She screamed and cursed him, hysterically. He cursed and kicked at her.
A strange calm had settled over me — the calm of the doomed. I was at once a part of things and yet outside them, and my overall view was objective.
I didn’t know how the few screws and spikes that still attached the balustrade to the landing managed to stay in place, why it didn’t plunge downward, bearing us with it, into the reception hall. Moreover, I didn’t seem to care. Rather, I cared without caring. What concerned me, in a vaguely humorous way, was the preposterous picture we must have made. Connie, Bannerman, and I balled together in a kind of crazy bomb, which was about to be dropped at any moment.
I waited for the weight to go off of me, the signal that we were making the final plunge. I waited, and I kept my eyes closed tight, knowing that if I opened them, if I looked down at that floor so far below me, it would be about the last time I looked at anything.
There was so much racket from the Bannermans and the grating and screeching of the balustrade that I could hear nothing else. But suddenly the weight did go off of me in two gentle yanks. There was another wait then, and I expected to hit the floor at any moment. Then, I myself was yanked, and a couple of strong arms went around me. And I was hustled effortlessly upward.
I was set down on my feet. I received a gentle bearing-down shake, then a sharp slap. I opened my eyes, found myself on the second-floor landing, with its ruined balustrade.
Connie and Bannerman were stretched out on the floor, facedown, with their hands behind their heads. Manny’s husband lay at the foot of the stairs in a heap.
Kay peered at me anxiously. “I’m terribly, terribly sorry, darling. Are you all right?”
“Fine,” I said. Because I was alive, wasn’t I, and being alive was fine, wasn’t it?
To show my gratitude, I would gladly have gone down on my knees and kissed her can.
“I would have been back sooner, Britt, but a truck driver tried to pick me up. I think I broke his darned jaw.”
“Fine,” I said.
“Britt, honey... we don’t have to say anything to Sergeant Claggett about my leaving you alone, do we? Let’s not, okay?”
“Fine,” I said.
“I’ll think of a good story to cover. Just leave it to me.”
“Fine,” I said.
“You do love me, don’t you, Britt? You don’t think I’m awful?”
“Fine,” I said.
And then I put my arms around her and sank slowly down to my knees.
No, not to kiss her can, although I really wouldn’t have minded.
It was just that I’d waited as long as I could — and I couldn’t wait any longer — for something soft to faint on.
31
Kay’s story was that she had gone out of the house to investigate some suspicious noises and had found a guy apparently trying to break in. During her pursuit of him (he had got away) Manny’s husband and, subsequently, the Bannermans had entered the house. But, fortunately, she was in time to overpower them and save me from death.
The story didn’t go down very well with Jeff Claggett, but he couldn’t call her a liar without calling me one, so he let it go. And not only did Kay keep her job with the department, she received a commendation and promotion. The increase in pay, she estimated, would pay for the all-white gown and accoutrements. Which, she advised me unblushingly, she intended to wear at our wedding.
To move on:
Connie and Luther Bannerman pleaded guilty to attempted murder and conspiracy to commit murder. They received ten years on each count, said sentences to run consecutively.
Manny’s husband remained mute and was convicted of attempted murder. But other charges were dug up against him before he could begin serving sentence — he was a very bad guy, seemingly. The last I heard, he had accumulated two life sentences, plus fifty years, and he was still standing mute. Apparently, he saw nothing to gain by talking.
Manny was taken from her hospital to the criminal ward of the county hospital. Pat Aloe could have got her out, I am sure, since the charge against her of harboring a criminal — failing to report her husband to the police — was a purely technical one. But Pat had grimly washed his hands of Manny. He wanted nothing more to do with her. He had no further need for her, for that matter, having begun the swift closing out of PXA’s affairs.
Manny cooperated fully with the authorities, and their attitude toward her was generally sympathetic. She had attacked her husband without intent to kill him. His abuse had driven her temporarily insane, and when she recovered her senses, she was holding a steam pressing iron in her hand and he was sprawled on the ground at her feet. The storm was gathering by now, and she was forced to flee back inside her resort cabin. When the police came in the morning to investigate the storm’s havoc, she was near death with shock and was never questioned about her husband’s supposed death.
Actually, he wasn’t even seriously hurt, but there was a dead man nearby — one of several who had died in the storm — who resembled him in size and coloring. Manny’s husband made the features of the dead man unrecognizable with a few brutal blows, switched clothes with him, and planted his identification on him.
He disappeared into the night then, and no one ever questioned the fact that he was dead. Possibly because so many people were glad to have him that way. Rumors had been circulating for some time that he had irritated people who were not of a mind to put up with it, and only his apparent death saved him from the actuality.
There followed an extended period of hiding out, of keeping out of the way of former associates. Finally, however, believing that feeling about him had cooled down, and having sized up Manny’s situation, he had paid her a covert visit.
She was terrified. Anyone who knew him well would be. Also, she was vulnerable to his threats, thanks to the nominal attempt on his life and the malicious mischief she had made for me. She couldn’t go to the police. She couldn’t go to Pat, who was already furious with her. So she acceded to her husband’s demands. She would go away with him, if he would leave me alone.
She collapsed after his visit and was forced to go to the hospital. His reaction was to try to kill me. She hoped to buy him off, and he accepted the money she gave him. But, of course, he would not stay bought. Again, he gave her an ultimatum: She would go back to him, or I would go — period. So she had agreed to go back to him, but the ugly prospect had brought on another nervous collapse with its resultant hospitalization.
Actually, he had no intention of leaving me alone, regardless of what she did. He was a handsome hood, and as vain and mean as he was handsome. And it was simply not tolerable to him to allow his wife’s lover to live.
So he had tried to kill me for the third time. At the same time the Bannermans were attempting to kill me for the second time. And so much for them.
The charge against Manny was dismissed, with the urgent recommendation that she seek psychiatric help. She gladly promised to do so.
Mrs. Olmstead was caught up with in Las Vegas. She was drunk, thoroughly unremorseful, and some twenty thousand dollars ahead of the game. She returned most of my money, I think. I’m not sure, since I don’t know exactly how much she got away with. Anyway, I declined to prosecute, and she was still in Vegas the last I heard.
Still drunk, still unremorseful, and still a big winner.
32
I went to the hospital a few days after the Bannermans and Manny’s husband tried to kill me. My house needed repairs to make it livable, and it was kind of lonesome there by myself, so I went to the hospital. And I remained there while the courts dealt with my would-be killers, and certain other happy events came to pass.