Marnie (28 page)

‘Well, ask them now.’

‘In the fifteen years I was Chief Constable I often came up against problems in which the human element conflicted with the official attitude; and often there was no completely
satisfactory solution. A police official is a very decent human being, but he inevitably becomes a little case-hardened to the hard luck story. You see, he knows, we all know, that there are
generally speaking three main classes of thief. The first type, who are the great majority, are very silly and careless. Their thefts are unpremeditated and often quite motiveless. You find them in
our prisons, unhappy men and women who have to be locked up in defence of the laws of property and common sense, people who can’t keep their fingers to themselves, kleptomaniacs in varying
degrees of addiction. Then there is the second class, the people who steal – or more often embezzle – only once or twice in their lives. They are the people who find themselves in a job
where money comes through their hands or where the books can be cooked, and they perhaps experiment once or twice and get away with it, so they yield to the terrible temptation and disappear with
the staff funds or with money they have manipulated at the bank. Their thefts are not as senseless or as unpremeditated as the first class, but often, indeed usually, they act on impulse, or at
least with lack of real preparation and foresight.’

I waited, knowing now what was coming.

‘The third group are the clever, the intelligent ones. They are genuinely immoral – that is, they recognize right at the outset just what sort of life they intend to lead, and they
proceed to lead it. They usually work out one particular line as their own and they usually go on repeating it, in general design. That’s how they get caught. But sometimes they are too
clever for us and they go on and on. Now the first thing a police officer would ask himself is, into which category does the present history seem to fall?’

Mark said: ‘Yes, I recognize all that. It’s very natural and necessary to want to classify criminals. But I think if you try to fit Marnie into any hard and fast group you’d be
making a tragic mistake.’

‘That may be so. I’m prepared to accept it. But you spoke of psychiatric treatment. Now, I’ve seen psychiatry and analysis do fine things for the kleptomaniac, the sort of
women who will go into a shop and steal twenty-three bottles of tomato sauce or twelve egg-whisks or something equally unprofitable. Such a woman is sick, she’s mentally unstable. She may not
be curable but it’s certainly worth a try. Where does – where does Mrs Rutland come in such a picture? What, for instance, persuaded you she needed treatment before you heard of these
thefts?’

It was raining again now, and a cold wind blew the drops in a fine mist over me.

Mark said: ‘After our marriage she was awfully – I suppose distressed is the best word I can find for it. She seemed to feel an overbearing sense of guilt and horror. Sometimes in
her confusion she almost turned against me. All this must have been very much on her mind, because she repeatedly told me I should never have married her. I think her confession to me the other
night is a direct consequence of her visits to the analyst.’

Well, I thought, he’s clever. But this man isn’t going to swallow any of it . . .

‘How much do you know of her background, Mark? Is she quite open about it?’

‘She’s become more so. Both her parents were killed in the war and she was pretty well dragged up. If she—’

‘Any convictions?’

‘Not that I know of. And I’ve been into it pretty thoroughly with her.’

‘Well, of course, that would be the first thing we should check. She doesn’t know you’re telling me tonight?’

‘Not yet.’

The shadow passed the window again. Westerman was walking up and down. ‘You see, what really troubles me about your story, and what I know will trouble my successor if you put it to him,
is that all these embezzlements, all three of them, were undertaken with the utmost premeditation. This isn’t a case of a girl cashier who can’t resist the notes crackling in her
fingers. In each of these cases she took the job under a false name. In other words she
took
the job with only one end in view.’

‘I tell you, she was mentally disturbed at the time. If she—’

‘About what? Had she some reason to be mentally disturbed?’

‘That I don’t know yet. The psychiatrist should be able to tell us in due course.’

‘What’s worrying me, Mark, is how far you have deceived yourself in this—’

‘It’s one of the risks I have to take.’

‘But it’s not one that others – especially the police – will readily take.’

‘I know that, but I’m talking to you as an old friend tonight.’

‘I agree, but as your friend I have to try to help you to see this straight.’

‘And you think I’m not?’

‘I can’t answer that. I think there’s a risk that you may not be doing so.’

Nobody spoke; it was as if they were stopping to cool off.

‘Look, Humphry, tell me this. Suppose you were in my position and were convinced of the facts as I’ve told you them. What would you do?’

‘There are only about two things you can do . . . Of course embezzlement is not the most serious of crimes. But it’s a felony. You know, I wish she hadn’t done it three times;
that’s really your biggest snag.’

‘I know.’

‘Well, as I say, there are really only two courses open to you. The simplest and straightest is to go with your wife to our headquarters in Hertford. Ask for Inspector Breward –
he’s a very reasonable and civilized man – and get your wife to make a full and complete confession. At the same time make it clear that you intend to return all the money. She will be
charged in the normal way and will come before a magistrate, who may deal with her summarily or, if the prosecution ask for it, will commit her for trial at the next quarter sessions. In any event
get a first-rate man to take your case, and when she comes up he can go all out for the many redeeming features. Free and voluntary confession and surrender to the police, eagerness to return all
the stolen money, the prisoner’s deep and heartfelt regret, newly married woman, first offender, etc. It will sound very well. If you get a decent judge – and most of them are only too
glad of an opportunity to show they’re human beings – your wife, having pleaded guilty to the Indictment, will be bound over to keep the peace – and at once released.’

‘What would the chances be?’

‘Oh . . . better than fifty-fifty. But if by then you could arrange for her to be with child, I should say at least four to one against any sentence.’

I was cramped and stiff with cold.

Mark said: ‘That makes the whole thing completely public. And it puts her to all the mental stress of going through the normal processes of the law. What’s the alternative? Is there
one?’

‘Well . . . off the record, yes, though it’s altogether more complicated. Go with her and make private calls upon each of the three firms who have lost money, express your deep
sorrow at the trouble she has caused them and her earnest contrition etc., and while you are saying this show them your cheque for the amount stolen, press it into their hands and ask them as a
special favour to an anxious husband if they will withdraw the charge.’

‘That sounds
less
complicated.’

‘Perhaps. But it’s more tricky. If you follow the first course you are at the most subject to the decision and the outlook of one man, the judge who will try her. I agree it’s
a risk, he might be a man who feels compelled to make an example of her; but I think it’s the risk I personally would take. In the second course you are subject to the views of three lots of
people – perhaps three boards of directors. If they are decent people they will take the money back and let the whole matter drop – though there’s a snag attached to that –
but if there is
one
vindictive one among the three, there is nothing to stop him saying “Thanks, I’ll take the money back but I’ll still proceed with the charge.
We’ve been put to a great deal of trouble and expense, and it’s necessary for the sake of other people, our customers, the rest of our staff, to make an example of this woman.”
There are plenty of self-righteous people in the world. And once that has happened, if she comes to trial then, she can never stand as well with us, or with the judge.’

‘. . . and the other snag?’

‘Warrants for the arrest of the thief will have been issued. It would be necessary for the firms concerned to communicate with the police and ask for the warrants to be withdrawn. It would
then depend whether the police were in fact willing to withdraw them.’

‘Would they not be?’

‘Well, they too have been put to trouble and expense. They have their duty to do, their duty to the public as a whole, don’t forget. They might at first refuse to get the warrants
withdrawn by the Justices concerned . . . Though I suppose in the end, yes, after a period they would agree.’

I was wet through and shivering.

Mark said: ‘Well, thank you, Humphry. I’ve got to mull this over for a bit; then I have to consult her. Whatever I do has obviously got to be with her willing
co-operation.’

‘. . . Perhaps this psychiatrist fellow might be able to advise you and her. There’s only one thing, of course.’

‘I think I know what you’re going to say.’

‘Well, I’m sure you do appreciate that by the act of telling me about your wife you have made me a party to the concealment. The fact that I no longer have an official position
doesn’t affect that. If I do nothing about what you have told me I’m guilty of misprision of felony – as indeed you will be too.’

‘What do you suggest?’

‘Obviously there’s no immediate hurry, and I shall naturally treat this talk in the strictest confidence. But if you could give me the assurance that you will do something within a
reasonable period of weeks . . .’

‘I intend to,’ Mark said.

I got in and Mrs Leonard exclaimed and said whatever had I been doing getting soaked to the skin like that, and my lovely frock; and I said Forio wasn’t well and I
thought I’d have the vet in the morning, but anyway don’t say anything to Mr Rutland about me being wet, just apologize to them for me and say I have a headache and am going to bed.

I stumbled upstairs and stripped off my things and ran the bath and lay in it for a few minutes trying to take a hold of my nerves and push my brain around. But for once even lying in the water
wouldn’t do anything. I mean, I was really up against it this time. I got out of the bath and wrapped a towel around me and went into my bedroom. I caught sight of myself in the mirror, a
draped half-naked figure with damp hair and eyes too big for her face. My face had shrunk. I dropped the towel and dusted my arms and back with talcum powder. My legs were still damp and I rubbed
them. Voices downstairs. Mr Westerman was going.

I went across and fiddled with the portable radio. It came on to Radio Luxembourg and a sudden voice said I ought to turn to the Lord; but instead I turned to some Latin American music on the
Light. But I didn’t listen to it. Not properly. It was as if I’d overheard I’d got an incurable disease.

I tried to get into my nightdress, but my back must still have been damp because it stuck and I tore the shoulder strap. As I wrestled my way into it I saw my suitcase on top of the
wardrobe.

I’d have to go. That was the answer. There wasn’t any other now.

I stood on a stool and got the case down; it was nearly empty but there was a bathing cap and some sun-tan oil that I hadn’t taken out since Majorca.

I heard a car start. So he was off. Suppose he didn’t trust us and rang one of his inspectors tonight.

I went to sort out some things in the dressing-table and drop them in the case. Then I stopped. It wouldn’t work. I couldn’t leave tonight. More haste etc. I shut the case and
clicked the catches and pushed it under the bed.

There was a knock on the door.

‘Who is it?’

‘Mark!’

‘Just a minute.’ I shut the drawers and pulled on my dressing-gown. ‘Come in.’

He came in. ‘Westerman’s just gone. Are you all right?’

‘Yes . . . I had a headache.’

‘What’s the matter?’

‘Nothing’s the matter.’

‘You look so pale.’

‘I feel pale.’

He stood hesitating. His eyes went round the room and he saw my frock.

‘Is your frock wet?’

‘I went out to see to Forio.’

‘Without a mackintosh?’

‘Yes.’

After a minute he said: ‘You know what we were talking about?’

‘Yes.’ I sat on the bed. It creaked as if I was double weight.

He shut the door behind him. ‘Did you listen?’

‘What does it feel like to behave like Judas?’

‘Is that the way you see it?’

‘How d’you expect me to see it?’

He dragged over a bedroom chair and sat on it, quite close to me, quietly facing me. I pulled the dressing-gown across my knees.

‘Marnie, it isn’t a thing I could talk over with you any more. I had to make the choice myself, after weighing up the risks and the probabilities.’

‘You did that, I’m sure. Sneaking to the highest policeman you could—’

‘I’m not being moral or superior or righteous, I’m just trying to use my common sense. I wish you’d use yours.’

‘Perhaps I could if it was your liberty that was at stake.’

‘If it was my liberty that was at stake I’d do exactly the same. Don’t you see, you can’t just go on living in a dream world until something else happens? I’m by no
means sure that Strutt is satisfied by what we’ve told him. What’s to stop him making some further inquiries? It’s no good appealing to the judge then, or offering to pay the
money back.
We
have to make the first move. Otherwise you’ll get three years as certainly as you are sitting here looking so hurt and so beautiful. You wouldn’t have the luxury
of three baths a day, and daily rides, and poker with Terry; and maybe that lovely fresh skin would react badly to three years indoors—’

‘D’you think I don’t know all that!’ I shouted, getting up. ‘Don’t you see what you’re doing – what you’ve flaming-well done! If I go to
prison it’ll be your bleeding fault and no one else’s! You’ve ratted on me – like a dirty rat – like a dirty crawling rat – a dirty filthy
crawling—’