Part 5

“Sure,” Hayden said, “because my car was parked on that side of the street.”

“You got home about when?”

“Nine, or a little after.”

Ball leaned back and exchanged glances with the lieutenant. Apparently this was sufficient for a silent meeting of the minds because when he continued he seemed to speak for both of them.

“We’d like very much to speak to your wife for a few minutes, Mr. Hayden,” he said. “I know it may seem to you like an imposition and I appreciate her condition, but in a murder case it’s important that we find out as much as we can and as quickly as we can. Perhaps if you explained--”

He did not finish the sentence but stopped abruptly, his gaze shifting and the dark eyes opening. In the next instant he started to rise and so did Lieutenant Garvey. The reaction was so surprising that Hayden turned; not until then did he realize that his wife was standing in the doorway, her hand still on the knob.

“I thought I heard voices,” she said. “Is something wrong, darling?”

He got to his feet as she spoke, and even with all the confusion in his mind he had time to notice how pretty she looked. She had never been a girl who went to bed with cream on her face or curlers in her hair, except when it had just been washed; now her face had a clean, scrubbed look, and her dark hair was caught at the nape with a ribbon. The hazel eyes had a sleepy look and the dark blue robe she wore was long and tailored. He found his tongue as he stepped to her side and drew her into the room.

“Marion, this is Lieutenant Garvey and Detective Ball--my wife.”

The two men said: “How do you do, Mrs. Hayden,” and looked impressed.

“Police officers, darling?” she said with just the right inflection. “But why?” She smiled at them. “Please sit down. Tell me about it.”

“A man named Sam Adler was killed sometime this evening at The Shady Maple Motel,” Hayden said before the two detectives could reply. “Someone stabbed him. They seem to think we might know him.”

He saw the effect of his words on her as she sat down. The long lashes lifted and her eyes were suddenly wide open and staring at him. He watched the slackness working on her mouth and the color slowly drain from her face. It was a frightening thing to see, this change in her face, and he was terribly afraid that she might blurt out the things she knew before she had a chance to think. He knew she was about to speak, and he could not stop her, and it came to him then that the look of shock and fear in her eyes was concerned not with the two officers but with him.

_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.