open as he spoke his mind but when he finished he knew she was not convinced that she had made a mistake.
'He wasn't that way with me,' she said. 'He admitted he had done some awful things, but he had changed— Men do change,' she said defensively. 'Women can help them. And anyway you don't love a man for what he was, but what he is.'
'And you loved him?'
'Yes. I—' She hesitated and her lips trembled. She stilled them with an obvious effort and her chin came up. 'I was willing to ran away, wasn't I? I'm not a complete fool. Who can say in advance that a marriage will work out? I wanted to go with him. I wanted another chance, a new start.'
She stood up abruptly, her lips compressed and her eyes
bleak. 'If Luis killed him-' She left the thought unfinished but the implication had an ugly sound. 'He did, didn't he?'
'I don't know/ 3 Jeff said. 'They haven't even finished the autopsy?*
'He wanted to kill Arnold/' she said, as though she had not heard. 'He would have done anything to stop him, not because he loved me, but because of that fanatical pride of his.'
'But why should he kill Harry Baker?' Jeff said. 'He didn't need the money, did he?'
'Need it?' she said, her voice harsh and metallic-sounding. 'Of course not. But if he took the money, Arnold wouldn't dare go home. Don't you understand?'
Her look challenged him as the bitterness built inside her. 'Luis knew about the money and why Arnold needed it. He knew a man was coming from Las Vegas to collect. He knew if Arnold couldn't pay he'd probably be killed. I think that's what Luis hoped would happen. Without that money to deliver Arnold would have to run, or hide. He was afraid. He had to pay, and unless he did he could not go back and neither could L 7>
She stopped, out of breath now, the prettiness twisted from her face. Til find out,' she said. 'Don't worry about that.'
Jeff watched her Jerk open the door, a little aghast at the fury of her words. He wanted to tell her to take it easy. He wanted to suggest that she tell the police what she knew. But before he could find the proper words, the door slammed and he was alone. Then, seeing again the riding crop and moving toward it, he was stopped by the jangle of die telephone.
'The autopsy has been completed,' Cordovez announced in his quiet way. 'Your stepbrother did not die as a result of the beating.'
'Then what did kill him?'
'Asphyxia is the term the doctor used,'
Jeff mouthed the word silently as he tried to define it. He understood that this would apply to a man who had inhaled gas. Would it also apply if a man had been strangled?
His thoughts hung there as his mind snapped back and he recalled the jacket that had been lung on the floor not far from Arnold Grayson's head as he lay dead on the office floor. Earlier, when Jeff had knocked him down, the coat had been draped over the back of a chair.
'You are still there?' Cordovez asked.
'I'm listening,' Jeff said.
'There is one more detail.'
Tfes.'
'The nails of the first and second finger of the right hand were discolored. Scrapings taken from them were examined. These revealed blood and tissue and hair.'
'Hair?' Jeff said. 'Like from your head?'
'Much more tiny, and of a finer diameter. Such as might come from the back of a man's hand—or his wrist.'
Jeff's mind considered this; then moved on, 'See if you can find out about one more thing.'
'I will try.'
'There was a jacket on the floor by the body,' Jeff said. 'See if you can find out if there were any bloodstains on it'
'Very well,' Cordovez replied. 'And you will remain there until I come?'
'Ill be here '
Cordovez said that would be a good idea. He said he did not know how long he would be, but when he came he would bring sandwiches and beer.
KAREN HOLMES took Jeffs advice when she got back to the hotel shortly before noon. She felt hot and tired and discouraged and the swimming pool looked so inviting when she glanced down at it from her window that she peeled off her clothes and pulled on her suit. Taking her cap, a straw bag, and her key, she went down the back way, using the stairs.
Only a half-dozen of the web-seated aluminum chairs were in use, and when she'd been given two towels by the attendant, she selected a chaise which had been left adjusted in a flat position and deposited her things.
With the edges of her hair tucked up under her white cap, she dived from one side of the pool, stretching out the dive as long as she could and finding the water pleasantly refreshing after the first cool shock. She paddled about for five minutes and then stretched out on the chaise, face down. She reversed her position twenty minutes later when the hot sun began to spread its heat on her skin.
When she had taken her second dip and sat toweling herself she decided not to bother dressing for lunch, so she walked over to one of the round tables at the far end and caught the eye of one of the waitresses. She ordered a salad and iced tea, turning her back to the pool as she ate so she could look out over the distant rooftops of the city.
It was less easy to control her thoughts. She kept thinking of Jeff Lane and his trouble and her own part in the chain of events that had started in Boston. She was
ONE MINUTE PAST EIGHT
ashamed of what she had been forced to do in Miami, but her cheeks still tingled when she remembered his kiss and the way he had looked at her. She did not believe he could have done this if he had not forgiven her and this pleased her greatly because she realized now how much his approval meant to her. She wanted so much to help him, and because she did not know how, she went back to her room, struggled out of the damp suit, and put on her robe.
She stretched out on the bed, intending only to rest a bit, but she made the mistake of closing her eyes and once her thoughts began to drift she was asleep. It was after three when she awoke and now, realizing what had happened, she twisted off the bed, annoyed with herself for wasting this time.
Although she had no particular place to go, she showered hurriedly and then dressed, selecting a checked skirt, a tailored blouse, and the white blazer. When she had inventoried her bag and her wallet, she went downstairs and took the first taxi in the line, telling the driver to take her to the avenida Urdaneta. She had no particular destination in mind, but she had seen the modern shops along the street near the old center of the city, and it was her intention to do some shopping once she was in the right neighborhood.
The corner she selected held no special significance as she stepped out of the cab and paid the driver; but as she stood waiting for the light to change, it seemed familiar. When she glanced up at the street sign she knew why. For this was the cross street where Arnold Grayson had his office. If she turned right, here, and walked two blocks, she would come to it, and now, moved by some unaccountable impulse, she found herself making the turn and starting up the sloping street.
She was thinking now and took no notice of die pedestrians she passed. She still had no purpose but seemed moved
by some fascination that drew her back to the scene of the crime. She had made the same trip the previous afternoon, riding, that time, and taking with her the hope that she might get the stock assignment she had been sent here for.
That was al over now. A man was dead—two men—and Jeff was hiding. So far she had been unable to help him. She saw no hope of helping now, but still she continued on until she passed the open door of the Daily Bulletin. Up ahead was the gray masonry building she knew so well, but suddenly, her thoughts Eying off on some illogical tangent, she found herself wondering about Dan Spencer.
She did not know why, but having once made the reporter the center of her attention, her mind went on and things began to happen. Her footsteps slowed. She stopped and glanced back over her shoulder. Because of the
