I
TEN days had passed since Janey’s death, and by now Conrad had absorbed the first shock. At first it had seemed unbelievable that she was dead, and it was only at the funeral that he finally realized the unhappy partnership was ended.
The Coroner had returned a verdict of death by misadventure. The high heel of one of Janey’s slippers had been found to have caught in the hem of her wrap. It was obvious to the Coroner that as she was descending the stairs she had tripped and had fallen heavily, breaking her neck.
Conrad had left all the arrangements to Janey’s father, and had stayed with Frances in the new hide-out. There was nothing he could do for Janey now, and the responsibility of Frances’s safety lay on him like a dead weight.
He had puzzled over O’Brien’s last cryptic words: It wasn’t an accident. Ferrari… my kid…
Conrad, like every other police officer in the country, knew of Vito Ferrari. Had O’Brien meant that Weiner had been murdered and that Ferrari had been responsible? Conrad had warned McCann that Ferrari might be in town, and had asked him to alert his men, but McCann had reported back that there was no sign of the Syndicate’s executioner.
Conrad worried about this. If Ferrari had been responsible for Weiner’s death, then Frances was in serious danger. He took every possible precaution to guard her.
He had moved her to the Ocean Hotel at Barwood, a small town fifteen miles from Pacific City. The hotel was a ten-storey building, built on the edge of the cliffs, overlooking the sea.
Forest had taken over the whole of the top floor of the hotel. A special steel door now sealed off the approach to the top floor, and twenty of McCann’s picked men were on constant patrol on the landing and in the grounds.
As Conrad improved the defences, he slowly satisfied himself that it was virtually impossible for anyone to get at Frances.
Madge Fielding and two police women never let Frances out of their sight, and it was agreed that until the trial, she should not leave her room.
During the past days, Conrad had seen Frances constantly. The more he saw her the more in love with her he became, and he was encouraged when he found she looked forward to his visits, and seemed disappointed when other duties made him late or prevented him from making his regular daily visit.
Although they found an easy companionship together and impersonal conversation came without effort, Conrad was conscious of a barrier that excluded any intimacy between them.
It was her father’s terrible record that stood between them, and it was this barrier Conrad knew he had to break down before he could hope to give her the personal protection he so much wanted to give her.
Madge had told her of Janey’s death, and Frances’s few words of sympathy had made Conrad uncomfortable.
“It’s been a great shock to me,” he told her seriously, “but Janey and I didn’t get along together. Our marriage would have broken up sooner or later. It’s not the same as losing someone one really loves, is it? I’m sorry for her. She enjoyed life so much, but I’m not sorry for myself.”
On the evening of the tenth day of Janey’s death, Conrad found the opportunity of making the first move towards a more intimate understanding between Frances and himself.
He had been to Pacific City to give evidence in a case he had worked on before June Arnot’s murder, and had been away from Barwood for a day and a night. He had left Van Roche in charge, and was quite easy in his mind that Van would look after Frances as well as he could look after her himself.
He returned to the hotel soon after seven o’clock and went immediately to the top floor.
Madge was off duty, and she came to his room.
“No alarms?” he asked, as he unpacked his over-night case.
“No,” Madge said, “but I’m worried about her, Paul. She’s very unhappy, and I think she’s getting frightened.”
He paused in putting away his handbag and looked at her sharply.
“Frightened?”
She nodded.
“Yes. She doesn’t say anything, but since you’ve been away she seems depressed and nervy. If anyone knocks on the door, she nearly jumps out of her skin. She’s been brooding too, and she doesn’t seem to settle to anything. I’ve noticed it before, but I think it’s getting worse.”
Conrad lit a cigarette.
“It’s pretty extraordinary she’s been as calm as she has been. Time’s running out. She has a horrible experience before her.”
“Yes, of course she has, but I think there’s more to it than that. I think she’s brooding about Weiner. She was never completely convinced that he died accidentally.”
“I thought she had got over that.”
“I’m afraid she hasn’t.”
“Who’s with her now?”
“Van.”
“I’ll talk to her,” Conrad said, realizing this might be the opportunity he was waiting for. If he could only break down the barrier. If he could only get her on his side and keep her there.
He went along to Frances’s room, noting the alertness of the four guards who paced the long corridor. He paused outside the door, tapped and entered.
Van and the two police women were reading novels. Frances stood before the open bay window that overlooked the sea.
She didn’t look around when Conrad came in. He made a sign to the others to leave. When they had gone, he shut the door and joined Frances at the window.
Far below was the rock-strewn beach. The tide was going out and the stretch of sand was golden in the sunshine.
“I bet you’d give anything for a swim,” he said quietly. “It worries me that you have to be cooped up here. Are you getting restless?”
She shook her head, not looking at him.
“No, I don’t mind,” she said indifferently.
“I’ve been thinking about you, Frankie,” he said after a long pause. “Have you thought at all what you are going to do after the trial?”
“There doesn’t seem much point in thinking about that,” she returned in a flat tired voice.
“Why do you say that?”
“It’s obvious, isn’t it? Pete said they would never let me give evidence, so why should I bother to think of the future?”
He stared at her.
“For goodness sake, Frankie! You mustn’t talk like that! You’re safe here. No one can get near you, and you’ll be safe at the trial.”
“Am I safe?” she asked, leaning out of the window to look down at the golden sands. “You said Pete would be safe, and yet he’s dead.”
“I wouldn’t be talking to you the way I am talking if I thought for one moment you weren’t safe,” he said quietly.
She looked round quickly, her eyes searching his face.
“I don’t understand…”
“No, I guess you don’t.” He moved away from her. “I promise you no one will touch you. I give you my word.”
She turned so her back was to the window and watched him as he moved slowly about the room. There was an interested and puzzled expression in her eyes.
“You’ve got to get this idea that Maurer is a superman out of your mind,” Conrad went on. “I don’t say he won’t try to get at you, he will, but I assure you he won’t succeed. This place is too well guarded. There’s nothing I haven’t thought of.” He stopped and faced her. “You don’t know how I’ve sweated on this thing. Don’t you feel safe?”
“No.”
“Tell me why you don’t.”
“I can’t forget what Pete said.” She sat down abruptly. “I wish now I hadn’t told you what happened. Pete said no power on earth could save me if I told you. He said no power on earth could save him either, and he’s dead.” An hysterical note crept into her voice. “Pete said his time was running out. My time’s running out too! He said Maurer could buy any of the policemen who guarded him. How do I know Maurer hasn’t bought those women who stay with me?”
Conrad was both startled and shocked to learn how her mind was working.
“You must stop talking like this.” He went to her and caught hold of her arms. “Look at me, Frankie. I love you. Can’t you see I love you? I promise you you’re safe. I promise you there’s nothing to worry about.” She was staring at him.
“You love me? You? I didn’t think… I had no idea.”
“I don’t suppose you had,” Conrad said quietly. “I didn’t intend to tell you, but I can’t have you thinking you’re not safe. You’re more precious to me than my own life. You don’t have to be scared of Madge or the other two. They’re all right. Honest, they won’t let anyone near you, nor will I.”
She pulled away from him.
“But how can you love me?” she said, half to herself. “You know about me. You can’t love me.”
“Now look, Frankie, you’ve got to stop this nonsense. You’re not to blame for what your father did, and you’ve got to stop believing you are.”
She looked at him, her eyes shadowy with bitterness.
“So easy to talk,” she said. “So very easy to talk. You don’t know what it is like to have people point at you, to whisper about you, to pull their children out of your way. You don’t know what it is like to be hunted by a screaming, infuriated mob as I was hunted the night they killed my father. And now it’s going to start all over again. What a fool I was to have told you anything! What a stupid fool I was!”
He knelt beside her.
“Frankie, if you’ll let me, I’ll take care of you. I’ve got it all figured out. I’ll take you away when the trial’s over. We can start a new life together. I want you to marry me. No one will know who you are where we’ll go. We’ll go to England. I have a friend who wants me to sink some money in his farm. He wants me to be his partner. There’s a house for us, and no one will know you. Will you let me take care of you? Will you let me build a new future for you?”
She got up abruptly and without looking at him, she went over to the window.
“Future?” she said. “But I haven’t a future. I know I haven’t.” She stared at the red ball of the setting sun as it slowly sank below the horizon, casting a red glow over the sea. “My time’s running out, Paul. There’s no future for me, only a very immediate present.”