"Blonde lady?" Emerick asked innocently, but there was electricity in his voice now and his dark complexion paled.
"The blonde lady," Robert said, for the first time looking Emerick in the eye. "It would be a pity if your wife found out."
Ernerick's cigarette dropped to the lobby carpet and he trembled so that he had to support himself for a second on the soda machine.
Robert knew he had the upper hand now and he intended to play it. "Someone always sees," he sneered.
Emerick collected himself admirably. He ground out the dropped cigarette with the heel of his shoe and lit another. Peering at Robert over the flame he asked, "How much?"
How much?
Robert flushed and cursed himself inwardly. All his carefully laid plans and he hadn't even considered the amount he would ask. "Five thousand," he said, his mind racing furiously.
Emerick didn't change expression.
So five thousand was nothing to him,
Robert thought.
Of course not, living where he did, driving that big car...
"When and where?" Emerick asked.
"Saturday afternoon. At one o'clock, in the parking lot of the Spoon and Kettle Restaurant on Route 21. And make it ten thousand."
Emerick's mouth dropped open at that, but his surprised expression turned with great effort into a broad smile as he looked over Robert's shoulder. Robert turned to see Mrs. Emerick crossing the lobby toward them. As he looked at the woman close up for the first time, Robert noticed through his sudden embarrassment that she was attractive in a blue-eyed, creamy way. There was a look of friendly curiosity on her face as she wobbled toward them on her high heels.
Robert's palms began to sweat again as he tried to think of a way to take his leave gracefully.
"Darling," Emerick said in a brave, high voice, as if about to introduce them. But Robert had spun on his heel and was walking hurriedly toward the exit.
T
he Spoon and Kettle Restaurant was a popular truck stop that shared a large parking lot with a service station. The restaurant was doing its usual brisk Saturday afternoon business, which was exactly why Robert had chosen it for his and Emerick's rendezvous. As he stood with one foot braced against the bumper of his car he was in plain view of at least half a dozen diners on the other side of a large plate glass window about a hundred feet away. Emerick wouldn't dare try anything violent with so many witnesses. The thing that was worrying Robert now, however, was whether Emerick would show up.
It was 1:15 when the shiny black sedan pulled off the highway into the parking lot. Emerick parked on the other side of the lot, then got out and stood squinting against the sun, holding a large dark briefcase. He spotted Robert and motioned him to come over.
Emerick's car was in view of the diners inside the restaurant, so Robert hesitated only a second. Elated and relieved that the risky business of blackmail was about to end profitably, he walked over to meet Emerick.
"The money's in there?" Robert asked, nodding toward the briefcase and trying to sound brisk and businesslike.
"No," Emerick said softly, "there are two things in here, but neither of them is money." He didn't seem at all frightened or resigned as he had in the theater. There was something in Emerick's steady dark eyes that preposterously suggested he was in charge.
"I don't understand," Robert said, noticing that Emerick had inserted his hand into the briefcase.
"There are two small pillows in here," Emerick said. "And between those two pillows is a gunâpointed straight at you. Now get in the car."
Robert felt himself grow faint. "You wouldn't do anything... in front of all these people. It's broad daylight...
"Oh, but I would," Emerick said, his dark face breaking into a confident smile. "The pillows will muffle the shot so that it will barely he heard inside the restaurant, and when you drop I'll simply pick you up and put you in the car. It will appear that you fell or took sickâif anyone is watching."
Robert knew that he had his choice: he could either turn and walk away, chancing that Emerick wouldn't dare fire, or he could get in the car and take his chances. It would take nerve to do either, but more nerve to walk away.
As he opened the car door, Robert was shocked to see Mrs. Emerick sitting behind the wheel. His heart hammering, he got in, followed by Emerick. The gun was out of the briefcase now, pressing painfully into Robert's ribs.
"To Memorial Park, darling," Emerick said.
Fright and bewilderment hit Robert with a wave of nausea "IâI don't understand," he mumbled as the big car pulled out onto the highway. "The blonde lady...the lady in the woods..."
Emerick laughed long and heartily, pushing the gun muzzle harder against Robert's ribs, and out of the corner of his eye Robert could see the woman's ruby lips twist up in a smile.
"Oh, that was no lady," Emerick said, the laughter still ringing in his voice, "that was my wife."
F
rank Seabold sat quietly alongside his lawyer, his hands resting steadily and relaxed atop the gleaming mahogany table.
His sensitive and rather elongated features were unreadable as he watched the jury, eight men and four women, file somberly from the courtroom to deliberate his case. Seabold turned his heavy lidded gray eyes toward the judge, but the judge had already left the bench and disappeared into his chambers to wait.
"This is the hardest part," Allan Gory, his lawyer, said to Seabold, "the waiting. If I know anything about juries we have a good chance, though I wouldn't want you to get your hopes too high, Mr. Seabold. You never can tell about juries for sure."
"I'm not worried," Seabold said calmly, and that was true. From the corner of his eye he saw Cory glance strangely at him, and he had to restrain a smile.
No doubt it did strike the little lawyer odd, that here sat a man waiting while twelve people decided whether he lived or died in the electric chair, and that the man seemed genuinely unworried.
The two uniformed bailiffs had approached Seabold, ready to lead him to the small cell in the courthouse basement where he would await the life or death verdict. They were both beefy, unsmiling men.
Seabold stood to accompany them.
"Don't you worry either," he said to his lawyer, leaning down and smiling for the first time since the trial began. "I'm not going to die in the electric chair."
He was aware of Gory watching him as he was led from the now empty courtroom.
In his cell Seabold removed his shoes and lay back on his cot. The courthouse basement was quiet in a hollow, faintly echoing kind of way. The only view from between his bars was the opposite green-tiled wall of the corridor.
Seabold folded his hands on his chest and stared upward at the ceiling with its undersized heating and ventilation ducts. He thought of Gracie and of the life they would lead with Nina's money.
Nina was Seabold's wife of ten years, and though they had never found her body, they were trying Seabold for her murder. Popular fallacy that they couldn't try a murderer without the body of his victim, Seabold thought. They could, all right, with enough evidence.
He had been smart enough not to pin his hopes on that.
Closing his eyes Seabold tried to create a mental picture of Gracie, of her soft blonde hair and eyes bluer than any blue he'd ever seen, eyes with a certain pinpoint of light deep within them. Lieutenant Craig didn't even know Gracie existed, and that was how Seabold wanted it.
He thought back to when he'd met Police Lieutenant Craig. Seabold had instinctively disliked the man from the first time he had looked at him across the threshold.
It was an unseasonably wintery day, and the lieutenant was wearing a heavy topcoat with the collar turned up against the few icy flecks of snow that danced in the air.
His hand had been moving to ring the doorbell again when Seabold opened the door, and he returned the hand to his coat pocket and narrowed his eyes above his long hawkish nose.
"Mr. Seabold?" Craig said.
Seabold nodded, and for the first time noticed the other man behind the lieutenant.
"I'm Lieutenant John Craig, Police Department." He quickly flashed his credentials. "Is Mrs. Seabold in?"
"No, she isn't," Seabold said. "She's away visiting relatives right now." He added in a worried voice, "Nothing's...happened, has it?" "Not to our knowledge," Craig said. "You mind if we step in?' Seabold moved the door a few inches nearer to the closed position and shook his head. "I'm busy right now, if you don't mind." Craig's eyes strained to see inside. "Could you answer a few
questions?"
"Really," Seabold said, "I don't have time."
"You're being very uncooperative, Mr. Seabold. How long has your wife been gone?"
"Since last Saturday," Seabold said quickly. "Last Saturday. Now really...he began to close the door.
"And is she here in town?" Lieutenant Craig asked sharply.
The door stopped. "No, she's with her cousin in Seattle."
"What's her cousin's name?"
"Rogers, I think," Seabold said, "Donna Rogers."
"You think?"
"If you don't mind, Lieutenant...The door closed to within an inch of the frame.
"We'll be back, Mr. Seabold," came the voice from outside with the cold draft. "We'll he back with a warrant."
"You don't need a warrant," Seabold said. "I'll be glad to talk to you later, when I have time." Gently he shut the door all the way and stood with his ear pressed hard against it.
But Lieutenant Craig and the policeman with him didn't exchange a word. After a minute or so Seabold could hear their footsteps on the cement walk that led to the street.
Through a crack in the drawn curtains he watched the gray unmarked police car pull away and turn the corner in the next block. Could they have known he was listening?
It didn't take Lieutenant Craig long. He was back late that afternoon with a search warrant and the same policeman who'd accompanied him earlier, a lethargic looking man he introduced as Sergeant Tompkins.
This time Seabold opened the door wide and invited them to step inside. He led them to the living room and sat in a chair across from the two of them sitting on the sofa.
Lieutenant Craig removed his hat to reveal thinning black hair. "Has Mrs. Seabold returned?" he asked.
Seabold shook his head. "She intends to be gone for some time, I think."
Lieutenant Craig stared at Seabold, while the sergeant was looking slowly about the room as if someone had said something and he was trying to locate the owner of the voice.
"I'll be honest with you," the lieutenant said finally. "We got an anonymous phone call this morning telling us foul play had been done to your wife. We get calls like that pretty often. Sometimes they mean something, usually they don't. But combined with your actions this afternoon. . .you can see where we'd be suspicious, I'm sure."
Seabold nodded thoughtfully. "But Nina's in Seattle, with her cousin."
"Would it be possible for you to call her long distance?"
"It would," Seabold said, "only I can't remember the name and address of her cousin."
Lieutenant Craig sighed and crossed his legs. A very serious look suddenly appeared on the sergeant's face, as if he suddenly remembered he'd left the gas on at home.
Seabold bowed his head and stared for a long time at his angular clenched fists. "All right, Lieutenant," he said slowly, "I'll tell you what really happened, even if it's so simple it sounds suspicious. Nina and I had a big fight Saturdayâprobably one of the neighbors heard it and called you. After the argument we went to bed. I was awakened about eight the next morning by the front door closing and then a car door slamming twice. The bed beside me was empty. Nina was gone and so were two of her suitcases. Her car was still in the garage so I assume she left in a taxi. I haven't heard from her since and I don't know where she is."
Craig stared at Seabold curiously. The lieutenant's eyes were set very close together, peering intently past the protruding bridge of his long nose. "What was the argument about?"
"That's the funny part about it," Seabold said earnestly. "I can't even remember."
But that didn't strike Lieutenant Craig funny at all. He and the sergeant exchanged glances.
"Oh, now I recall," Seabold said suddenly. "It was about the house. I wanted to move into a larger house and Nina didn't, then one insult led to another and pretty soon it got loud and ugly."
"Then she packed and left," Craig said flatly, as if finishing the story for Seabold. "We did a little checking, Mr. Seabold, and we found that your wife was worth quite a bit of money, owned a large block of stock in a shoe company. What did you do before your marriage?"
"I worked for the shoe company," Seabold said. "I designed arch supports for women's feet, but I was on my way up."
"Yes," Lieutenant Craig said thoughtfully, "no doubt you had your sights set much higher than that." He uncrossed his legs and leaned forward as if getting ready to stand. "I think we'll look around a little, Mr. Seabold."