Verdict Suspended (17 page)

“Greta,” Steve begged, “you have to let go. You have to face facts! There
was
time. Jaime killed Sheilah
after
he went to the building site. He came back and the quarrel started again. That was when he killed her. Then he ran out—as you arrived. He didn’t see you. He got into his car and drove to Hanson’s Pier. He struck that barricade deliberately.”

“No!”

“He told me that himself … just before he took the car away from me today. He wanted to kill himself that night. He knew what he’d done to Sheilah. It was only after the accident that he couldn’t remember. I know how much you don’t want to believe me, Greta, but it’s true!”

Greta stared at Steve. They might have been the only two people in the room. She stood very still, and then she swayed slightly. Steve caught her in his arms. He turned to Lennard.

“I won’t tolerate any more of this!” he said. “Mrs. Dodson should be in bed!”

“So should I,” Lennard answered dryly. “All right, Mr. Quentin. Take her home. There’s nothing more to be done here anyway. You say that Jaime wanted to commit suicide. Mrs. Dodson admits that he confessed to killing Sheilah. Dr. Curry has given us a lesson in modern medicine and constitutional law. I’m just thankful that I’m not the District Attorney. What he’s going to do with this mess, I’ll never know!”

As Lennard spoke, the hall door opened. A uniformed policeman peered in cautiously. Lennard nodded and he came on into the room. He handed Lennard a slip of paper. Lennard read quickly.

“All right,” he said. “I’ll get right down there. And, Simpson, call my wife and tell her to send one of the kids over with a pair of dry socks. I won’t get home tonight.” He looked up to see Greta’s eyes begging for explanation.

“Have they found Jaime?” she asked.

“No,” Lennard said. “They got the car up onto a sand bar. The lab men are going down to make tests…. Take her home, Mr. Quentin. We’ll call you if there’s any change in the situation.”

Steve and Greta left first. Tilde hung back timidly. Cy had to push her past Lennard’s desk. Then Cy waited awkwardly.

“Captain Lennard,” he said, “there’s something. Not important, I guess, but something. When I talked to Jaime today I told him he might get hurt stirring up things and asking too many questions. He said a peculiar thing. He said that maybe he had to hurt himself before he could stop being Sheilah’s bad-boy brother. I didn’t pay much attention at the time. I sure didn’t think he meant suicide.”

Cy spoke his piece and went out quickly, urging Tilde before him. They were all gone from the office but Dr. Curry and Albert Trench. In spite of Curry’s reprimand, Trench still wore a slight smirk on his face.

“Mr. Trench,” Lennard said, “one thing before you go. Everybody seems to have seen and talked to Jaime Dodson sometime during the day but you. You work for Mr. Quentin. Didn’t you see him at all?”

“You called it, Captain,” Trench said. “I work for Mr. Quentin. The cottage is separate from the house. Separate entrance; separate walk. I saw Mr. Dodson go out at about ten o’clock this morning. I never saw him again.”

“What about the telephone call Mrs. Dodson made from Sheilah’s house this evening? She gave a statement to one of my men a few hours ago. Said she called you from the house and asked about some glasses.”

“Yes, sir. The glasses Miss Dodson received from her shop on the day of her death. They were mentioned at the hearing.”

“What did she want to know?”

“If any were broken in delivery. I told her there were eight perfect glasses. I washed them and put them out on the serving bar in readiness for the party.”

“Did she say any more?”

“Yes, sir. She asked if I broke a glass. I didn’t, of course. Then she hung up.”

“Weren’t you curious to know why she asked those questions?”

“Captain Lennard,” Trench said in a weary voice, “I have worked for Miss Dodson for many years. Prior to that, I was in service with several other families. I’ve learned not to be too curious…. Is there anything else, sir?”

Lennard glared at him. “No,” he said. “If there is, I’ll call you.” He watched Trench turn and march stiffly out of the room. “I wonder,” he mused, “where he keeps the key they use to wind him up.” He sat down then in the big chair behind his desk and began very deliberately to untie his shoes. He untied and removed both shoes, and then pulled off one black, icy-cold, wet sock and dropped it gingerly to the floor. He looked up and saw Curry watching him with deep interest. “One of the advantages of living on a policeman’s salary,” he said, “is that I don’t have to keep a houseman like Albert Trench.” He wriggled his toes and sighed deeply. “They still have circulation. I guess we won’t have to amputate.”

He removed the second sock and dropped it beside the first. “Dr. Curry,” he said, “you’re a smart man. You’re supposed to know what goes on inside the heads of people. What do you think of Sheilah Dodson’s friends and associates? Are they properly bereaved?”

“She was a successful woman,” Curry answered. “Successful people are usually hated—whether they deserve it or not.”

“I suppose so. Still, I had the feeling just now that every one of them—with the exception of Jaime’s wife—will rest easier tonight just because Jaime isn’t about asking questions. On my job I get a worm’s-eye view of people. The worst of Everyman. Now I have to start doing my arithmetic. How much should I remember? How much should I forget? Jaime Dodson milked his sister through kickback deals with contractors. Sheilah got wise and booted him out of the business. Cy Shepherd has a police record and must have hated Sheilah’s guts for holding it over him. His wife must have hated her guts for more reasons than that. Sheilah was human. The earthworm view I have of life tells me she held Cy for more reasons than his ability as a contractor.”

Lennard stretched his legs out before him and wriggled his toes in boyish glee. “And then there’s Steve Quentin,” he added. “He’s been in and out of Sheilah’s bed for years. Oh, I can be honest with you, Dr. Curry. I can’t shock you, I’m sure…. And Albert Trench. He’s learned not to be curious! What he’s learned is when to keep his eyes open and his mouth shut. Right now he’s trying to figure who is the most liable for a light touch of blackmail.”

“Who gets Sheilah’s money?” Curry suggested.

Lennard stopped wriggling his toes and put his feet on the floor. “Dr. Curry,” he said soberly, “you’re beginning to think like a cop.”

“Who does get the money?” Curry repeated. “The money that was Sheilah’s … and would have been Jaime’s?”

“His widow,” Lennard said slowly. “Now wait a minute. All my instincts can’t be wrong!”

Curry smiled softly. “It may be that all your instincts aren’t working,” he said. “You don’t seem to be aware that the woman who was Greta Muldoon on the night Sheilah Dodson was murdered is a woman Sheilah was willing to go to any length to eliminate as a candidate for Mrs. Jaime Dodson.”

“Even to the extent of breaking with Jaime … legally,” Lennard mused. “Keep talking, Doctor. You’re making my feet warm.”

Dr. Curry set his pipe tightly between his teeth and scowled thoughtfully for some seconds. Then he removed the pipe and said: “Captain Lennard, do you know anything about the habits of electric eels?”

Steve drove directly home. He put the car in the garage and walked with Greta to the cottage. She unlocked the door and Steve stepped in ahead of her. He waited an instant before turning on the light. When the lights did come on he saw Greta staring at him questioningly.

“Steve,” she said, “why did you do that?”

“What did I do?” Steve asked.

“You were listening. You thought someone might be here.”

Steve made a weak attempt at what was meant to be a reassuring smile. “You’re imagining things,” he said. “We both are. It’s been a hellish day…. How about some coffee?”

It was a ruse to keep her occupied. There would be no sleep this night. Greta went into the kitchen and put the kettle on the stove. She opened the cupboard and put out two cups, the sugar and cream, and then opened the breadbox.

“I have a little coffeecake. It’s left over from breakfast …” And then she broke. She held to the table top of the sink with both hands and cried softly and deeply.

Steve put one arm around her and drew her close. “Get rid of it,” he said. “Cry it out.”

“It’s so unfair!” Greta sobbed. “Jaime went through the ordeal of the inquest. How much punishment did he deserve?”

“That’s what I tried to tell him,” Steve said. “He wouldn’t listen. But you aren’t alone, Greta. I’ll be with you all the way. Do you understand?”

She stopped crying. She became very quiet in his arms.

“You’ll need someone close to you. Gossip destroyed Jaime … it’s not going to destroy you. Get out of Cypress Point, Greta. Give me your power of attorney and I’ll sell everything for you. Start a new life somewhere else.”

Greta drew back from his arms and looked at him, strangely. “I have nothing to sell.”

“You have everything! It’s all yours now. Sheilah’s house—her business. Everything that would have been Jaime’s.”

“I don’t want it.”

“Of course you don’t want it—tonight. But you will. And you’ll have competition. Cy will demand a share of the business. Trench won’t let anyone forget that Sheilah didn’t want you for Jaime’s wife—”

Steve broke off. Greta stood directly before him. She was staring at him in a wild, frightening way.

“Greta,” he said, “I know my timing’s bad. But I want you to think of something besides Jaime.”

Greta raised her right hand and stared at it, and and then she stared at Steve’s coat. “Steve … there’s blood on your coat!”

Steve’s coat was dark. A stain couldn’t be seen from a distance. But Greta had been close to him, clinging to him for support. Now her hand was sticky.

“It’s oil,” he said. “I rubbed against something.”

“It’s blood!” Greta said. “Steve, take off your coat!”

He tried to step aside, but she was too swift for him. Her hands were already clawing at his coat buttons. She ripped open the coat and pulled back the stained side. Steve’s shirt was white, and just above the waistline an ugly patch of red was seeping through.

Greta drew back in horror.

“It’s nothing!” Steve said. “I was cleaning my gun. It misfired!”

She stared at him in complete disbelief. “No…. It’s Jaime! You fought with him!”

“Greta—I swear!”

“Where is he, Steve? Is he hurt?” And then she drew something hard and damning from memory and hurled it at him. “You know where he is! You know why the police won’t find bloodstains in his car! That’s why you said he was thrown into the sea….”

She whirled about and ran from him. He reacted an instant later. He found her in the living room, the telephone in her hand. She was trying to dial as she backed away from him.

“Greta,” he ordered, “don’t do that!”

He reached out and yanked the telephone from her hand. He was never quite sure whether or not she screamed. He saw her eyes widen and her mouth open … and then she was at the front door clawing at the latch. The door opened. Greta started forward and then drew back.

Captain Lennard stood in the doorway. He took in the situation at a glance that came to focus on Steve’s bloodstained shirt. Lennard held out his hand. Steve’s gun was in it. “Mr. Quentin,” he said, “I believe this belongs to you.”

Steve watched Captain Lennard walk into the room. Dr. Curry was directly behind him. He watched Greta, half strangled with fear, back against the wall and stand silently, all eyes. He looked down at the gun in Lennard’s hand.

“One of my men found it in the brush just below the place where Jaime Dodson’s car went off the embankment,” he said. “It has a name plate on the butt: ‘S. Quentin.’”

Steve’s mouth was dry. He licked his lips. “Vanity gets the better of us all,” he said.

“How did your gun get on the beach, Mr. Quentin?”

“I lost it.”

“And how did you get that wound in your side, Mr. Quentin?”

“I was shot with the gun … just before I lost it.”

“How?”

“Struggling with Jaime Dodson.”

Steve saw Greta’s lips tremble, but she didn’t speak. He didn’t like facing her. He turned back to Lennard.

“Where is Jaime now?” Lennard asked.

“I don’t know. We grappled for the gun. It went off and hit me in the side. That’s when I lost control of it. Jaime ran off in the darkness.”

“There are two bullets missing from the cartridge clip, Mr. Quentin.”

“All right—maybe I fired one. I don’t remember. Jaime jumped me from the brush. I wasn’t expecting him. I thought he was in the wreck.” And then Steve began to return to life after the state of shock he’d been in from the moment Greta saw the stain on his coat. His eyes sought Curry’s pleadingly. “He did confess!” Steve insisted. “You know that, Dr. Curry! He confessed in the hospital … and to Greta … and to me in the car! He told me he was going to commit suicide and threw me out on the highway…. I didn’t imagine that! When I finally reached the scene of the accident I naturally thought he was in the wreckage. I started to climb down the cliff—calling to him—and then he jumped me.”

Three people stared at Steve. Three people who were suddenly strangers, with whom he must try to communicate in a foreign language.

“Jaime wrecked that car himself!” he said.

“Why were you carrying a gun?” Lennard asked.

“Why?” Steve groped for more words. “I took it with me when I saw the lights and went up to Sheilah’s house. I knew what Jaime was trying to do. I didn’t know how it might affect him if he realized the truth.”

“Then you took the gun for protection.”

“Yes—for my own and for Jaime’s. Dr. Curry warned me that he might have a violent reaction if he remembered his confession. That’s why I wanted Greta out of the house…. What’s the matter, Lennard? Don’t you believe me? I tell you, Jaime wrecked his own car!”

“I believe you,” Lennard said, “but I wonder why you didn’t tell us about it sooner. You were in the police station for over an hour—on the beach before that. Why the secrecy, Mr. Quentin?”

“I wanted to give Jaime a chance to get away,” Steve said.