Thomas Godfrey (Ed) (23 page)

“Evidence! My God, what
more evidence does anyone need! They were arguing hammer and tongs at the top
of the stairs. Celia just grabbed Jessie and threw her down to the bottom and
killed her. That’s murder, isn’t it? Just the same as if she used a gun or
poison or whatever she would have used if the stairs weren’t handy?”

I sat down wearily in the
old leather-bound armchair there and studied the new ash that was forming on my
cigar. “Let me show it to you from the legal angle,” I said, and the monotone
of my voice must have made it sound like a well-memorized formula. “First,
there were no witnesses.”

“I heard Jessie scream
and I heard her fall,” he said doggedly, “and when I ran out and found her
there, I heard Celia slam her door shut right then. She pushed Jessie and then
scuttered like a rat to be out of the way.”

“But you didn’t
see
anything. And since Celia claims that she wasn’t on
the scene, there were no witnesses. In other words, Celia’s story cancels out
your story, and since you weren’t an eyewitness you can’t very well make a
murder out of what might have been an accident.”

He slowly shook his head.

“You don’t believe that,”
he said. “You don’t really believe that. Because if you do, you can get out now
and never come near me again.”

“It doesn’t matter what I
believe; I’m showing you the legal aspects of the case. What about motivation?
What did Celia have to gain from Jessie’s death? Certainly there’s no money or
property involved; she’s as financially independent as you are.”

Charlie sat down on the
edge of his bed and leaned toward me with his hands resting on his knees. “No,”
he whispered, “there’s no money or property in it.”

I spread my arms
helplessly. “You see?”

“But you know what it is,”
he said. “It’s me. First, it was the old lady with her heart trouble any time I
tried to call my soul my own. Then when she died and I thought I was free, it
was Celia. From the time I got up in the morning until I went to bed at night,
it was Celia every step of the way. She never had a husband or a baby—but she
had me!”

I said quietly, “She’s
your sister, Charlie. She loves you,” and he laughed that same unpleasant,
short laugh.

“She loves me like ivy
loves a tree. When I think back now, I still can’t see how she did it, but she would
just look at me a certain way and all the strength would go out of me. And it
was like that until I met Jessie... I remember the day I brought Jessie home,
and told Celia we were married. She swallowed it, but that look was in her eyes
the same as it must have been when she pushed Jessie down those stairs.”

I said, “But you admitted
at the inquest that you never saw her threaten Jessie or do anything to hurt
her.”

“Of course I never
saw!
But when Jessie would go around sick to her heart
every day and not say a word, or cry in bed every night and not tell me why, I
knew damn well what was going on. You know what Jessie was like. She wasn’t so
smart or pretty, but she was good-hearted as the day was long, and she was
crazy about me. And when she started losing all that sparkle in her after only
a month, I knew why. I talked to her and I talked to Celia, and both of them
just shook their heads. All I could do was go around in circles, but when it
happened, when I saw Jessie lying there, it didn’t surprise me. Maybe that
sounds queer, but it didn’t surprise me at all.”

“I don’t think it
surprised anyone who knows Celia,” I said, “but you can’t make a case out of
that.”

He beat his fist against
his knee and rocked from side to side. “What can I do?” he said. “That’s what I
need you for—to tell me what to do. All my life I never got around to doing
anything because of her. That’s what she’s banking on now—that I won’t do
anything, and that she’ll get away with it. Then after a while, things’ll
settle down, and we’ll be right back where we started from.”

I said, “Charlie, you’re
getting yourself all worked up to no end.”

He stood up and stared at
the door, and then at me. “But I can do something,” he whispered. “Do you know
what?”

He waited with the bright
expectancy of one who has asked a clever riddle that he knows will stump the
listener. I stood up facing him, and shook my head slowly. “No,” I said. “Whatever
you’re thinking, put it out of your mind.”

“Don’t mix me up,” he
said. “You know you can get away with murder if you’re as smart as Celia. Don’t
you think I’m as smart as Celia?”

I caught his shoulders
tightly. “For God’s sake, Charlie,” I said, “don’t start talking like that.”

He pulled out of my hands
and went staggering back against the wall. His eyes were bright, and his teeth
showed behind his drawn lips. “What should I do?” he cried. “Forget everything
now that Jessie is dead and buried? Sit here until Celia gets tired of being
afraid of me and kills me too?”

My years and girth had
betrayed me in that little tussle with him, and I found myself short of dignity
and breath. “I’ll tell you one thing,” I said. “You haven’t been out of this
house since the inquest. It’s about time you got out, if only to walk the
streets and look around you.”

“And have everybody laugh
at me as I go!”

“Try it,” I said, “and
see. Al Sharp said that some of your friends would be at his bar and grill
tonight, and he’d like to see you there. That’s my advice—for whatever it’s
worth.”

“It’s not worth anything,”
said Celia. The door had been opened, and she stood there rigid, her eyes
narrowed against the light in the room. Charlie turned toward her, the muscles
of his jaw knotting and unknotting.

“Celia,” he said, “I told
you never to come into this room!”

Her face remained
impassive. “I’m not
in
it. I came to tell you that your dinner is ready.”

He took a menacing step
toward her. “Did you have your ear at that door long enough to hear everything
I said? Or should I repeat it for you?”

“I heard an ungodly and
filthy thing,” she said quietly, “an invitation to drink and roister while this
house is in mourning. I think I have every right to object to that.”

He looked at her
incredulously and had to struggle for words. “Celia,” he said, “tell me you don’t
mean that! Only the blackest hypocrite alive or someone insane could say what
you’ve just said, and mean it.”

That struck a spark in
her. “Insane!” she cried. “
You
dare use that word? Locked in your room, talking to yourself, thinking heaven
knows what!” She turned to me suddenly. “You’ve talked to him. You ought to
know. Is it possible that—”

“He is as sane as you,
Celia,” I said heavily.

“Then he should know that
one doesn’t drink in saloons at a time like this. How could you ask him to do
it?”

She flung the question at
me with such an air of malicious triumph that I completely forgot myself. “If
you weren’t preparing to throw out Jessie’s belongings, Celia, I would take
that question seriously!”

It was a reckless thing
to say, and I had instant cause to regret it. Before I could move, Charlie was
past me and had Celia’s arms pinned in a paralyzing grip.

“Did you dare go into her
room?” he raged, shaking her savagely. “Tell me!” And then, getting an
immediate answer from the panic in her face, he dropped her arms as if they
were red hot, and stood there sagging with his head bowed.

Celia reached out a
placating hand toward him. “Charlie,” she whimpered, “don’t you see?” Having
her things around bothers you. I only wanted to help you.”

“Where are her things?”

“By the stairs, Charlie.
Everything is there.”

He started down the
hallway, and with the sound of his uncertain footsteps moving away I could feel
my heartbeat slowing down to its normal tempo. Celia turned to look at me, and
there was such a raging hatred in her face that I knew only a desperate need to
get out of that house at once. I took my things from the bed and started past
her, but she barred the door.

“Do you see what you’ve
done?” she whispered hoarsely. “Now I will have to pack them all over again. It
tires me, but I will have to pack them all over again—just because of you.”

“That is entirely up to
you, Celia,” I said coldly.

“You,” she said “You old
fool. It should have been you along with her when I—”

I dropped my stick
sharply on her shoulder and could feel her wince under it. “As your lawyer,
Celia,” I said, “I advise you to exercise your tongue only during your sleep,
when you can’t be held accountable for what you say.”

She said no more, but I
made sure she stayed safely in front of me until I was out in the street again.

From the Boerum house to
Al Sharp’s Bar and Grill was only a few minutes’ walk, and I made it in good
time, grateful for the sting of the clear winter air in my face. Al was alone
behind the bar, busily polishing glasses, and when he saw me enter he greeted
me cheerfully. “Merry Christmas, counsellor,” he said.

“Same to you,” I said,
and watched him place a comfortable-looking bottle and a pair of glasses on the
bar.

“You’re regular as the
seasons, counsellor,” said Al, pouring out two stiff ones. “I was expecting you
along right about now.”

We drank to each other
and Al leaned confidingly on the bar. “Just come from there?”

“Yes,” I said.

“See Charlie?”

“And Celia,” I said.

“Well,” said Al, “that’s
nothing exceptional. I’ve seen her too when she comes by to do some shopping.
Runs along with her head down and that black shawl over it like she was being
chased by something. I guess she is at that.”

“I guess she is,” I said.

“But Charlie, he’s the
one. Never see him around at all. Did you tell him I’d like to see him
sometime?”

“Yes,” I said. “I told
him.”

“What did he say?”

“Nothing. Celia said it
was wrong for him to come here while he was in mourning.”

Al whistled softly and
expressively, and twirled a forefinger at his forehead. “Tell me,” he said, “do
you think it’s safe for them to be alone together like they are? I mean, the
way things stand, and the way Charlie feels, there could be another case of
trouble there.”

“It looked like it for a
while tonight,” I said. “But it blew over.”

“Until next time,” said
Al.

“I’ll be there,” I said.

Al looked at me and shook
his head. “Nothing changes in that house,” he said. “Nothing at all. That’s why
you can figure out all the answers in advance. That’s how I knew you’d be
standing here right about now talking to me about it.”

I could still smell the
dry rot of the house in my nostrils, and I knew it would take days before I
could get it out of my clothes.

“This is one day I’d like
to cut out of the calendar permanently,” I said.

“And leave them alone to
their troubles. It would serve them right.”

“They’re not alone,” I
said. “Jessie is with them. Jessie will always be with them until that house
and everything in it is gone.”

Al frowned. “It’s the
queerest thing that ever happened in this town, all right. The house all black,
her running through the streets like something hunted, him lying there in that
room with only the walls to look at, for— when was it Jessie took that fall,
counsellor?”

By shifting my eyes a
little I could see in the mirror behind Al the reflection of my own face:
ruddy, deep jowled, a little incredulous.

“Twenty years ago,” I
heard myself saying. “Just twenty years ago tonight.”