Brett Halliday - She Woke to Darkness

Dirk settled back in his chair and studied her downcast face with troubled eyes. “Tell me about it, Aline. Perhaps I can help. God knows, I’ll try.”

“I… I… all right, Dirk,” she burst out. “I think I’ll have to. I feel as though I’ll go mad if I don’t talk to someone. You say I passed out first at the party… that you remember another man whom I played up to in order to keep the others from suspecting the truth about us. Do you remember his name?”

“I don’t believe I heard it. He was a complete stranger to me. I know I was quite jealous of him, but kept telling myself you didn’t mean it really and were just doing it for camouflage.”

“Does the name Vincent Torn mean anything to you?”

He shook his head wearily. “Afraid not.”

She drew in a deep breath and told him swiftly: “It will by this time tomorrow after you read the paper. He’s dead, Dirk. Lying alone in a hotel room where I went with him, God help me. I don’t know why I did it,” she cried out wildly. “Don’t ask me why. I don’t even know the man. Consciously, I mean. I’m not aware of ever having seen him until I woke up early this morning in a hotel room with his dead body the only other occupant.”

“Are you serious, Aline? How did the man die?”

“I don’t know,” she confessed piteously. “That is, I do know how, of course. He was murdered, Dirk. With a knife. There was blood all over. But I didn’t do it!” Her voice rose, hysterical and shrill. “I couldn’t have. Don’t you see? Even though I was unconscious at the time it happened. There was no knife there in the room. Nothing that could possibly have done it to him.”

Dirk’s face was pale, his eyes deeply troubled. He said gently, “I think you had better tell me all about it. Every single thing. This sounds very serious.”

“Serious?” With an effort she choked off wild laughter. “That’s one of the understatements of all times. Any moment now, the police will be here accusing me of his murder. And I can’t possibly prove I didn’t do it. This is the way it happened, Dirk.”

She paused and asked uncertainly, “Would you like a drink before I start?”

Dirk shook his blond head decidedly. “I’m afraid there’s already been much too much drinking. We both need clear heads to cope with this.”

Aline sat very erect and began her story in a small, tight voice. She omitted nothing, or at least, tried to omit nothing. Not even the horrible detail about the two-dollar bill tucked in her stocking and her own reaction on discovering it there.

Dirk did not speak once or move while she went rapidly over every incident that had occurred after she awakened in the hotel room. His face was gravely concerned and he sat well back on the sofa, long legs stretched out in front of him, eyes narrowed and brooding down at the tips of his shoes.

“So I just don’t know what to think,” Aline ended despairingly after quoting his wife’s virulent words over the telephone. “That was the first time I knew you and I had gotten serious about each other last night.”

“And the thought immediately sprang into your mind,” he told her morosely, “that I might be the one who killed your friend.”

“I… I…,” she faltered and was silent.

“And the fact is, Aline, that neither of us can possibly say it wasn’t I who did it.” Dirk’s voice was controlled and dispassionate. “It seems quite possible. I was jealous of the man, you know. I’ve admitted that. Suppose I did see you leave with him? Suppose I drove here a short time later, feeling fully confident that you would get rid of him and be waiting for me as you had promised; and as I passed the cocktail lounge down the street I saw you waiting outside and get in a car with him?”

Dirk paused and his full lips twisted painfully. “How can I truthfully say what I might or might not have done under those circumstances? How can any man know? I don’t believe any man has ever truthfully known himself. It takes a psychoanalyst years to dig beneath the surface of any one human being and know what really lies beneath.”

“Do you mean that, Dirk? Do you think…?”

“How do I know what to think?” he demanded somberly. “You admit that the most obvious motive for Torn’s death is sexual jealousy. Yet you were forced to discard that because you didn’t believe any man cared enough about you to be jealous. But I loved you last night, Aline, in my fashion. Who can possibly know or judge what happened to my reasoning faculties last night when alcohol took possession of me? Who knows what savage, atavistic traits came up from far beneath the surface? Of course, I don’t believe it for a moment. How can I? What civilized man could believe such a thing about himself? On the other hand, how can I possibly be sure?”

“Oh God, Dirk!” she sobbed, throwing herself forward on her knees before him and pressing her face into his lap. “What are we going to do?”

“We’re going to face every possibility as calmly as possible and then go on from there,” he told her sternly. “Hysterics won’t help. There’s nothing definite, yet, to connect you with Torn or the hotel room except the telephone call you made to him at midnight. In other words, though many persons seem to suspect you left the party with Torn, you know you didn’t. You can prove that. Ralph Barnes drove you home and left you here. But for the accident of having left your bag and keys in his car, I’d like to think you would have come right upstairs and waited for me.”

“But I didn’t,” she said tearfully. “As soon as the police learn that I telephoned Mr. Torn, they’ll know I met him and went to the hotel with him.”

“They’ll suspect it strongly,” he agreed. “Not only that, Aline, they’ll also suspect strongly that I may have followed you there, gained access to the room somehow, and killed Torn in a jealous rage. With no knowledge or proof as to where I was at the time, I’m wide open to any sort of accusation.”

“What are we going to do?” Aline sank back on her haunches and looked up into his face appealingly. “It’s all my fault, you see. Whether you did or didn’t do anything. My untamed sexiness when I get tight. First, leading you on and making an assignation with you, and then faithlessly switching my desire to Vincent Torn whom I didn’t even know from Adam. I deserve anything that happens to me.”

“We’re going to see that nothing happens,” he said sternly. Then he sighed and added wistfully, “If we could only prove we spent the four hours from midnight onward here together. That would solve everything… for both of us.”

“No one can prove we didn’t,” she said hopefully.

He shook his head. “Except Ralph Barnes with his knowledge of your telephone call. If you’d only foreseen this, and gone to the bar yourself to inquire. Then we’d be quite safe. The bartender doesn’t know who you phoned, and there’d be no reason for him to come forward with information about the matter.”

“It’s too late to think about that now. Ralph does know. He even knows the number I called. As soon as he learns that Mr. Torn is dead, he’ll check the number and then he’ll know.”

“That’s true.” Dirk was frowning thoughtfully. He cleared his throat and said, “Please tell me honestly, Aline. Ralph goes for you in a big way, doesn’t he?”

Aline hesitated before replying. She wanted desperately to be honest with Dirk. It was easy, somehow. She said thoughtfully, “Just about as big as Ralph is capable of going for any woman. You know how he is.” She was thinking about Doris as she spoke. How Ralph had turned to her so easily last night… and then turned away from her back to Aline just as easily this morning. “He’s completely amoral. Like any tomcat prowling the back alleys.”