The closing of the door on Job Crandall’s heels left a silence in the living room. The lamps burned pleasantly. The chairs were deep and inviting. Coolin and Molly sprawled on the hearthrug and there were books to be read and cigarettes to be smoked. A nice room. A homely room. But the silence was there. It was quite dead. It lay there, and nobody touched it.
Vickers moved. He sat on the edge of the table and caught Joan Merrill’s eye, and lifted his chin at her. The gesture said, “Out.” Joan opened her mouth to speak. She got a clearer view of Vickers, and closed it again. She went back into the dining room. The white doors swung shut behind her.
Vickers sat on the edge of the table and looked at Angie. His brow made two cold arches. He said nothing.
Angie shrugged. “Well,” she said, “that seems to settle the matter.”
Her words sounded very loud. She went over to the fireplace and leaned on the mantel. There was no fire. The hounds gazed up at her adoringly. Vickers could sec only half of her face, the warm brown curve of a cheek.
Angie said, “We’ll have to stop Job, of course.”
“Let’s worry about Job later.” He watched her a moment. “Well? Aren’t you going to say anything?”
“That would be rather silly, wouldn’t it?”
“I don’t know.” Vickers got up. He went to her and pulled her around facing him. He put one arm across the small of her back, bracing her to him. He slid the other hand up along her neck and knotted his fingers in her hair at the base of her skull. He drew her head back slowly. She did not whimper. She looked up at him, and her eyes were hot and there was a shadow of fear in them. Only a shadow.
He said softly, ‘I’m not the police, nor a court of law. I’m your husband. I’m more than that, because I love you. I don’t give a damn whether you killed Harry Bryce or not. I only want to know that you’re not lying to me.”
He held her, and she did not move nor try to break away.
“I did not kill Harry Bryce,” she said. “I was not the woman Job saw.”
“All right,” said Vickers.
He bent and kissed her throat. It was beautiful, the cords shaped in smooth strength against the backward pull of his hand. He released it, and as she straightened he met her mouth with his.
After a while he whispered, “I trust you, darling. If I ever find I’ve been wrong, God help you.”
He felt her move against him as she laughed. “At least I know now that you didn’t kill Harry.”
“Bitch,” he said, and kissed her again. “Poor old Job. I wonder who he did see.”
“I don’t know. I was in the cabana then, I guess. I wanted to give Harry plenty of time to clear out of the way. He wasn’t behaving nicely at all. I didn’t see any other woman on the beach at all that night. But then, I wasn’t watching.”
“You didn’t hear anything.”
She shook her head. “I had the radio on. Sort of reflex action, I guess. I wasn’t listening to it.”
Vickers guided her over to the couch. They sat down. “A woman with black hair and a light dress,” he said. “It was night, of course, and Job was drunk, but those are details you couldn’t get confused on. Might have been Jennie Bryce. Her hair is dark enough to look black.”
“She was wearing a black dress. I particularly remember. It was cut clear down to her navel in front, and the skirt was so tight she could hardly walk.”
Vickers laughed softly. “Do I detect a slight ring of jealousy behind that righteous virtue?”
She took a deep breath, threw her shoulders back, and grinned at him. “What do you think?”
Vickers got up. “Stop that,” he said. “I’ve got to keep my mind on what we’re doing.” He went over and got cigarettes from the table. Angie, sobering very quickly, curled up in the corner and said quietly,
“We ought to be ashamed of ourselves. We make cracks, and Job’s on his way to...” She broke off, shaking her head. “Vick, I can’t believe it. It just won’t sink in.”
“I know.” He gave her a cigarette and held the light for her. “Poor devil. Can’t say I blame him much.”
“No,” she said slowly, “but... Vick, you don’t think they’ll kill him, do you? After all, it wasn’t premeditated...” He sat down beside her and she leaned wearily into the angle of his shoulder. “Oh God, what a mess everything is in. How can so many things happen so quickly – and all of them bad.”
“Perhaps,” said Vickers, “I should have stayed away. I don’t seem to have brought anybody luck.”
“Except me.”
He looked down at her. “Do you really mean that?”
She reached up and kissed him, the light sweet kiss of lovers who are also friends. Then she sighed and slipped back again, her head rolling in against him. She was like an exhausted child.
“Will this ever be over, Vick? Can we ever just go back to being people again? I don’t want to see another policeman as long as I live. I don’t want to read another newspaper. And if anyone ever gives me a mystery story, I’ll...” She shut her teeth on what she would do. Presently she made a small, rather peculiar sound. “I want to laugh, Vick,” she said, “but it isn’t really funny. It isn’t funny at all. Don’t let me laugh.”
He turned to her quickly. “Here, here, now,” he said gently. “None of that. Darling, you can’t fold up in the stretch.”
“I won’t,” she said. “I’m sorry.”
“Look, darling. We’re going to get one thing cleared up very soon.” He touched the scar on his forehead. “It wasn’t Harry Bryce who did this. And we know now it wasn’t Job. He’s willing to take on an extra murder – no reason to fight shy of one that didn’t come off. So that leaves Bill Saul.”
“I know,” said Angie. “I’ve been afraid to think.” She looked at Vickers with wide, shadowed eyes. “There isn’t going to be much left, is there?”
He shook his head somberly. “Harry, Job, and Bill. I can understand what’s happened to Job, but I’m damned if I can see why anyone should want to kill Harry. Even his discarded loves never seemed to bear him any malice.”
“It still looks,” said Angie, “as though I’m the only logical choice.” He didn’t answer. After a minute she asked, “Do you think Bill will come?”
“He’s in love with you,” said Vickers. “He hasn’t spoken to you, or had word of you for two or three days. He’d come for that alone. But he’s got me, too, to think about. And if I won’t come out where he can get at me, he’ll have to come in.”
“Let me call the police, Vick.” She faced him earnestly. “Now that we know who it is, let me call the police.”
“Not till he’s actually in the house, Angie. I don’t want him scared off. I want a confession from him, before witnesses – which is the precise and only reason why I had you get Joan Merrill up here. Because your word alone might not be enough. I want this over with.” He laughed, not very humorously, with a definite overtone of nerves. “Christ, I’m no man of iron! I don’t like being shot at. I’m like you. I could use a little peace and quiet.”
She said quietly, “He may kill you, Vick.”
“I’ve learned a lot in four years,” he said. His mouth was hard. He turned suddenly to Angie. “You don’t have to stay, you know. If you’re frightened, if you just don’t want to stay...”
She looked at him.
“All right,” he said. “Only for God’s sake keep out of sight. Don’t fire that little popgun unless you have to, and Angie – darling – be careful where you shoot!”
She smiled shakily. “You don’t sound very trustful.”
“I’m not.” He watched her for a moment. His eyes changed. He whispered, “We’ll get this over with. All of it. Then we’ll lock the doors on the whole world.” He bent his head until his cheek touched her hair. His hands found her breasts. “Darling,” he whispered. “Darling.”
“You’re hurting me...”
“Do you want me to stop?”
“No... Oh Vick, I’ve missed you so!”
“What about me?”
Coolin sprang to his feet with the beginning of a growl in his throat, and the doorbell chimed sweetly through the empty house.
Vickers got to his feet. Angie sat frozen for one brief moment. Then she rose and looked at Vickers, and he put his hand on her shoulder. He seemed, now, to be almost unaware of her presence.
“Go on,” he said. “If that’s Bill, wait until he’s in here with me. Then go round the back way and call the police. Quick.”
She nodded and went into the dining room and closed the doors tightly behind her. Joan Merrill was sitting in the dark. She put out her hand and Angie took it.
“Listen,” she whispered. “Remember everything they say.”
There was a little automatic lying on a side table, beside a bowl of flowers. Angie picked it up. Through the louvers she could watch Vickers crossing the living room. She could see him disappear into the hallway. She could hear, after a moment, the opening of the outer door, and Bill Saul’s voice saying easily,
“Hello, Vick. May I come in?”
Vickers said, “I suppose so. Though I can’t recall having invited you.”
He closed the door. Saul walked ahead of him to the archway. He said, “That’s all right. I know you didn’t intend to be rude.” He glanced into the living room. “Where’s Angie?”
“She’s not here.”
Saul’s pale eyes flickered. “Not here?”
“No.”
“Where is she, then?”
Vickers shrugged. He went past Saul into the living room, without, however, quite turning his back. “We were getting ourselves pretty involved, emotionally. Angie wanted to go away for a day or two, and think. So Joan took her somewhere – over in the valley, I believe.”
“When will she be back?”
“When she gets ready.”
“And Trehearne didn’t mind her vanishing?”
“He didn’t seem to.”
Saul smiled. He came into the living room. “So you’ve been all by yourself up here, sulking, and refusing to answer telephones. And you haven’t even called your old pals up for some gin rummy to lighten the solitude.”
Vickers said, “No,” with unmistakable rudeness.
Saul’s voice held an equally unmistakable amusement. “You know something, Vick? I think you’re lying.”
Vickers gave him a lifted eyebrow. “It’s of no particular interest to me what you think.”
Saul said, “It’s of interest to me what’s happened to Angie.”
Vickers sat down on the arm of the couch. He seemed bored rather than angry.
“Really, Bill! I don’t mind your being in love with my wife. Half the men in town seem to be in love with her, and I can understand that. But I do resent everybody accusing me of having murdered her, or of being about to murder her, because of it. Do I seem to be that primitive?”
“That’s just it, Vick. We’re not quite sure.”
Vickers got up. He went and stood in front of Bill Saul, quite close to him. Saul’s hands hung relaxed at his sides. Vickers towered over him. He smiled.
“What are you going to do about it?”
‘I’m going to look around, if I may.”
“You may not.”
“Why?”
“Because this is my house and I will be goddamned if people can make free of it.”
After a moment Saul shrugged. “All right, Vick. You’re a big boy. You can take me anytime.” He turned away. “Mind if I have a drink?”
“Help yourself.”
Saul took a long time over pouring the drink. The cellarette was not too far from the dining room doors. Vickers sat down on the arm of the couch again. He watched Saul, not with any particular intentness. Saul’s triangular, faun-like face was as blank as a dead-end wall. A gambler’s face, unreadable. Presently he looked up at Vickers, and a faint cold light of anger began to gleam in his eyes. He held the glass in his hand, full and untouched.
“Still playing Jehovah, aren’t you?” he said. “You’ve got a hell of a nerve.” He walked toward Vickers. His shoulders were dropped forward slightly, his weight light on the balls of his feet. “You resent being accused of murder. But the other way round is all right. Since you came back, out of God knows where and cares less, you’ve accused me of it. You’ve accused Job. It was no good accusing Harry to his face, but you made that plain enough, too.” He paused. He studied Vickers as though he were something not quite human. “But you’re resentful.”
“Good old Bill,” said Vickers. “You always were the only one with guts. Go on.”
Saul nodded. “I’ll go on. If you’ve done anything to Angie, I’ll go on till I see you in hell.”
Vickers hit him.
Saul went down hard onto his back. The glass shot out of his hand and rolled across the carpet, leaving a long stain of liquor. The hounds, who had become increasingly nervous, came to their feet roaring. Vickers spoke to them sharply. They subsided, growling. Bill Saul sat up. He shook his head and blinked, and ran the back of his hand across his mouth. He was not bleeding. He looked up at Vickers and said conversationally,
‘I’m beginning to resent you, Vick.”
Vickers said, “I can believe that.” He was standing beside Saul now. He didn’t do anything, but something about his attitude, the way he was balanced, suggested that Saul had better remain seated. It was very quiet in
the house, very quiet outside. There was no sound of sirens, even in the distance, nor any sound of cars on the hill. Vickers went on,
“Apparently you all resented me.”
“We had a right to. Let me ask you, Vick. Why did you keep us around?”
“Because you amused me.”
“There’s your answer.”
“You didn’t have to stay and take it. Only there was Angie, wasn’t there? And Angie had all the virtues I lacked, in addition to just being Angie. By the way, how did you do with her while I was gone?”
Saul said wryly, “I didn’t.” His eyes were narrow, malicious, very bright. “Given a little more time, or a certainty that you were dead...” He shrugged.
“Yes,” said Vickers slowly. “That was stupid of you, Bill. You should have made sure.”
“Oh. Now you’ve made a definite choice. It’s me.”
Vickers looked down at him. Bill Saul seemed to be comfortable on the floor. There was nothing even faintly indicative of worry about him. Vickers began suddenly to grow angry. He was more angry than he had ever been in his life. He wanted to beat Bill Saul to death and then tramp upon his face – not because of what Saul had done to him, but because Saul was making him look silly. He felt like a small boy in a tantrum. My God, he thought, I shall be throwing things and screaming, all because Bill isn’t behaving like a killer.
He went away from Bill and sat down. “Get up,” he said. “For heaven’s sake, get up, get yourself a drink, and get me one, too.” His head, abruptly, began to split. He took it in his hands and laughed. The laughter was rueful, but genuine.
“These things,” he said, “should go smoothly. There’s a certain pattern, a certain form. They start with the accusation, delivered in a concise and dramatic manner, and end with the confession, which is then followed by threats, or abject surrender, depending on the individual. This little scene has got awfully bitched up.”
Saul handed him a healthy double shot. He got rid of it quickly and felt better. “Sit down.” He leaned forward and looked steadily at Saul. “The hell of it is, Bill, I know you tried to kill me in Mexico. I have the impulse to beat it out of you, but... the atmosphere is wrong, somehow.” In Pépon’s alley I could have done it, and laid your body with the rats. But not here. Not with Angie watching...
“Besides,” he added, ‘I’m not sure beating would do any good, with you.”
Saul shrugged. “It’s been tried,” he said. “By experts. Why do you think I tried to kill you?”
“I know it wasn’t Harry, because somebody tried again, with a gun, after Harry was dead. I know now it wasn’t Job. He was up here a little while ago, and he’s in the clear, absolutely. That seems to put it right in your lap, Bill.”
“That’s the way you figure it.”
Vickers said slowly, “I always thought it was you. You’re the only one I could ever see having guts enough to hit a man with homicidal intent – even from the back.”
There was not the briefest flicker of expression across Saul’s face. He said, with a certain cold edge to his tone, “I may hit you, Vick, and it may be with homicidal intent, but it won’t be from the back.” He paused. “There’s just one thing wrong with your logic. One factor you’re leaving out.”
“What’s that?”
“You.”
Vickers looked at Saul from between his hands. There was a bar of pain being pressed down between his temples. It weighed on his eyeballs and the bar was bright, and the shimmer spread out from it so that he could not see very clearly. He said, “Explain that, will you?”
“You got knocked on the head. That much you know. The rest of it you’ve built up in your own mind. It wouldn’t be hard to do. I’ve been hurt once or twice myself, and I know how your brain acts when it’s full of fever. You had it rough for four years. That’s stamped all over you. All right. It’s natural to want revenge. And it’s natural to hook onto something – or somebody – definite, so you can be sure of getting that revenge. We were the last people you remembered seeing. You knew us. You didn’t know José Doakes, who saw a rich gringo wandering around with a king-size bun on and just couldn’t resist the temptation. So we were it.”
He got up, heading for the cellarette again. “Will you have another drink, Vick, while that’s soaking in?”
Vickers was staring straight ahead of him, at the place where Bill Saul had been sitting. He did not seem to be aware that Saul had moved. There was a long pause before he said,
“Yes. I’ll have another drink.”
Saul took the glass out of his hand and went to refill it. Vickers did not stir. He sat with his elbows on his knees and his hands holding his cracking skull together, and presently his eyes closed and a deep groove came between his brows. Bill Saul came back with Vickers’ drink and put it down beside him.
Vickers opened his eyes. There was a queer expression in them. He got up and took the lapels of Saul’s coat in his hands and held them in close, so that Saul’s face was near his own. He examined it. Saul’s mouth, for the first time, twitched nervously.
“I heard a voice,” Vickers said. “I can still hear it. It said, ‘Turn around, Vickers. I’ve waited a long time for this.’ It said, ‘I want to see your face as you go down.’”
“Imagination, Vick. Dreams.”
“It spoke in English. It called me by name. It was no Mexican thief talking to me.”
Small beads of sweat stood out along Saul’s hairline. “Vick!” he said.
“It was your voice, Bill. It must have been.”
His hands were large, with strong bones and a lacing of thick muscle. They were the hands of a stevedore, a laborer, a common seaman. They let go of the lapels of Bill Saul’s coat and fastened around Bill Saul’s neck. They tightened.
Saul’s upper lip curled back. He seemed to be grinning, but there was no humor in it. He slid his right hand into his pocket.
The dining room doors opened. Angie’s voice cried out. Vickers shivered. Saul’s eyes moved until they could see Angie, coming toward Vickers. Saul’s face relaxed. He took his hand out of his pocket. The veins in his forehead were swollen and his breath rasped painfully. Angie said, “Vick. Vick, what are you doing?”
She touched his wrist. She was quite calm, not in the least noisy or hysterical. Her face was dead white. Vickers turned his head and looked at her. His grip loosened on Saul’s throat. He frowned at Angie, and then he seemed to remember who she was. He let go of Bill Saul altogether. He stood for a moment looking from one to the other and then he turned away and leaned one hand on the back of the couch and stayed there. He was shaking. Saul straightened his collar. He coughed a couple of times and finally got his voice working.
“Angie,” he said. “Where in the hell did you spring from?”
“In there.” She nodded toward the dining room. “I’ll explain about it later. Maybe you’d better go, Bill.”
“Yeah. I think I get the set-up, though. Not so dumb, at that.” He caught her by the shoulder, almost roughly. “What do you think about it? Did I...?” He jerked his head toward Vickers.
She said softly, “Bill, I don’t know what to think!” For a moment it seemed she was going to cry.
Saul said, “Do you want to get out of here?”
“No.” She looked at Vickers. “No, Bill. Thanks. I’ll call you in the morning.” She laughed. It was not a gay sound. “Quite a situation, isn’t it?”
“Yeah. Isn’t it.” Saul went over to Vickers. “Vick.”
Vickers raised his head slowly.
Saul said, “Will you do something? For your sake, for Angie’s sake – for all of us. Will you go see a psychiatrist?”
Vickers did not answer. He turned away and sat down on the couch. Bill Saul went out. The front door closed behind him. The hounds paced and growled uneasily. There was still no sign of the police. Angie sat down beside Vickers.
“Baby...”
His eyes were strange and unseeing. He caught her wrist. “Am I crazy? Have I just dreamed all this?”
“Darling. I...”
“If I dreamed it, then who shot at me? Who tried to kill me in the taxi? Or... did I dream that, too?”
He got up and went away from her. Presently he turned and said, “Do you think I’m crazy?”
“Of course not, Vick. It could be like Bill says, and it wouldn’t mean you were crazy. You’ve been through an awful lot. You could have made a mistake. Anybody could.”
“I suppose so.” He was still shaking. He put his hands in his pockets. They were cold.
Angie said, “In a way, wouldn’t you be happier to know it was a mistake? That none of your friends was guilty of such an awful thing?”
He shook his head. “I have no friends, Angie. They’re all yours.” He drew a long unsteady breath. “I don’t know.” He came back to the couch and flung himself down beside her and put his head on her shoulder, his face pressed against her neck. She could feel his lips move. “I don’t know...”
Joan Merrill came in from the dining room. She looked at Vickers with distaste, and spoke to Angie.
“I just thought I’d tell you. I didn’t call the police.”
Angie stared at her. “But, Joan! I sent you.”
“I know. But I didn’t call them.”
“Why not?”
She gestured impatiently. “Why cause any more trouble? We’ve had enough publicity as it is. I knew the whole thing was a lot of melodramatic tommyrot.” Vickers had sat up. Joan looked him straight in the eye. “Just like you, Michael. An ordinary accident couldn’t happen to you. To anybody else in the world, but not to Michael Vickers. With you it would have to be attempted murder, with a lot of fancy trimmings.” She paused. “You don’t need a psychiatrist, Michael. You just need a little sense.”
She walked out. They sat watching her until she was out of sight, and they could hear her climbing the stairs. Vickers got up. He didn’t go anywhere, or say anything. He just got up, and stayed there. Angie watched him. Her mouth moved uncertainly, but she did not speak. Her eyes were worried. They were a lot like Coolin’s eyes, watching Vickers.
A little thread of sound crept in under the silence. At first nobody noticed it. Then Molly pricked up her ears and howled, tentatively, and Vickers said, “Quiet.”
He bent his head, listening. “A siren,” he said. “It’s coming up the hill.”