I shall never forget the look on Carol’s face. I took a step towards her, but turning swiftly, she ran down the short passage and the front door slammed.
I went after her.
As I jerked open the door, I heard her car start up and I was in time to see the red tail light flashing down the long winding drive.
I blundered out into the moonlight and began running after the car.
“Come back, Carol,” I shouted after her. “Come back . . . don’t leave me, Carol,” I shouted after her’ . . . come back!”
The red tail light disappeared round the corner where the drive entered the road.
I raced on to the gate and stood panting in the middle of the road that led to San Bernardino. The road ran straight for a mile and then turned sharply with the curve of the mountain.
I could see the red tail light moving like a ruby fired from a gun. Carol was driving very fast . . . too fast. I knew the road better than she did and I suddenly began to run again, shouting after her.
“You’re going too fast,” I yelled. “Look out, Carol, my darling. You’re going too fast. You won’t make the turn . . . slow down! Carol!! You won’t make the—”
Even from that distance I heard the tires squeal on the road as the mountain curve suddenly sprang at her from out of the darkness. I saw her headlights swing out to the left and I could hear stones rattling inside the mudguards as the tires skidded.
I stopped running and fell on my knees. The noise of the tyres rose to a high pitched scream and then the car suddenly leaped off the road and went straight through the white palings. I heard a crunching, ripping noise and I watched the car hang for a second in mid-air, then it went down through the darkness into the valley.
CHAPTER TWENTY
IT was Eve. From the very beginning it had been Eve. If it had not been for her none of this would ever have happened.
I walked down Laurel Canyon Drive and passed her house. There were no lights showing. I paused, then retraced my steps. A distant clock struck midnight. Perhaps she was asleep; perhaps she was still out; perhaps she was at the back of the house. I would have to find out.
I looked up and down the street, but there was no one in sight except John Coulson. He stood in the shadows across the road, his hands in his pockets and his head a little on one side, watching me.
I stood outside Eve’s house and again looked up and down the street. It was quiet, even the distant traffic sounded muffled. I pushed open the gate and groped my way down the path. I fumbled my way around to the back of the house and kicked against a number of bottles that were stacked against the wall. One of them rolled and smashed against something in the dark. I stood still and listened. The back of the house was in darkness. No one called out so I edged forward cautiously until I reached a window. It was half open. I pushed it right up and listened. No sound came from inside the house.
I leaned inside the window and struck a match. I was looking in at the small kitchen and it was as well that I had a light because the sink, full of dirty crockery, was immediately under the window.
I threw the match away and stepped onto the window sill. Then I struck another match. I climbed over the sink and lowered myself to the floor.
There was a faint smell of stale cooking and a fainter smell of Eve’s perfume in the room. The smell of that perfume gave me a cold feeling of hate deep in my guts. I went to the door, opened it and stood in the passage. I listened, but I could hear nothing.
I was sure now that the house was empty, but I was still cautious. I edged my way to her bedroom. The door was open and I stood outside, holding my breath and listening. I stood like that for a long time until I was sure there was no one in the room. Then I went in and turned on the light.
By her bed was a large photograph. It was turned face down on the little table. I picked it up. Jack Hurst looked at me. It was a good portrait and I studied it for some minutes, then in a sudden spasm of rage, I nearly smashed it against the wall. I stopped myself in time. That would be the first thing she would miss when she entered the room. I put the photograph back as I had found it and as I did so I wondered whether Hurst would care when he heard that Eve was dead. I wondered too with a sense of malice whether the police would suspect that it might have been Hurst who had killed her.
The clock on the mantelpiece ticked softly. It was twenty minutes past twelve. Any moment now, I could expect her to return. In this quiet little room, I had no feeling of time and I sat down on the bed and picked up her dressing gown. I buried my face in it, smelling her scent and the faint odour of her body.
I remembered the first time I had seen her in it. She had been squatting before the fire at Three Point. That picture conjured up a flood of bitter memories. So much had happened since then.
It did not seem that five nights ago I had watched Carol die. It had taken me more than two hours to scramble down the mountain side to reach her. I knew when I looked at the smashed car that she would not be alive. It had been very quick; her lovely little body had been jammed between a great boulder and the side of the car. I could not move her and I sat by her side with her head in my arms, feeling her grow cold until they came and took me away.
Nothing seemed to matter after that. Even Gold did not matter. He took his revenge, but I was past caring. It did not matter that he stripped me of everything. He knew, as I suspected, that
Rain Check
wasn’t my play. Somehow he found out about Coulson and reported what I had done to the Writers’ Guild. They sent a stiff necked little man to see me. He said they would not prosecute if I repaid all my royalties. I scarcely listened to him and when he gave me a paper authorizing my bank to pay 75,000 dollars to Coulson’s agent to dispose of as he thought fit, I signed it.
I had not the money of course, so they took everything I had. My Chrysler, books, furniture, clothes — everything I had, and even then they wanted more, but there was nothing more to give them.
I did not even care when they took Carol’s clothes. I did not need to have anything of hers to remember her by. She was in my mind as I had last seen her jammed between the boulder and the car with a scarlet thread of blood from her lips to her chin. That memory of her will always be with me.
I think I could have borne her loss if I had been able to tell her before she died that the red head had meant nothing to me. But I reached her too late and she died thinking that big soft bodied slut of a woman had taken her place while she was away. That knowledge unhinged my mind. If I could have told her that she was the only person who had ever given me any real happiness and if she had believed me, I might not now be in this sordid little house waiting to commit murder.
Everything had happened because of Eve. I had nothing to live for, why then should she? During the past five days I had thought a great deal about her and I had decided that it would be very satisfying and final to kill her.
I went to the door, turned off the light and fumbled my way upstairs. As I reached the head of the stairs, the telephone began to ring.
I was a little unnerved now and I walked unsteadily across the landing. I went into the front room, next to the bathroom. My feet scraped on the bare boards and the moon breaking through the clouds suddenly sent a shaft of light through the uncurtained window. The room was unfurnished. From the window I could see the street, the garden and the little path that led to the house.
I leaned against the window and stared down into the street. John Coulson was still there. He had moved closer to the house and was looking up at me.
I watched him for a few minutes, then I turned away from the window. I wanted a drink. I wanted to smoke too, but I was afraid Eve would smell the burning tobacco as she came in. She must have no warning that I was in the house, waiting to kill her.
The minutes dragged slowly by and I grew impatient. I wondered where she was. Would she bring a man back with her? I had not thought of that. It was more than likely that she would do so and it would, of course, ruin all my plans.
Suddenly, without warning, something soft and yielding moved against my leg. My nerves bunched together like a coiled spring and my mouth went dry. I blundered away from the window with a faint cry.
Beside me was a large black and white cat. It looked up at me and its eyes sparkled in the moonlight.
The shock had driven the blood from my face and my heart thumped against my ribs. When, at last, I had controlled my fluttering nerves, I bent down to touch the cat, but it slid away from me and disappeared through the half open door.
Still quivering from the shock, I closed the door and as I came back to the window I heard a car coming down the road. I flattened myself against the wood and peered through the window. John Coulson had gone and the road seemed desolate without him.
A taxi-cab pulled up and the driver leaned out and opened the door. The moonlight lit the darkness inside the cab and I caught a glimpse of Eve’s immaculate legs. There was a long pause before die got out. She was alone and she stood for several seconds searching in her bag before she paid the driver. He did not touch his cap, but slammed the door and then drove off without looking at her.
I watched her as she moved down the path. She walked wearily, her shoulders sagging her bag clutched firmly under her arm.
In a few seconds, she and I would be alone together.
I was no longer afraid and my hands were dry and steady. I crept across the room and opened the door. I heard her snap back the lock and enter the lobby.
I crossed the landing and looked cautiously over the banisters and caught a glimpse of her as she disappeared into her bedroom. A light sprang up and flooded the lobby.
I heard her strike a match and I guessed she was lighting a cigarette. Then I heard her yawn. The sound ended in a groan of exhaustion, but I had no pity for her, only a cold, sullen anger and that overpowering desire to get my hands around her throat.
She moved about the room while she undressed. The house was so silent that I could hear her take off her coat, skirt and blouse. She unlocked her cupboard and I guessed she was putting her clothes away. Then she came out of the bedroom and walked into the kitchen. I saw her distinctly as she passed from room to room. She looked very slight and forlorn down there by herself. Her hair looked neat and her blue dressing gown was wrapped tightly around her.
I heard a rattle of crockery from the kitchen and, later, she returned carrying a tray for her morning coffee. She took it into her bedroom and I guessed that before long she would be coming upstairs. I stepped into the front room and closed the door.
I had not been in the room more than a few seconds before I heard her come up the stairs. She moved slowly and at the head of the stairs, she stumbled. She said “Oh, hell!” loudly and I knew then that she was drunk.
I heard her stumbling around in the bathroom and then I heard water running. She was in there for some time, but eventually I heard her come out and go downstairs.
I edged once more onto the landing. Below me, she was bending over the cat. As I watched her, she sat on her heels and stroked the cat with quick, light movements. “Poor old Sammy,” she said softly. “Did I leave you all alone?”
The cat twined itself around her and I could hear its deep throated purr. I watched Eve’s slim hands as she fondled the animal and I listened as she talked to it. She talked as only a lonely woman will talk to an animal, speaking to it as if it were a child.
The cat suddenly stopped purring and looked up at me. It’s tail became bushy and it spat. For a moment I stared down into its yellow eyes, then I drew back out of sight.
“What’s the matter, you silly old thing?” Eve asked. “Are there mice up there?”
My hands became clammy.
“Come on, my beauty, I’m not going to play any more with you. No, you’re not going up there. I’m tired, Sammy, oh I’m so very, very tired.”
I glanced over the banisters again. Eve had picked up the cat and was disappearing into the bedroom.
I took out my handkerchief and wiped my face and hands, then went to the head of the stairs and listened.
Eve was talking to the cat. I could not hear what she said. It seemed strange to hear her voice in the silent house and not to hear anyone answer her. Then the bed creaked and I knew that she was settling down for the night.
I sat on the top stair and lit a cigarette.
As I sat there, I remembered our first week-end together. It had been exciting and intriguing because I did not then know how false and what a liar she was. I had thought that I had won her confidence and I had enjoyed her company. It was a memory that would remain with me for a long time.
I clenched my fists. If she had given just a little instead of taking all the time, this would never have happened. I wanted to be her friend but she had frustrated me at every point.
Then the light snapped off and I started to my feet; but I controlled my eagerness with an effort and sat down again. I would have to wait just a little longer. One false move now, after waiting so long, would spoil everything.
I sat there and waited for her to fall asleep.
Then out of the darkness came a new sound. Eve was crying. It was not a pleasant sound. It was so unexpected that it set my teeth on edge and gave me a cold feeling under my heart. It was the sound a woman makes who has lost everything and who is desperately lonely and miserable. Eve lay in the darkness and sobbed without any effort to control herself. She sounded tragically unhappy. At last I was face to face with the real Eve without the make-believe, without the wooden expression or the professional mannerisms. This was the Eve I had wanted to know, the real Eve who lurked behind the stone fortress, its door now open for me to see inside. This was a prostitute taking a vacation.
I sat for a long time in the darkness and listened to her. I heard her toss about in the bed and once she said, “Oh damn and damn and damn!” and I heard her beat her fists together as her unhappiness tormented her.