‘Kit!’ Iris jumped to her feet ‘You don’t know what you’re saying?’
‘You mean I’m drunk?’ Kit smiled bitterly. ‘I guess I am.’ She passed her hand across her eyes. ‘You’re not going to work for Dave. Do you understand? I forbid it.’
There was a long pause, then Iris said quietly and steadily. ‘I’m sorry, but I am. It’s all arranged. It’s a good job and I need the money. I’m sure you don’t know what you are saying. Please go to bed.’
Kit remained motionless. Her head throbbed. Her brain felt as if it were in a covering of cotton wool. She wished now she hadn’t had that last drink.
‘Kit… it’s late. Please go to bed,’ Iris said.
Unsteadily, Kit got to her feet.
‘All right, you poor little fool,’ she said, her words slurred, ‘then work for him if you want to, but don’t say I didn’t warn you. I don’t care… I don’t care a damn what happens to him or to you or to me,’ and lurching a little, she went out of the room.
Iris listened to her mother’s stumbling steps as she climbed the stairs. She felt a cold chill crawl up her spine, and involuntarily, she shivered.
CHAPTER FOUR
1
A little after six o’clock the following morning, Kit woke with a start. She became aware that someone was tapping softly and persistently on her door.
She half sat up. Her head felt heavy and her eyes burned. She looked towards the bedside clock as she called out, ‘Who is it?’
‘Dave! Open up! I’ve got to talk to you.’ Calvin’s voice was pitched low. There was a note of urgency in it that alerted her.
She threw off the bedclothes, snatched up a wrap and struggled into it as she crossed the room and unlocked the door.
Calvin, his face set, a cold, bleak expression in his eyes, came in and shut the door.
‘What is it?’ she demanded, moving away from him. She picked up a comb from the dressing-table and ran it through her hair. ‘What is it?’
‘I tried to get you last night,’ he snarled, ‘but you were so drunk you didn’t hear me knocking.’
‘What is it?’ she repeated. She stared at herself in the mirror, seeing the shadows under her eyes and the gaunt tightness of her skin. She grimaced and looked away.
‘Trouble.’ He paused, then went on, ‘Have you a typewriter?’
She stared at him, startled. Her head was beginning to ache.
‘A typewriter? Yes… why?’
‘Where is it?’
She motioned to where a battered portable stood against the wall. He picked it up, rested it on the bed and lifted the lid. It was an old Smith Corona.
‘Does it work?’
‘Yes… What is all this?’
‘I wrote that damned letter to Alice on the bank’s typewriter. The police have found out it was written on a standard Remington with faulty letters. If they find the machine, we’re in a hell of a jam.’
She stiffened, her eyes growing large.
‘You and your fool-proof plan!’ she said, her voice going shrill. ‘Now what are you going to do?’
‘Keep your voice down! I’ll get rid of the Remington and use this.’ He nodded to the portable. ‘If they ask, I’ll tell them I found the machine in the bank. Lamb’s dying and can’t be questioned. Alice can’t answer questions either.’
‘How will you get rid of the Remington?’
‘I’ll hide it in the vault.’
She relaxed a little.
‘Then take the portable and get out!’
‘I haven’t finished yet. That letter you’ve sent to your attorney. You’ve got to get it back. You don’t seem to realise if anything happens to you, the spot I’ll be in,’ Calvin said, trying to make his voice sound casual. ‘At the rate you’re drinking, you could drop dead any time, then where would I be?’
She smiled jeeringly at him.
‘You tried to murder me last night… remember? Why should I care what happens to you? Get out!’
‘I want that letter!’
‘You’re not getting it!’
They stared at each other, their hate white hot, then Calvin, realising there was nothing he could do to force her to give him the letter, suddenly shrugged. He would have to bring pressure on her somehow, but now wasn’t the time to worry about that. He had more vital things to cope with.
‘You know Iris is working for me?’ he said. ‘You were so drunk last night I don’t know if you remember.’
‘I remember,’ Kit said, looking at him strangely. ‘I tried to stop her, but I couldn’t. I’m warning you. If you try any of your tricks with her, I’ll kill you. I’m not warning you again.’
The cold baleful expression in her eyes made him uneasy. He remembered the gun.
‘Where did you get the gun from?’ he asked, watching her.
‘It was my husband’s,’ she said. ‘He taught me how to use it. I’m a good shot, Dave… remember that.’
He dismissed this with an impatient wave of his hand.
‘Give me the gun. In your condition, you’re not safe to own a gun. Come on… give it to me.’
She sneered at him.
‘It’s where you’ll never find it. Get out!’
‘I must have been crazy to have picked on you,’ he said, having to control the urge to take her by her throat and strangle her.
‘Think so?’ She laughed. ‘Well, you’re stuck with me. When are we getting married? What a couple we’ll make! I want to get out of this hole and start spending some money!’
‘You’ll be lucky if you ever touch the money. They have this town sewn up tight. They’re even checking every parcel and every piece of luggage leaving town. We now may have to wait a damn sight longer than I thought before either of us touches it!’
‘I want some money now!’ Kit said, leaning forward and glaring at him. ‘I haven’t enough to last until the end of the week! I want that three hundred I lent you.’
‘Where do you imagine it’s coming from? It went towards buying the car.’
‘Then get it from the bank! I must have it! Take it from the payroll!’
‘Stop drinking and you’ll have enough,’ Calvin said and snatching up the portable typewriter, he went back into his room.
He stood looking out of the window for some minutes. He had passed a bad night. He felt limp and his head was heavy. This wasn’t working out the way he had planned, but he was thankful he had been called to the emergency meeting. If he hadn’t known about the typewriter he could have been in a hell of a spot. He rested his hot forehead against the glass of the window. He would have to be careful no one saw him take the portable into the bank. He would have to watch every move now that he made. One slip and they would be on to him.
He turned away from the window, opened his closet and took out his hold-all. He put the portable in the bag. On top of it, he put one of his suits. He looked at his watch. The time was ten minutes to seven. He would have to get to the bank before anyone arrived so he could take the Remington down into the vault. He would conceal it in yet another of the deed boxes.
Picking up the hold-all, he went down to the kitchen. He made himself a cup of coffee and carried it into the living-room. The house was strangely quiet. He sat down, drank the coffee and lit a cigarette. He considered his future plans. There was danger, of course. The Johnny Acres impersonation hadn’t been such a hot idea after all. Would they finally come around to suspecting that he had impersonated Acres? It would be a long shot. He thought it unlikely. But the fact they now thought Acres was a local man made him very uneasy. It might be necessary to lay a red herring for them, taking their suspicions away from him… but how? He thought of Iris, sleeping upstairs. He might use her. It was an idea he filed away in his mind. This bank reward made his situation even more dangerous. He had seen Travers’s change of expression when Marthy had announced the reward. Calvin was pretty sure what had been going through Travers’s mind. With sixty thousand dollars, Travers would cease to be small-time: he could marry Iris: he could take her away from Pittsville. Calvin was suddenly thankful he had picked on Kit to help him. If Travers became dangerous, he would use Kit to protect himself. Travers wouldn’t send his future mother-in-law to the gas chamber. The sheriff and Easton were has-beens. If it came to a show-down, he could muzzle Travers. Thinking about it, Calvin gained confidence. He would have to be careful, but if things went wrong, he could put the screws on Travers.