‘You haven’t seen him. I have. When he shows, what do you suggest?’
‘We grab him. I want him alive. I want him to suffer.’ Her face was again like a stone mask.
‘I’ve seen him. Grabbing Minsky would be like trying to catch a tiger with a butterfly net.’
She got to her feet.
‘There are always means. I’ll think of something. J.W. is going to New York for three days. We meet here on Thursday.’
Thursday would be the day before the first of the month.
I nodded.
‘OK here.’
She nodded, then, patting my shoulder and giving me a small, hard smile, she left.
I sat for some moments thinking, then I went down to where I had parked my car and drove home.
Eight
It was well after 22.00 when I heard Bill unlock the front door. I had spent time, a glass of Scotch in my hand, doing some heavy thinking.
The rain had set in, and I could hear it beating against the windows. I got to my feet as he came rushing in, ready to make a stiff drink for him, but one look at his face, as he stood in the doorway, his mac shining with rain, made me pause.
‘Don’t say a word!’ he exclaimed. ‘I want to eat! I want a steak as big as your desk! Come on. Let’s go!’
‘Calm down, Bill. We have things to talk about.’
‘That’s what you think. I’m starving. For eight hours, I’ve been sitting in the rain with only a hot dog to eat. I’ve had it up to here! We don’t talk: we goddam eat!’
Knowing Bill, I put on my mac, locked up, then went with him to his hired car.
It wasn’t until forty minutes later, in which time Bill had demolished a king-sized steak smothered with fried onions and a stack of french fries, that he began to look human again instead of a starving refugee.
I had been nibbling at a crab salad, watching him. When I saw he was beginning to relax, I said, ‘So it’s been rough, Bill. Anything to report?’
‘Not yet,’ he said, and ordered a double portion of apple pie.
So I waited with growing impatience.
Finally, finished, he sat back and grinned at me.
‘Man! I certainly wanted that!’
‘I asked you if you had anything to report,’ I said, at the end of my patience.
‘Sorry, Dirk, but I was starving,’ he said. ‘Yes, plenty to report. I’ve been watching Angie’s cottage since eleven o’clock this morning. I didn’t see a sign of her. Around midday, Mrs Smedley came out with a shopping basket and took off in the Beetle. Then ten minutes later Angie appeared. It was raining quite hard. She was wearing jeans and sweatshirt and the big sun goggles. She began to walk around the garden, getting soaked. From where I was sitting in the car, a good hiding place, I could look down on her. She paced around the garden like a caged wild cat. I could faintly hear that she was talking to herself. Every so often, she would stop and bang her head with her clenched fists. It was an unpleasant sight. Two or three times, she would shake her clenched fists in the air, then go on walking and talking to herself. She behaved as if she was out of her mind. Then she returned to the cottage, slamming the door.
‘I sat there. Then Mrs Smedley returned, carrying a heavy shopping basket. Nothing happened for the next two hours, then action really started. I heard hysterical screams coming from the cottage. The screams really got to me. They were eerie and blood chilling. I rushed down to the cottage and looked through the living room window. Man! What a scene! Mrs Smedley was in a corner and Angie was creeping up on her. She had a big carving knife in her hand. Mrs Smedley looked calm. She was talking. Then Angie screamed, “I want you out, black bitch! I want Terry!”’ He paused, then went on, ‘This setup looked straight out of a horror movie. There was this crazy looking girl with the knife, edging towards Mrs Smedley who was pressed against the wall. I ran to the front door and leaned against the bell. Angie who was still screaming she wanted Terry, stopped screaming. I kept leaning on the bell. After some minutes, the door opened and Mrs Smedley, her face running with sweat, glared at me.
‘“Excuse me,” I said. “I’m from the Reader’s Digest. I was wondering...” I got no further. She slammed the door in my face. I waited a minute or so, then peered through the living room window. Angie was sitting in a chair, hammering her head with her clenched fists. The knife was lying on the floor. Mrs Smedley picked it up and took it into the kitchen. Then she came back and caught hold of Angie. She gave her a slap across her face that seemed to knock Angie unconscious, then she carried her out of my sight. So I returned to my car and sat and waited, but there was no further action. Well, that’s it, Dirk. Angie is a real nut case and should be put away.’
‘She kept screaming for her brother?’
‘That’s it.’
‘Josh told me the sun went out of her life when her brother left. What’s happened to her brother? Where is he? I’ve felt all along Terry is the key to unlock this puzzle.’
‘So, OK. What’s the next move?’
‘I’m going to talk to Mrs Thorsen. She’s the only one able to certify Angie. The two people who could give real information are Josh and Hanna Smedley. Sorry, Bill, but you get back to watching the cottage. I’m going to Thorsen’s place. With luck I’ll be able to talk to Mrs Thorsen.’
Bill groaned.
‘If you say so. OK. Then let’s go.’ As we were leaving the restaurant, he asked, ‘How long do you want me to watch the cottage — all night?’
‘You nose around, Bill. See what’s going on. I’ll join you after I’ve seen Mrs Thorsen. Stay right there until I arrive.’
We got into our respective cars and headed for the Thorsen residence. I parked some yards from the gates while Bill drove up the narrow lane to the cottage.
As I walked up the drive in a fine drizzle of rain, I saw the big house was in darkness except for a light in Josh Smedley’s room.
Mrs Thorsen was obviously out. I hesitated for a long moment, then decided I would again talk to Josh. The time was 21.30. Maybe she would be returning soon, I thought, as I pulled the bell chain. I had to do this four times before the door opened.
Josh stared at me.
‘The detective gentleman?’ he said. ‘Mrs Thorsen is out.’
‘I want another talk with you, Josh,’ I said, and shouldered my way into the lobby.
Passing me, he plodded unsteadily down the corridor to his room. I could see he had been hitting the bottle hard. He entered his room and sat down. There was a bottle of Scotch and a half-full glass on the table beside him. He folded his black hands in his lap and regarded me with glazed eyes.
‘You heard about Hank?’
‘Yes, Mr Wallace. Well, I warned and warned him, but he only laughed at me. He thought he would be looked after. I pray he is now at peace.’
‘You have told me that Terry and Angie were very close,’ I said. ‘Tell me just how close.’
‘I don’t understand, Mr Wallace.’
‘Think about it, Josh. How close?’
‘She worshipped him. When he went to the music room to play, she would sit on the stairs outside the door and listen. That’s how close.’ He shook his head sadly, then took a gulp at his drink. ‘When Mr Terry left home, she changed. She became difficult. My wife was the only one who could handle her.’
‘I am working on the theory that because her father made life impossible for Terry and drove him away, Angie, in her mental state, decided that if her father was dead, Terry would come back home. Do you agree with this thinking?’
He moved uneasily in his chair.
‘I don’t know what went on in Miss Angie’s mind.’
‘I think Angie deliberately stirred up a quarrel with her father, a violent quarrel, bad enough to bring on a heart attack, and then pushed him so that he fell, striking his head.’