‘She’s right here. Hold on.’
A long pause, then Beth said, ‘Hello, Keith?’ Her voice sounded wooden and I could imagine the deadpan expression on her face.
‘When can we meet?’ I said, gripping the telephone receiver so tightly my knuckles turned white.
‘Thank you for all you did for Frank.’ There was a slight shake in her voice. ‘I am very grateful. I hope you will be successful in finding another job,’ and she hung up.
Holding the receiver in my hand, I stared at it, feeling the cold dead finger creep up my spine, then I replaced the receiver.
Getting to my feet, I moved around the big room, feeling distrust and suspicion nibbling at my mind. After a minute or so, I told myself that she was playing the cards right. With Bernstein listening, she couldn’t make a date with me — the hired hand. She was now a millionairess and important people. But how to contact her?
Bernstein had said she would be staying at his house. I had his home number. Sometime during the day, I would call and ask for her, then she would tell me her plans.
While waiting, I decided to do what Bernstein had told me to do: sell the Caddy. I had around a thousand dollars: three hundred which I had saved and the seven hundred Bernstein had given me. I was going to get another seven hundred from him in a day or so, so I wasn’t short of cash.
I drove the Caddy to the Cadillac showroom, and after a lot of talk, got them to buy it back. I bought a VW secondhand at a knock down price. At least I was mobile. I had the cheque for the Caddy made out to Bernstein and mailed the cheque to him.
All this took time and I arrived back at the house around 17.00. Bernstein would still be at his office. Sweating a little, I called his home number.
A woman answered: ‘This is Mr. Bernstein’s residence.’
I drew in a long, slow breath.
‘I would like to speak to Mrs. Frank Marshall.’
‘Will you hold on?’
A long, long pause, then another woman’s voice said, ‘Who is it?’ Certainly not Beth.
‘I want to speak to Mrs. Marshall. This is Keith Devery.’
‘She is not here.’
‘It is important that I contact her.’ I tried to keep my voice steady. ‘Would you please give me her telephone number?’
‘You should ask Mr. Bernstein,’ and the line went dead.
For some moments, I sat hesitating. Should I wait? Beth could telephone me at any moment, but I had a feeling she wouldn’t. From the moment when she had left the house with Bernstein, I had had this vague suspicion she was walking out on me, and now the suspicion turned into frightening reality.
Snatching up the telephone receiver, I called Bernstein’s office. After a delay, he came on the line.
‘What is it, Devery?’ There was a hard, impatient snap in his voice.
‘I want to speak to Mrs. Marshall,’ I said. ‘Where can I contact her?’
‘Have you sold the car?’
‘Yes. The cheque is in the mail. Where can I contact Mrs. Marshall?’
‘Now listen to me, Devery. You have been paid off. Mrs. Marshall isn’t well. She told me she doesn’t want to be bothered by you nor anyone else in Wicksteed. If there is anything you want to say, say it, and if it is important enough, I’ll tell her. What is it?’
Feeling cold and sick, and now realizing that I had been taken for a sucker, I replaced the receiver.
I sat for some minutes, staring out of the window, then blood rushed to my head.
‘Okay, Beth,’ I said aloud, spitting out the words. ‘Don’t imagine you’ll get away with this! I’ll find you! You owe me half a million and I’m collecting it!’
I got to my feet and slammed my fists together.
‘Make no mistake about that, you two-faced bitch! I’ll find you!’
Chapter Eight
I spent the night in the bed on which Beth and I had made love so often. The wind moaned around the house and there were moments when I imagined I could hear Frank’s dying fingers scratching on the garage door. It was probably the worst night I have ever lived through, although that first night when the cell door clanged shut, could have been worse, but not much worse.
I now had to accept the bitter fact that Beth had played me for a sucker. She had encouraged me to murder Frank; she had relied on my planning; she had gone along with everything I had said, and once Frank was dead, she had ditched me, knowing I couldn’t expose her without exposing myself to a murder charge. Okay, she had been smart, but now, it was my turn to be smart. With a feeling of vicious fury, I told myself she wasn’t going to get away with this. If it was the last thing I did, I would fix her.
Lying in the bed, I thought about her. I remembered our conversation which now seemed a long time ago.
I remembered saying to her: What would you do if he died and you got his money?
She had been lying, naked, by my side, and I could see her in my mind as clearly as if she were with me at this moment and I could hear her sigh as she said: Do? I would go back to ’Frisco where I was born. A woman with a million dollars can have a ball in ’Frisco.
If I could believe that then she would still be somewhere in Frisco, but Frisco was a big city. Hunting for her could be a slow, perhaps impossible task.
I moved restlessly as I thought. She was now worth a million. She wouldn’t stay at some cheap hotel or motel. She would want to spend her money. She would install herself in some luxury apartment or some luxury hotel or even rent a house. I would have to be careful not to alert her I was hunting for her. To make inquiries could send her on the run. No: that wasn’t the way to play it.
It wasn’t until the sky turned grey and the first hint of the sun came through the big window that an idea occurred to me.
I remembered the big restaurant-cum-motel just outside Frisco and remembered her telling me that she once worked there. Then I remembered the chef... what was his name? Mario? Yes, Mario. He had been scared of her. Maybe if I handled him right, he could give me some information about her. I knew next to nothing about her except she had said she planned to live in Frisco, that she had been born there, that she had met Marshall at this restaurant. Before I began to hunt for her I had to get as much information about her as I could and Mario seemed a good bet.
I decided not to waste time. As soon as I had breakfast, I cleaned up, locked up the house, put the keys in an envelope addressed to the real estate agent, then getting in the VW, I drove down the dirt road to the Frisco highway, knowing I would never see that house again.
As I was about to edge out on to the highway, I saw Sheriff McQueen’s car waiting to turn against the traffic. I felt my heart skip a beat. What was he doing here? Had he become suspicious?
McQueen was at the wheel and a young, fresh complexioned man, wearing police uniform sat at his side. Seeing me, McQueen waved, then as a gap appeared in the traffic, he swung the car and pulled up close to me.
I got out of my car and walked over to his, my heart thumping, my hands sweaty.
‘Hi, Sheriff,’ I said. ‘You’ve just caught me. I’m pulling out.’
‘Meet Jack Allison, my new deputy,’ McQueen said, nodding to the man at his side.
‘Hi,’ Allison said and gave me a friendly grin.
‘So Ross finally got his transfer,’ I said for something to say.
‘He’s quit the force.’ McQueen shrugged. ‘Got himself a job with a Security company in Frisco.’ He grimaced. ‘Glad to see him go.’
‘I guess.’ A pause, then I said, ‘I’m going to Frisco myself. I’m hoping to find a job.’ I took the envelope containing the keys of the house from my pocket and offered it to him. ‘If you could give these keys to Mr. Curby, the real estate agent, I would be most obliged.’