Ed McBain - The Last Brief

‘I’m glad you arrested me,’ she said. ‘I’m glad I got caught the first time, I don’t want to be—’

She began crying. Randolph watched her, and he felt inordinately big, sitting across from her, awkwardly immense,’

‘Look,’ he said, ‘what do you want to bawl for?’

‘I... I can’t help it.’

‘Well, cut it out!’ he said harshly.

‘I’m sorry.’ She turned and took a dish towel from the sink, daubed at her eyes with it. ‘I’m sorry. Let’s... let’s do it.’

‘Is this really your first time?’ he asked suspiciously.

‘Yes.’

‘What made you... well... I don’t understand.’

‘I got tired,’ she said. ‘I got so damned tired. I don’t want to fight any more.’

‘Fight what?’

‘Fight getting dirty. I’m tired of fighting.’ She sighed wearily and held out her hand. ‘Come,’ she said.

She stood stock-still, her hand extended, her shoulders back.

‘Come,’ she repeated.

There was a strength in the rigidity of her body and the erectness of her head. In the narrow stillness of her thin body, there was a strength and he recognized the strength because he had once possessed it. He rose, puzzled, and he reached out for her hand, and he knew that if he took her hand, if he allowed this girl to lead him into the other room, he would destroy her as surely as he had once destroyed himself. He knew this, and somehow it was very important to him that she be saved, that somewhere in the prison of the precinct, somewhere in this giant, dim, dank prison there should be someone who was not a prisoner. And he knew with sudden painful clarity why there were potted plants on the barred fire escapes of the tenements.

He pulled back his hand.

‘Keep it,’ he said harshly, swiftly.

‘What?’

‘Keep it,’ he said, and he knew she misunderstood what he was asking her to keep, but he did not explain. He turned and walked from the room, and down the steps past the stacked garbage cans in the hallway and then out into the street.

He walked briskly in the afternoon sunshine. He saw the pushers and the pimps and the prostitutes and the junkies and the fences and the drunks and the muggers.

And when he got back to the precinct, he nodded perfunctorily at the desk sergeant and then climbed the stairs to the Detective Division.

Dave Fields met him just inside the slatted rail divider. Their eyes met, locked.

‘How’d you make out?’ Fields asked.

Unwaveringly, unhesitatingly, Randolph replied, ‘Fine. The best I’ve ever had,’ and Fields turned away when he added, ‘Any coffee brewing in the Clerical Office?’

He sang softly to himself as he worked on the long white beach. He could see the pleasure craft scooting over the deep blue waters, could see the cottony clouds moving leisurely across the wide expanse of sky. There was a mild breeze in the air, and it touched the woolly skullcap that was his hair, caressed his brown skin. He worked with a long rake, pulling at the tangled sea vegetation that the norther had tossed onto the sand. The sun was strong, and the sound of the sea was good, and he was almost happy as he worked.

He watched the muscles ripple on his long brown arms as he pulled at the rake. She would not like it if the beach were dirty. She liked the beach to be sparkling white and clean... the way her skin was,

‘Jonas!’

He heard the call, and turned towards the big house. He felt the same panic he’d felt a hundred times before. He could feel the trembling start in his hands, and he turned back to the rake, wanting to stall as long as he could, hoping she would not call again, but knowing she would.

‘Jonas! Jo-naaaas!’

The call came from the second floor of the house, and he knew it came from her bedroom, and he knew she was just rising, and he knew exactly what would happen if he went up there. He hated what was about to happen, but at the same time it excited him. He clutched the rake more tightly, telling himself he would not answer her call, lying to himself because he knew he would go if she called one more time.

‘Jonas! Where the devil are you?’

‘Coming, Mrs. Hicks,’ he shouted.

He sighed deeply and put down the rake. He climbed the concrete steps leading from the beach, and then he walked past the barbecue pit and the beach house, moving under the Australian pines that lined the beach. The pine needles were soft under his feet, and though he knew the pines were planted to form a covering over the sand, to stop sand from being tracked into the house, he still enjoyed the soft feel under his shoes. For an instant, he wished he were barefoot, and then scolded himself for having a thought that was strictly ‘native.’

He shook his head and climbed the steps to the screened back porch of the house. The hibiscus climbed the screen in a wild array of colour, pinks and reds and purples. The smaller bougainvillea reached up for the sun where it splashed down through the pines. He closed the door behind him and walked through the dim cool interior of the house, starting up the steps to her bedroom.

When he reached her door, he paused outside, and then he knocked discreetly.

‘Is that you, Jonas?’

‘Yes, Mrs. Hicks.’

‘Well, come in.’

He opened the door and stepped into the bedroom. She was sitting in bed, the sheet reaching to her waist. Her long blonde hair spilled over her shoulders, trailing down her back. She wore a white nylon gown, and he could see the mounds of her breasts beneath the gown, could see the erect rosebuds of her nipples. Hastily, he lowered his eyes.

‘Good morning, Jonas,’ she said.

‘Good morning, Mrs. Hicks.’

‘My, it’s a beautiful morning, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, Mrs. Hicks.’

‘Where were you when I called, Jonas?’

‘On the beach, Mrs. Hicks.’

‘Swimming, Jonas?’ She lifted one eyebrow archly, and a tiny smile curled her mouth.

‘Oh, no, Mrs. Hicks. I was raking up the...’

‘Haven’t you ever felt like taking a swim at that beach, Jonas?’

He did not answer. He stared at his shoes, and he felt his hands clench at his sides.

‘Jonas?’

‘Yes, Mrs. Hicks?’

‘Haven’t you ever felt like taking a swim at that beach?’

‘There’s lots of public places to swim, Mrs. Hicks.’

‘Yes.’ The smile expanded. Her green eyes were smiling now, too. She sat in bed like a slender cat licking her chops. ‘That’s what I like about Nassau. There are lots of places to swim.’ She continued smiling for a moment, and then she sat up straighter, as if she were ready for business now.

‘Well,’ she said, ‘what shall we have for breakfast? Has the cook come in, Jonas?’

‘Yes, Mrs. Hicks.’

‘Eggs, I think. Coddled. And some toast and marmalade. And a little juice.’ He made a movement toward the door, and she stopped him with a wave of her hand. ‘Oh, there’s no rush, Jonas. Stay. I want you to help me.’

He swallowed, and he put his hands behind his back to hide the trembling. ‘Yes... Mrs. Hicks.’

She threw back the sheet, and he saw her long legs beneath the hem of the short nightgown. She reached for her slippers on the floor near her bed, squirmed her feet into them, and then stood up. Luxuriantly, she stretched her arms over her head and yawned. The nightgown tightened across her chest, lifting as she raised her arms, showing more of the long curve of her legs. She walked to the window and threw open the blinds, and the sun splashed through the gown, and he saw the full outline of her body, and he thought: Every morning, every morning the same thing.

He could feel the sweat beading his brow, and he wanted to get out of that room, wanted to get far away from her and her body, wanted to escape this labyrinth that led to one exit alone.