‘There’s no need to faint about that, and stop crying. You don’t have to cry because you’ve damaged my car.’
She turned on her side and looked up at me. I was startled to see how white she was. There was a scraped bony look about her face that made her eyes look enormous.
‘I didn’t mean to do it,’ she said, the words coming so fast it was difficult for me to follow what she was saying. He came up beside me and shouted at me. I didn’t know he was behind me. I lost control of the car. There was an awful bang. There’s a big scratch right along the door and the fender’s dented.’
Suddenly I felt an icy chill start up my spine.
‘What are you trying to tell me? Have you hit someone?’
She looked away from me and stared up at the ceiling. Her hands turned into fists.
‘It wasn’t my fault. I swear it wasn’t. He came up from behind and shouted at me. I didn’t even know he was there until he started shouting.’
‘Who? Who shouted at you?’
‘This policeman. He was on a motor-cycle. He came up beside me and shouted…’
I put down the glass of brandy and went over to the divan and sat beside her.
‘You don’t have to be frightened. Just tell me what happened.’
She began to beat her clenched fists together.
‘I swerved when he started shouting. The side of the car hit him…’ She broke off and began to cry again.
I put my hands on my knees and squeezed until my knuckles turned white.
‘Crying won’t help,’ I said sharply. ‘What happened when you hit him?’
She drew in a long, shuddering breath.
‘I don’t know. I just kept on. I didn’t look.’
I sat for a long moment, motionless, aware that my heart was beating heavily and sluggishly. Then I said: ‘You mean you didn’t stop?’
‘No. I was frightened. I drove straight here.’
‘Was he hurt?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Just where did this happen?’
‘On the road leading from the beach.’
‘You didn’t hear him shout after you?’
‘No. There was this awful bang against the side of the car, and that was all. I drove straight here. I’ve been waiting for you for more than half an hour.’
‘Were you driving fast?’
‘Yes.’
For a long moment I sat staring at her, then I got up.
‘I’ll be back in a moment. I want to look at the car.’
I got up and crossed the room to my desk. I took from one of the drawers a powerful flashlight. As I went out of the room, I heard her give a little sighing moan, and that chilled my blood as nothing else had done so far.
I walked down the path to the car. In the light of the moon I could see at once that the on-side front fender had been damaged. When I turned on the flashlight I was able to see just how extensive the damage was.
The front headlamp was smashed and the fender buckled. There was a deep dent in the door panel and a long scar had been ripped into the paintwork. It ran in a jagged line the length of the door.
These details I took in with one brief glance. Then I moved around the car. There was a bright red stain that glistened in the light of my torch on the off-side fender of the rear wheel. The white ring around the off-side tyre was also sticky with the stuff. It didn’t take me more than a second or so to accept the fact that this was blood and I stared at it, feeling cold and sick.
It looked as if she had side-swiped the motor-cycle, knocked the driver off, and had run over him with the rear wheel. And she hadn’t stopped!
I turned off the flashlight and stepped back. The sweat on my face felt clammy and cold in the hot night air. He was probably in the road bleeding to death at this moment.
I went quickly back to the lounge.
She was still lying on her back, staring up at the ceiling, her fists clenched and her breath coming
in quick, uneven gasps. She looked pretty bad.
I picked up the glass of brandy and went over to her.
‘Here, drink some of this,’ I said. ‘Come on: it’s no use crying.’
I lifted her head and made her drink a little. Then she pushed the glass away with a shudder.
‘I’m going to see what has happened,’ I said. ‘Wait here. I’ll be as quick as I can.’
She nodded, not looking at me.
I looked at the clock on the overmantel. The time was twenty minutes to eleven.
‘Just wait here. I shouldn’t be long.’
Again she nodded.
I left her and went down to the Cadillac. I paused and looked at the broken headlamp and the bent fender. I realized I would be crazy to take the car out on the road in this condition. If someone spotted the damage they might put two and two together when the news broke in the morning’s papers as I knew it must break.
And yet I had to have a car and have it fast. Then I remembered that Seaborne who owned the house farther down the road kept a car in his garage for his vacation. I had been to his place off and on, and I knew he kept the key of the garage on a ledge above the garage doors. I decided to use his car.
I got in the Cadillac and drove fast down the road to the house. Leaving the Cadillac outside, I went to the garage, found the key and opened the double doors.
Seaborne’s car was a battered 1950 Pontiac: a car he carted his six children around in when he came down here. I drove the Pontiac out on to the road, left it with its engine ticking over, then I got into the Cadillac and backed it into the garage, shut and locked the doors. I dropped the key into my pocket.
I got into the Pontiac and drove fast to the highway. It took me ten minutes to reach the beach road.
I approached the intersection cautiously. There were about six cars parked along the grass verge, their dipped headlamps making puddles of light along the road. A bunch of men and women were standing together looking towards the head of the beach road. Blocking the entrance to the road were two speed cops, standing beside their parked motor-cycles.
With my heart slamming against my ribs, I pulled up behind | the last of the parked cars and got out.
There was a fat man with a Panama hat resting on the back of his head standing alone by his car, his hands in his trouser pockets, staring at the speed cops.
I walked over to him.
‘What goes on?’ I said, trying to make my voice sound casual. ‘What’s the trouble?’
He turned to look at me. It was dark, and the lights from the headlights of the cars reflected downwards. He could see my legs and feet, but there wasn’t much else of me he could see to recognize later.
‘An accident,’ he said. ‘A cop got himself killed. I’ve always said these cops ask for trouble the way they get in front of you. Well, this one pulled that stunt once too often.’
I felt cold sweat break out on my face.
‘Killed?’
‘Yeah: a hit-and-run job. Can’t say I blame the guy who did it. If I was unlucky enough to kill a cop, and there were no witnesses, damned if I would stick around and apologize. If they catch him, they’ll crucify him. I’ve always said the cops in this town are no better than the Nazis were.’
‘Killed him, did you say?’ I scarcely recognized my voice.
‘That’s right: ran over his head. He must have hit the side of the car, and then the poor devil must have fallen under the rear wheel.’ He pointed to a tall, thin man who was talking busily to the crowd. ‘That’s the fella who found him: the one in the grey suit. He told me. He said the poor guy’s face was like a sponge of blood.’
Suddenly one of the speed cops came stalking across the road.
‘Hey, you bunch of vultures!’ he bawled, his voice violent and tough. ‘I’ve had about enough of you. Get out
