Sheffold went into Julian’s private bathroom and ran water into a plastic glass and drank it. When he returned, Julian had not moved an inch.
“After his near exposure at the cottage,” he went on in a dead voice, “Bannerman was on foot, and scared. He phoned here and insisted a car be brought to him on the sea road. This could also be used as part of the kidnapping scheme, involving the pay-off. Part of this conversation was overheard by the parking lot attendant. I took a car to him, but for reasons of my own. I shot him in the head. I anticipated that suspicion would fall on the nonexistent kidnappers.”
Julian looked down at his hands. “I want you to know the rest of it, Pete. I was afraid for the club. That’s why I killed him. We were operating so close to the red we could have gone under. The seventy-five thousand would have been a buffer, but when you told me this afternoon about the extortion, I knew I’d never have any peace as long as he was here. But I never planned it. Bannerman put the idea in my head. When you went up to his cottage, he thought I’d sent you to kill him. He could see that it was made-to-order.”
Sheffold said nothing.
“When he phoned early this evening,” Julian went on quietly, “he accused me of it. He wanted the car, but he insisted I leave it for him and go away. Instead I hid in the turtle-back and I shot him.”
“I didn’t hear the shot,” Sheffold said. “And I was awfully close. I nearly caught you. So you hit me and ran.”
“I’m sorry, Pete,” Julian said. “Sorry for everything... If you had just stayed out of it! You were my friend, Pete.”
“Yes, we were friends!” Sheffold’s voice was suddenly harsh. “So you sent me out for Bannerman when all the time you were thinking ‘big stupid Pete will never find anything!’ ”
Without haste, Julian opened the desk drawer again. His hand came up with a small, black gun. “I’m not going to let you turn me in, Pete. I want your word you’ll forget what you know.”
Sheffold stared at the gun with eyes like a hurt animal. He didn’t speak.
“Pete!” Julian’s voice rose. “Don’t make me have to kill your!”
“You gave me a job seven years ago when everybody else forgot.” Sheffold was talking only to himself now. “I owed you a lot for that. Anything that was good for you I would have done. But I won’t fix a murder for you.”
“Then I’ll kill you!”
The corners of his mouth were white. “I guess you would,” Sheffold admitted slowly. “I didn’t think of that. All I thought of was what you might do to yourself if the ransom ruined you. So today I jimmied your gun.”
Quietly Julian put it away. He seemed vaguely relieved.
“I guess,” he said, “I will call my lawyer.”
Sheffold walked to the door, then turned. “You gave that girl a job, didn’t you? Laurel—”
“Yes.” He didn’t look at Sheffold. “She’s downstairs now.”
Sheffold closed the door and went down the stairs. It was after closing now, and Laurel waited alone, in a banquette in a far, dark corner.
Sheffold sat down beside her. “You wouldn’t listen,” he said. “There was no recrimination in his words, only an ineffable sadness. How do you like yourself? How high is the price now? Was it worth murder, Laurel?”
Laurel sat motionless.
“Bannerman was frightened,” Sheffold said. “He wouldn’t let Julian come near him. So he had to be decoyed. That’s the way it happened, wasn’t it?”
She nodded, but she couldn’t speak.
“Julian told him he would have you drive the car out there. Bannerman didn’t know you, but all Julian had to do was give a description. Bannerman would do the rest.”
“Oh, Pete,” she sobbed. “It was terrible. He was like a madman. He tried to kiss me. I got away and ran. Then I heard the shot. I didn’t know where it came from — I still don’t. I went back to the car. He was dead. And there was no one around.”
“He was hiding in the turtle-back,” Sheffold told her.
“I ran down the road,” Laurel said. “I thought I’d lose my mind! I don’t remember how I got to the bus stop.”
She put a hand on his wrist. “Pete — you were right. The price is too high. I’ll go home now if it isn’t too late — with the police I mean.”
“It’s okay,” he said. “Julian didn’t mention you to me, so he’ll cover you.”
“I’ll have dreams,” she whispered. “The rest of my life. I’ll see him there, dead, and my lipstick on his face!”
“Go home, Laurel. You’ll be all right. And some day you’ll forget.”
She stood up quickly, then hesitated. “What about you, Pete?”
“I’ll have to stay till the bitter end.” He didn’t look at her. “I’m a material witness — against my best friend!”
“Thanks for all you’ve done. I always seem to be saying that, don’t I?” She bent suddenly and pressed her cheek against his hair. “Good-bye, Pete.”
Sheffold called, “Laurel.” The footsteps came back. “Where’s your home?”
“Agler, Illinois. It’s a nice little town. Pete, you’d like it.”
“Maybe I would,” he agreed. “One of these days I might come through.”
“I won’t be a blonde then,” she said, in a voice so low he could hardly hear it. “Maybe you won’t know me.”
He smiled at her. “Honey,” he said gently, “I’ll always know you.”
Homicide Honeymoon
by Tedd Thomey
Rookie cop Mario Giovani thought married life was swell — until his loving dove flew the nest... and left a dead Romeo in her place.
Two of them were lying there. Two silent people with arms outflung. Two people lying in a small room where the only motion was a wilted lace curtain, breeze-blown, lazily stroking the sill of the open window.
In the alley below that window, a pair of tanned six-year-olds were lagging little steel balls at a line scratched in the blond dirt. They wore loose swim trunks and squinted against the morning California sun. One of the four unwashed hands was folded around the crushed brass tube of an orange lipstick. Both boys looked up briefly when the sound of a bell split the air above them.
Up in the bedroom, Mario Giovani reached out a firm, hair-forested hand and shut off the alarm clock’s metallic stutter.
He stretched, and muscle roamed idly along his chunky bare arms. He didn’t open his eyes, but he yawned. He combed fingers through his hair. Black hair, thick and naturally oily. He grinned suddenly, and there was a flash of straight teeth contrasting whitely against the dark olive color of his cheeks and strong jaw.
He grinned because he’d been married only four days and everything was swell. This wasn’t like it had been with his mom and dad — all that fighting and name-calling in Italian. This made you feel good in the morning, even if you had gotten home at 2 a.m., even if you had to keep on working instead of taking a honeymoon.
“Hey, Aggie!” he said. “It’s five to eight!”
No answer. That was Aggie for you. When she did a thing, she did it right. When she slept — she slept.
Mario yawned again. He wiggled his toes against the warmth of the sheets.
“Aggie, you’ll miss the bus!” Heavy-lidded eyes still comfortably closed, he sent a hand groping across to the other twin bed to tousle her yellow hair.
But instead of long, soft strands, he felt stubble and heard the wiry rasp of it as his fingers passed over a round chin.