James Cain - The Postman Always Rings Twice

They took me back to the hospital, but instead of the state cop watching me, it was this guy that had taken the confession. He lay down on the other bed. I tried to sleep, and after a while I did. I dreamed she was looking at me, and I was trying to say something to her, but couldn’t. Then she would go down, and I would wake up, and that crack would be in my ears, that awful crack that the Greek’s head made when I hit it. Then I would sleep again, and dream I was falling. And I would wake up again, holding on to my neck, and that same crack would be in my ears. One time when I woke up I was yelling. He leaned up on his elbow.

“Yay.”

“Yay.”

“What’s the matter?”

“Nothing’s the matter. Just had a dream.”

“O.K.”

He never left me for a minute. In the morning, he made them bring him a basin of water, and took out a razor from his pocket, and shaved. Then he washed himself. They brought in breakfast, and he ate his at the table. We didn’t say anything.

They brought me a paper, then, and there it was, with a big picture of Cora on the front page, and a smaller picture of me on the stretcher underneath it. It called her the bottle killer. It told how she had pleaded guilty at the arraignment, and would come up for sentence today. On one of the inside pages, it had a story that it was believed the case would set a record for speed in its disposition, and another story about a preacher that said if all cases were railroaded through that quick, it would do more to prevent crime than passing a hundred laws. I looked all through the paper for something about the confession. It wasn’t in there.

About twelve o’clock a young doctor came in and went to work on my back with alcohol, sopping off some of the adhesive tape. He was supposed to sop it off, but most of the time he just peeled it, and it hurt like hell. After he got part of it off, I found I could move. He left the rest on, and a nurse brought me my clothes. I put them on. The guys on the stretcher came in and helped me to the elevator and out of the hospital. There was a car waiting there, with a chauffeur. The guy that had spent the night with me put me in, and we drove about two blocks. Then he took me out, and we went in an office building, and up to an office. And there was Katz with his hand stuck out and a grin all over his face.

“It’s all over.”

“Swell. When do they hang her?”

“They don’t hang her. She’s out, free. Free as a bird. She’ll be over in a little while, soon as they fix up some things in court. Come in. I’ll tell you about it.”

He took me in a private office and closed the door. Soon as he rolled a cigarette, and half burned it up, and got it pasted on his mouth, he started to talk. I hardly knew him. It didn’t seem that a man that had looked so sleepy the day before could be as excited as he was.

“Chambers, this is the greatest case I ever had in my life. I’m in it, and out of it, in less than twenty-four hours, and yet I tell you I never had anything like it. Well, the Dempsey-Firpo fight lasted less than two rounds, didn’t it? It’s not how long it lasts. It’s what you do while you’re in there.

“This wasn’t really a fight, though. It was a four-handed card game, where every player has been dealt a perfect hand. Beat that, if you can. You think it takes a card player to play a bum hand, don’t you. To hell with that. I get those bum hands every day. Give me one like this, where they’ve all got cards, where they’ve all got cards that’ll win if they play them right , and then watch me. Oh, Chambers, you did me a favor all right when you called me in on this. I’ll never get another one like it.”

“You haven’t said anything yet.”

“I’ll say it, don’t worry about that. But you won’t get it, and you won’t know how the hand was played, until I get the cards straightened out for you. Now first. There were you and the woman. You each held a perfect hand. Because that was a perfect murder, Chambers. Maybe you don’t even know how good it was. All that stuff Sackett tried to scare you with, about her not being in the car when it went over, and having her handbag with her, and all that, that didn’t amount to a goddam thing. A car can teeter before it goes over, can’t it? And a woman can grab her handbag before she jumps, can’t she? That don’t prove any crime. That just proves she’s a woman.”

“How’d you find out about that stuff?”

“I got it from Sackett. I had dinner with him last night, and he was crowing over me. He was pitying me, the sap. Sackett and I are enemies. We’re the friendliest enemies that ever were. He’d sell his soul to the devil to put something over on me, and I’d do the same for him. We even put up a bet on it. We bet $100. He was giving me the razz, because he had a perfect case, where he could just play the cards and let the hangman do his stuff.”

That was swell, two guys betting $100 on what the hangman would do to me and Cora, but I wanted to get it straight, just the same.

“If we had a perfect hand, where did his hand come in?”

“I’m getting to that. You had a perfect hand, but Sackett knows that no man and no woman that ever lived could play that hand, not if the prosecutor plays his hand right. He knows that all he’s got to do is get one of you working against the other, and it’s in the bag. That’s the first thing. Next thing, he doesn’t even have to work the case up. He’s got an insurance company to do that for him, so he doesn’t have to lift a finger. That’s what Sackett loved about it. All he had to do was play the cards, and the pot would fall right in his lap. So what does he do? He takes this stuff the insurance company dug up for him, and scares the hell out of you with it, and gets you to sign a complaint against her. He takes the best card you’ve got, which is how bad you were hurt yourself, and makes you trump your own ace with it. If you were hurt that bad, it had to be an accident, and yet Sackett uses that to make you sign a complaint against her. And you sign it, because you’re afraid if you don’t sign it he’ll know goddam well you did it.”

“I turned yellow, that’s all.”

“Yellow is a color you figure on in murder, and nobody figures on it better than Sackett. All right. He’s got you where he wants you. He’s going to make you testify against her, and he knows that once you do that, no power on earth can keep her from ratting on you. So that’s where he’s sitting when he has dinner with me. He razzes me. He pities me. He bets me $100. And all the time I’m sitting there with a hand that I know I can beat him with, if I only play the cards right. All right, Chambers. You’re looking in my hand. What do you see in it?”

“Not much.”

“Well, what?”

“Nothing, to tell you the truth.”

“Neither did Sackett. But now watch. After I left you yesterday, I went to see her, and got an authorization from her to open Papadakis’s safe deposit box. And I found what I expected.

There were some other policies in that box, and I went to see the agent that wrote them, and this is what I found out:

“That accident policy didn’t have anything to do with that accident that Papadakis had a few weeks ago. The agent had turned up on his calendar that Papadakis’s automobile insurance had pretty near run out, and he went out there to see him. She wasn’t there. They fixed it up pretty quick for the automobile insurance, fire, theft, collision, public liability, the regular line. Then the agent showed Papadakis where he was covered on everything but injury to himself, and asked him how about a personal accident policy. Papadakis got interested right away. Maybe that other accident was the reason for that, but if it was the agent didn’t know anything about it. He signed up for the whole works, and gave the agent his check, and next day the policies were mailed out to him. You understand, an agent works for a lot of companies, and not all these policies were written by the same company. That’s No. 1 point that Sackett forgot. But the main thing to remember is that Papadakis didn’t only have the new insurance. He had the old policies too, and they still had a week to run .