Brett Halliday - The Homicidal Virgin

She drew herself erect, smoothing back her hair scornfully. “Tonight you thought I was a sweet young thing. I saw it in your eyes. But I’m debauched. Hideous. A monstrosity. Worse than any syphilitic whore who walks the streets of Miami. Because they let men use their bodies because they want to. To earn money. That’s clean compared to me.

“So now I have shocked you.” She turned away coldly. “I knew, of course, that it couldn’t be. In my wildest imaginings I knew deep down inside of me that I’d never find a man who could sympathize and understand. Why don’t you go, Mike Wayne? I know you can’t stand to even look at me any more.”

She stood rigidly at the window with her back to him. Slim and defiant and so woefully young.

Shayne said, “I’ll stick around awhile, Jane Smith. Why don’t you go back and sit down and tell me more about the situation?”

She turned and looked at him wonderingly. “You mean it, don’t you? You’re not utterly revolted by the sight of me?”

“I’m not revolted at all,” Shayne assured her flatly. “What I do wonder right now is what sort of hold your stepfather still has on you that makes his murder seem the only way out.”

The word seem to jar her queerly. “Murder?” she repeated. “I never once thought of that word. Call it an execution. Riddance. An extermination. Is it murder when you crush a loathsome cockroach underfoot? Don’t they hang men who rape young girls? You don’t call that murder, do you?”

Shayne said, “It’s a question of semantics. You feel so trapped that the only way out is to have Saul Henderson killed. Why? What sort of hold has he over you? You said your mother is dead.”

“Yes. She died two months ago.” Jane Smith returned composedly to the sofa. “Adoring my stepfather and believing him to be the finest man on earth. She left a will dividing her estate evenly between us, naming him as my legal guardian and placing my share of the money in trust to be administered by him as he sees fit until I’m twenty-one. Two years from now. Two years of being under his thumb… at his beck and call. Two more years during which I can’t call my soul my own. Living in the same house with him. Lying in my bed at night trembling with fear that he will walk in through the door and force himself upon me. Dying a thousand deaths each night he doesn’t come, and consumed with hatred and shame when he does.” Her voice died away listlessly.

Shayne said harshly, “Do you mean that you’re going on with the affair even after your mother’s death?”

“What else can I do? I have no money except what he doles out to me. Nothing. I’m utterly dependent on him for what I eat.”

“Defy him,” said Shayne savagely. “My God, this is the Twentieth Century. Slavery has gone out of style.”

She said, “You don’t know Saul Henderson.”

“You must have some money of your own. Walk away from him and use it. How much is your share of the estate worth?” he demanded abruptly.

“About a quarter of a million.”

“Which will come to you with no strings attached in two years. Go out and borrow on it if you need cash to break away from him. Hell, the town is full of money-lenders who’ll advance you whatever you need. They’ll charge exorbitant interest, of course, but what do you care? You can afford to pay twenty percent for a couple of years.”

“You don’t quite understand, Mike Wayne… or whatever your name is.” Jane crossed her arms across her breasts and squeezed them tightly. “There was an added provision in mother’s will. I told you she looked on Saul as a sort of God. I get my share only if I conduct myself like a devoted daughter and live in his house under his discipline until I’m of age. If I fail to do that… and he can prove it in court… my share reverts to him and I’ll be dependent on him for the rest of my life.”

“Your mother,” said Shayne bitterly, “was a fool.”

“Of course she was. Saul took her in completely. But that’s spilled milk now, isn’t it? These are the facts I have to live with.”

“What happens if Henderson dies before you’re twenty-one?”

“Then I get my half at once. Don’t you see? That’s what I’m banking on. He doesn’t deserve to live. And the moment he dies, I’m free. That’s why I mentioned fifty thousand dollars. I haven’t anything right now, but the moment Saul Henderson is dead I can pay anything. I’ll give you a demand note. I’ll sign any sort of legal document you want so you can collect after his death. It’s as simple as that. Will you or won’t you?”

“Kill your stepfather so you can collect your share of your mother’s estate immediately?” asked Shayne.

“So I can become a free woman,” she cried out wildly. “So I can rid myself of the incubus he has become. I can’t go on like I am. I’m going crazy.”

“Then walk away from him,” Shayne advised her evenly.

“He’ll follow me and bring me back. Legally, he’s my guardian.”

“Nuts. Prefer charges against him. Tell any judge in the country what you’ve just told me, and he’ll spend the rest of his life in jail while you enjoy your inheritance.”

“I’ve threatened him with that,” she cried out desperately, “and he laughs at me. He says to go ahead and try to make it stick. And even if I did succeed, think of the disgrace and scandal. It would be a Roman holiday for the newspapers. I can’t face that. I just can’t.”

“Almost anything is better than murder,” Shayne told her.

“I’m in love,” she told him in a choked voice. “For the first time in my life, I know what love is. With a nice clean innocent boy who would just die if he ever found out the truth. That’s one of the reasons I asked you if you loved your friend. I thought you’d understand better.”

“Just walk away from the whole set-up,” advised Shayne coldly. “Henderson can’t do one damned thing to stop you. Pay no attention to his threats. He doesn’t want publicity any more than you do.”

“What would I do for money?” wailed Jane. “The boy I’m in love with hasn’t any. He’s working hard on a salary to get established. He can’t afford to marry a poor girl.”

“Then the bastard isn’t worth marrying at all,” Shayne said angrily. “Look, kid.” He controlled his voice with an effort. “There are young couples all over the country no worse off than you two. You’re nineteen years old, perfectly healthy and reasonably intelligent. You say you’re in love with a boy who has a job and is working hard. So, marry the guy. Walk away from your stepfather and marry him. Get a job of your own if you have to in order to make ends meet.”

“What kind of job can I get? I haven’t any training…”

“You can clerk in a ten-cent store, goddamn it. Lots of girls do and survive.”

“And let that horrible Saul Henderson get away with a quarter million dollars that belongs to me?”

“In the first place,” Shayne gritted, “I don’t believe he’d ever manage to get away with it. Take my advice and get out from under, and I’ll get you the best legal advice in Miami to work on your case. But don’t come crying to me about being sexually misused when it’s your own damned choice that you are. I can sort of understand your going along with the situation while your mother was alive. But the moment she died, you should have walked out. Or put a knife in him yourself the first time he tried to take you after your mother’s death.”

“I wish to God I had,” she cried shrilly.

“But you didn’t,” Shayne pointed out. “You compromised instead… and felt sorry for yourself. And now you’re trying to hire me to commit a murder to get you out of a situation you won’t walk away from. To hell with it.” He drained his glass and set it down with finality.