I took out a collection of press photographs. Loretta, looking radiant, wearing a white wedding gown with a veil, held onto the arm of John Merrill Ferguson. They were surrounded by people: Mrs. Harriet, Durant, a number of faces that meant nothing to me. I flicked through the other photographs: Loretta cutting the cake. She and John Merrill Ferguson toasting each other with champagne, and so on and so on.
I returned the photographs to the envelope, then looked at Mrs. Harriet.
‘Then why did she tell me she wasn’t married to your son?’ I asked, my voice unsteady.
‘That, of course, is the sad secret my son and I have been concealing for the past year,’ Mrs. Harriet said quietly. ‘We need your cooperation, dear Jerry. You have shown you are loyal. You are entitled to know. You have given me your promise to say nothing once you leave here. I accept your promise.’ She reached out and patted my knee. ‘Loretta is mentally ill.’
This didn’t come as a surprise to me. I had already formed an opinion that Loretta was crazy.
‘So all this talk about not being married, that your son is a nut, about persuading Mazzo to murder you is just the talk of a lunatic?’
‘Of course, Jerry dear. Mazzo would never think of doing such a thing. I have complete faith in him.’
‘She said she and he were lovers.’
Again the trilly laugh.
‘Poor Etta is plagued with sexual temptations. She seduced poor Larry.’ She looked slyly at me. ‘And I imagine you too, dear Jerry. That I can well understand. Men find her irresistible, but not Mazzo. Poor Mazzo had his equipment — shall we call it — shot away in the Vietnam war. No, Mazzo is not capable of going to bed with any woman.’
It took me a moment or two to absorb this information, then I said, ‘Your son is not kept behind iron bars with a nurse?’
‘You have noticed those windows? There are times when it is necessary for her protection to keep Etta confined. Yes, there is a resident nurse. We have barred the windows for Etta’s safety. Once, she nearly threw herself out of an upper window. Hers is a peculiar mental illness.’ Mrs. Harriet paused to make cooing noises to the poodle, then went on, ‘It began when she had a miscarriage. Both my son and Etta longed to have a son. The baby boy miscarried. From that moment, Etta went mentally to pieces. She began having delusions. We noticed that when the moon was full, she became more than difficult, and she had to be confined. At the waning of the moon, she becomes reasonable enough to lead a normal life. Whenever there is a full moon and when John is away, I come here. There will be a full moon in a few days, and she will be confined. We have consulted the best specialists in the greatest secrecy, but there is nothing they can do for her.’ She sat back, fondling the poodle. ‘There, Jerry, you now know our tragic secret. My son can’t bear the thought of anyone knowing. He adores Etta. I ask you to be patient and please continue to cooperate with us. It won’t be for much longer.’
My mind switched to Larry Edwards. It would seem he wanted out, and refused to cooperate and had a fatal accident. This wasn’t going to happen to me!
‘Thank you for confiding in me, Mrs. Harriet,’ I said, in my sincere voice. ‘Now I know the facts, of course, you can depend on my cooperation.’
She beamed at me.
‘I’m so glad. You won’t regret it. Don’t pay any attention to what poor Etta says. Be kind to her. Pretend you will do what she asks you to do. For the next few days, she will become more and more imaginative.’ She got to her feet. ‘Remember, Jerry, dear. John has so much influence. The Fergusons are always most generous to those who help them.’ She moved to the door. ‘Have a good lunch. Ask Mazzo for anything you fancy.’ She opened the door, her little dark eyes searching my face. ‘Have a nice day,’ and she was gone.
* * *
After a light lunch, Mazzo suggested tennis.
I couldn’t remain in this room all the sunny afternoon, so I agreed, but I wasn’t in the mood. The result was Mazzo won in three straight sets.
As we put on our sweaters, he eyed me thoughtfully.
‘Got something on your mind, Mr. Ferguson? You can play better than that.’
‘Just not in the mood.’ I picked up my racket. ‘Tell me, Mazzo, did you fight in Nam?’
‘Who, me?’ He gave his sighing laugh. ‘Vietnam? The Boss pulled strings and got me off the draft. Everyone listens to the Boss. I was too important as his bodyguard to go farting around in Vietnam.’ He paused and stared at me. ‘Why the question?’
‘I was out there. I just wondered.’
‘No, sir. That mess was strictly for the suckers.’
He left me to take a shower. When I had dressed, I went into the living room and sat down.
Mrs. Harriet had lied to me that Mazzo had been wounded in Nam and was now incapable of going to bed with a woman. Why? If she had lied to me about Mazzo, had she lied to me about Loretta? Could those wedding photographs she had shown me have been faked? It was easy to substitute Loretta’s face for some other girl’s face. I went to the cabinet from which she had taken the envelope of photographs, opened it and stared at the empty shelves. After examining the photographs I had returned them to the envelope and had put the envelope on the desk. While playing tennis, they had been removed.
I returned to my chair.
Who was I to believe?
Was John Merrill Ferguson a prisoner behind bars or was the prison waiting to confine Loretta?
Were both of these women lunatics?
I was convinced now I wouldn’t be able to escape at night. I was free to walk in the grounds with Mazzo during the day. I went to the window and looked down at the wide expanse of lawn. Two guards were wandering around. I went into the bedroom and looked down at the swimming pool. Again two other guards were wandering around. Were there more guards among the trees, out of sight?
I felt confident I could put Mazzo out of action, then which way would I run?
The estate was surrounded by ten foot high walls.
Could I get over them? I imagined trying and the guards closing in. That wasn’t the way. I returned to the living room window. To my left was the triple garage, the doors opened. I could see the Rolls, a Caddy and a Jaguar. I remembered the big double iron gates at the end of the drive. With a car as strong and as heavy as the Rolls, driving fast, I could smash a way through those gates. With the windows up and the doors locked, the guards couldn’t stop me.
Here was my way of escape!
I pulled a chair to the window and sat down. From where I was sitting, I had a clear view of the garage.
The time was 17.15.
After some ten minutes, the Jap chauffeur came down the outside stairs from an apartment above the garage. He was wearing a shirt and his grey uniform trousers.
I had forgotten him. He could present a problem.
Would I have to cope with him as well as Mazzo? My hopes of escaping sagged a little. Japs were tricky to handle: quick, judo, karate. I remembered I had had to tangle with a Jap in a spy movie. He practically flattened me, and the director had to tell him to take it easy.
Maybe the chauffeur wouldn’t be around when I made my break.
I wondered if the ignition key would be in the ignition lock. Could I start the Rolls without it? The business of opening the bonnet, fiddling with the ignition wires could cause a fatal delay.
I watched the Jap close the garage doors, then he climbed the stairs and disappeared.
Tomorrow morning, armed with the paperweight, I would tell Mazzo I needed exercise. We would take a walk around the grounds, then end up by the garage.