The Magician's Wife Part 12

"Suppose the cops come for me?"

"It's a chance I have to take-so you hear?"

"O.K., but get it over with!"

He opened the door on a crack, began walking around. In a few minutes it closed, and she was there in the room with him, crisp in a blue summer dress, a little white sh.e.l.l on her head. She didn't offer her mouth, and he made no move to claim it. "Clay," she said quietly, "I hate to say so, but this has to be good-by."

"Has to be? It is. Until we start to fry."

"... That's what I came about."

"I'm sorry, but that's the way it's turned out."

"Ah-Clay, I don't intend to fry."

"Have you told the judge about that?"

"Clay, will you listen to me?"

"O.K., shoot."

"Don't try to drag me in!"

"Drag you in? You are in!"

"Oh, no, Clay, not at all. There's not one single, solitary thing to connect me with what you did-with Alec's death-in any way, shape, or form. I can prove I had nothing to do with it-in ways I haven't mentioned to you-all kinds of different ways, which will prove me innocent-which of course I really am. The way you messed it up, I certainly can't blame myself."

"... In what way did I mess it?"

"Leaving that girl to tell tales!"

"I didn't know she was there-had no idea at all. She didn't belong to be there. When I pulled out, she was having a row with him for going off without her!"

"Haven't you read the papers yet?"

"Little. Not all."

"They did have a row, so she told the cops, and she jumped in the car, to be mean. He headed for home, as he planned, telling her she was quite welcome, but her tagging along would cost him a million bucks in the settlement I would ask. So she changed her mind and made it up in the car, and he was to set her down when they got to Channel City and send her home by cab, fish-net tights and all. Then it happened. She says he told her to jump, which she was able to do because part of her meanness was refusing to fasten her seat belt, as he had begged her to do. Oh, she gave the cops an earful, really tore their hearts-including the license number of the car that forced them off. So that would appear to be you. Oh, boy! Messing it up? You-"

"Yeah? And what would you have done?"

"What would that gang have done?"

"What gang, for G.o.d's sake?"

"The gang, Clay, that you kept talking about? That was going to rob a bank? And planned everything, down to the gnat's heel. They-"

"Would have done what?"

"Knocked her in the head, I would think."

"And that's what you'd have done?"

"If it was me or her? You bet it's what I'd have done."

"Sally, I think you're nuts."

"Me nuts? Me nuts?"

"I didn't. I wouldn't have."

He repeated: "I didn't know she was there. I did hear her scream, but supposed she went down with the car. But I wouldn't have- I don't do things like that."

"Like that? How about killing Alec?"

"That was-different."

"How different?"

"d.a.m.n it, he was your idea!"

"And so was she-or would have been."

"I couldn't have made myself do it!"

She switched around some moments, not quite so crisp or collected in her movements now, but still under control. "Well," she went on in a moment, "that's all water under the mill. You didn't, that's the main thing, so there's no use talking about it. Do you have it straight, Clay, what I said before? Don't try to drag me in, as it's not going to work at all."

"I have it straight, what you said and what you intend, or think you intend, at least. But now I'll tell you something: if you think, after the way you've stood by me here now after it's done-if you think I'm going to burn and keep my big mouth shut, so you go scot-free and on top of that get the money, you're mistaken. Sally, we had a slip-up, and no one regrets it more than I do. But we were in it together, and that's where we stay, my sweet. You'll burn, you little b.i.t.c.h-because I'll burn you. Now kindly get the h.e.l.l out."

"No! No! Don't you try!"

"You started this thing! I'll finish it!"

"I didn't start it! You did!"

Control vanished then as she shook him, pleaded with him, and wailed. He said: "Your adrenaline's acting up-excitement seems to affect you. You're beginning to stink, and a rat knows a rattlesnake, baby. So, shove off."

"You son of a b.i.t.c.h. You-"

But she cut off when he grabbed her, took her handbag away, unzipped it, and spilled it out on the table. Spotting his key, he pocketed it, then stuffed tissues, candy mints, handkerchiefs, memos, and the rest of the bag's contents back into it. Then, handing it to her, he said: "Move, or I'm kicking you higher than-"

She went, and he watched her down the hall as she ran to the freight elevator. Then he closed the door.

"Why the h.e.l.l haven't they come?"

17.

HE LAY DOWN, CLENCHING and unclenching his fists, trying to stop and not being able to. After a while his inside phone rang, and at first he flinched from answering, but then did, whispering to himself: "This is it-they've come, and there's not any hole you can hide in." But it was Johnny, down in the bas.e.m.e.nt, to say his car was back. When he looked at his watch it was five o'clock, and he went down to the street to buy a 5:30. The story was still on Page 1, blown up a little bigger, as it seemed the "mystery deepened" in regard to the motorist who had forced Mr. Alexis off the road. It turned out, however, when he read beyond the headlines, that the "mystery" was mainly in the reporters' minds, as it hinged on the refusal of police to make public Buster's information until they had "checked it out." There was even a separate story on Captain David Walton, with an explanation of his position. "In cases of this kind," he said, "we make it a rule not to give anything out until we give it a check, so innocent people don't get caught in the backwash of what may be a false lead. The trouble is, when someone has been in an accident, especially a bad one at night, and they get a car number, or think they get a car number, maybe they don't get it right, and for us to make public that number before we checked it out could just mean a barrel of trouble. Don't worry, this looks just as fishy to us as it does to anyone else, but we don't go off half-c.o.c.ked."

Back at the Marlborough, instead of going in through the lobby, he walked down the ramp to the bas.e.m.e.nt, ostensibly to pick up his bill, which was tucked under the wiper, actually to talk with Johnny, as to the police, and whether they'd been around. He didn't exactly know what "checking out" consisted of, but it seemed to mean an investigation of the car's whereabouts at the time the accident occurred. He let himself notice a dent in his fender, a small thing the size of a quarter, that had been there some time, gave an exclamation of annoyance. "I meant to tell Roy about that, have him take it out-and forgot it. Did they ask about it, Johnny, or say anything at all when they brought the car back?" Not to him, said Johnny, not taking a great deal of interest. It was just such a lead as should have smoked Johnny out, inevitably start him talking, in case others, such as police, had done any asking that day. But Johnny didn't respond, and so far as Clay could detect, no guile was in his face, such as must have been there if police had been around and enjoined him to silence. Baffled, Clay had to conclude that no check-out had yet been made, at least here, where the car was usually stored. He went up by the freight elevator, called Roy at Chancit. It seemed Roy had noticed the dent and had meant to drop him a note, along with the bill, and then kind of forgot it. It was no job to take out, he said- they could suage it and spot in the paint with no trouble. The whole thing would amount to less than ten dollars. Clay listened, giving plenty of openings to mention police if they had been around. Roy didn't take the bait.

Bewildered by now, Clay went in the kitchen, opened a can of beans, and while swallowing them down finished reading the paper, especially the story on Buster, which he hadn't got to yet, as the one on Captain Walton had seemed much more important. A picture of her, in shapeless hospital attire, with an inset of her in tights, and another of Mr. Alexis, made a Page 1 layout, and under it was an interview, in which she made "veiled hints" as to the guilty motorist's ident.i.ty. "What's all this checking out?" she had demanded of the reporter. "I gave them the number, didn't I? They've had time to look it up. They know who it was and, brother, so do I. Why don't they make an arrest? What are they waiting for?" It was a costly interview, as she was to find out later, but to Clay it was incomprehensible, as it didn't at all match up with what he thought she should feel if she did know who it was. To her, he was surely a friend, and her reaction must have been shock, coupled with hurt. But the emotion she seemed to show here was of malice compounded with hoped-for revenge, or perhaps of suspicion that hoped for proof. Most perplexing of all, she voiced no surprise at what had been done, but seemed almost to regard it as something expected. He washed up his plate, went to the living room, and sat looking out on the stars, "perhaps for the last time," as he glumly told himself, still grinding the riddle. His outside phone rang and he sat there. It rang a number of times, and he made no move toward it. But around nine, when Doris rang from downstairs, he grimly got up and answered, sure "they" had come at last. "Lady to see you," said Doris. "The same one, Mrs. Simone-hey, she's quite a looker."

"Send her up," he said.

But the receiver was hardly in place before it flashed through his mind how horrible it was going to be if Grace was there with him when they finally came, and not only witnessed his arrest but also learned the reason for it. He grabbed up the phone again, batting at the bar. "Doris!" he barked. "Is she still there? Hold her-don't let her come up. Tell her I'll be down!"

She was in a blue summer dress, with her usual crimson accessories, and he grabbed her hand, almost clinging to her. "My, but I'm glad to see you!" he exclaimed. "But won't you ask me over? If we go upstairs, it'll be nothing but calls from Mankato, with the local bunch dropping in-you've no idea what it's like, being president-elect of a big meat corporation."

"I'd love to ask you over."

They took another stroll through the night, with more pauses to stop, look, and listen. Like most artists, she took a profound interest in natural phenomena, the day, the night, the seasons, and all that these things produced. This time they stared at early chrysanthemums and listened to the crickets, "a sure sign of fall," as she said. The lightning bugs enchanted her. "They give light without heat," she whispered, "the way you do with paint."

In her apartment, after turning on lights, she took off her hat and gloves and put out a highball tray, with gla.s.ses, ice, fizz water, and Scotch, while he watched her, as always, in delight at her graceful form and simple, quiet elegance. Then from a closet she got out his picture, now finished and framed-and set it up on a chair. It showed him lounging in the maroon coat she had chosen, his golden hair aglint, his blue eyes on the beholder. "... Well?" she asked. "Do you like it?"

"Yeah, but it's too d.a.m.ned pretty."

"How, too pretty?"

"It's too-idealistic!"

"It's not!" Indignantly she faced him. "Clay Lockwood, you don't know yourself, that's your trouble-always. You are idealistic, and sometimes it shows in your eyes-the way it did the first night we met, when you talked about Tom Lea, and Mexico, and why they fought their war. I didn't know much about it, but I could feel what it meant to you. And that's what I wanted to catch. I couldn't. And then that morning I did-that Sunday morning when I finished it. The knife did it, I didn't. And suddenly it was there, what I'd been trying to get. And now you don't like it!"

"I'd love it-if I believed it."

"Well? Can't I make you?"

"I'd give anything if you would!"

He hadn't expected the fervor in his voice, and she looked at him quite strangely. "At least," she said, "I imagine they'll hang it-in their board room, I mean."

His mind formed the words, "If they ever hang it," and for a moment nostalgia claimed him, for all that might have been except for his monstrous folly. But he didn't say them, and began a digression about her painting, noting its "vigor." But even while he talked he knew he was filling in time, stretching things out to delay his return home, to face what he feared would be waiting there. But when she chimed in, encouraging his loquacity, he knew she was doing the same, and had been, with all her talk about mums, crickets, and lightning bugs. Abruptly he cut in and asked: "What did you want of me, Grace? Neither of us has opened our mouths yet about what's on both of our minds."

"... Clay, I'm almost ashamed to say."

"Something's riding you."

"Yes, and I had to come to you, Clay, as you're the one person on earth who can possibly understand why I feel as I do."

"About this death, you mean?"

"Yes, Clay-this death."

"Grace, it's natural that you'd be upset."

She stared at him, clutched him, buried her face in his coat, and whispered: "I'm not-that's why I'm so ashamed!"

"... Wait a minute. Talk plainer."

"Clay, you know what I feared?"

"What I said you feared."

"That's right-you never made me admit it, and I'm grateful to you for that. But that's what it was, just the same, a horrible, haunting nightmare that wouldn't go away. Well, last night it happened, in a natural way-or at least accidentally. It's as though I've been filled with gas and am going to float away. It's-such a relief! Clay, instead of grieving for a boy who was nice to me, who treated me so well, who was everything any mother-in-law could ask, I'm happy it happened this way! It's a horrible thing to admit-I can't help it! I try not to be glad and I am! But at least you'll understand why. You know it's not something I just now thought up, that popped into my mind. It didn't-it's been there. Ever since-one day when her eyes told me."

"O.K., talk it out."

"I have. That's all, Clay."

"Then, take it easy. Try to relax."

He put his arm around her, pulling her to him, wiping her tears with his handkerchief, holding it to her nose, saying, "Blow." She blew, and he kissed her and pressed her and patted her. She said: "It's not all! I'm not sure you still understand! It's not on my account that I feel this way-or even on hers mainly. She's my baby, I'll always love her. But mainly it's for him! My little grandson, Elly! Alec's little boy! Perhaps if Alec can understand that, wherever he is-he'll forgive me, Clay!"

"But, Grace, you haven't done anything!"

"Oh, but I have. In my heart I've done plenty!"

She gained control a little, but it increased her compulsion to talk. "Clay," she wailed, "you'll never know, no one can ever know, the nights I spent-imagining myself with Elly-holding him on my lap-while we waited for word-the flash that might come from Annapolis: her sentence had been commuted, so she wouldn't have to die! And even worse, the days I spent with him-when her sentence was commuted-driving up to the prison, the Maryland penitentiary, for the monthly allotted visit. Clay, I've been to that penitentiary: Fisher's, one year, bid on the uniforms, and I did the design. I had to talk with the warden and went there. I guess it's all right, clean and humanely run-but, Clay, a prison's a prison, and any prison is horrible to me. The picture of her there, talking to him through the wire, would make me actually ill-and that he'd spend the rest of his life with that scar, that brand, that mark of shame, was more than I could bear. So, knowing what I went through, perhaps you'll understand-"

"Is that all?"

"I'll try to stop talking about it."

Intermittently, what seemed to her a dream out of the past now began looming to him as reality in the future, and his voice husked as he spoke. In an effort to change the subject, she drew a long breath and said: "The funny thing is that she seems to take it just opposite. I wouldn't have thought Alec meant much to her, but she's taking it very hard. And incidentally, Clay, it would be in terrible taste for you to go to her now, but you could call her up-I hope you have already."

"I saw her, as a matter of fact."

"... You've seen Sally? Since it happened?"

"She came over. We-had a disagreement."

"Disagreement, Clay? What about?"

"I wouldn't feel free to say."

"You picked a quarrel? At a time like this?"

"I didn't, Grace. She did." Then, gravely, he added: "She said it was over between us, and this time I'm sure it is."

"Well, you don't seem much upset."