The cop was looking thoughtfully at Harry's car. He turned his head and eyed the Cadillac convertible parked nearby. Then he rubbed his jaw, frowning. He walked up the steps of the cabin then paused again to look back at the Cadillac.
“What's the matter, Harry?”
Joan's worried voice penetrated Harry's paralysed mind “He is coming here” he said in a cracked whisper.
“What if he is?” Joan sounded impatient. “Does it matter?”
Her matter-of-fact attitude to the situation helped to steady Harry s jangling nerves. If the police had found Glorie's body he thought, they wouldn't send one lone cop to arrest him They would send at least two, if not more. But what did this guy want?
He turned and waved Joan to the bathroom.
“Get in there and keep out of sight. He mustn't see you. If your father got to hear . . .”
“My goodness, yes!” Joan's eyes widened. “He'd never forgive me.” She gave him a puzzled, worried stare. His white, sweating face frightened her. Then she went quickly into the bathroom and shut the door as a heavy rap sounded on the outer door Harry splashed whisky into his glass, gulped it down, wiped his face with his handkerchief, and crossed the room to the door He hesitated for a long moment, then, with his heart hammering and a cold feeling in the pit of his stomach, he opened the door The detective was looking away from him, his eyes on Joan's car and for perhaps three or four seconds, Harry waited.
Although he must have known Harry was waiting, the detective continued to stare at the car. Then, finally, he turned his head and Harry got the full blast from his hard, piercing eyes.
“You Griffin?” the cop said, pushing his hat to the back of his head and putting one large, hairy hand on the wall of the cabin and leaning his weight against it.
“That's right.”
“I'm Detective-Sergeant Hammerstock. Mrs. Griffin around?”
Harrys heart lurched. Somehow he managed to crush down the fear that rose inside him and to keep his face expressionless.
“Who?”
The word came out in a husky whisper.
“Your wife,” Hammerstock said, his eyes probing more intently.
Harry saw the danger. He mustn't be caught out in a lie, he told himself. They could easily find out that Glorie wasn't his wife.
“You've got your lines crossed,” he said. “I'm not married.”
Hammerstock rubbed his fleshy nose with the ball of his thumb.
“You are Harry Griffin?”
“Yes.”
“You registered at the Florida motel the night before last?”
“Yes. What's this all about anyway?”
“You had a woman with you. You registered as Mr. and Mrs. Griffin right?”
“Yes, but don't tell me that's police business,” Harry said, forcing his stiff lips into a smile.
Hammerstock cocked his head on one side.
“You mean this woman isn't your wife?”
“That's what I mean.”
“Okay,” Hammerstock said, shifting his position. “Let’s start from the beginning again. Is the woman who isn't your wife but who registered at the Florida motel as your wife around?”
“No, she isn't. Why do you want her?”
Hammerstock looked past Harry and, into the room beyond.
He saw Joan's gloves and handbag on the dressing table and he lifted his heavy eyebrows. Harry looked over his shoulder, saw what Hammerstock was looking at, moved forward, forcing Hammerstock to give ground, and pulled the door shut. He leant against it.
“Sure she isn't?”
“Yes, I'm sure.”
Hammerstock appeared to relax a little. He pushed his hat further to the back of his head, took out his handkerchief and wiped his forehead.
“Could we talk inside, out of the sun?” he said.
“If we've got to talk, we talk right here.”
Hammerstock suddenly grinned. It wasn't a pleasant grin, but it had a certain brutal humour about it.
“Looks like I've called at the wrong time,” he said. “Well, never mind. I won't keep you long. Where can I find your girl.” Harry drew in a slow, deep breath. At least, they hadn't found Glorie's body. That was certain. The relief made him fed a little light headed.
“Why the mystery? What do you want her for?”
Hammerstock's grin widened.
“I've got fifty bucks for her. That'll come as a nice surprise to her, won't it?”
“Fifty bucks?” Harry stared at him. “I don't get it.”
“Look, the redhead who tries to run the office at the Florida happens to be my sister. That's my hard luck, but I won't bore you with my troubles,” Hammerstock said. “It so happens she has a bird brain. When a guy whistles after her, she thinks he's doing it because he happens to be musicaclass="underline" that's how dumb she is. Your girlfriend paid the check when you two left and birdbrain overcharged her fifty bucks. She made a two look like a seven, and your girlfriend didn't query it. Birdbrain only found it out after you'd gone, then she worked herself into a state about it. When she gets into a state, she calls me. I get called four or five times a week, and because I have the bad luck to be her brother, I have to straighten her out. Fifty bucks is quite a piece of money so I thought I'd better do something about it. I called three or four of the cheaper motels, thinking maybe you two had moved to some place that doesn't charge for the air you breathe like the Florida does, and I found you here. I've got fifty bucks for your girlfriend.”
“That's pretty nice of you to take all this trouble,” Harry said. “Well, thanks. I’ll take charge of it.”
Hammerstock shook his head.
“I was told to give it to your girlfriend. Birdbrain wants a receipt from her so she can sleep easy tonight.”
“I’ll give you a receipt,” Harry said. “It's my money. I gave her the dough to settle the check so the fifty belongs to me.”
“Fifty bucks is money,” Hammerstock said. “I'd like your girl to confirm the money's yours. Where can I find her?”
“I don't know,” Harry said, trying to keep his voice steady. “We parted. I don't know where she is right now.”
“Is that right?” The small eyes became inquisitive. “Birdbrain tells me you and the young woman went off in a Buick, heading for Highway 27. Didn't you take her someplace before you parted?”
This was dangerous, Harry thought, aware that his heart was pounding and wondering if Hammerstock could hear it. He couldn't risk a lie. Out of sheer cussedness, this cop might check.
“I took her to Collier City,” he said. “She talked about going to New Orleans.”
“Did she?” Hammerstock scratched the side of his jaw. “That's a funny place to leave anyone. You can't get to New Orleans from Collier City.”
“Can't you? Well, that's nothing to do with me,” Harry said curtly. “She wanted to go to Collier City so I took her there.”
“Yeah. You never know with women: they're funny animals. What did you say her name was?”
“Glorie Dane.”
Hammerstock took out a pack of Lucky Strikes. He flicked one out and offered it to Harry who shook his head. Hammerstock put the cigarette between his thin lips, took out a kitchen match and scratched it alight with his thumbnail.
“Seems you and Miss Dane had a quarrel before you left the Florida,” he said. “Birdbrain had a complaint from a cabin near yours. That right?”
“I don't know,” Harry said, forcing himself to meet the probing eyes. “Could be. I guess we slanged each other often enough. That's why we parted.”
“My wife and I slang each other too, but I haven t been able to get rid of her,” Hammerstock said and grinned. “Well, I've got these fifty bucks. Maybe I'd better give them to you. I can't go out to Collier City. I've got work to do.”