Hamilton, Donald - Novel 02 (25 page)

 
          
Emmett
put his hand on her knee and squeezed hard. She stopped, took a long breath,
and was silent. Everyone waited, as if a little embarrassed by the display of
indignation. At last Mr. Nicholson cleared his throat.

 
          
“But
Plaice, Doctor… Plaice reported that you were in Denver that night.”

 
          
Dr.
Kaufman said, “A voice called your Denver office, Mr. Nicholson. I’m afraid that
you’re a little too trusting where telephones are concerned.”

 
          
“And
Plaice?—”

 
          
“He’s
being held, waiting for your word to release him.” There was a definite
disadvantage, Emmett decided, in holding a conversation with a man who showed
you only the back of his head and the glint of his spectacles in a small
rectangular mirror. It was surprising how little you could tell from a voice
when you did not have the face to go with it.

 
          
“…
your word, Mr. Nicholson,” the doctor said smoothly, “that we’ll agree to
forget this conversation.” He raised his hand briefly from the steering wheel. “Please,
Mr. Nicholson. Let’s just take a look at the present situation. When Metschnik
failed to stop the young couple in the mountains, and you informed me that Mr.
Emmett was quite set on the interview, I saw that I could no longer hope to
prevent it. For one thing, Metschnik was in the hospital, two of my men were
keeping an eye on Plaice in case he should break my alibi prematurely; and that
hardly left me enough force to cover the roads into Numa. And for another
thing, once it was known that Miss Nicholson—pardon me; Mrs. Emmett—was
definitely on her way to see Dr. Kissel, nothing could be allowed to happen to
her, or somebody might have got the idea that we were averse to letting Dr.
Kissel meet an old acquaintance. There was nothing left to me, therefore, but
to advise ‘Dr. Kissel’ what to tell the young lady.”

 
          
Emmett
said, “I thought Dr. Kissel was under guard. How did you get in touch with him?”

 
          
The
doctor laughed. “Dr. Kissel has developed a convenient aversion to barbed wire
fences, Mr. Emmett. And he likes to stroll around the town of Numa in the
evening; even the FBI can’t cover a man, particularly one who is supposed to be
friendly and has to be treated with respect, every moment of the time. We have
contacts.” He cleared his throat and went on, “Well, if I instructed him to
tell Miss Nicholson that she had actually betrayed her French comrades, she
would be quite sure to call attention to the fact that he was not Dr. Kissel at
all. And while it would look as if she were attacking him out of spite and to
discredit his testimony; and while her medical history would prevent her
accusations from carrying a great deal of weight, nevertheless a certain amount
of damage would be done. We could not afford to have Dr. Kissel’s identity
questioned, even by an unbalanced young lady with questionable motives. The
alternative, of course, was for Dr. Kissel to assure the young lady that her
wartime record had been quite heroic; and count on her sense of
self-preservation to keep her silent.”

 
          
Emmett
glanced at Ann, seeing her color and become pale again. Mr. Nicholson stirred. “And
what makes you think we’ll—?”

 
          
“Please,”
the doctor said, “let me finish. As it now stands, your daughter has been
absolved from guilt in the wartime matter, am I right? Dr. Kissel’s testimony
to that effect is on record. This casts certain doubts on her motives for
killing Stevens. In a few days, if we come to an agreement and everything
progresses satisfactorily, the Chicago police will discover Stevens’ watch and
wallet in the possession of a drunken vagrant who will confess to the murder.
Whether this man is finally convicted or not, I rather believe that by the time
they are through with him the Chicago police will pretty well have forgotten
their early suspicions of Mrs. Emmett.”

 
          
Emmett
asked, “And if we go back?”

 
          
“If
we go back, Mr. Emmett,” the doctor said, “Dr. Kissel will be forced to testify
that he is, indeed, a foreign agent whom you and Mr. Nicholson bribed and
blackmailed to give the right testimony; using him for your private ends in the
full knowledge, of course, that your failure to report him would allow him to
continue to have access to secret information. Of course, your action in
finally giving the facts to the authorities may save you from a charge of
treason, but I don’t think you’ll have a very pleasant time of it,” the doctor
said, “particularly since I will have to confess to the murder of Stevens. I
killed him, of course, on Mr. Nicholson’s instructions. Perhaps I was a little
over-zealous, but Mr. Nicholson had offered me a considerable sum of money if I
could persuade Stevens to keep quiet; and when the man refused, I lost my head
and killed him… I will, of course, have to testify that I have been aware
throughout the case that Miss Nicholson—Mrs. Emmett—did betray her French
husband and his associates to the Nazis, not only through proof shown me by her
father, but by the medical evidence…”

 
          
Ann
shifted position but did not speak. Emmett found that he still had his hand on
her knee; he felt her hand cover it, holding it there.

 
          
Emmett
asked the question, “What medical evidence?”

 
          
“The
amnesia, of course,” Dr. Kaufman said impatiently, flinging his head around to
throw them the answer, then looking back to the road. “And that very
interesting and symbolical act of trying to break the mirror in her cell. Has
she told you that when, after meeting Dr. Kissel, she was returned to her cell,
she turned to the mirror on the door and tried to break it? It happened to be
metal. This is the last thing she recalls. Ask yourself, Mr. Emmett, under
similar circumstances, what significance a similar act on your part would have.”

 
          
“Go
on,” Emmett said.

 
          
“You
come into the cell,” the doctor’s voice said. “You catch sight of yourself in
the mirror. You are not looking your best, perhaps, but at this late date, sick
and exhausted as you probably are, is your physical appearance going to arouse
you to a frenzy? Yet you turn on the mirror and try to smash it… It’s an act of
self-loathing, is it not? She could not bear to look at herself. Perhaps she
even truly wished to kill herself. Ask yourself why, Mr. Emmett.”

 
          
Emmett
was silent. The doctor continued: “And the amnesia. Amnesia, Mr. Emmett, is the
human mind’s ingenious way of avoiding a memory too dreadful for the patient to
live with. But Miss Nicholson could recall every unpleasant detail of her
torture, up to a point. There is no physical evidence that anything more
terrible happened to her later. What, then, is her mind trying to protect her
from knowing, except that she betrayed them?” Dr. Kaufman smiled at the road
ahead of him. “I am explaining this at length because officially, of course, I
will not know what the true Dr. Kissel had to say on the point. Actually, of
course, the real Dr. Kissel stated with heat that Miss Nicholson did betray…”

 
          
“We
just have your word for that,” Emmett said quickly.

 
          
“Exactly.
Which is why I went into the medical aspects of the case. And don’t forget the
proof in Mr. Nicholson’s hands, which you have so blithely ignored. It doesn’t
really matter, Mr. Emmett,” the doctor said cheerfully. “After all, you can’t
prove she didn’t do it. There is absolutely no evidence in her favor, and a
great mass of evidence against her. The question is, after all, what will a
jury believe? What will the newspapers believe? After I admit that Miss Bethke
and I have been banking fees and salaries large enough to be classed as polite
blackmail, paid to us by Mr. Nicholson for remaining silent, it will be clear
enough to the court what
he
believes.
And Miss Nicholson’s two attempts at suicide, which you will have difficulty
proving to have been anything else at this late date, will indicate what
her
private belief is on the subject.
Your faith in her courage and integrity will sound very touching in court, Mr.
Emmett, assuming that you still feel that way at the time, but it will prove
nothing except that she’s a very pretty girl with whom you are in love.” He
cleared his throat. “On the other hand, Mr. Emmett, if you remain silent this
can all be forgotten.”

 
          
He
felt Ann’s fingers tighten on his hand. “Please, John,” she whispered.
“Please.
We’re not at war, are we? What
difference can it really make what that man learns? Everyone says it’s just a
matter of time before they learn all about it, anyway.”

 
          
He
felt very sorry for both of them, for being the people they were. There were
times when you would like to be somebody altogether different from yourself,
who could do the things you somehow could not do.

 
          
Dr.
Kaufman had stopped the car at a through highway although there was nothing
coming in either direction. Now he swung in left into the sun; the sound of the
motor rising smoothly to three distinct peaks with the shifting of the gears.

 
          
“Think
it over,” he said. “You can call Mr. Kirkpatrick from Santa Fe, if that’s the
way you want it to be.”

 
          
When
they reached Santa Fe late in the afternoon it was no cooler. They stood in the
hotel corridor while the bellboy fumbled with the key; the three of them left
alone together by the doctor and nurse, who had got off at a different floor.
It was, Emmett decided, an apt phrase: each one of them was alone with the
problem he had to solve, yet they were all three bound together by the fact
that each one’s solution would affect the others. Then they were inside, and
the boy had gone, and the door was closed. There was, after all, a little
breeze coming in through the open window; and the dusk of the room seemed
somewhat cooler than the harsh sunlight outside.

 
          
Ann
walked to the bed and sat down. Her face was shiny and almost ugly with strain
and weariness. After a while she raised her eyes to the two men standing above
her. She did not speak.

 
          
“Well,”
Mr. Nicholson said. “Well—”

 
          
Then
he turned and walked to the telephone.

 
          
“Dad?”
Ann said.

 
          
“Damn
it,” he said, “I was in the marines, once.”

 
          
The
phrase and its implications made Emmett furiously angry, with an anger out of
all proportions to the immediate cause.

 
          
“For
God’s sake,” he said, “what the hell has your service record got to do with
making a simple telephone call, Mr. Nicholson?”

 
          
The
gun chafed his thigh. He took it out and looked at it. He felt angry enough to
kill somebody, but he could not see what it would accomplish. He tossed the gun
clattering on the dresser. Ann was watching him.

 
          
“You
too?” she asked.

 
          
“Don’t
be silly,” he said.

 
          
“Even
if it means—?”

 
          
He
said, “Oh, go to hell, Ann. You aren’t that dumb.”

 
          
Mr.
Nicholson picked up the telephone. “I’m sorry, Sister,” he said in a rather
businesslike voice. “After all, we can’t let those damn Reds…”

 
          
It
was, Emmett reflected, a little difficult to realize that you were watching a
couple of men being very patriotic. They sounded like a couple of jackasses.
Ann got up and walked quickly to the window, and stood there, looking out at
the roofs of Santa Fe in the afternoon sunshine. Emmett turned to the dresser
and dropped the gun out of sight into the top drawer, wishing, as he touched
it, that he had never seen the thing. He thought,
You were getting to be pretty hot stuff, kneeing people, throwing
drinks at them, and slugging them with jack handles. It’s just as well somebody’s
reminded you that you aren’t Humphrey Bogart, or there would have been no
living with you.

 
          
He
said, “Damn it, Mr. Nicholson, do you need a squad of marines to help you work
that telephone? Let’s get it over with.”

 
          
Ann’s
father looked up angrily. “Keep your shirt on, Sonny-boy.”

 
          
Somebody
rapped curtly at the hall door. Mr. Nicholson replaced the telephone quickly,
almost guiltily. Emmett turned towards the door, but Kirkpatrick walked in
before he could reach it. The big man looked hot and rumpled and sweaty, yet
somehow brown and competent.

 
          
“I
left your car with the doorman, Mrs. Emmett,” he reported. “He’ll send up the
keys.”

 
          
“Thank
you.” Ann turned at the windows, the light behind her. “My father and… and Mr.
Emmett have something to tell you,” she murmured.

 
          
“I
see.” Kirkpatrick smiled. “Did it go all right?” he asked.

 
          
“I
think so,” she said. Her voice seemed a little distant. Emmett could not see
her expression for the heavy shadows on her face; the sun was bright in her
hair. “I don’t think they guessed that I’d told you. But you’d better ask—Mr.
Emmett or…” She caught herself and brought her voice back from the distant room
to which it had retreated. “If you don’t mind, I think I’ll lie down for a
minute, I’m rather tired. Call me if you need me.”

 
          
They
watched her walk slowly through the connecting door into the adjoining room,
waiting in complete silence even after the door had closed behind her to make
sure that she made it all right.