“We’re going to release you people now,” Trimble was saying. “But please remember we’ve got an open book on this one, and nobody here is to leave Los Angeles without checking with me first. Give your addresses to Sergeant Winterman.”
While they clustered around Winterman, Layton murmured to Trimble, “Does this mean you’ve decided it’s homicide?”
Trimble smiled bleakly. “This means I don’t know what it is. Yet.”
Layton went into the board room and shut the door. He called for an outside line and spent a long time with the rewrite man in the Bulletin city room, angling his follow-up story.
“You seem to have got the jump on the whole town, Jim,” the rewrite man said. “I saw the boss a few minutes ago with a contortion of the features that might actually have been a smile. Why don’t you hit him for a raise while he’s feeling human?”
“The feeling won’t last that long,” Layton said, and hung up.
The anteroom was empty. He ran out into the hall.
She was waiting just outside the door.
For me? Layton’s heart jumped. For God’s sake, he said to himself angrily.
“Oh, Mrs. King,” he said, smiling, “I thought you’d be gone with the rest.”
Her answering smile was faint. “To tell you the truth, Mr. Layton, I... don’t know what to do with myself. I was just standing here trying to figure out where I go from here.”
“Suppose we figure it out together.” He put his hand on her elbow and urged her gently into motion. They began to walk down the corridor. “Did you drive in from the Valley?”
She nodded. “I’m parked on the station lot.”
“You look kind of shaky.” Touching her was like touching a hot iron. He took his hand away.
“I’m just beginning to realize that I’ll never see him again.”
“You’re in no shape to drive all that way. Let’s stop in here for a minute.”
She permitted him to steer her into Hathaway’s office. Hazel Grant had her hat on and was pulling on her gloves. Her hands paused for the briefest moment as she saw them.
“Sorry to bother you, Mrs. Grant,” Layton said. “This is Mrs. King. She’d like to leave her car on the lot tonight. Could you arrange for someone to deliver it to her in the Valley tomorrow?”
The blue-haired secretary surveyed King’s widow calmly. She’s not surprised, Layton thought. Did she know all along that King was married? Or had Hathaway just told her?
“We’re all so shocked about — what’s happened, Mrs. King,” Hazel Grant said. “I know there’s nothing anyone can say—”
Nancy murmured something.
“I’ll be happy to see to your car. If you’ll give me a description of it, and the keys and license number...”
They were walking across the parking lot before King’s widow said anything. “You’re very kind to be doing this, Mr. Layton. Whatever it is you’re proposing to do.”
“I’m proposing to drive you home.”
“Oh?” She smiled wanly. “Are you always so masterful?”
“Practically never.”
“I’m a good story, is that it?”
“Yes,” Layton admitted. “But you’re also somebody in trouble. And I’ve never got over my Boy Scout oath.”
She glanced at him — just a flash of the darkly liquid eyes. Then she looked down again.
They walked on in silence.
7
They got into Layton’s shabby car, and Nancy King, said she lived on Chapter Drive.
“Where’s that?” he asked.
“Near the Valley country club,” she said. “I’ll tell you when to turn off Ventura. It’s about fifteen miles out.”
During the first part of the long drive down Ventura Boulevard, she was withdrawn. Almost as if I weren’t here, Layton thought, beginning to feel foolish. What the devil did I expect — chit-chat?
When they reached Encino he cleared his throat. “It’s after six. How about something to eat?”
She shook her head. What a damfool thing to suggest! Layton told himself savagely. He stepped on the gas. But as they approached Tarzana he became aware, in a sort of panic, that she was — very quietly — crying.
“Wouldn’t you like to stop at least for a drink?” he asked in desperation.
“I’m sorry.” For an instant she touched his arm with her slim gloved hand. Then she fumbled in her bag and brought out a ridiculous wisp of handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes. The faintest of scents invaded his nose. “This is pretty selfish repayment for your kindness. Thank you, but I’d rather get home.”
Layton felt confused. He never felt confused. What in the world is happening to me? he thought. He tried to think of something to say, but his brain seemed wrapped in fog.
“Selfish?” he finally said.
“The tears are more for me than for Tutter, I’m ashamed to say. I was feeling sorry for myself because I’d so looked forward to a new life together.”
“Aren’t all tears selfish?” Layton said fatuously. “You don’t have to feel guilty, Mrs. King.”
“How do you stop?” She stared at the thinning traffic. “I keep thinking how unfair it is that it should happen just now. It wouldn’t have been nearly so overwhelming if Tutter had died before this payola nightmare came up. At that time I had no real hope of our living like normal married people.” Her hands convulsed for a moment. “And now you’ll think me dreadful.”
“I think you’re honest,” Layton heard himself saying, in a warm tone. “I’d say you’ve earned the right to feel cheated after all these years of being hidden away like a — like a doll in a closet.” Like a doll in a closet! The next thing I know, he thought, I’ll be spouting poetry. He struggled to reassert the reporter in him. “Mind if I ask you a personal question, Mrs. King?”
She glanced at him. “It depends on the question.”
“Why did you put up with that invisible-wife routine for so long?”
The attractive widow was silent. After a while she said, “I suppose, basically, because Tutter insisted. As I told those detectives, I don’t know how much Tutter was making, but it was obviously a great deal. To protect his income, he said, he bad to preserve his public image as a bachelor.”
“There’s more to it than that,” Layton said. “What good was the money to you when you couldn’t enjoy the life it forced on you? Or was the money an end in itself?”
He had not intended to say that, and he was not surprised when her tone turned cold. “I’d have lived with Tutter in a bungalow court, Mr. Layton. But he wouldn’t have been happy.” Then the ice melted. “I can’t blame you for thinking that. These are expensive clothes. The fact is, I loathe the kind of social life Tutter had to lead in Hollywood. I was actually glad not to have to be part of it. We had our own close friends.”
Apologies. But, all of it. The real reason she let him make a prisoner out of her, Layton thought bitterly, was that she loved the bastard. Why didn’t she say so?
He shook his head clear and promised himself that there would be no more nonsense.
“What flogs me is how you two managed to keep your marriage out of the papers all these years,” Layton said in flat tones. “Didn’t he ever take you out?”
She sensed his change of mood, and it seemed to puzzle her. “Often. But it was always to out-of-the-way places where we wouldn’t run into the Hollywood crowd or the teenage autograph hounds. Sometimes, of course, it didn’t work. When he had to introduce me to somebody he knew, he’d say I was his sister.”
“His sister!” Layton gripped the wheel. “And you took that?”
“I’d have taken anything Tutter dished out, Mr. Layton,” she said in a quiet voice. “Better slow down. We’re near my turnoff.”