She sat in silence for a while, her gaze turned inward on the unburied past. 'End it how?' she said finally.
'Tell me what actually happened, and why.'
'I have been.'
'Not really, Mrs. Chantry. You've left out some of the most important things. Who the man in the brown suit was, and why he came here. The fact that he came here twice, and when he came here the second time-the time that he was killed-he had a woman and a small boy with him. The fact that you told Rico the man had a stroke and died more or less by accident.'
She sat and absorbed this, too, like someone undergoing a rapid aging process. She didn't try to evade it or push it away. In a sense, it appeared to be what she had been waiting for.
'So Rico did a lot of talking,' she said.
'All he had time for. You picked a lousy co-conspirator.'
'I didn't pick him. He simply happened to be here.' She looked me over carefully, as if perhaps I might be used to take Rico's place in her life. 'I had no choice.'
'People always have some kind of choice.'
She hung her pretty head and brushed it with her hand in a desolate twisting gesture. 'That's easy to say. Not so easy to act on.'
'You have a choice to make now,' I said. 'You can cooperate with me-'
'I thought I had been.'
'Some. But you're holding back. You can help me to sort out this case. And if you do, I'll make it as easy for you as I can.'
'Don't do me any favors.' But she was studying my face for the exact meaning of what I had said.
'You wouldn't be well advised,' I said, 'to go on trying to cover up for your husband. You could end up with your own share of a murder rap.'
'It wasn't a murder. It was an accident. The man was in poor shape. My husband may have struck or pushed him. He had no intention of killing him.'
'How do you know?'
'He told me. He wasn't lying.'
'Did he tell you who the man was?'
'Yes.'
'What was his name?'
She shook her head in a quick distracted movement. 'I don't remember. He was simply a man my husband had known in the army. The man had been wounded in the Pacific, and spent some years in a veterans' hospital. When they finally released him, he came here to see my husband. Apparently he'd heard of Richards' success as a painter and came here to bask in reflected glory.'
'Who were the woman and the little boy?'
'They were the man's wife and son. The second time he came, he brought them to meet my husband.'
'Were they aware that your husband killed the man?'
'I don't know. I'm not even certain that that's what happened.'
'But you assumed it.'
'Yes. I had to. I kept waiting to hear from the woman. I hardly slept for weeks. But I never did hear from her. Sometimes I wonder if I imagined the whole thing.'
'The bones Rico dug up aren't imaginary.'
'I know that. I meant the woman and the little boy.'
'What happened to them?'
'They simply went away-I don't know where. And I went on with my life as best I could.'
There was self-pity in her voice, but she was watching me in cold surmise. The contours of her body appeared to be aware of me, more in resignation than anything else.
Below the house, the sea thumped and fumbled and slid like a dead man trying clumsily to climb back into life. I shivered. She touched my knee with her tapered fingers.
'Are you cold?'
'I suppose I am.'
'I suppose I could turn on the heat.' The smile that went with the offer lent it a double meaning, but it was forced.
'I won't be staying, Mrs. Chantry.'
'I'll be all alone here.'
She uttered a mock sigh, which ended on a note of genuine desolation. She seemed to be realizing how completely alone she was.
'You'll be having visitors before long.'
Her hands came together and clenched. 'You mean the police, don't you?'
'You can probably expect Mackendrick in the morning, if not before.'
'I thought you were going to help me,' she said in a small voice.
'I will if you let me. You haven't told me enough. And some of the things you've told me aren't true.'
She gave me an angry look, but it was calculated and controlled. 'I haven't been lying.'
'Maybe not consciously. When you live a phony life for twenty-five years, it's possible to get a bit out of touch.'
'Are you telling me I'm out of my mind?'
'More likely you're simply lying, to yourself as well as me.'
'What did I say that wasn't true?'
'You said the dead man was an old army friend of your husband's. I happen to know that Chantry was never in the army. That one discrepancy casts doubt on your whole story.'
She flushed and bit her lower lip and looked at me like a thief. 'I was just talking loosely. I meant that the dead man had been in the army at the time they met. But of course Richard wasn't.'
'Do you want to make some other corrections in your account?'
'If you'll tell me where I went wrong.'
A spurt of anger went through me. 'It isn't so funny, Mrs. Chantry. Several people have been killed. Others are in danger.'
'Not from me. I've never injured anyone in my life.'
'You've stood by and let it happen.'
'Not by choice.' She tried to project a look of candor, which failed to come off. 'I don't know what happened between Richard and the dead man. I have no idea what their relationship actually was.'
'I've been told your husband was bisexual.'
'Really? This is the first I've heard of ft.'
'Are you telling me he wasn't?'
'The question never came up. Why is it so important to you?'
'It may be an essential part of the case.'
'I doubt it. Richard wasn't a very sexual man at all. He was more excited by his work than he ever was by me.'
She made a doleful mouth and looked at me to measure its effect. For some reason, it made me angrier. I had had enough of the woman and her lies, enough of her truth as well. While I sat trading words with her, a woman I cared about was lost in the dangerous night.
'Do you know where Betty Siddon is?'
She shook her silver head. 'I'm afraid I don't. Has something happened to Betty Jo?'
'She went looking for Mildred Mead and got lost herself. Do you know where I can find Mildred Mead?'
'No. I don't. She phoned me a few months ago, when she'd just come to town. But I didn't want to see her. I didn't want to stir up all the old memories.'
'Then you should never have dug up those bones,' I said.
She swore at me violently, damning me to hell. But the wish rebounded, almost as if she'd meant it for herself in the first place. A gray look of self-loathing dropped like a veil across her face. She covered it with her hands.
'Why did you dig them up?' I said.
She was silent for a while. Then she said behind her hands, 'I simply panicked.'
'Why?'
'I was afraid the place would be searched, and I would be blamed for the man's death.'
She was watching me between her fingers, like a woman behind bars.
'Did somebody threaten you with exposure?'
She didn't answer. I took this to mean yes. 'Who was it, Mrs. Chantry?'
'I'm not sure. She didn't come here. She phoned me last night and threatened to go to the police with what she knew. I think it was the woman who came here with the little boy the day the man was killed.'
'What did she want from you?'
'Money.' She dropped her hands: her mouth was twisted and her eyes were hard.
'How much?'
'She didn't specify. A large amount, I gather.'
'When does she want it?'
'Tomorrow. She said she'd call me again tomorrow, and meanwhile I should raise all the money I could.'
'Do you plan to do that?'
'I had planned to. But there's no point in it now, is there? Unless you and I can come to some arrangement.'
She thrust her hands into her hair and held her head between them, chin high, like a work of art that she was offering for lease or outright sale.
I said, 'I'll do what I can. But you can't keep Mackendrick out of this. If you can help him to close the case, he'll be grateful. I think you should get in touch with him right away.'
'No. I need time to think. Will you give me until morning?'
'I will on one condition. Don't do anything rash.'
'Like run away, you mean?'
'Like kill yourself.'
