Forniss moved Ursula Jameson so that she lay on the sofa and felt for her pulse. Heimrich went to the telephone. He called the Bureau of Criminal Investigation at the headquarters of Troop K in Washington Hollow and told the duty officer how things stood and what he wanted. He wanted Sergeant Farmer relieved at the hospital. He wanted troopers at The Tor. They were to report to Lieutenant Forniss. He called the hospital and got Farmer. Dr. Tennant was sleeping. He had not said, or tried to say, anything more. Farmer was told his relief was on the way. Farmer said, “Sir.”
Heimrich put the telephone in its cabinet. Forniss had come up the room and was standing beside him. Heimrich said, “Yes, Charlie?”
“She doesn’t seem to be coming out of it,” Charles Forniss said. “And her pulse feels fluttery. Maybe—”
Barnes knew the name of the doctor. “Not that either of them needed a doctor very often.” Dr. Jenkins answered his telephone. He listened. “Ursula’s tough as nails,” he said. “Of course she’s been under a hell of a strain. Oh, all right, I suppose I’d better. Damn. About half an hour. Probably be O.K. by the time I get there, but all right.”
“I’ll leave it to you to tidy up,” Heimrich told Charles Forniss.
Forniss said, “Sure, M. L.”
“Because, between us, I want to get the hell out of here,” Heimrich said. “Call me at home after the doctor’s seen her.”
“Sure, M. L.”
There was chill dampness in the air Merton Heimrich stepped out into. The wind had died down and shifted. It blew flutters of fog from the hill top. It will rain tomorrow, Heimrich thought. This high up it may even start as snow. He got into the Buick and drove down the steep, winding drive. He drove south on NY 11F, his headlights gnawing holes in the darkness. When he was halfway home, rain showed up in the light beam and he set the wipers swishing.
Light streamed from the windows of the long, low house which once had been a barn. When the Buick was in the garage and he walked back to the door, the door was open. Susan stood in the doorway, with Colonel on one side and Mite on the other. They all looked up at him. Behind them flames leaped in the fireplace. The room was bright with light. Susan said, “Hi,” and the word was bright. But then, looking up into his face, she said, “Are you all right, dear?”
“Now,” Merton Heimrich said, and went into the bright room. He crossed to the fireplace and stood looking down at the fire. He turned and looked at Susan.
“His sister killed him,” Heimrich said. “And I feel as if I’ve been beating an old woman—a sick old woman. And I need—”
“Of course you do,” Susan said and moved closer and took one of his hands in both of hers. She pressed his hand with hers and released it. She said, “I’ll get them. Sit by the fire and I’ll get them. You look so tired, darling.”
“Not—” Heimrich said, but did not finish, because Susan had gone out of the room. He heard ice clattering in the mixer. She’s stirring faster than usual, Merton Heimrich thought, and sat in one of the deep chairs in front of the fire. I’ve no real reason to feel tired.
Susan brought the shaker and glasses with frost on the bowls on a tray and put it down on the table between the two deep chairs in front of the fire. Susan sat in the chair on the other side of the small, round table. She poured from the shaker into the two chilled glasses. They clicked glasses and sipped from them.
“Better now?” Susan said, after they had sat for a moment looking first at each other and then at their fire.
“Much better now,” Merton said. “Sometimes I almost—”
The jangle of the telephone interrupted him.
”I’ll—” Susan Heimrich said, but Merton was already across the room. He said, “Yes, Charlie,” into the phone and listened. He said, “I suppose it’s the best thing. See you in the morning.”
He went back to his chair and drank from his glass.
“Sometimes you almost what, dear?” Susan said.
“Hate my job,” Heimrich said.
“Not really,” Susan told him. “Not ever, really.”
“No,” Heimrich said. “Not really. Her doctor’s sent Ursula Jameson out of her house. To the hospital. There’ll be a trooper in the corridor outside her door. When she wakes up she won’t be in her house. She’ll be in a strange place. She killed for the house, Susan. Killed twice and tried to kill again.”
He sipped from his glass. Susan waited. Merton told her about Ursula Jameson.
“Because he was always taking her house away from her,” Susan said. “Giving it to other women. And, of course, because she’s very ugly. Has had to live all her life with ugliness. That would be hard on any woman, dear.”
“Yes,” Heimrich said, and looked across the table at his wife. She gets better-looking all the time, Merton Heimrich thought. How does she know what it would be like to be ugly?
“But not,” Susan said, “hard to the point of killing about it. However long you’ve brooded. What will happen to her, Merton?”
“If I were her lawyer,” Merton Heimrich said, “I’d try not guilty by reason of insanity. Since I’m not, I’ll make us drinks.”
He took the tray and mixer and empty glasses into the kitchen. There would be fresh glasses chilling in the freezer.
I don’t hate my job, Merton Heimrich thought as he measured gin and vermouth onto ice. There are draining moments in any job, I suppose.
It’s bright here and Susan’s here. I’m not tired any more. I’m not in shadows any more.
He carried tray and a mixer and chilled glasses back to the brightness of the fire and the brightness which was around his wife.