The Two Faces of January (18 page)

The big man stared at the green bills which were nearly concealed in Chester's large hand. He moistened his lips and said, “I want all of eet before the work ees done, because . . . eet would not be safe eef I seen you . . . afterward. Unnerstand? Not safe—me or you.” He gestured.

Chester saw his point, but didn't trust him. He wiped his damp forehead with his fingers. “Well, perhaps first you should tell me if you think you can do it at all.”

“Who ees the man?” He shook his head at Chester's offer of a cigarette.

Chester lit his, then said, “The man is Rydal Keener.” He saw no sign of recognition in the man's face. That was good. Unless the man had been so prepared for the statement that he hadn't had to show surprise. “You know him?”

“No,” said the man.

“He's an American, dark-haired, about twenty-five—” Chester spoke distinctly. “Medium height, rather slim. But you've got to find out where he's staying. Niko knows. Do you know where Niko lives?”

“No,” said the man in his rather blank tone, shaking his head.

Chester didn't know whether to believe him. A good friend of Niko and he didn't know where Niko lived? “Well—Niko knows where Rydal Keener is. He's either with Niko or with a friend. You'll have to find out from Niko. It'll be up to you to find him, and I would like the job done as soon as possible. Tonight, if possible.”

“Tonight?”
He considered this. Then shrugged.

“Niko may still be in front of the American Express. It's up to you to talk to him and find out where Rydal Keener is. Niko will tell you. Won't he?”

“Sure. He
tell
me,” said the man, as if this weren't all his difficulties, he had others.

“Okay. But I think—” Chester glanced around him, then leaned closer. “I think in all fairness, you had better give me some details as to how you're going to go about it—before I pay you five thousand dollars. That's fair enough, isn't it?”

The man looked as if he had never heard the phrase “fair enough”.

“How do you think you will do it?” Chester asked.

The man, still frowning, put out his thick right arm, then jerked his fist towards himself, the gesture of mugging someone, breaking a neck, from behind.

The gesture somehow reassured Chester. The man's anxious expression became the expression of a natural and even healthy tension before a dangerous task. “You're free tonight for the job?”

“For five thousand dollars?” The man smiled for the first time. Two of his front teeth were gold-rimmed. “Yes,” he said.

That “Yes” had conviction to Chester. Chester asked a few more questions. No, the man had no gun. Guns were not safe, they made too much noise. He was a strong fellow who could do things with his two hands. Chester felt sure of that.

When Chester left the restaurant at 5:25, Andreou had his five thousand dollars. Andreou had said he was staying on for a couple of minutes to finish his drink, and then he would go to the American Express to see Niko. Chester took a taxi to his hotel. He thought he would take a hot bath, get into pyjamas, and have his dinner sent up from the hotel restaurant.

The police were in the lobby when he arrived. A uniformed policeman and a plain-clothes man sat on a couple of the upholstered straight chairs between the desk and the elevator. Chester saw the man behind the desk give a nod to the policemen. The man stood up and came towards Chester. Chester stood where he was. He saw a man who was depositing his key at the desk look curiously at him and the policemen before he went out.

“Mr. Chamberlain?” asked the plain-clothes man. He was dark-haired, with a long nose. There was something humorous, or sly, in the way he tilted his head as he looked at Chester.

“Yes,” said Chester.

“Platon Stapos of the police,” the man said, making a pass with his open billfold, too quickly for Chester to see anything, but Chester was sure he was a genuine policeman. He looked around the lobby, at the quiet area with tables and chairs behind him, but the man behind the desk was obviously all ears, even leaning forward over the desk now so not a word would escape him. “May we go up to your room? It would be more private.”

“Yes, of course. I'd be very glad to talk to you.” Chester looked in a frightened way over his shoulder, through the two pairs of glass doors of the hotel. It was part of his act. Then he went with the men to the elevator. “Oh, my key. Just a minute.” Chester walked to the desk. The fascinated clerk turned quickly and got his key, then handed it to him.

They rode up in the self-service elevator, walked down the corridor, and Chester used his key. The room was full of suitcases, opened and closed.

“I am very glad to see you. Very,” Chester said. “Won't you sit down? Here. I'll get rid of this suitcase.”

The plain-clothes man sat down on the chair Chester had cleared, the uniformed man preferred to stand.

“You are William Chamberlain whose wife Mary Ellen Chamberlain was killed Monday?” asked the plain-clothes man.

“Yes,” Chester said. He was standing by the bureau, the Scotch bottle behind him, and he would have liked a drink, but he thought he should wait a few minutes before he proposed one.

“Why did you not speak to the police?” asked the man.

“I was afraid to,” Chester said promptly. “Until now, until today—” He broke off. “The young man who did it, Rydal Keener, has been with me every minute. Until today. Even today he trailed me in the streets, watching everything I did. I've been in a—I'm afraid I've been in no state to cope with the police. I mean try to get their help. The loss of my wife was such a terrible shock, I've been nearly out of my mind.”

“Tell us what happened,” said the plain-clothes man, and pulled out a pad and a fountain pen.

Chester told them. He began with Rydal Keener striking up an acquaintance in Iraklion, then told of Rydal's flirting with his wife. It went on for three days or so, while they went to Chania. Rydal spoke Greek, so he made himself quite useful to them, and he hadn't much money and Chester had paid him a little for his services, but Rydal Keener kept making advances to his wife, which his wife consistently rejected. On Monday in Iraklion, Chester asked Rydal to leave them, but he insisted on going with them to visit the Palace of Knossos. Rydal Keener was in a furious mood, because he hadn't got anywhere with his wife, and because Chester had asked him to leave. He retaliated in a brutal way, by pushing a vase or dropping a vase from the top terrace on to his wife.

“Of course, he was trying to hit me,” Chester said as he finished his story. “That's the only thing that makes any sense. I had just moved away from where she was when she was hit. She'd come forward to talk to me—something like that. It's hard to remember the details.” Chester passed his hand over his thin hair. “Excuse me, but may I offer you gentlemen a drink? A Scotch?”

“Not just now, thank you,” said the plain-clothes man, his head lowered as he wrote in his notebook.

The policeman shook his head.

Chester poured himself a drink in the empty glass that was on the night table, added a little water in the bathroom. He came back and took the same position by the bureau. “To continue . . . Where was I? Yes. I stayed by my wife a few moments. I was so stunned by what had happened, I didn't know what to do. I then heard—later, from the newspapers—that Keener had asked the ticket-seller if I had gone out, if I'd taken a taxi away. Already he was planning, you see, to make it appear that I'd done the . . . the killing and had run away from the scene.” Chester's throat choked up with a genuine emotion—of some kind. He paused, and looked at each of the men, looked for signs of belief in their faces. They looked merely interested.

“Go on,” said the plain-clothes man. “What happened next?”

“After a few minutes, I don't know how many minutes, I started looking for Keener. I was in a rage. I wanted to throttle him with my bare hands. I couldn't find him in the palace, so I ran out. I looked on the road. By this time it was getting dark, and I couldn't see very well. I went to Iraklion, thinking—”

“How did you go to Iraklion?”

“I stopped the bus. On the road.”

“I see. Go on.”

“And sure enough I found him in Iraklion. He was . . .” Chester hesitated, then decided to go ahead. “He was actually waiting for
me
at the hotel where I had left my luggage. He spoke to me and said if I called the police, he would kill me. He said he had a gun in his pocket. I was sure he meant it. He made me go to another hotel with him—I don't know why, it was a worse hotel, and maybe he'd tipped the owner to keep his mouth shut if he saw any strange behavior between him and me, I don't know.” Chester took a couple of swallows of his drink. “Then the next morning—”

“You stayed in the same
room
at the hotel?” asked the plain-
clothes man, again with his smile that was touched with humor.

“Not ostensibly,” Chester replied with a grim smile. “We had two rooms. But he stayed in mine all night, keeping guard on me.” Chester suddenly remembered the little walk he had taken early in the morning. The hotel-keeper might remember it, if he were questioned. Maybe they wouldn't question him that closely, Chester thought. Or if they did, and he mentioned it, Chester could say that he had sneaked out and hadn't been able to find a policeman at that hour, or that he was still simply too shocked and too afraid to try to get police help.

“And then?”

“The next morning, we took the boat back to Athens. Even . . . even on the boat, he made an attempt on my life. He knocked me down on the deck and tried to throw me overboard. Luckily, I put up a good fight, and someone came along so Keener had to stop the fight. I was glad to get to Athens, because I thought from here I could certainly get help for myself.”

“And did you try? Today?” The plain-clothes man had fairly interrupted him.

“I spent today trying to locate Keener. He disappeared from me as soon as . . . well, as soon as the boat docked. I lost him at Piraeus. I got off the boat first. I was going to report him in Athens, you see.” Chester covered his eyes. Then he walked with his drink to the bed and sat down.

“Take eet easy,” said the plain-clothes man. “What happened after you got to Athens?”

“I'm sorry,” Chester said. “These last days have been such a strain. I'm sure what I'm saying to you doesn't make sense, because it doesn't sound logical. I kept thinking, in Athens there are enough police. I'll just walk up to one, even if Keener's with me and even if he tries to shoot me, and say to the policeman, ‘Here's the man you want for the murder of my wife.
'
” His voice broke on the last word.

There was a silence of several seconds. The plain-clothes man looked at the police officer. So did Chester. The uniformed officer did not so much as twitch a muscle in his face. He might not even have understood English.

“People whose wives are murdered,” said the plain-clothes man slowly, “are not always logical.”

“No,” Chester agreed. “I suppose not.”

The plain-clothes man looked at his colleague, and half closed his eyes in a way that might have meant anything—the same as a wink, or that he didn't believe Chester, or that his eyes hurt. Then he looked at Chester. “Where were you trying to find thees Keener?”

“I was looking around Constitution Square,” Chester answered. “He made a couple of remarks about spending a lot of time there. Around the American Express.”

“Hm. Thees fellow ees an American, ees he not? Not using a stolen American passport?”

“Oh, no. No, no, he's an American, all right. But he speaks Greek quite well, as far as I can tell, and my wife told me he said he spoke several other languages, too.”

“Hm.” The plain-clothes man looked at his colleague and nodded and said something in Greek.

The other nodded also, and shrugged.

“He was questioned on the boat this morning and got through us. Sleeped by us,” said the plain-clothes man.

“Oh?—What do you mean?”

“All the young men passengers looking like him were detained by the police. Questioned. He must have been detained also. But—they were Piraeus police,” he said with a chuckle. “Well—we have been checking all the Athens hotels for Rydal Keener since noon today. He ees not registered at any hotel in Athens.”

“No. I didn't think he would be. I'm sure he knew you'd get his name sooner or later—in connection with us.”

“Yes. Eet was not too easy. Do you know your wife had not one identifying object on her person? Not even anything with an initial?”

Chester shook his head sadly. “I didn't know that. I usually carry her passport for her.” He regretted saying the word passport.

Now the plain-clothes man was looking musingly at him. “No, for her identification, we are indebted to a man in Chania, the manager of the Hotel Nikë who spoke to the police in Crete only this morning. He had your names on his register.” He stood up. “Please to use your telephone?”

“Go ahead,” said Chester.

The plain-clothes man spoke in Greek to the hotel operator. After a moment, he began a conversation in Greek, a conversation in which he did most of the talking. The name “Chamberlain”, pronounced suddenly slowly, almost disdainfully, made Chester feel uneasy.

The other man stood like a soldier, hands behind him, occasionally letting his eyes drift to Chester and away.

The plain-clothes man put his hand over the telephone and said to Chester, “Can you tell us—Do you happen to know any other place thees Keener might be? Any other town he spoke of?”

“No,” Chester said. “I'm sorry.”