Флетчер Флора - Leave Her to Hell

“With a break or two and a couple of hunches, I got the idea that she might be there, and I went there to see if I could find her, and Graham Markley learned from you where I was going. He was terribly afraid of what Constance might know and tell if she was found, and it was imperative, as he saw it, to get rid of her for good and all. And so he followed me and found her and tried to kill her, but it didn’t turn out that way.”

“I’m sorry I told him,” she said. “It was a mistake.”

“Not for me,” I said. “It made me a smart guy instead of a corpse.”

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing,” I said. “It’s not important.”

The sun in the sky was nearing the tooled ridge of stone. I wished for a drink, but nobody brought one. Faith Salem’s breasts rose and fell, rose and fell. Her long brown legs stirred slightly in the sun. I wondered if I should tell her about Colly and Rosie and decided not. Maybe, if I didn’t, she would never know, depending on whether the police broke the case wide open or closed it quietly on a theory.

“Did Constance tell all this?” she said.

“The part about the accident and the blackmail and the murder. Not the rest.”

“How strange it is. How strange simply to forget everything and become someone else.”

“Strange enough, but not incredible. It’s happened before. People have gone half around the world and lived undetected in new identities for years.”

“Is she all right now?”

“She remembers who she is and everything that happened until she found the body of Regis Lawler in his apartment. She doesn’t remember anything that happened in the time of the fugue. That’s a long way from all right, I guess, but it’s as good as she can hope for.”

“Why become me? Why me of all people?”

There was honest wonderment in her voice. Looking at her, the lean brown length of her, I could have told her why, but I didn’t. I had a feeling that it was time to be going, and I stood up.

“I think I’d better leave now,” I said.

“Yes,” she said. “I think you’d better.”

“I’ll send you a bill.”

“Of course. I’ll be here as long as the rent’s paid. That’s about three months.”

“Are you going to look at me before I leave?”

“I don’t think so. Do you mind letting yourself out?”

“I don’t mind.”

“Good-bye, then, Mr. Hand. I wish you had a lot of money. It’s a shame you’re so poor.”

“Yes, it is,” I said. “It’s a crying shame.”

She never moved or looked at me, and I went away. The next day I sent her a bill, and two days after that I got a check. I saw her her twice again, but not to speak to. Once she was coming out of a shop alone, and once she was going into a theater on the arm of a man. I learned later that she married a very rich brewer and went to live in Milwaukee.

Robin? I see her every now and then on a fair day.