“Hang up,” I said. “Quick!”
The whiteness of her face turned grey as she looked at the gun. I could see
she thought I was going to murder her. Shakily she replaced the receiver.
“Go into your bedroom. We’ve got to talk.”
She backed into the room and I followed her, closing the doom and leaning
against it.
“Were you calling the police?” I asked.
She sank on the bed, her clenched fists between her knees, staring at me.
“Did you imagine it would be an idea to pin his death on me?” I went on.
“I’ll tell you why it isn’t such a hot idea. You’d better not do it if you want
the money in the safe. If the police arrest me, I’ll tell them your husband
never paid tax on the money.
They’ll love that. By the time the tax boys have
slapped on fines, there won’t be much left for you—if anything. So if you
want that money, watch out.”
I saw by her sudden change of expression that what I had said had made an impression.
“I can’t keep you away from the telephone if you’re determined to use it,” I
said, “but I’m warning you: give me away to the police and I’ll see you don’t
get that money. It’s up to you.
The alternative is to bury him, put out a story
that he has gone away, and then after a while, when I think it is safe, you can
have the money and I’ll go off somewhere.”
“It was an accident,” she said, her voice a husky whisper. “If you hide his
body and they find it, they’ll say it was murder.”
Well, at least, she now seemed ready to discuss the situation. I began to
breath more easily.
“Can you prove it was an accident? If you had been alone here when it
happened you might possibly get away with it, but not with me here. You’d
better make up your mind what you are going to do. If you don’t want the
money, call the police. I won’t stop you. If you want the money, then we’ll
bury him.”
It was a nervy five or six seconds while I waited and while she stared at me,
hesitating.
I was pretty sure she wouldn’t call the police, but if she had made a move to
the telephone I would have stopped her.
She said finally, “Give me the money now. I’ll leave here. I promise I won’t
tell anyone about you.”
“No! You’ll only get the money when I’ve decided it is safe for you to have
it, and not before. If you can’t wait for it, then call the police and lose the
lot!”
She realised then the jam she was in. Her disappointment, her frustration and
her fury showed clearly on her face.
“Get out of here!” she screamed at me. “Get out!”
She threw herself face down on the bed and began to sob wildly.
I knew then I had won. I went out of the room, shutting the door. I would
give her a little time to get over her hysterics, then she would have to help me
bury him.
I looked at my watch. The time was just on half-past eleven: too early yet to
make a start. I had to be sure when we did bury him we wouldn’t be
interrupted.
I walked over to the lunchroom, and for something to do I cleared up the
kitchen. I took my time, trying not to think of anything at all, but every now
and then the picture of that great muscular body lying on the sitting room
floor would creep into my mind.
Between eleven-thirty and one a.m. five trucks pulled in for gas. But after
one, the traffic ceased and I decided to see how Lola was making out.
The light was still showing through her bedroom blind as I approached the
bungalow. I went to her bedroom. Turning the handle, I found the door
locked.
“Lola! Come on! You’ve got to help me!”
“Keep away from me!” she screamed through the panels of the door. “I’m not
helping you! You’ll never make me do it! Keep away from me!”
She sounded hysterical and half out of her mind. I hadn’t time to bother with
her in that condition. I would have to do the job on my own.
I had thought about where I was going to bury him. At first I thought I would
take him out and bury him in the desert, but there was always a chance
someone might come along as I was digging the grave, and finally I decided I
would bury him in one of the repair sheds. This particular shed had an earth
floor.
I collected a pickaxe and a shovel and went into the shed. I started to dig in a
far corner near a pile of scrap metal.
The night was still hot and I hadn’t got down more than a foot before sweat
was pouring off me. But I kept at it, and finally I got down to four feet, and
that was enough. By then the time was half-past three. I climbed out of the
hole and went over to my cabin. I took a shower, washing the dirt and sweat
off me. Then I put on a pair of clean overalls and walked over to the bungalow.
Lola’s bedroom light was still on. As I entered the hall, I paused to listen. I
could hear no sound. I pushed open the lounge door, fumbled for the switch
and flicked it down.
Jenson’s great body lay where it had fallen. He hadn’t bled much. There was
little blood on the carpet.
I touched him. He was beginning to stiffen. In another hour, and with his
weight, I wouldn’t be able to handle him. As it was, I was sure I hadn’t the
strength to get him up on my back and carry him across to the shed. He must
have weighed over two hundred and thirty pounds.
I stood looking down at him. It was an odd thing, but I found he was just
dead flesh to me. I had got over the shock of his death by now. His
personality had gone when he had died. This vast, stiffening body meant
nothing to me. Carl Jenson, the man I liked and admired, had departed from
it. It was just a threat to me that had to be got rid of as quickly as possible.
I went back to the shed and got a hand truck we used to shift the heavy scrap
metal. I trundled it over to the bungalow and bumped it up the steps into the
hall. I made a lot of noise, not caring, but Lola didn’t come out to see what
was going on. She must have guessed, of course, and it irritated me that she
was so determined not to help me.
I lugged Jenson’s body onto the truck, then I stepped to the front door and
looked up and down the long winding road to make sure there were no trucks
coming out of the night to surprise me.
I could see no distant headlights. The big yellow moon hung above the
mountains like the face of a well-fed mandarin.
I went back into the lounge, caught hold of the handle of the truck and pulled
the truck into the hall. As I was manoeuvring it to the front door, the
telephone bell began to ring.
The sudden, unexpected shrill note of the bell made my heart do a somersault. I stared at the telephone that stood on a small table in the hall.
I hesitated, then letting go of the truck handle, I went over to the instrument
and lifted the receiver.
“Hello?”
Who could be calling at this hour of the morning? By my watch it was now
twenty minutes to four.
“Is that you, Jenson?”
The voice was loud and aggressive.
“No. Who’s calling?”
“I want Mr. Jenson. Tell him it’s Hal Lasch. I want to talk to him.”
I looked at Jenson’s body as it lay on the truck. Sweat was running down my
face and into my eyes,
“Mr. Jenson is asleep,” I said. “I can’t disturb him.”
“You tell him it’s Hal Lasch. He’ll talk to me. I want his advice on the
president’s funeral. I want to know if he will do the oration; He won’t mind
you waking him. You tell him it’s Hal Lasch.”
“I’ll tell him in the morning. He’ll call you. I’m not disturbing him now.”
“Who the hell are you?” His voice was now a bellow. “You do what I tell
you! I know Carl. He’ll want to talk to me!”
I drew in a long, deep breath.
“Never mind who I am,” I said, matching his own aggressive tone. “You or
no other godd@mn Swede is disturbing Mr. Jenson at this hour. He’s in bed,
and his wife is sleeping with him. Do you imagine I’m going in there and
wake them because you want to talk about a funeral oration at four o’clock in
the morning? You call tomorrow,” and I slammed down the receiver.
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