The Scarlet Letters (11 page)

“Fort Try on Park–The Cloisters–at one
P.M
. tomorrow.”

Ellery's car was laid up with carburetor trouble, and he decided on the 8th Avenue subway as the least painful way of reaching Manhattan's far north. He got off at the 190th Street-Overlook Terrace station.

It lacked a few minutes of one o'clock; The Cloisters did not open to the public until one. Ellery approached the towered building cautiously. He was just in time to see Martha step from a taxi into a red Cadillac convertible and the convertible shoot away.

“I keep forgetting,” Ellery told Nikki that night, “that they're not really interested in sightseeing. Harrison's guidebook refers to points of contact only. I'm sorry, Nikki. Shadowing doesn't seem to be my forte.”

“I don't suppose it matters.” Nikki was very nervous tonight; she kept lighting cigarets and putting them down. “I saw something this evening that I don't think I ever want to see again.”

“What's happened now?”

“She was away all afternoon. Dirk was very upset. He dictated hardly a line. I didn't hear what alibi she prepared for herself, but whatever it was it didn't satisfy him. He kept making calls to various places where she might be, and of course he didn't get her or turn up anyone who'd seen her. When she came home … I think,” Nikki said, “I need a drink.”

Ellery gave her straight Scotch. She took the glass, but then she put it down. “No, that's what
he
did. It doesn't solve a thing … He jumped on Martha before she could peel her gloves off. Where had she been, what man had she been with this time–he had the goods on her–she hadn't been where she'd said she was going–now he knew he'd been right all along … You can imagine.

“Or rather,” said Nikki, staring into the recent past, “you can't. Dirk can be the sweetest guy in the world one minute and the most loathsome the next. He has a foul tongue when he gets these attacks, Ellery, and I mean foul. Some of the things he said to Martha tonight–if any man said them to me, husband or no husband, I'd kill him.”

“But if they were true?” said Ellery.

“They couldn't be true. Even if she's doing all the unspeakable things he accuses her of, they're not true the way he means them. Martha isn't a whore, Ellery. Whatever she's doing with Van Harrison, it's because she thinks she's in love with him. That makes the difference. Maybe no man can see that it would, but it does … And then,” said Nikki, a great many decibels lower, “Dirk beat her.”

“Beat
her?”

“He hit her a tremendous blow on the side of the head and she fell down. Her earlobe started to bleed; she was dazed and tried to get up. He hit her again … with his fist this time. And this time she stayed down. She–she didn't make a sound. Didn't cry out, or whimper, or anything. She just took it. As if her tongue had been cut out. As if she was afraid that if she made the slightest sound, he'd kill her.”

Nikki started to cry. “You can't imagine how awful he looked,” she wailed. “You can't imagine. His face was the face of a maniac. I was so frightened. I thought of the gun in his bureau drawer, and I kept saying to myself that if he hit her once more I'd snatch it out and shoot him. But he ran into the study and slammed the door …

“I wanted to phone you right away, but I had to take care of Martha. I bathed her face and head and undressed her and got her into bed, and all the time she didn't say a word, Ellery. And I didn't know what to say, either … It wasn't till I gave her a sleeping pill that she said–do you know what she said, Ellery?”

“What did she say?”

“‘Lock me in, Nikki.' “

Ellery wiped her face and sat down and took her hand. “I locked her in, and I pocketed the key. Then I went to the study. I don't know what I was going to do … But I found him stretched out in the armchair, dead to the world. He'd swallowed most of a fifth of Scotch in about fifteen minutes. So I locked him in, too. And I grabbed a cab and came over here, and now I've got to get back. Maybe he'll be sick and wake up, or something …”

“I'm going back with you,” said Ellery grimly.

But the Lawrence apartment was quiet. Martha was sleeping heavily in the bedroom. Dirk was where Nikki had left him, snoring in drunken sleep.

“You go to bed, Nikki. I think you'd better sleep with Martha. And just to be on the safe side, keep the door locked.”

Nikki clung to him. “Ellery, I wish you didn't have to leave.”

“I'm not going to leave.”

“What are you going to do?” Nikki whispered.

“Stick with Dirk till he comes to. Till I can find out how far this has gone in his so-called mind.”

He kissed her and waited until he heard the key turn in the bedroom door.

Then he went back to the study.

Dirk awoke at dawn. He gave a strangled snort, and Ellery heard the creak of the armchair springs.

Ellery got off the living-room couch and went to the doorway between the two rooms. Dirk was swaying on his feet in the half-light, hands to his cheeks, shaking his head as if he had water in his ears.

“No,” said Ellery, “you didn't dream it.”

Dirk's face came out of his hands like an explosion. His body contracted in a curve.

“Nerves, old man?”

“What are you doing here?” Dirk's voice was a croak.

“Oh, come on, you can write better dialogue than that. What do you suppose I'm doing here? I left a perfectly good secretary on deposit. I didn't expect to get back a screaming hysteric.”

“She told you about it.” Dirk dropped into the chair.

“Did you think she'd keep it a secret? You scared the wadding out of her, Dirk. I came back to protect her, since for some unimaginable reason she refuses to leave. But that doesn't settle the question of Martha.”

Dirk got up again. “Where is she?”

“Suppose I told you she's on a slab at the Morgue.”

“Look, Ellery, I'm in no condition for jokes.”

“Suppose I told you it isn't a joke.”

Dirk's jaw wigwagged before anything came out. “You mean I–you mean she–”

“Suppose I told you that second sock to her head broke her neck.”

Dirk laughed. He went over to the desk and picked up the bottle of Scotch. He held it up critically to the brightening light. “You sonofabitch,” he said. “You had me going. It wasn't her head I hit the second time. It was her shoulder.” He drained the bottle. It dropped from his fingers and he collapsed in the armchair and covered his face again. “How is she?”

“Last I saw, she was sleeping.” Dirk began to get up. “Relax. Nikki's sleeping with her, and she locked the door. At Martha's request.” Dirk sank back again. “How do you like it, champ? Proud of yourself?” Ellery came in and picked up the empty bottle and looked at it. “Is there anything more pitiful–and useless–than morning-after remorse? You don't even have the satisfaction of knowing that you beat her up drunk.”

Dirk said nothing.

“Dirk.” Ellery placed the bottle carefully on the desk. “What's this all about?”

“I told you!”

“Do you expect me to believe you can't control these emotional binges?”

“I don't expect you to believe anything. Let me alone.”

“It's not safe. You're getting dangerous.”

“All right, I know, I'm sorry, I'll crawl on my navel,” said Dirk bitterly. “But this time it wasn't my imagination. She's seeing somebody, Ellery.”

“Any proof of that?” Ellery asked crisply.

“Not your kind, no. But she got careless yesterday. For the first time she didn't bother to go where she'd said she was going. She forgot to cover herself.” Dirk jumped up and began to stride about. “I don't make out a good case. I lose control and rage and throw my weight around. Okay, I'm all wrapped up in myself and nobody loves a breast-beater–or a wife-beater–and Martha's pink and sweet and has a soft voice and I'm seeing things. But suppose I'm not! Suppose she isn't what everybody thinks she is … what I thought she was when I married her. Then what?”

“Then,” said Ellery, “if you can prove it, you say: Sorry, my error; and you bow out.”

“Is that what you'd do if your wife was sleeping with another man?”

“It's your wife we're discussing. And if she is, you don't know it. And even if she is–how clean is your nose?”

“What do you mean?” Dirk looked ugly. “I haven't given the time of day to another woman since I met Martha!”

“Pull your jaw back in. I'm willing to take your word for it. But a husband's catting around isn't the only reason a wife gets itchy feet. Maybe you've accused Martha so often of being unfaithful when she wasn't that she's decided she might as well be.”

Dirk looked trapped.

“It's probably still not too late, Dirk. Maybe she is seeing another man, but that doesn't mean she's gone the limit. She's still in love with you or she'd have walked out on you long ago. If I were you, I'd have another go at a good analyst and meanwhile I'd try my damnedest to save what's left of my marriage. You're not going to do it with your fists.”

To himself Ellery said, And may God have mercy on my soul.

He left Dirk staring at the wall and shut the study door quietly. And there was Nikki, her red hair tumbled about her face, clutching her robe at the throat.

Ellery took her into the foyer. “You look very pretty in the morning.”

Nikki looked bewildered.

“Martha still asleep?”

“Yes,” Nikki whispered.

“I think this crisis is past. But it can't go on much longer. I'm going to have to talk to Martha.”

“Here?”

“Hardly.”

“I don't think she'll talk to you, Ellery. She's so far committed … and especially after last night …”

“She's going to come to me.”

“She won't.”

“She will. At her next meeting she'll catch a glimpse of me. She'll be scared. She'll come, all right … In that kind of climate, I have a fighting chance to talk some sense into her.” Ellery added slowly, “It may be our last chance.”

The following week Nikki tipped Ellery off that the
G
letter had arrived.

“How's it been going, Nikki?”

“All right. Martha hasn't been able to go out because of her face. At first she wouldn't talk to him, and he's been quiet as a mouse. But he's tried to make up to her in his own way. He sent her a box of gardenias yesterday. They're her favorite flowers. That did it. Women are such fools!”

“Do you think she'll keep the appointment?”

“I don't know. The swelling's down … I suppose so.”

“Don't bother phoning me when she leaves. I'll just chance it. The worst that can happen is that I'll have a visit with General Grant.”

Harrison had set the time for two in the afternoon of the next day. It was a fine day, and Ellery walked over to Riverside Drive, striding.

But the nurses were out with their baby carriages, and assorted children, many children, were playing on the grass overlooking the West Side Highway and the Hudson. Two women were clucking over a red-faced lump in a carriage, the lump evidently being one of the newly made ones.

Ellery scowled at the little products of love. The day wasn't so fine after all. He found himself wishing he were on the trail of a nice, clean murder.

He took a bus the rest of the way.

He got off at 122nd Street and crossed over from the Riverside Church to the paved plaza before Grant's Tomb. The plaza, the steps were deserted. He looked at his watch. Five minutes of two.

He went in boldly, hoping to surprise them. But the Tomb was empty, too.

The marble floor sent his footsteps echoing through the building. He leaned on the railing and looked down at the historic remains a dozen feet below. Ulysses Simpson Grant had been lying here since 1897, and he had been dead fifteen years before that. Julia Dent Grant's tenure was newer, but still fifty years old. You're dead a long time, Ellery thought, and nobody much cares. I'll have to bring Dirk here for a lesson in historical perspective.

He heard a car horn outside and he went quickly out of the Tomb. He stopped between two of the pillars above the stone steps, shading his eyes against the glare.

The red convertible was at the curb of the plaza. Van Harrison's Homburg and broad back were visible at the wheel. He was honking at a cab parked on the east side of the Drive. As Ellery glanced over, the cab drove away. It unveiled Martha, on the sidewalk.

She had to wait for the traffic signal. She was dressed gaily today, in something flowered, with bright colors, and a big picture hat. She was holding the floppy brim against the breeze with one hand and waving with the other.

Ellery stepped out of the shadows of the pillars and onto the apron of the stairs, and he deliberately waved back.

She spotted him instantly. Her hand stopped flapping; she half-turned, as if to run.

Harrison honked again, surprised. Then he turned his head.

Ellery ran down the steps, waving cheerfully. “Hi, Martha!”

She changed her mind and came hurrying across the Drive, clutching her hat. Now that the die was cast, she was trying to beat him to the convertible.

Ellery allowed her to get there first. But he came on quickly enough to immobilize them.

Harrison had jumped out and was saying something to her in a swift undertone. He turned, smiling, as Ellery came up.

“Why, Ellery.” Martha was smiling, too. She was very pale. “I've never pictured you visiting tombs, except on a case.”

“There are all sorts of cases.” Ellery glanced at the actor in the expectant manner of one waiting to be introduced.

“Oh. This is Van Harrison. Ellery Queen.”

“How d'you do.” Harrison squeezed, hard.