Once a Widow (17 page)

“W-what?” Karen stuttered, wishing desperately that she were back in Cleveland, safe in the big house with Maggie and Albert. Why had she come back here? She felt dizzy. She swayed and brushed a hand across her eyes. Then she felt the doctor’s arm around her and she leaned against him, her mind fuzzy with fear and bewilderment. She thought,
Richard tried to kill me—again. Right in the hospital. He feared I would tell what he did to me out on the lake, what he tried to do to me. But he didn’t know they’d moved me and he killed that man instead…
She clung to the doctor, wanting him to stay now, because she was suddenly and completely afraid.

As she pressed against him, Shannon felt the hard outline of the gun against his hip. His hand went to the pocket of her slacks and before she was aware of what he was doing he had the little gun in his hand. He hefted it in his palm and said grimly, “So you were waiting for your husband with this?”

“Yes,” Karen whispered.

“Describe him—quickly.”

Karen closed her eyes and spoke in a choked voice. “He—he’s tall, over six feet, and—and young, very young. He has blue eyes and black hair and—”

“Does he sometimes wear a gray tweed jacket,” Shannon broke in quickly, “and gray flannel slacks and a dark blue shirt? Is his hair thick, curling over his ears?”

“Yes, yes, that’s Richard.”

Shannon held her tightly with his left arm, holding the gun in his right hand. “You fear him, don’t you?”

She trembled against him and made no answer.

Shannon dropped the gun into his coat pocket and grasped her by the shoulders. “Why do you fear him?”

She raised her head and gazed at him with a kind of blank horror. Her mouth worked, and then the words came out, almost whispering. “He tried to drown me, Richard did, Saturday afternoon. He—he threw me overboard and left me. But he didn’t know that I can swim. I—I learned secretly, to please him. I made it to a little island. I don’t remember much after that—not until I saw you in the hospital. I was afraid to stay there and I wanted time to—to think, to decide what to do about Richard. That night I called my home in Cleveland and asked a—a servant to come and get me, to take me home. Today I came back here—I had to come back—to ask him why—why he wanted me dead. I love him.”

Shannon knew then, beyond a doubt, who had killed Lewis Sprang, and why. The murder had been a mistake. Richard Barry, whatever his motive, had made a second attempt to kill his wife. And had failed. Shannon felt a coldness creep over him, a chilling tremor not caused by the wind off the lake. Would Richard Barry try a third time? His fingers dug into Karen’s shoulders. “Where is your husband now?”

“C-close,” Karen stuttered, her gaze shifting wildly about. “He—he’s near, maybe inside the house, watching us. That’s his car you saw—it must be. I—I don’t know about the girl. But Richard is near. I feel it.” She came against Shannon, clung to him, pressed her face to his chest. “Don’t let him hurt me. Don’t let…” She began to sob wildly.

Shannon stood with his arms around her, holding her tightly, and gazed uneasily toward the house. Suddenly he stiffened. Had he seen a movement by the screen door opening onto the terrace?

Coral Thatcher sat at her desk behind the glass partition of the cashier’s office in Memorial Hospital and slowly tore a thick green blotter into tiny squares. A closed ledger was before her and the stack of morning mail was unopened, even though it was her first duty to open the mail, sort it and see that it was properly distributed. But this morning, after the questioning in Mr. Grange’s office, that distressing and horrible time, she could not concentrate on her work. She had deliberately lied to them—to Dr. Shannon, Mr. Grange and Chief Beckwith—because she was afraid. Afraid of what? Of losing her job? After all, it was her fault that Mr. Sprang was dead. That man had killed him, the man who was so attractive, who had reminded her so strongly of Arthur Standish, who was also dead, but who had been so alive in the moonlight on the rectory lawn so long ago. She could describe the man to Chief Beckwith and he would no doubt be found and punished for killing Mr. Sprang. Only he had not wanted to kill Mr. Sprang. He had asked for the woman’s room number and she had given it to him in good faith. How was she to know that the Snake Island woman had been moved? The man must have had a reason to kill her; she was a wanton creature who probably deserved to be killed. But he had made a mistake in the darkness, in his haste, and had killed Mr. Sprang. It wasn’t his fault, not really. Still, it was murder.

Coral selected another blotter from a desk drawer and began to slowly tear it into pieces. She wished she drank. She wished she smoked. But she had nothing, not even medicine, unless one counted aspirin. She had taken too much aspirin lately, as many as twenty tablets a day. On television she had seen advertisements for nerve and sleeping pills which could be purchased without a doctor’s prescription. Maybe she should try them, even though she had told Dr. Shannon that she would come to his office that evening. Why had she done that? Would he touch her, undress her, examine her closely? She simply could not stand such a thing, she could not…

Her mind darted back to the scene in Mr. Grange’s office. She shouldn’t have lied to them, no matter what the consequences. It had been very wrong—she had shielded a murderer. It was—evil. Why had she done such a terrible thing? And then Coral’s expression grew sly. She knew why she had lied. She had lied because the man had reminded her so much of Arthur Standish. He and Arthur were the same, sort of, and she had protected him. She felt a secret sense of power, but it was mixed with a numb horror. A thought struck her with blinding force; maybe Arthur—the man—would come to kill her now, because she had seen him. He would know that she was the only person who had seen him enter room 102 and that she could identify him. He could come and kill her any second now, right at her desk, and get away safely, because he was swift and clever.

Coral began to tremble and her fists crushed the bits of torn blotter. Her body grew suddenly hot, feverish, and she felt perspiration on her face. Then she shivered with a sudden chill. Her body went rigid and she pressed knuckles against her mouth to stifle a scream. People moved up and down the corridor in a fog which seemed to swirl and hover like real fog, except that this fog was pink, like diluted blood. And there was a bell-like ringing in Coral’s ears and distant voices seemed to be calling to her.
Coral, Coral…

Suddenly it was over. Her body slowly relaxed and she unclenched her fingers, panting a little, released the bits of blotter. She could feel the cold perspiration drying on her body, behind her ears, on her face, between her breasts and along the inner curves of her thighs. She felt very tired, drained, but everything was in focus now and the pink fog was gone once more. She dumped the pieces of torn blotter into the waste-basket, wiped her face with a clean handkerchief which she took from a desk drawer, where she also kept her aspirin bottle.

The aspirin tempted her and she fought it, but in the end she opened the bottle, shook three tablets into a palm, tossed them into her mouth and swallowed them without difficulty. She was accustomed to taking them without water; in fact, she rather enjoyed the chalky acid aftertaste. Immediately she felt much better and in command of everything, even the task which faced her. But there was no hurry, she thought. She would think about it a while, even though she was certain she would not change her mind. If that man, the other Arthur Standish, came to kill her, she didn’t care. Let him. But if he did not come by five o’clock, she would betray him. It was her duty. She had done wrong, and she must confess her sin. But she would give him until five o’clock. Coral gazed expectantly across the corridor at the front entrance, as if she expected the handsome, dark-haired stranger to come striding to her desk. She shivered a little, enjoying the sensation. Then she attacked the mail.

After lunch in the hospital cafeteria Coral returned to her desk and with the help of the aspirin worked efficiently until five o’clock, her quitting time. Many visitors had come in the front entrance during the afternoon; but none had been her visitor of Sunday night. Coral had been disappointed. Well, she thought, I gave you your chance, Arthur—I mean Man—and you didn’t take it. Firmly she closed her books, locked the desk and files, picked up her purse and left the office. But when she was in the corridor, walking toward the telephone booth, her courage failed her. She could not do it, not yet. She turned and almost ran from the hospital.

She spent the evening lying on her bed in her darkened room, ignoring her mother’s shrill calls to come down and watch television, especially
Studio One,
and fell asleep at last. In the morning she felt much calmer and knew that she could not postpone her confession again. But she would wait until five o’clock before she called Chief Beckwith, She had her usual lonely breakfast and walked to the hospital. With the aid of the aspirin she got through the day quite well and by five o’clock she was almost looking forward to what she must do. At least, it would be over.

She used the pay booth phone because she did not want her call to go through the hospital switchboard. When she was inside the booth with the door closed she felt suddenly dizzy and faint. She attributed this feeling to the heat and closeness, but it really resulted from tension, her general physical and mental condition and an overdose of aspirin. She leaned against the wall for a moment until the dizziness partially left her, and then lifted the receiver, deposited a dime and dialed the number of the police department, which in Harbor City was 2. The fire department was number 1. When a man’s voice answered she spoke quite calmly in a well modulated voice, “May I speak to Chief Beckwith, please?”

“Just a moment, ma’am.”

She waited. Then she heard Beckwith’s deep voice. “Yes?”

“This is Coral Thatcher. You know, at the hospital? I have some information for you.”

“Okay, Coral. Let’s have it.”

“I lied to you yesterday morning.” Coral paused, while a dreamy smile played about her lips. “I was protecting someone, and I’m sorry.”

“What?” Beckwith said sharply. “Protecting someone? Who?”

“I’m afraid I can’t tell you that,” Coral said airily. “He’s dead now. But I want to tell you that I did see someone strange in the hospital Sunday night, when I was working. About eleven-thirty a man came in and asked for that woman’s room number—you remember, the one they found on Snake Island?—and I told him she was in 102. You see, I didn’t know then that she’d been moved and that Mr. Sprang was in 102. Anyhow, this man said he thought the woman might be his sister, and he went to 102, and—”

“Who was he? What did he look like?”

“His name is Arthur—I—I mean he didn’t tell me his name, but he was tall and dark-haired, cute curly black hair (never before in her life had Coral used the word “cute”), deep blue eyes, nice white teeth. He said his sister had been missing and that the woman might be she.” Coral paused, suddenly enjoying herself. She was an important person, revealing important information.

“Go on,” Beckwith said grimly.

“I didn’t see any harm in telling him the room number. Oh, I knew it was against hospital regulations, but I have
some
authority around here—Miss James needn’t think
she’s
so high and mighty. Anyhow, the man went to 102—how was I to know the woman wasn’t there any more?—and was inside only a minute or two. Then he came out and left, quite abruptly, I thought.” Coral’s thin lips took on a pouting expression. “He didn’t even stop to thank me.”

“I’ll bet he didn’t,” Beckwith said in the same grim voice. “What was he wearing?”

“A gray tweed coat and a dark blue shirt, no necktie. He looked quite—dashing, really. And he was so polite.”

“Polite?” Beckwith muttered. “My God.”

“What did you say?” Coral asked in a clear, precise voice.

“Listen, Coral, why didn’t you tell us this when we talked to you yesterday morning?”

“I was afraid,” Coral said simply.

“Of what? Losing your job?”

“Maybe, but that wasn’t the only reason. I was also protecting someone. I told you that.” Coral’s voice grew plaintive. “Don’t you remember what I told you?”

“Yes, I remember,” Beckwith said heavily. “You said you were protecting someone, and that he was dead. What did you mean by that?”

Coral became confused. All at once the walls of the booth seemed to be moving inward, crushing her. Why had she said that? What on earth had made her say it? Arthur Standish was dead, buried. She said faintly, “I—I don’t know. I’m sorry. I guess I didn’t tell because I was afraid Mr. Grange would fire me, for breaking a hospital rule.”

Beckwith said harshly, “Get your stories straight, Coral. Had you ever seen this man before?”

“Yes,” Coral said and then gasped. “I—I mean no, no,” and she thought wildly,
Yes, I’ve seen him many, many times, in my dreams of Arthur Standish. They are the same, Arthur and the stranger, and I have betrayed them both.

“All right, Coral,” Beckwith said wearily. “Thanks for calling me. You should have told us before, but I think I understand why you didn’t. Maybe Grange will let you keep your job. Have you told him?”

“What?”

“Have you told Charlie Grange that you lied to us?” Beckwith said impatiently.

“No, no.” Coral felt the dizziness returning. She’d forgotten about Mr. Grange, about her job. “No, not yet.”

“You’d better tell him before he gets it second-handed.”

“I will,” Coral whispered.

“Did you hear what I said?”

“Yes,” Coral said in a stronger voice. “I’ll tell Mr. Grange right away.”

“Would you know this man if you saw him again?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Good. If I need you, I’ll let you know. Goodbye.”

“Goodbye.” Coral replaced the receiver with trembling fingers, leaned against the wall of the booth and passed a hand over her eyes. My job, she thought, I’ll lose my job. Mr. Grange does not tolerate infractions of rules. What will I do? Where can I find another job in Harbor City at my age? What will become of Mother if I can’t work? My five thousand dollar life insurance policy is payable to her—that will keep her for a while. Only I’m not dead, not yet…