Stranger At Home (15 page)

“Shut up, Harriet.”

“All right. You go to her. You get right out and go to her. But I'm going to call the police. I was pretty drunk that night, and I don't remember much about it, but I know you got away from me for a while. I know you were hunting for Angie. All right. I'll tell Trehearne I saw you, the two of you. I'll tell him I saw you both from the terrace, and that you had Harry Bryce between you and were pushing him in the water. I'll tell it in court. I'll...”

Job Crandall struck her. He struck her very hard on the side of the head with his fist, and she slipped down against him, clawing at him. Blood began to run from the corner of her mouth. She bared her teeth at him, snarling like a cat, and the blood ran in tiny red threads between her teeth. He struck her again, and again. His face was perfectly blank, his eyes glassy and blind. Harriet made a queer whimpering sound. She was at his feet now, trying to crawl away. He kneeled down and caught her by the hair and his hand rose and fell until the sweat stood out on his face like drops of oil and he was breathing harshly, and his arm was tired.

He stood up.

“Harriet.”

She did not move.

“I'm sorry, Harriet.”

She did not move.

Crandall bent over and touched her. “I didn't mean to hit you. I guess it's because it's been so long. Sixteen years. I guess I'm tired.”

She did not move.

Someone knocked on the door, and a man's voice said, “Excuse me, sir. Shall I serve the dessert?”

Crandall stood staring down at Harriet. He had begun to tremble now with real violence. His jaw lifted and began to draw around toward his shoulder. He took hold of the table edge, hard.

Outside, the man knocked again. “Mr. Crandall, sir!”

Crandall said, “No. No, we won't be wanting dessert. Thanks.”

The man went away. Tears gathered in Crandall's eyes. A little red trickle crept out from under the veil of Harriet's hair. Crandall watched it. The tears ran down his cheeks. Presently he got up and went out on the terrace, and from there to the garage. He moved like someone who is very ill. When he drove away he went slowly, and the car moved in uncertain lunges, with a harsh grating of the gears.

After a time he came to the top of the hill, and the house where no one answered the telephone. The lamps were on in the living room, soft and peaceful behind drawn blinds. Crandall got out of his car. He went up the steps, rather slowly, as though he were not quite sure of his footing, and rang the bell.

The small barred opening in the door let a soft beam of light into Crandall's eyes. The tears had dried in them, leaving them dull and curiously unreal, like things poorly manufactured out of glass. He said, “Let me in.”

The door swung inward. Vickers stood there, with the wolfhounds behind him like huge familiar demons. He did not seem surprised. He smiled.

“Come in, Job,” he said. “I've been expecting you.”

Crandall went past him without speaking. He made straight toward the living room. Vickers closed the door, without turning his back on Crandall. He crossed the hall and stood in the archway watching him, one shoulder propped comfortably against the wall.

The living room was empty.

Crandall turned and looked up at Vickers. “Where's Angie?”

Vickers shrugged. “Somewhere about. Will you have a drink?”

“Is she all right, Vick?”

Vickers' eyes widened. “Why wouldn't she be?”

“I've got to see her.” Crandall moved closer to Vickers. “I've got to see Angie.”

“Why the hell should I let you see her? You've been seeing her for four years. My turn now.”

Crandall came still closer.

“I've got to see her. Alone. I've got to talk to her.”

“What about, Job? Something her husband shouldn't hear?” Vickers' expression was almost benign, except for his eyes. “What have you to say that couldn't have been said in four years, when she was alone?”

Job Crandall went up and took hold of the lapel of Vickers' jacket. He said, “If you've done anything to harm her...”

Vickers did not move from his easy position against the wall. He bent his head and studied Job. He seemed mildly amused.

Crandall let go of his jacket and turned away. His whole body now looked broken, very old, very tired.

“Yes,” he said, “I suppose I am funny. Poor old Job, his wife nags him and he drinks too much, but he's really a lamb. Oh Christ. I look back and I try to see where I went wrong, and I don't know. I get married, I have children. It's normal. People are supposed to do it. So what are you going to do? If you run out on your family you're a louse, and if you stay you're poor sweet Job, the bloody fool.” He paused, and then said in a completely impersonal voice, as though he were talking about somebody else, “All I ever wanted, really, was a home.”

He sat down. Presently he said, “I've killed Harriet.”

Vickers' body tightened and a certain intentness came into his face. Presently he asked,

“Why?”

“I...” Crandall seemed to be having trouble with his breathing. His chin lif ted and turned. “I just suddenly couldn't help it.”

Vickers came softly into the room and across the floor to where Crandall was sitting.

“How did you kill her, Job? Did you hit her over the head, the way you hit me?”

The cords stood out like ropes in Crandall's neck. His eyeballs were suffused with blood. “I hit her,” he said. “I didn't know I was going to. She said something, and I hit her. I didn't hit you, Vick. I've never hit anyone before.” His chin lifted and turned. He was beginning to tremble uncontrollably. Vickers slapped him, not very hard, on both cheeks.

“Stop that,” he said. “We haven't any time for fits. What did Harriet say?”

“She couldn't have seen it. I was all alone on the terrace...”

“She couldn't have seen what?”

“I didn't go down to the beach. She was lying.”

“And so are you.” Vickers' tone was gentle, almost friendly. “You've committed a murder, Job. You know what they do to murderers in this state. They take you into a little room with a heavy door, and they strap you into a big chair, and they go away and leave you. I suppose it's quite comfortable until the gas begins to get strong. There's a window in the wall. They stand outside and watch you, and there's a man with a stopwatch. The dial numbers it in seconds. But I wonder how long it seems to you.”

He leaned forward. He took Crandall's jaw between his thumb and fingers and held it steady and looked deep into Crandall's eyes.

“It doesn't matter now, Job. You might as well tell the truth.”

Crandall didn't flinch. He didn't even blink. “That's what I mean, Vick. It doesn't matter now.” He drew a long breath. “I didn't try to kill you, Vick. I don't know who did. And I haven't touched your wife. Not because I haven't wanted to. Because she wouldn't let me.”

He reached up and put his hand on Vickers' chest. “Please,” he said. “Let me see her.”

Vickers turned away. “All right,” he said. He took a cigarette from a box on the table. His face waS hidden from Crandall. It was very intent, alert. “There's no need to see her alone.” He flicked the lighter into flame and breathed out a long feather of smoke. “I know what you're going to say.”

He heard the silence behind him. It was the sort of silence that can be heard. Presently Job said, “You couldn't know.”

Vickers shrugged. He did not turn around. The shrug was the only casual thing about him. “It's quite obvious, isn't it?”

“But you weren't there. You couldn't have...”

“I hadn't come into the house yet. I saw you. You were alone on the terrace.”

“Then you saw her?”

“Who – Harriet?”

“Don't play with me! You know who I mean.”

“Of course I saw her.”

Crandall's voice dropped. The tone changed and softened. “Then you've known all along.”

Vickers nodded.

“I guess,” Crandall said, “you really do love her, then.”

Vickers stood for a moment without moving. The lines in his face were drawn suddenly very deep. At the end of the room the white louver doors that closed off the dining room were opened. Angie came in. She wore loose satin trousers that matched her black hair, and a gold lamé top that matched her eyes. She looked from Vickers to Job Crandall and back again. She said, with hardly any voice at all, “What are you both talking about?”

Crandall got up. He went and stood in front of her, and over his shoulder Angie watched Vickers, who had not stirred. His eyes were on her face. They were unreadable. There was nothing in them to be read.

Crandall said, “Are you all right, Angie?”

“Of course.” She did not look away from Vickers.

“Harriet's dead, Angie. I killed her.”

“I heard.” For the first time she looked at Crandall. She caught his hands. “Oh Job, what a horrible thing! If only you hadn't...”

“It wasn't because of what she said, or what she threatened to do.” Crandall talked rapidly, like a man who has not much time. “I mean, I don't think she could have hurt you, not really, and I couldn't have killed her anyway, if I'd stopped to think even that far. I didn't do it because of you, Angie. Remember that. It was just – herself. But it's done now and I can't do the kids any more harm, and they can only kill me once, and so I'm going to say I did for Harry, too.”

Angie backed off a little. “Job...”

“I want to do it, Angie. Murder's wrong, but I know you didn't murder him, not the way they mean it. You haven't it in you to do that. I know you killed him because you had to. He was drunk that night, and upset, and he was crazy for you. You didn't even mean to kill him, I know. You just hit him, and -“ He stopped. “The way I hit Harriet.”

Angie was staring at Vickers again, and Vickers had not moved. He seemed completely detached, just a man watching some other people talk. Angie said again,

“Job...”

He rushed on. “All those things would be hard to prove. They'd take you into court and say horrible things about you.” He caught her by the shoulders. “You will let me do this. You can see that it doesn't matter. I want to do it. It'll make me feel better about – the other. I wanted you to know, so you wouldn't say anything, so you wouldn't try to save me. You understand, now?”

She put her hands on his shoulders. “Job,” she said. She spoke very slowly and distinctly. “Job, what makes you think I killed Harry?”

He looked at her blankly. “But I saw you. I was on the terrace, trying to find you, and I saw you down on the landing. I saw your black hair and the light dress you wore. Harry was with you. I didn't know it was Harry then. I saw him sort of crumpling up, and I heard something heavy fall onto the wood, and then you tried to catch him and he went partly off into the water. You bent over him and then finally you straightened up and Harry wasn't there anymore. I heard my wife yelling for me, and I went inside. I didn't want anyone out there. Especially Harriet.”

He pulled her closer into his arms. “It's all right, now, darling. You don't have to worry. Vick said...”

“Yes,” said Angie. “I heard what Vick said.”

Crandall let her go. He walked across the room and up the steps to the hall. He paused in the archway.

“Well,” he said. “Good night.”

He turned and went away. The only person who watched him go was Joan Merrill. She had come, like Angie, from the darkened room beyond the louver doors. She stood quite still and watched Job Crandall go. Her pale-gold hair gleamed almost white in the lamplight. It was no whiter than her face.

Outside, Crandall got into his car and drove away down the hill. In the darkness, eyes watched him. They were Brownie's eyes. Brownie lay on his side in the bushes. There was a gag in his mouth. His hands and feet were tied together skilfully behind his back. He was not comfortable, and there was an ant walking around the edge of his ear. He watched the taillight of Crandall's car vanish down the hill.

His chin had stopped bleeding, but his tongue, exploring the gap where two teeth were missing, tasted the fresh sweetish liquid. He had found that you cannot spit with a gag in your mouth. He swallowed instead, and prayed that he would not be sick.

The closing of the door on Job Crandall's heels left a silence in the living room. The lamps burned pleasantly. The chairs were deep and inviting. Coolin and Molly sprawled on the hearthrug and there were books to be read and cigarettes to be smoked. A nice room. A homely room. But the silence was there. It was quite dead. It lay there, and nobody touched it.

Vickers moved. He sat on the edge of the table and caught Joan Merrill's eye, and lifted his chin at her. The gesture said, “Out.” Joan opened her mouth to speak. She got a clearer view of Vickers, and closed it again. She went back into the dining room. The white doors swung shut behind her.

Vickers sat on the edge of the table and looked at Angie. His brow made two cold arches. He said nothing.

Angie shrugged. “Well,” she said, “that seems to settle the matter.”

Her words sounded very loud. She went over to the fireplace and leaned on the mantel. There was no fire. The hounds gazed up at her adoringly. Vickers could sec only half of her face, the warm brown curve of a cheek.

Angie said, “We'll have to stop Job, of course.”

“Let's worry about Job later.” He watched her a moment. “Well? Aren't you going to say anything?”

“That would be rather silly, wouldn't it?”

“I don't know.” Vickers got up. He went to her and pulled her around facing him. He put one arm across the small of her back, bracing her to him. He slid the other hand up along her neck and knotted his fingers in her hair at the base of her skull. He drew her head back slowly. She did not whimper. She looked up at him, and her eyes were hot and there was a shadow of fear in them. Only a shadow.