Chapter III: Part 3

_She knows that I was going to see Adler_, he thought. _She’s wondering if I killed him and how can I tell her I didn’t?_

“Stabbed?” she said in a tone that matched the look on her face. “How awful.”

She looked at the two men on the divan. She looked back at Hayden. The paleness was still in her cheeks but her eyes had narrowed slightly and were no longer unguarded. She frowned, and he knew this was deliberate. He was grateful for the intelligence and resiliency that enabled her to regain her composure and her wits so quickly. Her voice sounded just right when she continued.

“But I don’t understand,” she said. “Surely”--she looked at Garvey and then at Ball--“you don’t think we know anything about it.”

“We’re just checking now, Mrs. Hayden,” Ball said. “We know he arrived in town yesterday afternoon and we know he asked some questions about your husband.” He went on to repeat the information he had given to Hayden. He took time to let her digest what he had said before he continued. “What about you, Mrs. Hayden?”

“Me?”

“Did you know Adler?” He hesitated and when she did not reply he said: “Doesn’t it seem a little odd that this man should come into town and ask where the Haydens live and then not bother to look them up?”

He apparently expected no answer and Garvey took over. “In cases like these we sometimes get a break,” he said. “Like tonight for instance. In trying to get a line on Adler and find out what he was doing here we talked to a lot of people. We spent some time at Jerry’s Tavern and there was a fellow at the bar who overheard what we were saying to Jerry and the waitress.”

“His name is James,” Ball said. “He runs a television repair shop and he had to make a call on your road this afternoon. As a matter of fact it was at the Lamsons’.” He took time to direct his steady gaze at Marion and then at Hayden.

That gave Hayden time enough to brace himself because he knew what was coming. He did not know the details but he knew that the Lamsons lived no more than sixty or seventy yards down the road and he understood that Ball would not take this line of questioning unless he already knew enough to prove his point, whatever it was. There was nothing to do but sit there and wait for the detective to continue and presently he did.

“This fellow James asked about Adler. He wanted to know what he looked like and what kind of a car he drove. The reason for his curiosity was that when he had finished his service call and was putting the ladder on his truck he noticed this sedan with the New York license plates.”

He paused, as though waiting for some reaction before he said: “Before he drove off he noticed this man come out of your house and get into the car. He described the man and the description fitted Adler. We took him over and let him look at the body. He says that’s the man he saw this afternoon.”

Again Hayden could only wait and hope. Because he was afraid to watch his wife’s face he reached for another cigarette and fumbled with the light. He wanted desperately to help her, but as he tried to think of something to say she proved she needed no help.

“Oh--is that the man you’re talking about?” she said with just the right emphasis. “Yes. He was here this afternoon.”

Garvey said: “Ahh--”

Ball said: “What did he want?”

“He was a book salesman.”

The reply seemed to stop them for a second. They took time to peer at her before they exchanged quick glances.

“What kind of books, Mrs. Hayden?” Ball asked.

“Some children’s encyclopedia.”

“He just happened to stop here?”

“Not exactly. He said a friend--he wouldn’t give any name--told him we might be interested in such a set.”

“Did he show you the set?”

“He was hardly here long enough for that. I told him we weren’t interested.”

“That’s funny,” Garvey said.

“What’s funny?” Hayden said, proud of his wife’s response and hoping to take the pressure off of her.

“Book salesmen usually carry books,” Garvey said. “A lot of them have sample bindings. The idea is that when they hook you for a set they try to sell you the most expensive binding they can. But you didn’t see any books, did you?”

“No.”

“Or any sample bindings?”

“No.”

“There were no books in Adler’s room,” Ball said, making the sentence sound like an accusation. “No samples of any kind. There were no books and no bindings in his car either.... Maybe he showed you some literature about that set of books,” he added, “like some circulars or folders.”

Hayden cut in because he could not keep silent any longer. Marion’s composure had been steadfast and magnificent, but he could see the strain showing in her face and he was not sure how long she could maintain her self-control in the face of such persistent questioning.

“Look, gentlemen,” he said. “It’s late. I’ve told you about my wife’s condition. We’ve tried to co-operate with you--”

“We appreciate that,” Ball said.

“A man named Adler was stabbed to death,” Hayden continued, his words quick and aggressive now. “You seem to think we know something about it. I’ve told you I don’t know the man. You heard what my wife said. It seems to me you might make more progress concentrating on someone who had a motive for murder.”

“If you mean Freeman,” Garvey said, “we intend to. But we also have to find out all we can about Adler and the sooner the better.”

“Bear with us for another minute or two,” Ball said. “A couple of questions and we’ll take a recess until tomorrow. We’re curious about a phone call Adler made.” He paused, as though wanting to be sure they understood him.

“The rooms at The Shady Maple have telephones,” he said, “but calls have to be made through the office. At around eight-fifteen a call came from Adler’s room. He asked Freeman for a number. Freeman wrote it down and dialed. Now, according to him, he makes a point of never listening in on a conversation once the connection is made, so this time he waited just long enough to hear the number answer before he cut out. This call was completed. A woman answered. We checked the number. It’s listed in your name, Mr. Hayden.”

He paused again to give Marion his attention and Hayden was afraid to look at her. For it seemed now that this was the answer to the warm radiator on the station wagon. Adler had phoned her and Marion had apparently gone to see him, and now the truth would come out....

“What did he want, Mrs. Hayden?” Ball continued.

“I don’t know.”

“What?”

“There was no such call.”

“But Freeman--”

“I don’t know Mr. Freeman, but I’m afraid he was mistaken about this number.”

She was looking right at Ball when she answered and her chin was up. At that moment she had command of her emotions and Hayden was both surprised and pleased by her defiance. He also knew that the two officers did not believe her. Their expressions said so. As their glances met, Garvey gave a faint shrug and Ball tried once more.

“You’re sure of this?” he asked.

“Quite sure.”

They stood up and started to button their coats and Garvey said: “You were here all evening, Mrs. Hayden?”

“That’s right.”

“What time did your husband leave?”

“Well”--she frowned to show that she was considering the question--“he had an appointment at eight.”

“With Mr. Denham?”

She hesitated just long enough to give Hayden a quick glance before she said: “Yes. I suppose it was about ten or twelve minutes of eight when he left.”

“And what time did he come back?”

“I’m not quite sure.”

“Oh?”

“You see, I haven’t been feeling too well. I went to bed shortly after John left.”

“You didn’t hear him come in then?”

“I sort of heard him. I mean I was about half asleep and half awake when I heard his car come into the garage. I didn’t turn on the light then or look at the clock.”

She stood as she finished and straightened the robe. She gave them a polite nod and said she hoped they would excuse her. When she turned away, Hayden started for the front door and the two officers followed. As they stepped out into the night they thanked him again for his co-operation. They said they would be in touch with him tomorrow and it was possible that the State’s Attorney might want to question him and his wife again.

_8_

By the time John Hayden came back to the living room the hall door was closed and he thought Marion had gone to bed, but when he stepped from the kitchen where he had gone to rinse out the beer glass she was waiting for him. He saw, as he stopped in front of her, that the look of composure and aloofness she had maintained for so long had dissolved into one of concern and helplessness. The hazel eyes seemed close to tears as they searched his face, and reaction made her voice unsteady as she put up her arms and said:

“Hold me. Hold me tight, please.”

He drew her swiftly to him, grateful for the chance, his palms hard against the small of her back as her arms encircled his neck. He could feel the softness of her body, the full length of it. He could feel her tremble before she relaxed, and the fragrance of her hair was in the back of his throat as her head snuggled against his jaw. She kept it there and spoke against the side of his neck.

“Remember before you left when I told you not to touch me?”

“Yes.”

“I couldn’t help it. I love you, darling. I know I’m being unreasonable, but if Ted is alive--oh, I don’t know how to explain it--”

“Don’t try.”

“You do understand?”

He was not sure that he did. He knew that it had something to do with this thought in the back of her mind that questioned the legality of their marriage and robbed them of the right to live as husband and wife. He did not agree but he could not argue the point now, because her closeness and the pressure of her body wakened old desires and brought new tensions. He had to swallow before he could speak but he lied convincingly.

“Sure,” he said. “Just don’t worry about it. We’ll work it out.”

The words seemed to comfort her. She uttered a small, muffled sob and caught her breath, and then her arms relaxed and he knew the moment had passed. He let her go and she tried to smile up at him, and he could see the relief in the wet brightness of her eyes.

“All right,” she said and took another deep breath. “We’ve got to talk,” she said and backed into a chair. “Did you go to see him, John?”

“Adler? Yes. He was already dead.”

“Then the police were trying to trap us.”

“Trap us? How do you mean?”

She crossed her knees and seemed unaware that one leg was exposed beneath the dark blue robe. She leaned forward, her look intent.

“But don’t you see? Adler had those two pictures with him. The police would search his room and his clothes and his wallet, wouldn’t they?”

“Sure but--”

“So they couldn’t help but find those pictures. They probably already have them. They’re bound to find out what they mean.”

“How are they?”

“But I’ve already told you. Ted worked for the government. His fingerprints are on file. How long do you think it will take the police to find out that the fingerprints on that picture belong to him?”

Hayden made no immediate answer. He simply looked at her, a little amazed that she could be so emotionally feminine one moment and so practical the next. There was nothing weak and helpless in her attitude now, and it came to him that the only way he could reassure her was to tell her the truth. Reluctantly then, not sure he was doing the right thing, he took the two photographs from his pocket and displayed them.

“Oh,” she said and caught her breath as her eyes snapped open. “You took them.”

“I had to, didn’t I?”

“But he was dead.”

“Certainly he was dead. I walked in and found him and I wanted to get out in a hurry and then I remembered these and knew I had to look. I found them in his wallet.”

“Did--did anyone see you?”

“I don’t think so.”

He slipped the pictures back into his pocket and hoped what he said was true. For he remembered again the woman he had seen so vaguely in the motel quadrangle. She could have seen him, as he saw her. He did not know if she would remember or whether she would be able to describe him. In all that darkness it was even possible that she had not seen him at all. Then, as his mind went on, he knew that there was something else he had to know. He felt certain that she had lied to the two police officers, but it seemed now that it was important to understand to what extent she had lied.

“What about the phone call?” he asked.

“Phone call?”

“Adler did call, didn’t he?”

The lashes dipped to obscure her eyes as she hesitated. She seemed to notice the exposed leg and took time to cover it.

“Yes,” she said finally, and then her head came up and once more she met his gaze head-on. “But they can’t prove it. How can they? This man Freeman can say he dialed this number and I can say he didn’t, or at least that I didn’t hear it. It’s just his word against mine.”

This, he knew, was true but it was not enough for him, not now. Quietly, and with no overtones of censure in his voice, he said: “What did he want, baby?”

The unsettling effect of his question was at once apparent. Again she lowered her glance. She picked a piece of lint off the robe and smoothed out the fabric with her fingertips.

“It’s sort of hard to explain,” she said finally.

“Why?”

“Because I’m not sure I can make you understand.”

“Try.”

“Well, he was one of those men that seemed to think that all he had to do was make a pass at a woman and she would fall into his arms. I told you what he looked like. He was not bad-looking, actually. You could tell he thought he was pretty smooth. He was very glib and self-assured and much too familiar. At least he tried to be.”

“This was this afternoon?”

“Yes. Even when he was telling me what he wanted, when he knew how upset I must be by what he said, he was a little suggestive. He went out of his way to let me know he thought I was something special and men like that are usually hard to discourage.”

She lifted one shoulder in an empty shrug and said: “He called me a few minutes after you had left. He said he wanted to see me. I told him he must be out of his mind. I said you would probably stop and see him later but he said that didn’t matter. He said there was no reason why I couldn’t stop by for a friendly drink. He said he didn’t want to be unreasonable and it would be easier if we could talk things over in a friendly way.”

“What did you say?”

“I hung up on him.”

She paused, watching him now to see if he believed her, and this time he was the one who had to avert his glance. It was a convincing performance, and if he had not been aware of certain facts he might have believed her. As it was, his heart sank and a feeling of hopelessness began to undermine his thoughts. He knew now that she was lying, but some inner impulse he did not understand prevented him from saying so. He dared not accuse her now. He could not tell her that he had felt the radiator of the station wagon.

He believed that Adler had made that call. He believed that she had answered it. The station wagon had been used between the time he left and returned. If she had not gone to see Adler, then where had she gone? If the trip had been an innocent one, why had she not admitted it?

There had been a woman in the darkened quadrangle and that woman could have come from Adler’s room. The smell of perfume in the bathroom testified to the fact that a woman had been there for a minute or two and possibly longer. Furthermore Adler had been stabbed in the back by a kitchen knife, a woman’s weapon if there ever was one. The combination of such thoughts was so unacceptable that he tried to dismiss them by telling himself that even if Marion had gone to see Adler for some reason he could not understand, she never would have turned to murder. She could have been worked up to the point of desperation and probably was; she never would have gone there otherwise. Her condition had brought occasional moments of emotional instability, but murder was something else. He shook his head to dispel such thoughts, not knowing that he did so. Apparently she saw the movement.

“What’s the matter?” she asked anxiously. “Don’t you believe me?”

“Certainly I believe you,” he said, an edge in his voice he had not intended.

“The way you acted I wasn’t so sure.”

“And do you believe me?”

“If you mean that he was dead when you found him, of course I do.” She frowned then as a new thought came to disturb her. “Do you think Roger will tell them?”

The digression confused him momentarily and he had to concentrate to remember his call on the lawyer and what he had said. Denham, alone, knew that he intended to have it out with Sam Adler, and if the police questioned him, and they probably would since he had already told them of his appointment--The conclusion that came to him served only to add to his uncertainty and discouragement, but he answered as truthfully as he could.

“Probably.”

“Perhaps if we asked him--”

“No.” Hayden shook his head. “We’re not going to ask Denham to lie for me. Being the kind of proper guy he is, I’m not sure he would anyway.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Okay, I’m unfair.” He stood up. “But I’m not going to worry about that now. If I have to admit that I went to the motel I will, but no one can prove I actually went into the room. Let’s leave it at that for tonight, hunh? Let’s cross that bridge when we get to it. Will you do something for me?”

She gave him a quick, suspicious glance before she said: “What?”

“Take a sleeping pill and get some rest. We both need it. Would you like something first? Shall I make some coffee?”

“It would only keep me awake.”

“How about some orange juice or a glass of milk?”

“All right.” She came slowly to her feet, a sag in her shoulders now and defeat written in the soft lines of her face. “Milk, I guess.”

“And a cooky?”

“No cooky.”

“I’ll bring it in to you,” he said and turned away.

In the kitchen he poured two glasses of milk and found a couple of cookies for himself. He took his time and made sure the kitchen was in order. He tried the back door again and then went into the living room to turn off the lights. She was in bed when he entered the room, the covers well up under her chin. He put her glass of milk on the bedside table and looked down at her, trying not to let the worry he felt show in his face.

He went over to the closet and got his pajamas and robe and slippers. He piled them on his arm and put a clean shirt on top of them. Then, not caring what she thought about the legality of their marriage, he went to her and stooped down. He saw again the torment in her eyes before she made that slight turn of her head. He brushed the soft cool cheek with his lips, and as he straightened she reached out and caught his arm. She gave it a hard spasmodic squeeze and then turned quickly on her side, her back toward him.

_9_

Wednesday was a long hard day for John Hayden. The March weather continued raw and windy, and the sky, which was overcast and unpromising when he went to work, remained that way. He got his own breakfast as he did on those mornings when Marion did not feel well, leaving the percolator attached, so that the coffee would be hot when she wanted it. The bedroom door had remained closed as he had left it the night before, and because the thoughts he had taken to bed still remained insidiously in his mind he was glad he did not have to face her so early in the morning.

He made his usual telephone call around noon, but the conversation was polite, stilted, and conventional. There was no reference to their problems and he told her he would be home early. Two conferences with out-of-town clients helped divert his thoughts, but he could not concentrate on the routine of the business day. This was partly due to telephone calls that never came. Each time his buzzer sounded and his secretary spoke he expected some word from the police or the State’s Attorney or Roger Denham. As the day dragged on, he felt a mounting irritation that was directed not only at his own dilemma but at those who ignored him.

But he did some constructive thinking and it had as its focus George Freeman and Doris Lamar. For it occurred to him with increasing frequency that little had been said the night before about Freeman by Lieutenant Garvey and Detective Ball.

Last night when he had discovered the body there had been no thought in his mind as to who might have done the killing. He had been too concerned about his personal problems and the two pictures which had become instruments of blackmail. He had made a decision then--to take them and get out. He had taken the gamble and was aware of the risks, but he had been prodded as much by the impulse and perhaps a touch of panic as he had been by a sensible evaluation of the odds.

He had not known then that the station wagon had been used in his absence. The telephone call the officers had mentioned both surprised and shocked him, and although he had always trusted his wife he knew now that she had lied to him.

But what about Freeman? Freeman was in love and he had already demonstrated his jealousy and his hate for Sam Adler the previous evening. Freeman had been brooding when he had seen him in the tavern in the late afternoon. Such jealousy and resentment could have exploded into violence and murder, not premeditated perhaps, but murder nonetheless. From his point of vantage in the motel Freeman could keep track of Adler. So where was he between eight and nine o’clock? If he had an alibi none had been mentioned. And Doris Lamar?

He remembered that he had not seen her when he had ordered the double brandy to steady his nerves. She might, he knew, have been in the kitchen during those brief minutes. But if not, where exactly was she and what had she been doing? Suppose she had sneaked over to the motel to see Adler, and Freeman had known this? There had been this momentary glimpse of some woman in the darkened courtyard. Until now he had considered her shadowy presence something of a possible threat to him, but he understood that it might be the other way round.

Such thoughts continued to plague him as the afternoon wore on, and by four o’clock he knew what he wanted to do. In his present frame of mind he was of no use to the company, and it seemed imperative that he talk to the woman and find out where she had been and how much she knew. It did not occur to him just how he could accomplish all this, but he was aware that she did not go to work until five. When he realized he had time to catch her at her cottage he made up his mind.

He had been there but once, on that rainy night when he offered her a ride, but he had seen the place before, a small three-room-and-bath cottage which stood back of a large, ornate, and run-down mansion that had long been for sale. It had been unoccupied for many months and he saw the signs of decay as he rolled along the driveway and took the fork at the end. He parked under the trees and saw the light in the cottage living room as he climbed two wooden steps to the tiny porch.

There may have been a moment as she opened the door when Doris Lamar’s green eyes showed surprise, but experience with men had taught her many things and the reaction was swiftly controlled. She was wearing a figured kimono and her face had a naked look without its make-up. But if she was disconcerted it did not show and her voice was casual and matter-of-fact.

“Oh, hello, Mr. Hayden.”

“Hello, Doris,” he said. “I’d like to talk to you for a few minutes.”

“Well”--she hesitated, pursed her lips, and shrugged indifferently--“I was getting dressed. I have to be at work at five.”

“It’s important, Doris. It shouldn’t take too long.”

“All right.” She turned away and let him enter and close the door. “I can finish my fingernails while you’re talking. Take off your coat if you want to. Throw it over there on the couch.”

He slipped off his coat, put it on the couch, and placed his hat on top of it. When he sat down the springs sagged protestingly under his weight and a glance about the squarish room told him that Doris had probably rented it as it stood.

The furniture had neither style nor quality. The carpet had been worn down to the nap in places, the occasional tables needed refinishing, and the slipcovers on two of the chairs were threadbare at the arms; a third chair was a wicker affair with a padded seat. From where he sat he could look into the bedroom and he could also see a corner of the kitchen with its old-fashioned sink and a stove that stood high on spindly metal legs.

The light that he had seen from outside came from a wooden floor lamp with a parchment shade. A circular shelf, which clung to the pedestal like a doughnut, served as a table of sorts and on it was a bottle of nail-polish remover, some cotton, tissues, and a bottle of dark red polish. Doris had pulled her chair close and her head was bent now as she daintily decorated the nails of her left hand.

“When you knocked,” she said, “I was afraid it would be another cop or a reporter.”

“Did the police question you?”

“Hah!” she said. “For three hours last night. Then they practically got me out of bed this morning and we had another two-hour session.”

“Have you seen George Freeman?”

“They were bringing him into Lieutenant Garvey’s office at the State Police barracks when I left this morning.”

“You haven’t seen him since?”

“No.”

“What about last night?”

“I saw him when you did. When he had those dark glasses on and was sulking at the bar.”

“You didn’t see him after he left?”

“No ... Is that what you wanted to talk about?”

“That’s part of it, Doris. Freeman was in love with you, wasn’t he?”

“I guess he thought he was.”

“I understand that jealousy makes a good motive for murder. If he thought Adler was cutting him out”--he hesitated and decided to guess--“if he thought you were going away with him, for instance, he could have gone to Adler’s room and--”

“I doubt it,” she said flatly. “I doubt if George would have guts enough to kill anyone.”

“How much guts does it take to stab a man in the back?”

She considered the question before she said: “I see what you mean. But I don’t believe it.”

Hayden rose and reached for a cigarette. He went over to offer the woman one and waited while she put the little brush back into the nail-polish bottle. She blew on the fingers of the hand she had just painted and took the cigarette with the other. When she leaned forward to accept a light he could see the dark roots in the blond hair. The front of the kimono had opened slightly and he saw that she had a slip on underneath but no stockings.

“It’s Adler that worries me,” he said and decided to demonstrate what he meant. He had no intention of telling her the truth but he needed all the help he could get and he was prepared to confide in her up to a point in order to see what sort of reaction he could get. “The police came to see us last night too.”

“You mean you and your wife? But why?”

“I thought you might know. Adler came into town a couple of days ago and asked a lot of questions about me. The police found it out and they wanted to know why he was so interested. I told them I never saw the man but I can’t seem to get the idea across.”

He had been moving idly about the room as he spoke, and now, stopping at the bedroom door, he glanced in and saw the two suitcases which stood against the wall beyond the double bed. For some reason they seemed strangely out of place, and because he found himself wondering if they had any particular significance he spoke of them now.

“Were you going somewhere, Doris?”

He was aware that she was looking at him. And she must have known what had prompted the question because there was no suggestion of reluctance in her reply.

“I may have been.”

“With Adler?”

“Does it make any difference?” she said, still watching him. “I’m not going now and that’s for sure.”

He came back and sat down on the couch. The green eyes were regarding him openly, but he could not tell whether the small gleam he saw in them came from speculation or amusement.

“Are you surprised?” she said. “I mean that Sam Adler could make a proposition I would accept? If you are, don’t be. Let me give you the case history of Doris Lamar in capsule form.”

She leaned back in her chair and crossed her knees. When she saw the exposed length of calf and thigh she flipped the kimono expertly to cover them. She sucked smoke into her lungs, blew it out, and watched it evaporate above her. Without make-up her face seemed younger somehow, but the lines of weariness remained at the corners of her mouth even though it twisted now into a half-smile.

“The name is really Doris Lasowitz and I grew up, if you could call it that, in a small town in West Virginia. Seven kids. A hard-working, worn-out mother, a father who never seemed able to earn quite enough money to take care of his own thirst and the food we needed. I was in my last year of high school when I got a chance to get out and I took it. I ran away with a boy who was three years older than I was. We got married.”

She made a small, throaty sound in deprecation of the mental picture she had drawn and her mouth twisted.

“Some marriage. It lasted a year. At seventeen I was a bride and at eighteen-and-a-half I was a pregnant widow. My husband was killed by a cop in Pennsylvania when he tried to hold up a liquor store, and I suppose I got a break in a way because I wasn’t with him. If I had been sitting in the car just then I probably would have done a few years in the penitentiary.”

She put out her cigarette and continued in the same sardonic tone. “I tried marriage again at twenty-three, this time to a musician of all people. This one lasted three years, and while I got the divorce, the reason we couldn’t work it out was probably more my fault than his. You see there were a lot of things wrong with Doris Lamar. I guess I never learned that in order to get anything worthwhile you have to give out. No one had bothered to teach me the fundamentals. I was lazy, selfish, greedy, and always looking for the easy way. When I discovered there wasn’t any easy way there was nothing to do but keep working. I didn’t have enough education to be much of a success in an office, so what was I? Waitress, barmaid, shill, hostess. You name it, Mr. Hayden.

“I’ll be thirty-one my next birthday. I have a twelve-year-old son who’s been living with foster parents in upstate New York for a long time. No charity, you understand. I’ve been sending a monthly check and that’s another reason why I never seem to get a stake. But this winter I did some thinking because, except for George, there wasn’t much else to do in a place like this. I started going to school in Bridgeport four mornings a week. English and typing. That was the extent of my ambition, and those bus trips were a real drag. I dropped out a month or so ago when I saw how George felt about me and guessed what he had in mind.”

“What about Adler?” He paused and watched the half-smile fade. “You weren’t in love with him, were you?”

“No.”

“Then there must have been some money involved.”

“There was.”

“How much?” he said, still probing.

“He said he had a deal on that would bring him a minimum of ten thousand dollars and probably twenty. When he collected he was going to take off for Florida and he wanted me to go with him.” She stopped, glanced at her wrist watch, and then jumped to her feet. “I’ve got to dress,” she said. “You can talk from the doorway if you want to.”

She went into the bedroom and he sat for a minute or two, seeing her toss the kimono onto the bed as she stepped out of sight. He could hear a closet door open and the clatter of metal coat hangers. When she reappeared again she had on a simple black dress, which was her costume at Jerry’s Tavern, and now she sat down on the edge of the bed and drew on her stockings. There was no hint of self-consciousness in the act and her movements were swift and practiced. When she stood again and shook her dress down he started toward the doorway. She was sitting on a bench and facing a rickety-looking vanity as he leaned against the doorframe. She began to work on her face and he said:

“Did Adler say where he was going to get this money?”

“No, but--I’m only guessing about this--I got the idea that maybe you had something to do with it.”

“You would have gone with him?”

“I think so. I’ve known a lot of men like Sam Adler. I could have handled him all right. Maybe to someone like you this doesn’t make much sense. Maybe you think I should have stayed here and married George Freeman, and maybe you’re right. The way things turned out I’m sure you’re right, but I saw this chance to get my hand on some money and maybe a new start in Florida. Adler didn’t talk me into anything; I talked myself into it. George is forty years old but he acts like a kid about a lot of things--”

“You could probably change that.”

She looked up at him then and the lipstick she had been working with remained poised in mid-air. “Do you really think so?”

Hayden said he did, then added: “Adler asked you a lot of questions about me, didn’t he?”

“Well, a few anyway.”

“He asked you if you knew me, and where I lived, and what I was doing, and how was I making out.”

“That’s right.”

“He gave you the idea that he expected to make some deal with me but he didn’t tell you what it was.”

“No.”

“Did he mention my wife?”

“I don’t think so.”

As he considered her reply he had an idea that he had learned all he was going to learn about this particular subject, so he mentioned the other thing that had been bothering him.

“You weren’t at Jerry’s when I went in there for a drink around a quarter of nine, were you?”

“No.”

“Where were you?”

“I’ve told the police a half a dozen times, so I might as well tell you,” she said dryly. “I had a splitting headache. I get them every so often and I have some prescription pills a doctor gave me. Last night I forgot them and I stood it as long as I could, and then I asked Jerry if I could come over here and get them. He said sure and I came. I was gone maybe twenty-five minutes or so.”

She stood up as she finished, collected the soiled tissues, and dropped them into the wastebasket. She examined herself in the mirror and gave a final pat to her blond hair and then, as though all this had been nothing more than a polite social conversation, she changed the subject.

“Could you give me a lift to the tavern, please? I’d rather be a few minutes early than walk.”

This told Hayden that he had gone about as far as he could. He said he would be glad to give her a ride, and not until they were in the car and he had started the motor did he make his final proposition. He did not believe he had heard all the truth. This was a woman who had learned a lot about life and was experienced in its ways. She had learned to be devious as a matter of self-protection, but she could not be expected to involve herself in unrewarding situations, particularly when they might involve her personally. On the other hand she had proved that she could be tempted by money, and it was with this thought in mind that he made his proposition.

“Sam Adler made you a proposition which you accepted because you thought it was going to pay off. Now I’ll make one. I think you know more about this murder than you’ll admit--”

“Now, wait a minute,” she said, resentment showing for the first time in her voice.

“Hear me out,” Hayden said. “If you’ve told all you know I can’t very well make a proposition, but if you can help me find out who killed Adler I’d be willing to pay you for your help.”

“You mean some kind of a deal just between you and me?”

“Yes.”

“Like a reward?”

“Something like that.”

“Have you got any special figure in mind?”

“I was thinking of something between one and five thousand dollars, depending on how much good your help does. You could keep it in mind.”

“I will. I can tell you now I don’t know who killed Sam, but if I think of anything that seems important I’ll let you know.”

Hayden wanted to tell her that she didn’t have to know who killed Adler. All she had to do was come up with something that would clear Marion and, if possible, himself. Since he could not put such thoughts into words he simply told her to keep thinking.

_10_

Driving home after dropping Doris Lamar at the tavern, John Hayden reviewed what had been said and what he had accomplished. The results, as he saw them, were discouraging.

The admission that Adler had come here to collect a large sum of money and that she might have been willing to leave town with him in the hope of getting some of that money only confirmed what he already knew. He did not think she was telling the whole truth and he had wanted to put more pressure on her, to speak of the woman he had seen in the darkened quadrangle and to accuse her of being that woman. Yet, even as the thought had come to him, he knew that he could not carry out the threat because to do so would be to admit that he had also been there at the time.

The thought continued to disturb him, and when he turned his car into the driveway and saw the three cars parked in front of the house he found a new source of concern. For the plain black sedan with its buggy-whip antenna told him this was probably an unmarked police car. The convertible, he knew, belonged to Roger Denham. The third car, a two-toned sedan, was not familiar and he wondered about it as he walked through the breezeway and kitchen to the living room.

His first impression was that the room was crowded, and his glance moved to his wife, who was sitting in her accustomed chair at one side of the fireplace. He saw at once that the high-cheekboned face was composed but the hazel eyes were veiled and he could not read them as he leaned down and kissed her on the cheek. He was aware that the five men in the room had come to their feet, and when he understood that Marion did not seem unduly disturbed, he turned to face them, his resentment mounting. He was about to give voice to it when Roger Denham spoke up to interrupt him.

“John--this is Fred Erickson, the State’s Attorney.” He indicated the stocky, square-faced man in his middle forties who had a crew-cut and dark-rimmed glasses. “And Paul Simpson.” He nodded to a younger man who had been sitting off to one side, a slender, black-haired fellow who was casually clad in flannel slacks and a checked sport jacket that was a little on the loud side. “Mr. Simpson is with the Allied Insurance Company.”

Hayden made no attempt to shake hands nor did the others. He looked at Denham with his conservative but expensive-looking business suit, at the lean, competent figure of Lieutenant Garvey, at the round, impassive, and steady-eyed face of County Detective Ball.

“Well,” he said, with no trace of cordiality, “since you’re here you might as well sit down. I don’t know what you have in mind, but it seems to me that instead of coming here and ganging up on my wife you could have waited--”

Marion cut in before he could finish. “That’s not the way it happened, darling,” she said. “When I talked to you this noon you said you’d be home early. Roger called and said these men would like to talk to us and I told him it would be all right. I thought you’d be here before they came.”

“We thought it would be more convenient for both of you,” Erickson added, “to talk here instead of in my office.”

The simple explanation should have mollified Hayden but his initial annoyance remained and his voice was still curt.

“Okay, so what do you want from us?”

Before Erickson could reply, Simpson spoke up. “I’m here on my own, Mr. Hayden. If you don’t mind my waiting I’d like to talk to you a few minutes when these gentlemen have finished.”

Hayden made no reply. He was still watching the State’s Attorney, who studied him for a silent moment before he said: “We’ve had some information that leads us to believe that Mrs. Hayden’s first husband may still be alive.”

_So that’s how it is_, Hayden thought bitterly.

He was not yet prepared to grapple with the problem, and the top of his mind suggested an answer and he grabbed it. Aside from Adler only he, Marion, and Denham knew of Adler’s contention that Ted Corbin was still alive. He was positive that Marion would never speak of this knowledge to anyone. That left Denham, and in the momentary silence that followed the State’s Attorney’s remark, his sudden dislike for the lawyer was a corrosive force that influenced his thinking. Little things that had bothered him before, over the past year or so, came quickly to mind and he tabulated them swiftly.

Denham, it seemed, had never liked him. Denham, with his top social background and inherited money and his fine education. The bespectacled eyes that met his seemed calm and unconcerned, and he was reminded again of Denham’s ascetic looks and manner of living, his abstinence, the credo of physical fitness, with strenuous squash in the winter and even more strenuous tennis in the summer.

In fairness, he had to admit that Denham was no pantywaist. He had proved that in Korea when he was a member of a Ranger unit. He had been decorated for bravery because of something he had done while leading a night patrol, and this was something Hayden could not minimize even now. But Denham had been a suitor of sorts, an unsuccessful one where Marion was concerned. He had not liked Ted Corbin; he did not like John Hayden, and this was his way of paying them back and....

He heard the State’s Attorney clear his throat, and as he shifted his gaze and saw what the man had in his hand he could only stare while a feeling of shame came over him and he understood how unfair he had been in his thoughts of Denham. For he saw now that Erickson had a small photograph in his hand. Even from where he sat, and without moving closer, he seemed to understand that this was a copy of the one he now had in his pocket. Denham had not given the show away, but he still could not imagine how Erickson could have got such a picture, and he sat silently until the explanation came.

“Lieutenant Garvey got Adler’s address from a driving license,” he said. “He got in touch with the Mobile police--it was an Alabama license with a Mobile address--last night and they got right on it.”

He held the picture with extended fingers and Hayden understood that he was to take it. He did so; he looked at it. He glanced at Marion, but she was busy drawing an imaginary line on the arm of the chair with her index finger.

“Has my wife seen this?” he said, returning the picture.

“She says it’s a picture of her first husband.” Erickson slipped the photograph back into his pocket. “Adler was a small-time gambler and con man who followed the horses. He moved about a lot, but he kept this apartment in Mobile as his headquarters. The Mobile police had a file on him--nothing impressive--gambling, disorderly conduct, things like that. Naturally they searched his apartment and apparently they searched it well. They found this envelope. It had two negatives and two prints. They didn’t know what they meant but Garvey thought they might be important. The other photograph showed the fingerprints of a man’s right hand.”

He leaned back on the divan and said: “To save time the Mobile people put the two pictures in an envelope and gave it to a steward on a morning flight out of Mobile. They figured this would be quicker than using the mails. We sent a man down to Idlewild and he picked up the envelope. We don’t know about the fingerprints yet--they’re being checked in Washington and we’ll probably know by tomorrow--but it’s a reasonable assumption that those prints will belong to Mrs. Hayden’s first husband.”

“What did my wife say about the picture you just showed me?” Hayden asked evenly.

“She says she doesn’t know when it was taken. She implies that it might have been done several years ago.”

Hayden’s immediate reply was a grunt that was audible, disparaging, and slightly contemptuous.

“Ted Corbin was killed in a plane crash more than two years ago,” he said. “There was no doubt about his death at the time and I don’t think there’s any doubt now. The fact that Mr. Simpson’s company paid off the insurance claim should be proof enough.”

“I’m aware of that,” Erickson said calmly, “but stranger things than that have happened. You understand I’m making no accusation, nor am I asking for a definite statement from you at this time. But I’d like to draw you a hypothetical picture that seems to me to have some merit.”

“Before you do,” Hayden said, “tell me a little about George Freeman. Freeman had a very good motive for murder--you must know about that--and he also had the opportunity. I suppose you questioned him?”

“Until two o’clock last night,” Ball said.

“And for three hours again this morning,” Garvey added.

“Does he have an alibi?”

“No,” Erickson said. “He maintains that he was in the motel office from shortly after seven until he found Adler at around nine-thirty.”

“Did he just happen to find him?”

“He admits he was jealous. He was afraid Doris Lamar might be thinking about running off with Adler. He’d been brooding the night before and all that day, and he finally decided to go down to Adler’s room and have it out with him. He got no answer when he knocked but the lights were on and he could hear the radio playing and Adler’s rented car was there. When he could get no reply to his knock he was too upset to give up, so he used his passkey and unlocked the door. He found Adler on the floor and called the State Police.... Now if you don’t mind, Mr. Hayden,” he added, “let me get back to my hypothesis.”

He paused to be sure there would be no interruption and said: “Adler, who was a known gambler and confidence man, comes to Morrisville the day before yesterday. He makes inquiries at the gas station and Jerry’s Tavern about John Hayden. He wants to know where you live, what you do, and how you’re doing. Why?”

“It’s your hypothesis,” Hayden said coldly.

“On the basis of these two pictures which came from Mobile, it suggests that your wife’s first husband is still alive. Otherwise there would be no point in Adler coming here since he had nothing to sell. We know that he _did_ come to this house and he _did_ talk to your wife. She maintains that he represented himself as a book salesman and yet there was no physical evidence on Adler’s person, the motel room, or his car to support any such contention. Book salesmen simply don’t go around without samples, or at least without some advertising literature describing the books.”

Marion stirred in her chair and Hayden was a little amazed that she could make her rebuttal sound so calm and disinterested. “I saw no books and no literature,” she said. “I only know what he said.”

“Freeman says that Adler made a call to this number,” Erickson continued. “You deny you received such a call.” He turned his attention to Hayden. “You went to Mr. Denham’s house at eight o’clock for a meeting of some kind. Mr. Denham, as your attorney, has refused to discuss the substance of your conversation and he cannot be forced to do so at this time. He says you left around eight-thirty and that he understood you were going to stop at the tavern and get a drink before you went home.”

Hayden gave Denham another good mark for his loyalty and circumspection as he said: “And that’s exactly what I did.”

“You were seen to leave the tavern and walk in the direction of the motel but you say your car was parked there. You got in and drove directly here.”

“That’s right.”

“My hypothesis suggests another possibility. It indicates that Adler came to Morrisville with blackmail on his mind. He came to see Mrs. Hayden, not to sell books but to offer proof that her first husband was still alive. Since we know that there were two negatives and two prints in his Mobile apartment it seems reasonable to assume that he brought an extra set of prints with him to substantiate his claim.”