‘Are you a newspaper man?’ she asked.
‘A newspaper man? Why, no. I just came down here for a swim.’
She turned her head and looked at the stretch of sand and stared at the smudge marks made while wiping out Lucille’s and my footprints.
‘Did you make those marks?’
‘You mean those marks in the sand?’ I tried to sound casual. ‘They were there when I came.’
‘They look as if someone has been trying to get rid of footprints.’
I turned to stare at the marks.
‘Do you think so? They could have been made by the wind. The wind can make odd patterns in the sand.’
‘Can it?’ Again I felt the dark eyes move over my face. ‘I passed a piece of ground that was trampled over about two miles up the road. Do you think that is where he was killed?’
‘It’s likely. I wouldn’t know.’
‘I’m not asking out of curiosity. I was going to marry him.’
I looked sharply at her, remembering one of the newspapers had said O’Brien was going to marry
a nightclub singer.
‘Oh, yes. I read this morning in the paper you were going to marry him.’
‘Did you?’ She smiled. It was a cold, bitter smile. ‘I don’t suppose you had ever heard of me before you read that in the paper. I’ve been in show business now for ten years. It’s not very encouraging that the first real publicity I get is when a man I planned to marry gets himself killed because he is too stupid to know any better.’
She turned abruptly and walked back to the Oldsmobile, leaving me staring after her.
She got in the car and U-turned. Then without a glance in my direction, she drove away fast in a cloud of sand and dust.
CHAPTER SEVEN
I
I had a sandwich lunch and then drove back to my bungalow. While I ate the sandwiches and on my way back, my mind was busy, but I didn’t come up with anything helpful. I was more convinced than ever that there was something very phoney about this accident. I was certain Lucille had lied to me about how the accident had happened. The situation had become more perplexing after I had looked over the ground. It was so obvious now she must have seen O’Brien as he was coming towards her. She could not have slowed down and she must have driven straight at him. With such an obvious set-up, she could expect no mercy from any jury, and it was even more obvious to me now why she was so anxious for me to take the blame.
But my immediate problem was what I was to do with the Cadillac. Sooner or later, if the police search was going to be as thorough as they claimed, they would find it in Seaborne’s garage.
The Captain of Police had announced that anyone who damaged his car after the time of the accident would have to report the damage immediately, and explain how it had happened.
I wondered if this ruling could offer me a way out. If I drove the Cadillac hard against the garage door upright, and then telephoned the police, would they accept my explanation that I had damaged the car in this way? Had the damage been done only to the front of the car, I felt I might have been on fairly safe ground, but the two deep scars on the bodywork would not be consistent with ramming into the garage upright, and those two scars could easily arouse the police’s suspicions.
But at least it was an idea, and I decided to keep thinking along this line. I was still thinking about it as I unlocked my front door when my mind was abruptly switched away from it as I heard the telephone bell ringing.
I entered the lounge and picked up the receiver.
‘Mr. Scott?’
I recognized Watkins’ voice, and I stiffened, wondering why he should be calling.
‘Yes, speaking,’ I said.
‘Mr. Aitken asked me to call you, sir. He said it was possible you would still be at home,’ Watkins said. ‘If you could spare the time, Mr Aitken would be glad if you could come over.’
‘But I’m supposed to be relaxing on the golf course,’ I said. ‘Can’t you tell him you couldn’t contact me?’
Watkins coughed.
‘I suppose I could, sir, but Mr. Aitken gave me to understand the matter was urgent. However, if you think…’
‘No, it’s okay. I’ll be over. He wants me right away, of course?’
‘I believe he is waiting for you, sir.’
‘Okay, I’m on my way,’ I said and hung up. For a moment or so I stood staring at my reflection in the mirror over the mantelpiece. I looked a little pale and my eyes were scared.
Had Lucille lost her nerve and told him? Had she got her word in first? Aitken had ordered me to take the weekend off and to relax, so why this sudden summons, unless there was trouble?
I left the bungalow, went down to the Pontiac and drove fast to Aitken’s place.
During the drive my mind was as panicky as an old lady’s who has heard a noise under her bed.
I parked the Pontiac beside a grey Buick convertible that stood on the tarmac before the marble steps leading up to Aitken’s terrace. I got out and walked up the steps.
As I reached the top step and looked along the wide terrace I saw Aitken in pyjamas and a dressing-gown, a rug over his legs, lying in a lounging chair. He had with him a big, broad-shouldered man who sat in an upright terrace chair, his back turned to me.
I paused. My heart was thumping and my nerves were crawling as I looked at Aitken, who turned his head, saw me and waved. His leather, whisky-red face softened slightly into a welcoming grin and I felt suddenly a little sick. The relief of seeing that grotesque smile hit me like a physical blow. He wouldn’t be smiling if he were after my blood.
‘There you are, Scott,’ he said. ‘Were you going out to golf?’
The other man turned and I felt a sudden cramping sensation in my stomach. I recognized him immediately. He was: Tom Hackett; the man who had seen Lucille and me leaving the bungalow on the night of the accident: Tom Hackett, Seaborne’s pal.
He looked at me, then got slowly to his feet, his red, good-natured face lighting up with a broad grin.
‘Hello, there,’ he said and extended his hand. ‘So we meet again. R.A. tells me you’re going to be his head man in New; York.’
I took his hand, aware again that mine felt cold in his warm, firm grip.
‘Sit down, sit down,’ Aitken said irritably. ‘Were you on your way to golf?’
‘I was about to change when Watkins called me,’ I said, moving over to where he lay and sitting down in a chair near Hackett’s.
‘I’m sorry. I told you to get a game in. I meant you to,’ Aitken said, running his fingers through his sparse hair, ‘but when Hackett turned up, I thought you should meet him.’
I looked politely at Hackett, then back to Aitken again. I had no idea what it was all about, but at least it didn’t seem to be trouble.
Aitken looked over at Hackett and grinned his sneering little grin.
‘This young fella’s been working too hard,’ he said. ‘I told him to take the weekend off: to play golf and find a pretty woman. You turning up like this has spoilt it for him.’
Hackett laughed.
‘Don’t you believe it. He may have missed his golf, but he didn’t miss out on the other thing.’ He turned to me with a wide grin. ‘Did you, boy?’
My smile was stiff, but I somehow managed to keep it in place. I didn’t say anything.
Aitken looked sharply at me, then at Hackett.
‘Oh? What do you know about what he’s been up to?’ I found my hands were turning into fists and I put them in my trouser pockets.