‘Of course, of course.’ Mrs. Harriet dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief. ‘You must understand that my son knows nothing about this. He mustn’t be disturbed. He is in shock as Dr. Weissman will tell you.’
‘That’s okay, Madame,’ the detective said and moved towards the living room door. Harriet followed him with Dr. Weissman.
Two ambulance men entered. They whisked Loretta’s body onto a stretcher, covered it with a sheet and carried it out.
The other detective talked softly to Mazzo who kept shrugging his ape-like shoulders.
I returned to the living room and sat down. I sat there, holding my head in my hands, too sick even to think.
The slamming of car doors, the sound of engines being revved up brought me upright. I went onto the balcony to see the police cars, following the ambulance, drive away.
As simple and as easy as that! The power of money!
I returned to the living room as my door opened and Mrs. Harriet came in. She shut the door and stood looking at me.
‘Dear Jerry, it has all been arranged. You are not needed.’ A tiny smile of triumph moved on her old lips. ‘Go to bed. Take a sleeping pill, and remember, for poor Etta, it is a merciful release.’ As she turned to the door, she paused, ‘You will not have to attend the inquest, Jerry. Dr. Weissman will arrange everything: such a dear, helpful man. You will, of course, have to attend the cremation, but no one will worry you. Good night.’
She waved her fingers at me and left.
The next six days dragged by like six years.
Mazzo brought my meals. He said nothing and I had nothing to say to him. I spent hours on the balcony, reading paperbacks. In the evenings, I watched TV I slept with the aid of pills. I tried to comfort myself that I was Ferguson’s hired man at one hundred thousand dollars a year.
But there were too many times when I thought of that scream and that thud; when I thought of Loretta’s despairing eyes and remembered what she had said: For God’s sake, Jerry, don’t believe what that old bitch tells you. Don’t believe what Durant tells you. Believe me! I also thought of the man pacing up and down in the room with the barred windows.
On the sixth morning, Mazzo, while serving breakfast, said, ‘It’s all fixed. The inquest went like a dream. Get with the mask. They’re burning her this morning at eleven.’
I wanted to smash my fist into his ape-like face. I wanted to yell at him: You killed her! I got up and went into the bedroom.
‘Something wrong?’ he asked, following me.
‘I don’t want anything. Get out!’
‘I tell you: no problems,’ Mazzo said with grin. ‘Get with the mask and wear the mohair.’
Mrs. Harriet, her poodle and I were the only mourners. We drove to the crematorium in the Rolls.
There was a car in front and two behind.
The news had leaked, and the press were at the gates of the crematorium: the jackals, the camera men, the TV crews, the lights and the gaping crowd. The guards spilled out from the three cars. They let the Rolls through, then shut off the surge of the jackals.
There was an aged priest, his lined face set in professional sadness. He seemed in awe of Mrs. Harriet and spoke mumbling words of sympathy. He lingered over the service as if anxious to give value for money.
When the coffin began to roll into the furnace, I sank onto my knees. I hadn’t said a prayer since I was a kid, but I said a prayer for Loretta.
The poodle began yapping.
As I tried to find words for Loretta, I heard Mrs. Harriet say to the poodle, ‘Hush, darling. Show respect.’
* * *
The next two days dragged by.
I ate, sat on the balcony, read and waited.
On the third morning while I was sitting on the balcony after breakfast, I saw the Rolls drive up.
Jonas appeared with luggage which he put in the boot, then Mrs. Harriet appeared, carrying the poodle. She paused to talk to Jonas who bowed, then she got into the car and was driven away.
Was I thankful to see her go!
Mazzo came silently into the room.
‘You go to the office this morning,’ he said, ‘Get with the mask.’
He drove me in the Jaguar to the front entrance of the office where the guards got me through the waiting press. There were the usual plaintive cries and flashlights.
We went up in the elevator and Mazzo led me to Ferguson ‘s office where I found Joe Durant behind the big desk.
‘Come in, Stevens,’ he said, giving me a tight smile. ‘Sit down.’ He waved me to a chair.
I sat down.
‘I have to thank you for your excellent performance at the funeral,’ Durant said. ‘I realized what an ordeal this must have been for you.’
There didn’t seem anything for me to say to this, so I said nothing.
‘Mr. Ferguson has now returned,’ Durant went on. ‘You are free to do what you like for at least two weeks. You are showing yourself a most valuable member of our staff, and we are more than satisfied with you.’
‘Thank you, sir,’ I said.
Durant leaned forward and opened a briefcase. He took from it a check.
‘Here is your first month’s salary, Stevens, plus a small bonus.’
I got up and took the check. It was for ten thousand dollars.
‘Thank you, sir,’ I said, putting the check in my wallet.
‘You are free. Get out of that disguise. You will find your clothes in the second bathroom, down the corridor. Make use of the cabin.’ His thin smile lifted the corners of his lips. ‘It is understood you don’t leave the city. You don’t talk to the press. You say nothing about your work.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘All right, Stevens, run along and enjoy yourself.’
I moved to the door, then paused.
‘Would you convey to Mr. Ferguson my sympathy and condolence for the loss of his wife?’
The thin smile went away.
‘All right, Stevens, run along.’
I spent the next three hours buying clothes. There was a man’s store on Paradise Boulevard, and I had myself a ball. Finally, satisfied I had everything I wanted, I packed the carrier bags in the Merc, and drove to the cabin.
The guard at the barrier eyed me, then nodded and lifted the pole.
As I drove to the cabin, it occurred to me that I was exchanging one prison for another. I was still under surveillance, but I didn’t care. I had money! I was out of that evil house, and I was damn well going to enjoy myself!
It was just on noon. As soon as I had unpacked my purchases and put them in the closet, I called The Ferguson Electronic & Oil Corporation. I asked to speak to Miss Sonia Malcolm.
‘This is Jerry Stevens,’ I said when she came on the line. ‘How about that rain check? Could you or would you have dinner with me tonight?’
‘I’d love to,’ she said, and she sounded as if she meant it.
‘Look, Sonia, I am a stranger in this city. Where can we go? Something really nice, preferably by the sea. I’ve just been paid: money is no object.’
She laughed.
‘Well . . .’ A long pause, then she said, ‘There’s The Albatross on Ocean Boulevard. I hear it’s very special but pricey.’
‘Sounds fine. I’ll pick you up. Where do you live?’
‘No, don’t do that. I’ll meet you there. I have a car. My place is difficult to find.’
‘No place is difficult to find a beautiful girl,’ I said. ‘Where is it?’
‘Around eight thirty? I’ll be there,’ and she hung up.
I slowly replaced the receiver. Okay, so she didn’t want me to know where she lived. Maybe she was sharing with another girl. Maybe she wasn’t too happy about her surroundings. Maybe . . . I shrugged.
What really interested me was I was going to take Sonia Malcolm out to dinner. But I was curious. I tried to find her in the telephone book, but she wasn’t in it.