The Melting Man

'And what,' Julia asked, 'do you intend to do with it?'

'It's a testing question, isn't it?'

'Is it?'

'For me, yes. What would you do?'

'Put it on the stove right away.'

'Crisp, positive. If I had it here I might consider it. But it's in safe keeping.'

'That doesn't surprise me. It stops you doing anything impulsive like burning it here and now.'

'Bright girl.'

'Did you enjoy the film?'

I didn't like the way she said it.

I said, 'I've seen better. However, let's come to another point, which is more of a domestic matter. Interpol have another interest in all this — apart from the parcel. Somebody has been writing them anonymous letters about your stepfather.'

'It certainly wasn't me.'

'No, I didn't have you lined up for that. But would you have any idea what the letters might be about?'

She didn't answer, but I was sure that she did have an idea. Before the silence could become embarrassing, I went on, 'All right. Let's approach it another way. You've been wanting to talk about it for a long time. If I'd been on the ball I might have got it from you the first time you came to see me. In a way I'm glad I didn't because it could have complicated things then. Why didn't you tell me right away that Otto Libsch had once been second chauffeur at the château?'

'I didn't see that it was going to help.' She was ready enough with that one, but it was unconvincing.

'Look,' I said, 'I'm on your side. Just give a little. Okay, knowing about Otto at that time wouldn't have helped me much' in the job I had to do. Oh, I can guess how he was linked up with Max. Zelia was the lonely type. Otto drove her around. They talked. She liked him. It was part of his form to have people like him. Maybe he took her to a discotheque or something in Geneva, gave her a pleasant time, and then eventually she met Max, and she kept the whole thing secret because it was her first big romance and that was the way she saw it. Something like that?'

'Yes, I suppose so.'

'Well, if so — there would have been no harm in telling me about it in Turin. But you didn't. And I know why.'

'Why?'

'Because you had a different interest in Otto. Right?'

She gave me a long look and then gently nodded her head.

'Good. You had another interest in him, but you weren't sure how to handle it. Not even sure you could tell me about it because you still weren't trusting me. You thought, maybe still think, that any private or confidential information I get I immediately look over to see where there might be a profit in it for me.'

'That's not true!'

'No?'

'No!' Her indignation sounded real and that pleased me.

'In that case, let's have it now. What had Otto got to do with the way your mother died?'

She put her cigarette down slowly and then stood up and came and picked up my empty glass and went to fill it, her back to me. It was a nice back, nice legs, and I liked the way that her dark hair fell about the nape of her neck.

'Slowly, in your own words,' I said, to help her.

Back to me, she began to talk.

'It was over two years ago. We were at the château. My mother told me she was leaving O'Dowda. She was in love with someone else.'

'Who?'

She turned. 'She didn't say. Wouldn't say. I think, maybe, even then, she was scared to. She said we would know very soon. She was leaving first thing in the morning, and Otto was going to drive her to Geneva. This was late at night. I went to bed, and I never saw her again.'

'Why not?'

She came back and put the glass in front of me.

'I was told by my stepfather at noon the next day that she had been drowned in Lake Leman. He said that she had got up early, called for Otto to drive her down to the lake — we kept a couple of speedboats there — and she had gone out with Kermode and the boat had capsized.'

'Was it a likely story?'

'She loved boats and she loved speed. And she liked going out early. Any other morning it was something that could easily have been true. But not that morning. That morning she was due to go off for good with this other man.'

'And her body was never recovered?'

'No. But that happens sometimes in the lake. It's very deep.'

'I see. And Otto swore at the inquiry that he drove her down and saw her go aboard with Kermode?'

'Yes.'

'And Kermode told his story. Speed too high, tight curve, gallant effort to save her and so on?'

'Yes.'

'And you — and Zelia — have had your suspicions of O'Dowda ever since?'

'I think he had her killed.'

'And what about the man she was going away with? Did he ever show?'

'No.'

'And you've no idea who it was?'

'No.' She went and sat down, curling her legs up under her.

'I imagine that Otto left your stepfather's service soon after?'

'Yes.'

I said, 'You like me to tell you who the man was — the man your mother was going away with?'

'How can you possibly know?'

'Some of it's crystal-ball stuff, I'll admit. But not much. It was Durnford—'

'That's impossible!'

'Not, it isn't. We're talking about love, and love comes up with some odd combinations at times. It was Durnford. He's the one who has been writing anonymous letters. His hatred of O'Dowda isn't the ordinary comfortable hatred of a secretary for a millionaire employer. He's so full of hate for your stepfather that he's buzzing around like a wasp trapped against a window pane. He's doing everything he can to bitch up O'Dowda — particularly over this car business. He must have been the one who tipped the Gonwalla crowd off about the film and tape in the first place. He'd do anything to spite O'Dowda. He was going off with your mother and, somehow, O'Dowda found out, and it would suit his sense of humour to get rid of your mother and keep Durnford on, half-knowing that Durnford would guess the truth and wouldn't be able to do anything about it. That's just the situation O'Dowda likes. That's why he has that waxworks. And Durnford has been trying to get at him any way he could. He's worked the ends against the middle so much now that he's got himself tied in a real Turk's Head — and if he's not careful Kermode will take him for a ride when O'Dowda's tired of the whole thing.'

'Durnford… I can't believe it.'

'I can. And I can believe something else. If your stepfather murdered your mother there isn't anything you or anyone else can do about it. Otto's dead, and can't give evidence of perjury. Kermode's alive and won't give evidence. She went to the lake, like they said. It can't be disproved. And that's not just my opinion. I've an idea that Interpol feel that way. So my advice to you is to forget it. You got money of your own?'

'Yes.'

'Then follow Zelia's example. Just get out on your own. Feeling as you do, you can't go on living under his roof.'

'That's just what I've done.'

'Done?'

'Yes. I'd have done it before, but this Zelia thing came up. But when you telephoned me yesterday I was packing to leave. This chalet belongs to me. I was coming up here anyway for a few days to settle things in my mind.'

'Did you tell O'Dowda you were leaving him?'

'Yes, in a letter which I left with Durnford… Durnford. I can't believe it.'

'I'll bet on it. Did you mention anything of your reason in the letter?'

'No. But he won't have difficulty in reading between the lines. And I don't care a damn if he does.'

She stood up, smoothing the dress wrinkles over her thighs.

'Life's complicated,' I said. 'For the most part I like it that way. All this parcel business and then your mother… Whew, what a tangle. Sometimes a return to simple things is therapeutic. I'll pick the parcel up first thing in the morning and destroy it.'