II
On the highway I came suddenly on a long line of cars, crawling towards the city. I had never seen such a traffic jam, and I knew at once that it had to do with the death of this speed cop.
I had trouble in forcing my way out of the secondary road from my bungalow into the stream of traffic. Finally, someone gave way to me and I got into the line of the creeping cars.
Lucille stopped crying when she saw what was going on.
‘What is it?’
‘I don’t know. There’s nothing to worry about,’ and I wished I really believed that.
We crawled on. Every now and then I looked at the clock on the dashboard. The hands showed ten minutes to twelve, and we still had about two miles to go before I got her home.
Suddenly the cars ahead of me crawled to a stop. I sat, gripping the wheel, staring into the darkness ahead of me, seeing only the red tail lights and maybe a hundred cars stretching in a long motionless line up the road.
Then I saw the cops. There must have been a dozen of them. They were moving down the line of cars, powerful flashlights in their hands, and as they passed, they threw the beams over each car.
That brought me out into a cold sweat.
‘They’re looking for me,’ Lucille said in a voice tight with fear and she made as if to get out of the car.
I gripped her arm.
‘Sit still!’ My heart was thumping and I was thankful I had been smart enough to use Seaborne’s car. ‘They’re not looking for you! They’re looking for the car. Sit still and keep quiet!’
I could feel her shaking, but she had enough sense not to move as one of the cops neared us.
A big, broad-shouldered man got out of the car just ahead of us. As the cop came up to his car, the big man said in an explosion of rage: ‘What the hell is this? I’m trying to get to Palm Bay. Can’t you guys keep this goddamn road clear?’
The cop sent his beam over him.
‘You can come down to the station and make a complaint if that’s the way you feel about it,’ he said in a voice that could have peeled rust off the keel of a ship. ‘You’ll go when we’re good and ready for you to go, and not before.’
The big man seemed to lose some of his size.
‘What’s going on anyway, officer?’ he asked in a much milder tone. ‘Are we likely to be long?’
‘A hit-and-run job. We’re checking all cars going out of the city,’ the cop said, ‘and you won’t be long.’
He checked the big man’s car, then moved on to mine. I found myself gripping the wheel until my fingers hurt as he sent the beam of his flashlight over my wings, and then over the bumpers.
The cop, a thickset man with a face that could have been carved out of flint, looked at me, his light swinging first on me and then on Lucille, who cringed back, catching her breath sharply. He didn’t seem to notice anything for he moved on to the car behind us.
I put my hand on her arm.
‘Take it easy. There’s nothing to be frightened about.’
Frightened? Cold sweat was rolling off me.
She didn’t saw anything. She sat, her hands gripped between her knees, and see breathed like an old woman of seventy after a climb up a flight of stairs.
The car ahead of me began to move, and I went after it. We crawled on in silence for four or five hundred yards, then the pace quickened.
‘They were looking for me, weren’t they, Ches?’ she said, her voice shaking.
‘They were looking for the car, and they didn’t find it.’
‘Where is it?’
‘Where they won’t find it. Now look, will you stop working yourself into a panic? Just sit still and keep quiet!’
Ahead of us was the intersection that led to Palm Boulevard. I pulled out of the line of traffic and increased speed. I reached the entrance to the Gables as the hands of the dashboard clock showed ten minutes after twelve.
I got out, went around to the off-side door and opened it.
‘I’ll see you at my place tomorrow at ten,’ I said.
Slowly, as if her legs were cast in lead, she got out of the car.
‘Ches! I’m frightened! They were looking for me.’
‘They were looking for the car. Now look, go to bed and try to get this thing out of your mind. There’s nothing either of us can do until tomorrow.’
‘But they’re checking all the cars! The policeman said so.’ She stood there, staring up at me, her eyes terrified. ‘It’s serious, Ches. It really is! Don’t you think I should tell Roger? He’s good at this sort of thing.’
I drew in a long, slow breath.
‘No,’ I said, trying to keep my voice from rising. ‘He can’t help you. I’m the only one who can handle this. You’ve got to trust me.’
‘I just couldn’t bear to go to prison.’
‘You won’t go to prison. You’ve got to stop working yourself into a panic. We’ll discuss it tomorrow.’
She seemed to make an effort to pull herself together.
‘Well, all right. I’ll wait until tomorrow if you say so,’ she said. ‘But, Ches, if you don’t think you can handle it, I must go to Roger.’
‘I’ll handle it. Now go to bed and leave it with me.’
For a long moment she stared at me, then turned and began to walk unsteadily up the drive towards the house.
I watched her go until I lost sight of her.
Then I got into the Pontiac and drove back to the bungalow.
While I drove, fear like a misshapen gnome, sat silently on my shoulder.
CHAPTER FIVE
I
BY ten minutes to ten the following morning, I was in such a state of jitter, I did something I have never done before. I drank two double whiskies, one after the other, in an attempt to steady my nerves and quell the sick apprehension that had been gnawing at me all night.
I had had very little sleep, and at seven o’clock I began to prowl around the bungalow, waiting for the boy to deliver the newspapers. For reasons best known to him, he didn’t arrive until past eight. As I went out to pick up the papers he had tossed on to the porch, Toti, my Filipino servant, arrived.
Afraid to look at the paper, while he was around, I told him to wash up the coffee things and then get off.
‘I’m not going to the office this morning, Toti.’
He looked at me in concern.
‘You sick, Mr. Scott?’
‘No. I’m just taking the weekend off,’ I said, moving towards the terrace, the newspapers burning my hand.
‘You look sick,’ he announced, continuing to stare at me.
‘Never mind how I look,’ I snapped. ‘Get rid of the breakfast things, and then get off.’
I was frantic to look at the papers, but I somehow managed to control myself. Toti was a smart boy. I didn’t want him to suspect anything was wrong.
‘I planned to clean up the kitchen this morning, Mr. Scott,’ he said. ‘It needs it. I won’t be in your way.’
Speaking slowly and controlling my voice with an effort, I said: ‘Leave it till Monday. It’s not often I have a weekend off, and I want to potter around here on my own.’
He shrugged his shoulders.
‘Okay, Mr. Scott, anything you say.’
Again I started towards the terrace.
‘Oh, Mr. Scott…’
‘Well? What is it?’
‘Could I have the key to the garage?’
My heart skipped a beat. He would naturally want to know what the Pontiac was doing there and where the Cadillac was. The Cadillac was one of his great prides. He kept it clean, and it was due to his continual attention that the car still looked brand new after eighteen months of hard driving.
‘What do you want it for?’
‘There’s some cleaning rag in there I want to take home, Mr. Scott. My sister said she’d wash it out for me.’