James Cain - The Postman Always Rings Twice

“Maybe she jumped.”

“If she jumped, it’s funny she took her handbag with her, isn’t it? Chambers, can a woman drive with a handbag in her hand? When she jumps, has she got time to pick it up? Chambers, it can’t be done. It’s impossible to jump from a sedan car that’s turning over into a gully. She wasn’t in the car when it went over! That proves it, doesn’t it?”

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean you don’t know? Are you going to sign that complaint or not?”

“No.”

“Listen, Chambers, it was no accident that car went over a second too soon. It was you or her, and she didn’t mean it would be you.”

“Let me alone. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Boy, it’s still you or her. If you didn’t have anything to do with this, you better sign this thing. Because if you don’t, then I’ll know. And so will the jury. And so will the judge. And so will the guy that springs the trap.”

He looked at me a minute, then went out, and came back with another guy. The guy sat down and made out a form with a fountain pen. Sackett brought it over to me. “Right here, Chambers.”

I signed. There was so much sweat on my hand the guy had to blot it off the paper.

After he went, the cop came back and mumbled something about a blackjack. We played a few rounds, but I couldn’t get my mind on it. I made out it got on my nerves to deal with one hand, and quit.

“He kind of got to you, hey?”

“Little bit.”

“He’s tough, he is. He gets to them all. He looks like a preacher, all full of love for the human race, but he’s got a heart like a stone.”

“Stone is right.”

“Only one guy in this town has got it on him.”

“Yeah?”

“Guy named Katz. You’ve heard of him.”

“Sure, I heard of him.”

“Friend of mine.”

“It’s the kind of a friend to have.”

“Say. You ain’t supposed to have no lawyer yet. You ain’t been arraigned, and you can’t send for nobody. They can hold you forty-eight hours incommunicado, they call it. But if he shows up here, I got to let him see you, you get it? He might show up here, if I happened to be talking to him.”

“You mean you get a cut.”

“I mean he’s a friend of mine. Well, if he didn’t give me no cut, he wouldn’t be no friend, would he? He’s a great guy. He’s the only one in this town can throw the headlock on Sackett.”

“You’re on, kid. And the sooner the better.”

“I’ll be back.”

He went out for a little while, and when he came back he gave me a wink. And pretty soon, sure enough, there came a knock on the door, and in came Katz. He was a little guy, about forty years old, with a leathery face and a black moustache, and the first thing he did when he came in was take out a bag of Bull Durham smoking tobacco and a pack of brown papers and roll himself a cigarette. When he lit it, it burned halfway up one side, and that was the last he did about it. It just hung there, out the side of his mouth, and if it was lit or out, or whether he was asleep or awake, I never found out. He just sat there, with his eyes half shut and one leg hung over the arm of the chair, and his hat on the back of his head, and that was all. You might think that was a poor sight to see, for a guy in my spot, but it wasn’t. He might be asleep, but even asleep he looked like he knew more than most guys awake, and a kind of a lump came up in my throat. It was like the sweet chariot had swung low and was going to pick me up.

The cop watched him roll the cigarette like it was Cadona doing the triple somersault, and he hated to go, but he had to. After he was out, Katz motioned to me to get going. I told him about how we had an accident, and how Sackett was trying to say we murdered the Greek for the insurance, and how he made me sign that complaint paper that said she had tried to murder me too. He listened, and after I had run down he sat there a while without saying anything. Then he got up.

“He’s got you in a spot all right.”

“I ought not to signed it. I don’t believe she did any such a goddam thing. But he had me going. And now I don’t know where the hell I’m at.”

“Well, anyhow, you ought not to have signed it.”

“Mr Katz, will you do one thing for me? Will you see her, and tell her—”

“I’ll see her. And I’ll tell her what’s good for her to know. For the rest of it, I’m handling this, and that means I’m handling it. You got that?”

“Yes, sir, I’ve got it.”

“I’ll be with you at the arraignment. Or anyhow, somebody that I pick will be with you. As Sackett has made a complainant out of you, I may not be able to appear for you both, but I’ll be handling it. And once more, that means that whatever I do, I’m handling it.”

“Whatever you do, Mr. Katz.”

“I’ll be seeing you.”

That night they put me on a stretcher again, and took me over to court for the arraignment. It was a magistrate’s court, not a regular court. There wasn’t any jury box, or witness stand, or any of that stuff. The magistrate sat on a platform, with some cops beside him, and in front of him was a long desk that ran clear across the room, and whoever had something to say hooked his chin over the desk and said it. There was a big crowd there, and photographers were snapping flashlights at me when they carried me in, and you could tell from the buzz that something big was going on. I couldn’t see much, from down there on the stretcher, but I got a flash at Cora, sitting on the front bench with Katz, and Sackett, off to one side talking to some guys with briefcases, and some of the cops and witnesses that had been at the inquest. They set me down in front of the desk, on a couple of tables they had shoved together, and they hadn’t much more than got the blankets spread over me right than they wound up a case about a Chinese woman, and a cop began rapping for quiet. While he was doing that, a young guy leaned down over me, and said his name was White, and Katz had asked him to represent me. I nodded my head, but he kept whispering that Mr. Katz had sent him, and the cop got sore and began banging hard.

“Cora Papadakis.”

She stood up, and Katz took her up to the desk. She almost touched me as she went by, and it seemed funny to smell her, the same smell that had always set me wild, in the middle of all this stuff. She looked a little better than she had yesterday. She had on another blouse, that fitted her right, and her suit had been cleaned and pressed, and her shoes had been polished, and her eye was black, but not swelled. All the other people went up with her, and after they had spread out in line, the cop told them to raise their right hand, and began to mumble about the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. He stopped in the middle of it to look down and see if I had my right hand raised. I didn’t. I shoved it up, and he mumbled all over again. We all mumbled back.

The magistrate took off his glasses, and told Cora she was charged with the murder of Nick Papadakis, and with assault against Frank Chambers, with intent to kill, that she could make a statement if she wanted to, but any statement she made could be used against her, that she had the right to be represented by counsel, that she had eight days to plead, and the court would hear her plea at any time during that period. It was a long spiel, and you could hear them coughing before he got done.

Then Sackett started up, and told what he was going to prove. It was about the same as he had told me that morning, only he made it sound solemn as hell. When he got through, he began putting on his witnesses. First there was the ambulance doctor, that told when the Greek had died, and where. Then came the jail doctor, that had made the autopsy, and then came the coroner’s secretary, that identified the minutes of the inquest, and left them with the magistrate, and then came a couple of more guys, but I forget what they said. When they got done, all that the whole bunch had proved was that the Greek was dead, and as I knew that anyway, I didn’t pay much attention. Katz never asked any of them anything. Every time the magistrate would look at him, he would wave his hand and the guy would step aside.