The look, and feel, and delicately perfumed aroma of Elise clung to his senses as he drove through the frigid, deserted night to Jim’s place-and he cursed the gnawing dissatisfaction of his ego that prevented him from turning back.
It no longer mattered; if it ever had; that Marie had been unfaithful to him-and he did not have to look very deep into his conscience to discover why. He could even understand; despite the better than twenty-year disparity in their ages; what had attracted her and Jim to one another. In addition to the charming manners and soft-spoken urbanity that almost all women of all ages found so attractive and flattering, Jim was also a strikingly vigorous and virile male specimen. And; even though she had lost her attraction for him; he could not deny that Marie had still possessed the almost virginal-like type of face and figure that appealed to a man’s protective instinct, and quickly turned it into lust.
But, the one thing that did deeply trouble him about their affair-and for which, more than anything else, he both needed and feared the answer-was how and why she had decided to stay with Jim at such a crucial time. He had no interest in the circumstances of their coming together, or the physical intimacies of their relationship-or even in how Jim had managed to overcome her phobia about pregnancy. But, he believed that the chances for success in his marriage to Elise, would depend-to some extent, at least-on the solution to the mystery of the failure of his marriage to Marie. He thought that he now knew and understood his own inadequacies as her husband, but he still did not know or understand to what extent they had contributed to her failure as his wife. He felt that he had to determine the degree of his culpability for that failure, and particularly, how it had influenced her actions during the last days and hours of her life.
According to what Sally had told the FBI, Marie had been genuinely shocked and concerned about the threat to his life, and fearful that he would not believe her when she told him about it. So, presumably, she had gone to someone-a ‘him’-who she believed she could trust and who would be able to convince him of the danger. There seemed little reason to doubt now, that Jim had been the ‘him’ she had had in mind-and no reason to doubt that she had told him about Sally’s warning. And yet, she had made no attempt afterwards to find out if he had received the information from Jim, or was doing anything about it. And, of course, he never had heard from Jim, and the implication was inescapable that, either separately or together, they had both decided to abandon him to his fate.
If-as now seemed irrefutable-Jim was really Mr. In-Between, he could almost understand, and accept his failure to pass on Sally’s warning. After all, he had represented a threat which Jim-as Mr. In-Between-would have been a fool to try to preserve rather than see eliminated. But, why had Marie not followed up to see if he was safe or not? Was it possible that Jim had confessed the truth to her and that she had then decided-or been persuaded-to protect her lover instead of her husband? Is that what she had been so sorry about at the moment of her death? They had inflicted grievous, unhealable wounds on each other throughout the years of their marriage, but it was still difficult to believe that he had ever given her cause to consent to his murder. And yet, the possibility seemed painfully implicit in her decision to stay with Jim. Then-what had caused her to show up when she did? And to sacrifice her life to save his? And, above all, what had she been so sorry for? The questions
- if left unanswered-could be like a guillotine waiting to drop and sever his life from Elise
- though, the answers-if Jim would or could supply them-might be even more unnerving and difficult to live with.
It was almost midnight when he drove into the parking area in front of Jim’s condominium but, knowing his habits, he had anticipated the lights which he saw were still visible around the edges of the drawn draperies of his windows. He parked facing the entrance and, getting out, walked across the thin layer of softly crunching snow, and up the two shallow steps to the front door. Pressing the ivory button set into the jamb, he could hear the distant, muffled sound of the chimes inside. In a few moments, a light went on over his head and he could feel Jim studying him through the small one-way glass viewer set at eye level in the ornately carved door. Then, the door swung inward and the lighted opening was filled by Jim’s massive figure.
“Mark! This is a surprise! What brings you here at this time of night? Nothing wrong, I hope?”
“I’m afraid there is Jim. Can I come in?”
“Of course! Come in, by all means.”
He stepped aside to let him enter, closed the door behind him and then took his coat and hung it in the closet.
“Make yourself comfortable, Mark,” he urged with a familiar pat on the back. “Can I get you anything? Coffee? A drink, perhaps?”
“No.thanks.” He turned to face him. “All I want from you is the truth.”
“The truth?” Jim repeated, eyebrows arching quizzically. “The truth about what?”
“Let’s not fence with each other, Jim. I think you’ve probably been expecting me-possibly, even sooner than tonight-and we both know why.”
Jim smiled tolerantly, “You might know why-or think you do. But, I’m afraid you’re only talking in riddles as far as I’m concerned. However, sit down and tell me what’s on your mind.”
They sat across from each other in facing armchairs and Jim leaned forward to take a cigarette from an onyx box on the low table between them, igniting it with a matching lighter. The simple gesture served to draw his attention to the other furnishings and decorations surrounding them. He had been there before and had admired Jim’s taste in both. The furniture was massive, masculine and comfortable, and the carefully displayed objets d’art; and precisely hung paintings and tapestries; had all seemed to reflect the very catholic expression of a man enamored of all forms of art. Now, however, it appeared to represent only a blatant display of his share of the proceeds from the drug trade.
He saw that Jim had been watching him. “Quite a collection you’ve got. It must representa considerable investment.”
“It does. But, I’m sure that’s not what you came here to talk about.” He pushed back the sleeve of the embroidered silk robe he was wearing over an open-necked dress shirt and tuxedo trousers, and glanced at the thin gold watch on his wrist. “It is rather late and I’ve had a long, tiring day, as you might imagine since you were a part of it. I don’t want to appear inhospitable, but perhaps you’d better come to the point.”
“All right, Jim. But it would save a lot of time if you would simply admit that it was you who organized and controlled the drug smuggling and distribution that has been carried on in this area for the past five years-that it was you who recruited Bentley and his two deputies, and blackmailed Closter into joining in the scheme-that it’s you who owns the three truckstops where the drivers have been drugged prior to being hijacked, and which also provided the prostitutes for the parties at Stanhope’s lodge. That it was you who had Bentley lease the lodge so it could be used to store the drugs, and the other hijacked freight, until you could make arrangements with your customers for its dispersal. That it’s you-more than anyone else-who is, at least, morally if not directly responsible for the deaths of the truck driver, Haggerty, and Closter, Bentley, Bucheck, Stanhope and.. .Marie. And that it was you Marie was with during the last two days of her life.”
Jim had sat unmoving and impassive during the recitation-legs crossed, hands resting on the arms of his chair, cigarette dangling between the fingers of his left hand-with only a slight arching of his heavy brows betraying any surprise or emotion at his accusations. As he finished, he slowly raised the hand holding the cigarette and took a deep drag, making the tip glow brightly orange.
“Is that all?” His tone was faintly ironic. “Smuggling, blackmail, hijacking, prostitution, murder.. .and adultery?” He counted them off on the fingers of his left hand. “That’s quite an incredible indictment. But, knowing you as I do, I presume you have some good reason for making it.”
Jim was left-handed! He even used custom-made, extra-long, left-handed golf clubs! And, with the realization came the remembrance of the coroner’s theory and demonstration of the right and left-handed karate chop that had been administered to Haggerty and Closter, respectively. Jim had personally murdered Closter! Aside from the left-handedness, he also had the height and reach that would have enabled him to tie the extension cord around the crossbeam without using either the chair or the ladder. Even more conclusive; now that he knew of the past association between the two of them; Jim would have been the only one that Closter could have believed would be willing or able to extricate him from his predicament. Had he not protected Jim-if Elise’s father was right-from being implicated in the black market operation? And would he not have thought that he could now expect, or demand, similar protection in return? Even if the protection had to come from the man who-for the second time in his life-had put his freedom in jeopardy? Because, in the end, who else did he have to turn to except the only person who had known of his involvement. Besides, he had his own knowledge of Jim’s past-and present-criminal activities to bargain with. But, he apparently had not bargained for the possibility that-contrary to his own instincts-Jim had been more concerned with self-preservation than self-sacrifice and had been prepared to killrather than surrender his freedom.
The shock of his conviction that-along with everything else he had been finding so difficult to believe about him-this soft-spoken, cultured, gentle giant of a man was also a murderer, left him momentarily speechless.
Jim frowned. “Well? Do you have any proof of what you’ve accused me of, or don’t you?” he asked irritably.
“Yes, Jim. There’s proof.of everything. The whole list.”
Strangely, he looked almost relieved, and relaxed deeper in his chair. “All right. Let’s hear what you call proof.”
“For openers, how-and when-did you hear about the crash of the Central States truck?”
The question appeared to surprise him. “I don’t remember. What difference does it make?”
“When Elise and I got to the restaurant you already knew about it. Yet, everybody else I talked to afterwards, said they first heard about it on the ten o’clock news.”
Jim shrugged. “Then, obviously, I must have heard it on an earlier news program-or some customer who got there before you told me about it.”
“-or Bentley called to tell you that Flynn and Bucheck had had to kill the driver because he had regained consciousness during the hijacking and caught them in the act.”
“That’s a supposition, not proof,” Jim said with a faint sardonic smile. “The law recognizes the difference, if you don’t.” But he did not disclaim knowledge of who they were.
“It shouldn’t be too difficult to establish whether or not there was an earlier news announcement of the accident-or if one of your other customers told you about it. As I recall, there weren’t too many there that night. If one of them did tell you about it, he-or she-should be willing to come forward and say so.”
“If he-or she-remembers it,” Jim replied. “But, regardless of how I heard about it, it’s still not proof of anything.”
“How did you know it was one of Ben’s trucks that crashed?”
Jim shrugged. “Whoever told me about it must have mentioned the name of the trucking company.”
“How did you know Elise was Cassandra’s teacher?”
The sudden shift in the direction of his questions seemed to startle him. “What?”
“You asked Elise what she thought of Cassandra-as if you already knew she was one of her pupils. When I introduced her to you, I didn’t mention what grade, or even what school, she taught in.”
He spread his hands, flicking the ashes off his cigarette with the same motion. “ I suppose I must have assumed it.”
“-or Marie had told you.”
“Perhaps she had. She did come in to ‘The Sanctuary’ every now and then without you.” He snuffed out the cigarette in an ashtray on the table beside his chair. “We talked about many things. But that also doesn’t prove anything.”
“What about the ring she gave you? That should prove something.”
“Ahh.the ring,” he murmured.
“Yes. Elise saw it on you that night, but didn’t remember it until she missed it on youtoday. Two weeks ago we accidentally discovered where Marie had bought it. The clerk remembered her and the inscription she had put on it.”
In a seemingly involuntary gesture, he massaged the little finger of his left hand. “I could claim that Elise was mistaken and deny any knowledge of it.”
“Why bother? I’m sure it would be easy to locate other people who saw you wearing it.”
He took a moment to consider the possibility. “Yes. Yes, I suppose you’re right.” It was the first concession he had made.
“Then you admit that she gave it to you?”
He hesitated a moment longer before replying. “All right. So Marie gave me a ring for my birthday. It was an overly generous gift from a rather impulsive woman. That’s all.”
“Marie was impulsive.. .but that’s not why she gave you the ring.”
Jim shrugged. “Suit yourself, Mark. If you prefer to believe that we..”
“I prefer to believe what my common sense tells me is true,” he interrupted him. “She gave you the ring because she was having an affair with you. And, that’s also why she went to you for help after Sally told her of Bentley’s threat to kill me.”
He looked skeptical. “That wouldn’t seem to make much sense. If she was having an affair with me, why would she think I would be willing to help you?”
“It makes perfectly good sense,” he retorted. “She was in love with you and-believing you loved her in return-she trusted you. Besides: affair or no affair; why wouldn’t you want to help me-unless I represented some kind of threat to you?”
“Well.. .you didn’t, and Marie never told me anything about a threat to you,” he responded.
“I suppose you don’t know who Sally is either?”
He hesitated as if trying to recall the name and then shook his head. “Never heard of her before.”
“Or Closter?”
He frowned thoughtfully. “I do seem to recall reading that someone by that name killed himself recently.”
“He didn’t kill himself, and his real name was Claude Louis Oster-two facts that I’m sure you’re already aware of.”
“ ‘Claude Louis Oster,’ “ he repeated. “Now that does ring a bell.. .faintly, but distinctly.”
“It should, since you were his commanding officer when he was in the Army and a character witness at his court martial.”
“Ah, yes. Now I remember,” he mused. “Now how did you happen to unearth that bit of information?”
“Elise’s father recognized you. He was in the MP’s, stationed in Vienna at the time of Closter’s-or Oster’s-trial. He was in court when you testified. He thinks you should have gone to jail with him.”
“Does he, now?” He smiled sardonically. “Then, why didn’t he speak up?”
“Because there was no evidence to connect Closter, or Oster, with you then-but there is now.”
“And what evidence is there now?”
“His confession.”
Except for a barely perceptible tightening of the muscles along his jawline, it was a remarkable exercise in self-control. There was no change of expression and his hands were steady and sure-fingered as he leaned forward to extract another cigarette from the onyx box and light it. Exhaling simultaneously through his nose and mouth, he leaned back again.
“A confession you say. I’m sure you’re too much of a pragmatist to try to bluff about a thing like that. But-assuming it does exist and implicates me in whatever Claude was involved in-why did you bother to carry out this afternoon’s charade?-or did you only come into possession of it since then?”
“I don’t have it.yet. It’s in a lock box at the main post office, where Closter mailed it. I received a letter from his secretary, with the key, telling me where it was. I had Gladys turn the key over to the FBI, but they weren’t able to get a court order to remove it before the post office closed. They might have to wait until Monday to get it.which gives you plenty of time for a getaway, if you want to try to make one.”
He shifted the cigarette to his right hand and slipped the left one into the pocket of his robe. “That’s very generous-and rather foolish-of you to tell me that, don’t you think? Considering the things you believe me guilty of?”
“Perhaps. But killing me before finding out what is actually in the confession would be even more foolish.”
He was amazed at the calm, unemotional tone of his own voice. He was certain that Jim had a gun in the pocket of his robe and that he might be only a few moments away from death. He had been right after all. Jim had been expecting him. Something in his manner toward him in the restaurant had made him suspicious. But it was evident that he had not anticipated the existence of Closter’s confession, and he had taken a calculated risk in telling him about it. Now, as he waited for Jim to make up his mind whether to kill him or not, he also wondered what his chances were of trying to avoid being killed. Drawing his legs back against the chair, he gripped the arms with his hands and tensed his muscles. The silence in the room was so absolute that he could hear the faint, dry sound of a tree branch scraping against a window in one of the upstairs rooms. Jim continued to study him with a cold, calculating intensity from beneath half-closed lids. His eyes gleamed redly like those of a rabid animal crouched in a jungle thicket ready to attack, and kill, anything that crossed its path. Then the gleam faded and he took his hand out of his pocket-empty.
“I should have known that Claude would do something of the sort,” he said, smiling bitterly. “He always was a very thorough, conscientious little bastard.”