‘For the love of Mike, don’t bother me with that!’ I snarled at him. ‘Forget it! I want to read the papers.’
I went out on to the terrace and sat down. I didn’t move until I heard him go into the kitchen, then with an unsteady hand I unfolded the papers.
In banner headlines splashed across the front pages, the newspapers screamed that this was the hitand-run case to end all hit-and-run cases. This, they yelled, was the most callous, ruthless motor killing of all time.
According to the Palm City Inquirer, Patrol Officer Harry O’Brien, the dead man, had been one of the most popular officers on the City’s force. All three newspapers carried a picture of the dead man who looked a typical hard, brutal cop: a man around thirty years of age with small, granite-hard eyes, a lipless mouth and coarse heavy features.
The Palm City Inquirer said he was a good Catholic, a good son to his parents and a hard-working, conscientious police officer.
‘Only two days before he was so ruthlessly struck down, O’Brien had told friends that he was planning to get married at the end of next month,’ the account went on. ‘It is believed his fiancée is Miss Dolores Lane, the popular entertainer at the Little Tavern nightclub.’
The editors of all three newspapers shrilly demanded that the City’s Administration should find the driver of the car and punish him as he deserved.
But it wasn’t the hysterical yapping of the press that really scared me. The attitude of the police was far more menacing.
John Sullivan, Captain of Police, in a press interview held late last night, said that not one of his men would rest until they had found the driver who had killed O’Brien.
‘Make no mistake about it,’ Sullivan had concluded in a ten-minute speech in which he had extolled O’Brien’s qualities, ‘we will find this man. This is no ordinary accident. There have been police officers in the past who have been unlucky enough to have been killed in motoring accidents, but the drivers involved have faced tip to a court hearing. They didn’t run away. By running away, this man has branded himself as a killer, and I will not tolerate killers in this city. I will find him! We know his car is badly damaged. Every car in this city is going to be checked. I mean exactly that. Every car owner will be given a clearance certificate. Any driver damaging his car after the time of the accident must report the damage to the police or he will find himself on a hook. He will have to convince my men just how the damage was done, and if he can’t, then I’ll talk to him and I’ll be sorry for him if he can’t convince me. Road blocks have been set up. No car can leave the city without being checked for damage. I am satisfied we have the killer’s car trapped. It’s hidden somewhere and we only have to find it. And when we’ve found it, I’ll teach the owner it is damn bad medicine to kill one of my boys and run away.’
So by the time it was ten minutes to ten, by the time I had got rid of Toti, by the time I had thought over what I had read, I was glad to drink two double shots of whisky.
It seemed incredible to me that the police should be planning to check every car in the city. The task would be enormous, but then I remembered once reading of how a police force had searched practically every refuse bin in a city while hunting for a murder weapon, and after four days of incredible labour and patience, had found it. I told myself it would be dangerous to under-estimate Sullivan. If he really meant what he said, and if he wasn’t just putting on a show for the press, it might perhaps be possible to check every car, even if it did take weeks.
At ten o’clock, I went down the path and stood at the gate to watch for Lucille.
I hadn’t had much time to make up my mind what my immediate moves should be, but I had come to two important decisions. I decided there was no question of going to the police and telling them the truth. I also decided that if the Cadillac was found, I would have to take the blame for the accident.
It wasn’t entirely my infatuation for Lucille that prompted me to take this decision. It was obvious to me I had little choice. There was no point in both of us getting into trouble, and besides, I felt I was really to blame. If I hadn’t lost my head and had behaved as I had done, she wouldn’t have driven off on her own.
If I let her take the blame, the truth would come out and I would not only lose my job but I could go to prison as an accessory. If I kept her out of it, and I was lucky to get off with a light sentence, it was possible Aitken would give me back my job after I had served my sentence.
I was still brooding about this when Lucille arrived.
I put her bicycle in the garage and then took her into the lounge.
‘You’ve seen the papers?’ I said as I shut the door.
‘Yes, and it’s on the radio this morning. Did you hear what they said?’
‘The radio? No, I didn’t think of that. What did they say?’
‘They are asking for information.’ Her voice was unsteady. ‘They want anyone who saw a damaged car on the roads last night to come forward. They’re asking all garages to report at once if anyone asks them to repair a damaged car.’ She stood, staring at me, her face white and drawn. ‘Oh, Ches…’ Then she was suddenly in my arms, her face against my shoulder. ‘I’m frightened. I’m sure they will find me. What am I going to do?’
I held her close to me.
‘It’s going to be all right,’ I said. ‘I’ve been thinking about it. You don’t have to be frightened. Let’s talk it over. You have nothing to worry about.’
She pushed away from me and frowned at me.
‘How can you say that? What do you mean?’
She had on an open-neck shirt and pale green snug-fitting slacks. Even in this crisis I found myself thinking what a beautiful little creature she was.
‘Sit down,’ I said and I led her over to the settee.
She sat down and I took an easy chair opposite her.
‘There’s no point in both of us being in this mess,’ I said. ‘If the car is found, I’m taking the entire blame.’
She stiffened, her hands turning into fists as she gazed blankly at me.
‘But you can’t do that. It was my fault…’
‘It was an accident. If you had stopped and if you had got help, Lucille, you would have most likely got away with it. But to have got away with it, you would have had to tell the court the truth. You would have had to tell them why you went off in the car. It would have kept you out of prison, but landed you in the middle if a scandal. You can imagine how the press would have picked on us both. Your husband would probably have divorced you, and I would most certainly have lost my job. So even if you go now and tell the police what happened we would be both in a very serious jam. You see that, don’t you?’
She nodded.
‘I don’t intend to tell the police what happened,’ I went on. ‘There’s just a chance they won’t find the Cadillac, and I’m going to take that chance. But if they do find it, then I’m going to tell them I was driving and I hit the policeman. It’s important to both of us that you are kept out of it. I might be lucky and get off with a light sentence. Your husband seems to think a lot of me, and he might have me back when I come out. But once you are involved, he would black-list me and I’ll never get another job in advertising. So you see I’m thinking of myself as much as you when I say I’ll take the blame.’
She sat motionless for a long moment, then her hands suddenly relaxed.
‘You really mean it, Ches? You really will tell them you did it?’
‘Yes, that’s what I mean.’
She drew in a deep breath.
‘Well, if you’re sure…’
‘I’m sure.’
She lifted her hair off her shoulders, frowning. She didn’t look as relieved as I expected her to look.