The Doomsters (10 page)

She put the back of her hand to her mouth and looked at me over it.

“You mean the Senator’s death, don’t you?” I was frankly fishing, fishing in the deep green of her eyes.

She couldn’t resist the dramatic thing. “I mean the Senator’s murder. Carl murdered him. Everybody knows it, and they didn’t do a thing to him except send him away.”

“The way I heard it, it was an accident.”

“You heard it wrong then. Carl pushed him down in the bathtub and held him until he drowned.”

“How do you know?”

“He confessed the very next day.”

“To you?”

“To Sheriff Ostervelt.”

“Ostervelt told you this?”

“Jerry told me. He talked the sheriff out of laying charges. He wanted to protect the family name.”

“Is that all he was trying to protect?”

“I don’t know what you mean by that. Why did Mildred bring you out here, anyway?”

“For the ride. My main idea was to get my car back.”

“When you get it, will you be satisfied?”

“I doubt it. I’ve never been yet.”

“You mean you’re going to poke around and twist the facts and try to prove that Carl didn’t do—what he did do?”

“I’m interested in facts, as I told Dr. Grantland.”

“What’s he got to do with it?”

“I’d like an answer to that. Maybe you can tell me.”

“I know he didn’t shoot Jerry. The idea is ridiculous.”

“Perhaps. It was your idea. But let’s kick it around a little. If Yogan’s telling the truth, Carl had the pearl-handled gun, or one like it. We don’t know for certain that it killed your husband. We won’t until we get ballistic evidence.”

“But Charlie found it in the greenhouse, right beside the—poor Jerry.”

“Charlie could have planted it. Or he could have fired it himself. That would make it easy for him to find.”

“You’re making this up.”

But she was frightened. She didn’t seem to know for sure that it hadn’t happened that way.

“Did Ostervelt show you the gun?”

“I saw it.”

“Did you ever see it before?”

“No.” Her answer was emphatic and quick.

“Did you know it belonged to your mother-in-law?”

“No.” But Zinnie asked no questions, showed no surprise, and took my word for it.

“Did you know she had a gun?”

“No. Yes. I guess I did. But I never saw it.”

“I heard your mother-in-law committed suicide. Is that right?”

“Yes. Poor Alicia walked into the ocean, about three years ago.”

“Why would she commit suicide?”

“Alicia had had a lot of illness.”

“Mental?”

“I suppose you’d call it that. The menopause hit her very hard. She never came back, entirely. She was practically a hermit the last few years. She lived in the east wing by herself, with Mrs. Hutchinson to look after her. These things seem to run in the family.”

“Something does. Do you know what happened to her gun?”

“Evidently Carl got hold of it, some way. Maybe she gave it to him before she died.”

“And he’s been carrying it all these years?”

“He could have hid it right here on the ranch. Why ask me? I don’t know anything about it.”

“Or who fired it in the greenhouse?”

“You know what I think about that. What I
know.”

“I believe you said you heard the shots.”

“Yes. I heard them.”

“Where were you, at the time?”

“In my bathroom. I’d just finished taking a shower.” With never-say-die eroticism, she tried to set up a diversion: “If you want proof of that, examine me. I’m clean.”

“Some other time. Stay clean till then. Is that the same bathroom your father-in-law was murdered in?”

“No. He had his own bathroom, opening off his bedroom. I wish you wouldn’t use that word murder. I didn’t mean to tell you that. I said it in confidence.”

“I didn’t realize that. Would you mind showing me that bathroom? I’d like to see how it was done.”

“I don’t know how it was done.”

“You did a minute ago.”

Zinnie took time out to think. Thinking seemed to come hard to her. “I only know what people tell me,” she said.

“Who told you that Carl pushed his father down in the bathtub?”

“Charlie did, and he ought to know. He was the old man’s doctor.”

“Did he examine him after death?”

“Yes, he did.”

“Then he must have known that the Senator didn’t die of a heart attack.”

“I told you that. Carl killed him.”

“And Grantland knew it?”

“Of course.”

“You realize what you’ve just said, Mrs. Hallman? Your good friends Sheriff Ostervelt and Dr. Grantland conspired to cover up a murder.”

“No!” She flung the thought away from her with both hands. “I didn’t mean it that way.”

“How did you mean it?”

“I don’t really know anything about it. I was lying.”

“But now you’re telling the truth.”

“You’ve got me all twisted up. Forget what I said, eh?”

“How can I?”

“What are you looking for? Money? You want a new car?”

“I’m sort of attached to the old one. We’ll get along better if you stop assuming I can be bought. It’s been tried by experts.”

She rose and stood over me, looking down in mingled fear and hatred. Making a great convulsive effort, she swallowed both. In the same effort, she changed her approach, and practically changed her personality. Her
shoulders and breasts slumped, her belly arched forward, one of her hips tilted up. Even her eyes took on a melting-iceberg look.

“We
could
get along, quite nicely.”

“Could we?”

“You wouldn’t want to make trouble for little old me. Why don’t you make us a shakerful of Gibsons instead? We’ll talk it over?”

“Charlie wouldn’t like it. And your husband’s not yet cold in his grave, remember?”

There was a greenhouse smell in the room, the smell of flowers and earth and trapped heat. I got up facing her. She placed her hands on my shoulders and let her body come forward until it rested lightly against me. It moved in small intricate ways.

“Come on. What’s the matter? Are you scared? I’m not. And I’m very good at it, even if I am out of practice.”

In a way, I was scared. She was a hard blonde beauty fighting the world with two weapons, money and sex. Both of them had turned in her hands and scarred her. The scars were invisible, but I could sense the dead tissue. I wanted no part of her.

She exploded against me hissing like an angry cat, fled across the room to one of the deep windows. Her clenched hand jerked spasmodically at the curtains, like somebody signaling a train to stop.

Footsteps whispered on the floor behind me. It was Mildred, small and waiflike in her stocking feet.

“What on earth’s the matter?”

Zinnie glared at her across the room. Except for her thin red lips and narrow green eyes, her face was carved from chalk. In one of those instinctive female shifts that are always at least partly real, Zinnie released her fury on her sister-in-law:

“So there you are—spying on me again. I’m sick of your
spying, talking behind my back, throwing mud at Charlie Grantland, just because you wanted him yourself—”

“That’s nonsense,” Mildred said in a low voice. “I’ve never spied on you. As for Dr. Grantland, I barely know him.”

“No, but you’d like to, wouldn’t you? Only you know that you can’t have him. So you’d like to see him destroyed, wouldn’t you? You hired this man to ruin him.”

“I did no such thing. You’re upset, Zinnie.
You
should lie down and have a rest.”

“I should, eh? So you can carry on your machinations without any interference?”

Zinnie crossed the room in an unsteady rush. I stayed between her and Mildred.

“Mildred didn’t hire me,” I said. “I have no instructions from her. You’re away off the beam, Mrs. Hallman.”

“You lie!” She screamed across me at Mildred: “You dirty little sneak, you can get out of my house. Keep your maniac husband away from here or by God I’ll have him shot down. Take your bully-boy along with you. Go on, get out, both of you.”

“I’ll be glad to.”

Mildred turned to the door in weary resignation, and I went out after her. I hadn’t expected the armistice to last.

      I
WAITED
for Mildred on the front veranda. There were several more cars in the driveway. One of them was my Ford convertible, gray with dust but
looking none the worse for wear. It was parked behind a black panel truck with county markings.

A deputy I hadn’t seen before was in the front seat of another county car, monitoring a turned-up radio. The rest of the sheriff’s men were still in the greenhouse. Their shadows moved on its translucent walls.

“Attention all units,” the huge voice of the radio said. “Be on the lookout for following subject wanted as suspect in murder which occurred at Hallman ranch in Buena Vista Valley approximately one hour ago: Carl Hallman, white, male, twenty-four, six-foot-three, two hundred pounds, blond hair, blue eyes, pale complexion, wearing blue cotton workshirt and trousers. Suspect may be armed and is considered dangerous. When last seen he was traveling across country on foot.”

Mildred came out, freshly groomed and looking fairly brisk in spite of her wilted-violet eyes. Her head moved in a small gesture of relief as the screen door slammed behind her.

“Where do you plan to go?” I asked her.

“Home. It’s too late to think of going back to work. I have to see to Mother, anyway.”

“Your husband may turn up there. Have you thought of that possibility?”

“Naturally. I hope he does.”

“If he does, will you let me know?”

She gave me a clear cold look. “That depends.”

“I know what you mean. Maybe I better make it plain that I’m in your husband’s corner. I’d like to get to him before the sheriff does. Ostervelt seems to have his mind made up about this case. I haven’t. I think there should be further investigation.”

“You want me to pay you, is that it?”

“Forget about that for now. Let’s say I like the old-fashioned idea of presumption of innocence.”

She took a step toward me, her eyes brightening. Her hand rested lightly on my arm. “You don’t believe he shot Jerry, either.”

“I don’t want to build up your hopes with nothing much to go on. I’m keeping an open mind until we have more information. You heard the shots that killed Jerry?”

“Yes.”

“Where were you at the time? And where were the others?”

“I don’t know about the others. I was with Martha on the other side of the house. The child seemed to sense what had happened, and I had a hard time calming her. I didn’t notice what other people were doing.”

“Was Ostervelt anywhere around the house?”

“I didn’t see him if he was.”

“Was Carl?”

“The last I saw of Carl was in the grove there.”

“Which way did he go when he left you?”

“Toward town, at least in that general direction.”

“What was his attitude when you talked to him?”

“He was upset. I begged him to turn himself in, but he seemed frightened.”

“Emotionally disturbed?”

“It’s hard to say. I’ve seen him much worse.”

“Did he show any signs of being dangerous?”

“Certainly not to me. He never has. He was a little rough when I tried to hold him, that’s all.”

“Has he often been violent?”

“No. I didn’t say he was violent. He simply didn’t want to be held. He pushed me away from him.”

“Did he say why?”

“He said something about following his own road. I didn’t have time to ask him what he meant.”

“Do you have any idea what he meant?”

“No.” But her eyes were wide and dark with possibility.
“I’m certain, though, he didn’t mean anything like shooting his brother.”

“There’s another question that needs answering,” I said. “I hate to throw it at you now.”

She squared her slender shoulders. “Go ahead. I’ll answer it if I can.”

“I’ve been told your husband killed his father. Deliberately drowned him in the bathtub. Have you heard that?”

“Yes. I’ve heard that.”

“From Carl?”

“Not from him, no.”

“Do you believe it?”

She took a long time to answer. “I don’t know. It was just after Carl was hospitalized—the same day. When a tragedy cuts across your life like that, you don’t know what to believe. The world actually seemed to fly apart. I could recognize the pieces, but all the patterns were unfamiliar, the meanings were different. They still are. It’s an awful thing for a human being to admit, but I don’t know
what
I believe. I’m waiting. I’ve been waiting for six months to find out where I stand in the world, what sort of a life I can count on.”

“You haven’t really answered my question.”

“I would if I could. I’ve been trying to explain why I can’t. The circumstances were so queer, and awful.” The thought of them, whatever they were, pinched her face like cold.

“Who told you about this alleged confession?”

“Sheriff Ostervelt did. I thought at the time he was lying, for reasons of his own. Perhaps I was rationalizing, simply because I couldn’t face the truth—I don’t know.”

Before she trailed off into further self-doubts, I said: “What reasons would he have for lying to you?”

“I can tell you one. It isn’t very modest to say it, but he’s been interested in me for quite a long time. He was
always hanging around the ranch, theoretically to see the Senator, but looking for excuses to talk to me. I knew what he wanted; he was about as subtle as an old boar. The day we took Carl to the hospital, Ostervelt made it very clear, and very ugly.” She shut her eyes for a second. A faint dew had gathered on her eyelids, and at her temples. “So ugly that I’m afraid I can’t talk about it.”

“I get the general idea.”

But she went on, in a chilly trance of memory which seemed to negate the place and time: “He was to drive Carl to the hospital that morning, and naturally I wanted to go along. I wanted to be with Carl until the last possible minute before the doors closed on him. You don’t know how a woman feels when her husband’s being taken away like that, perhaps forever. I was afraid it was forever. Carl didn’t say a word on the way. For days before he’d been talking constantly, about everything under the sun—the plans he had for the ranch, our life together, philosophy, social justice, and the brotherhood of man. Suddenly it was all over. Everything was over. He sat in the car, between me and the sheriff, as still as a dead man.