, and I wasn’t to let her out of my
sight.” Netta hid her face. “I can hear her voice now.”
I poured out another shot of whisky, fed it down her throat.
“Keep going,” I said. “Then what happened?”
“I didn’t know what to do. I wanted to get dressed, but Anne
wouldn’t let me leave her alone with French, and he wouldn’t let her
go into my room. I stal ed for time, and brought out drinks. He spiked
our drinks. I went out like a light. I hadn’t a chance to warn Anne. It
worked so quickly. I heard Anne scream, and then I knew nothing
more.”
“Then he murdered her?” I asked quietly.
She nodded dully, struggled with her tears. “I’m so frightened.
He’ll do the same to me!”
“Take it easy. What happened then? Come on, Netta, I want the
whole story. What happened then?”
“I have a confused recollection of getting into my clothes, being
half carried down the stairs. Ju Cole was on the landing. French spoke
to him, but I was too doped to hear what was said. French pushed me
out of the house. The night air pulled me together, and I started to
struggle.” She closed her eyes. “He hit me, and the next thing I
remember was being in his car. I struggled up, and he hit me again. I
came to later in a room. There was a woman watching me : Mrs.
Brambee. French came in after a while. He warned me he’d kill me if I
didn’t stay there and do what I was told.”
“Ever hear of Mrs. Brambee before?”
