1975 - The Joker in the Pack (22 page)

Burying her face in the pillow, she began to sob her heart out.

* * *

The next four hours were the worst Helga had ever lived through for they were hours of self-incrimination, remorse and self-disgust. She saw herself as she imagined others saw her. It was like looking into a three dimensional mirror and what she saw there sickened her.

When Nurse Fairely had come in, hearing Helga sobbing, Helga screamed at her to get out and stay out.

As soon as the startled nurse had withdrawn, Helga had staggered out of bed and had locked the door, then she had returned to the bed to continue her desperate sobbing.

An hour of this left her drained and leaving the bed, she put on a wrap and had sat in a lounging chair.

There came a gentle tap on the door and Hinkle’s voice asking, “May I bring something, madame? A little beef tea?”

“Just leave me alone.” Helga had to control herself not to scream at him. “I’ll ring if I want anything.”

Then began the long hours of self-incrimination. So Herman is dead, she thought. You wanted him to die. You longed for him to die because you wanted to own all his money. That was all you could think about . . . his money! Now finally he is dead and he died hating you. After the few years you have been married to him during which time he respected you, was proud of you, trusted you, he finally died hating you.

The knowledge that he had died hating her crushed her.

Because of her infernal sex urge she had been unfaithful, but she had always been scrupulously honest with his money, and yet he had died believing she had not only been unfaithful but was no longer to be trusted with the handling of his fortune.

He had called her a whore. He had died thinking of her as a whore.

Her mind switched to what Hinkle had said:
Apparently, madame, he came out of the coma for a few moments, then his heart gave out
.

She saw Jackson pulling the needle out of the doll’s head and pushing it into the doll’s body. Could the needle have killed Herman? Hadn’t she stood by, doing nothing, while Jackson had murdered her husband? Why hadn’t she snatched the doll from him? Wasn’t it because she longed for Herman to die, and although she didn’t believe it could happen, had hoped it would happen?

Stop this stupid, superstitious thinking! she told herself. You know a needle couldn’t kill anyone. It’s not possible. Herman’s death was a coincidence. It must have been! There could be no other explanation.

Her mind switched back to Herman’s hatred. She thought of his letter to Winborn. Only a few days ago, she had told herself that when Herman died, she would destroy the letter.

Because he no longer trusted her, Herman had written this letter which would strip her of her V.I.P. status since she would never accept the conditions he laid down.

As I am satisfied that she has betrayed my trust
… She remembered the words.

True, she thought, I did betray your trust but you never considered my feelings. All you wanted was a good-looking secretary-servant. Although I was unfaithful to you I have always been honest with your money. Why couldn’t you have shown a spark of kindness, consideration and understanding and have turned a blind eye to my affairs?

For many minutes, she sat still, staring out of the window, then she came to a decision.

You may be a selfish, hard, unfaithful bitch, but you are not dishonest, she told herself.

She would not destroy the letter. She would give it to Winborn when he arrived. Whatever else she was, she wasn’t dishonest nor a cheat. To destroy the wishes of a dead man would be a despicable and utterly dishonest act.

Then into her mind came the small voice of temptation. Don’t do anything in haste, the voice said. Think what you will be giving up. Think of the power that will be yours when you control sixty million dollars. If you give that letter to Winborn, knowing you can’t live like a nun, you will have nothing and you will be faced with the task of making a new life for yourself. Think of the gossip when it becomes known that Herman has disinherited you. They will say gleefully that there is no smoke without fire. The federal tax people will want to know what has happened to the two million dollars Archer stole. You will have to throw him to the wolves to save yourself and he will tell the world, to try to save himself, you were his mistress. Don’t give the letter to Winborn, the small voice urged. Destroy it as you were planning to do before you got this spineless feeling of guilt. No one will know except Hinkle and he is your friend. He admires you:
so good, so worthy, so loyal
.

For more than three hours, Helga struggled with the small voice and then when she felt utterly exhausted, the steel in her asserted itself.

“Whatever else you are, whatever else you become,” she said, half aloud, “you will not be a cheat!”

Her mind made up, she got unsteadily to her feet, rang the service bell, then unlocked the door. She crossed to the wall mirror and regarded herself. God! She looked terrible! The right side of her face was puffy and bruised. Her eyes were swollen with weeping. Her hair looked like a bird’s nest.

She crossed to the desk and sat down as a tap came at the door.

“Come in.”

Hinkle entered and closed the door gently.

“I want you to do something for me, Hinkle,” she said and taking out a sheet of notepaper, she wrote:
Please give Mr. Hinkle, the bearer of this note, the envelope you have in safekeeping for me
.

She signed and addressed an envelope to the manager of the Diamond Beach hotel.

“Will you please go immediately to the Diamond Beach hotel and bring back an envelope they are keeping for me in their safe?”

“Certainly, madame.” Hinkle took the note, hesitated, then said, “May I inquire if you are still in pain, madame? Nurse Fairely is extremely worried.”

She looked at him, her eyes steely.

“I am all right. Will you tell the police inspector I will see him when it is convenient for him?”

“Are you sure that is wise, madame? Shouldn’t you . . .”

“Please do as I say!”

“Yes, madame.” Hinkle flushed at her sharp tone. “I have had a telephone call from Mr. Winborn. He will not be arriving this evening but sometime early tomorrow. It would seem there is an airport strike that has delayed him. He sends his regrets.”

“All right. Now please go to the hotel.”

When he left, looking upset by her curt manner, she went into the bathroom and began repairing her face. In twenty minutes she had painted out the bruise, reduced the swelling of her eyes and fixed her hair. She was lighting a cigarette when Chief Inspector Harrison arrived.

Harrison was a tall, burly man who could have been Frank Gritten’s brother. He had the same steely blue eyes and the same gentle voice.

He began by offering his sincere condolences but Helga cut him short.

“Thank you, Inspector. I am anxious to rest. I understand you want a description of the man who attacked me. He was colored; tall, think, middle-aged and he wore a yellow and red handkerchief around his head, a dirty white shirt, dark trousers and was bare footed. Is there anything else you want to know?”

Startled at being so hustled, Harrison stared blankly at her.

“You haven’t seen this man before, madame?”

“No.”

“Is there anything missing?”

Why hadn’t she thought to look to see if Jackson had taken the money? Helga was angry with herself for not checking.

“I don’t think so. This is a hired villa. I have only my jewels and some money . . . nothing else of value.” She got to her feet and going to the closet, she checked her jewel box, then satisfied, she went to her bag lying on the dressing table. The eight thousand dollars was missing! With an effort, she kept her face expressionless. Snapping the bag shut, she said, “No, there’s nothing missing. It was fortunate I was up here. I heard movements, went to the head of the stairs and saw this man. He saw me and came bounding up the stairs. I locked myself in and I called the police. He broke in and tried to stop me from telephoning. I suppose he became frightened and ran away.”

Harrison regarded her thoughtfully.

“It would seem so, madame.”

“Is that all?” she asked impatiently.

“Not quite all. What can you tell me about a doll we found downstairs?”

She had completely forgotten about the doll! Again her steel control served her well.

“Doll? I know nothing about a doll. What do you mean?” She crushed out her cigarette.

“Excuse me a moment.” Harrison went to the door. He spoke to someone outside, then returned, carrying Rolfe’s effigy.

“This doll, madame.”

Helga forced herself to look at the doll.

“I’ve never seen it before.” She looked more closely, then shrank back, stifling a gasp, but she was careful not to overplay the scene. “It – it resembles my husband.”

“Yes, madame. I am sorry to raise such a painful issue.”

“This intruder must have brought it with him. Probably, he wanted to sell it to me,” Helga said quickly. “There can be no other explanation.”

“Unfortunately there is, madame. You may have heard of this voodoo cult.”

“At this moment, I am not interested in cults,” Helga broke in, steel in her voice. “If that is all, then I would be glad if you would go. My head is tormenting me.”

Harrison hesitated. He was very conscious that he was facing a woman now worth at least sixty million dollars and that kind of money drew a lot of water. He was also aware that she had just lost her husband and had been attacked. If he continued to question her she could complain and his superiors cold come down on him like a ton of concrete. He decided to play it safe.

“Certainly, madame. I will see you are not bothered again. As nothing has been stolen . . .” He began to move to the door. “You can be sure we will hunt for this man.”

“I am sure you will,” Helga said and turned away.

When he had gone, she sat down and drew in a deep breath. That had gone off better than she could have hoped. So Jackson had found and taken the money. That must mean he was miles away by now. The mess she had feared was now disappearing under the rug. The cards had begun to fall her way again!

Twenty minutes later, Hinkle appeared with a large, sealed envelope.

“Is this what you wanted, madame?”

Helga slit open the envelope, glanced inside and saw the red folder.

“Yes, thank you Hinkle.” She looked directly at him. “I suppose you have guessed what this is?”

“I would rather not be told, madame,” Hinkle said, his face expressionless. “I hesitate to offer advice, but may I suggest the contents of this envelope should be destroyed.”

She stared at him and again the small voice urged: go on, destroy it! Think what you have to lose! Even Hinkle is telling you to do it. Doesn’t that salve your stupid conscience?

“Thank you, Hinkle. You are a good friend.”

“I suggest a light meal would be sensible, madame. One thinks so much better when fortified. Perhaps a dozen oysters?”

She shook her head.

“I feel like a big steak. I haven’t eaten for two days!”

His face lit up.

“Certainly, madame. I will cook it myself. Also a little caviar with toast.”

As soon as he had gone, Helga decided to dress. Looking at her watch, she saw the time was 14.45. She hated slopping around in a wrap.

Half an hour later, when Hinkle pushed in the service trolley, she was wearing a white dress with a broad black leather belt around her slim waist and he regarded her with admiring approval.

“If I may say so, madame, you are a remarkable woman.”

She smiled at him.

“Thank you, Hinkle. At times I believe that myself. You didn’t think . . .” Then she stopped, seeing the cocktail shaker. “Of course you did . . . bless you.”

“I fear Dr. Levi wouldn’t approve, madame, but in times of stress, a little alcohol is beneficial.”

After she had finished the meal and had drunk two vodka martinis, she found to her surprise that her head no longer ached.

As she lit a cigarette, she asked, “What are the arrangements?” She couldn’t bring herself to say ‘funeral,’ but Hinkle knew what she meant.

“I have attended to all that, madame. The service will be at the Church of Christ in Paradise City at three o’clock the day after tomorrow. Dr. Levi hopes you will be able to fly home in the executive plane tomorrow afternoon with Mr. Winborn.”

“It is not going to be a big affair?” she asked suddenly anxious.

“No, madame. Later, of course there will be a memorial service, but for the private service, just you, Mr. Winborn, the staff and Miss Sheila.”

Helga stiffened.

“Miss Sheila?”

“Yes, madame. She has arrived. I saw her this morning. She would like to meet you. If it would be convenient she would come here at six o’clock.”

Helga hesitated.

She thought of the redheaded girl and she could hear again those cruel words:
When a middle-aged woman gets hot pants for a boy young enough to be her son, cold water helps
.

Inwardly, she flinched.

Then she remembered the sacrifice she was going to make by giving Winborn the letter. Because she refused to cheat, this girl, now living rough, would suddenly become a millionaires! Surely this girl would admire her for her sacrifice and regret what she had said.

“Of course, Hinkle. I must see her.”

“Very well, madame.” Hinkle positively beamed. “If you feel strong enough, it is quite safe for you to come downstairs and enjoy the sun. With the assistance of the police I have gotten rid of the press. The Inspector was good enough to leave a couple of men on guard to see you are not bothered. Dr. Levi will be coming in half an hour.”

“All right, Hinkle. I am so grateful for what you have done and are doing.”

With a happy expression on his fat face, Hinkle wheeled the trolley from the room.

* * *

Nervous and restless, Helga sat on the terrace under a sun umbrella. She kept looking at her watch. The time was 17.50. In ten more minutes the girl who called herself Terry Shields would arrive.