Ross MACDONALD - The Moving Target

“Did you hear what I said, Mrs. Sampson? Your husband is dead. He was murdered two hours ago.”

“I heard you. I knew I was going to outlive him.”

“Is that all it means to you?”

“What more should it mean?” Her voice was blurred and empty of feeling, a wandering sibilance adrift in the deep channel between sleep and waking. “I was widowed before, and I felt it then. When Bob was killed I cried for days. I’m not going to grieve for his father. I wanted him to die.”

“You have your wish, then.”

“Not all of my wish. He died too soon, or not soon enough. Everybody died too soon. If Miranda had married the other one, Ralph would have changed his will and I’d have it all for myself.” She looked up at me slyly. “I know what you must be thinking, Archer. That I’m an evil woman. But I’m not evil really. I have so little, don’t you see? I have to look after the little that I have.”

“Half of five million dollars,” I said.

“It’s not the money. It’s the power it gives you. I needed it so badly. Now Miranda will go away and leave me all alone. Come and sit beside me for a minute. I have such terrible fears before I go to sleep. Do you think I’ll have to see his face every night before I go to sleep?”

“I don’t know, Mrs. Sampson.” I felt pity for her, but the other feelings were stronger. I went to the door and shut it on her.

Mrs. Kromberg was still in the hall. “I heard you say that Mr. Sampson is dead.”

“He is. Mrs. Sampson is too far gone to talk. Do you know where Miranda is?”

“Some place downstairs, I think.”

I found her in the living-room, hugging her legs on a hassock beside the fireplace. The lights were out, and through the great central window I could see the dark sea and the silverpoint horizon.

She looked up when I entered the room, but she didn’t rise to greet me. “Is that you, Archer?”

“Yes. I have some things to tell you.”

“Have you found him?” A glowing log in the fireplace lit up her head and neck with a fitful rosiness. Her eyes were a wide and steady black.

“Yes. He’s dead.”

“I knew that he’d be dead. He’s been dead from the beginning, hasn’t he?”

“I wish I could tell you that he had.”

“What do you mean?”

I put off explaining what I meant. “I recovered the money.”

“The money?”

“This.” I tossed the bag at her feet. “The hundred thousand.”

“I don’t care about it. Where did you find him?”

“Listen to me, Miranda. You’re on your own.”

“Not entirely,” she said. “I married Albert this afternoon.”

“I know. He told me. But you’ve got to get out of this house and look after yourself. The first thing you’ve got to do is put that money away. I went to a lot of trouble to get it back, and you may be needing part of it.”

“I’m sorry. Where shall I put it?”

“The safe in the study, until you can get to a bank.”

“All right.” She rose with a sudden decisiveness and led the way into the study. Her arms were stiff and her shoulders high, as if they were resisting a downward pressure.

While she was opening the safe I heard a car go down the drive. She turned to me with an awkward movement more appealing than grace. “Who was that?”

“Albert Graves. He drove me out here.”

“Why on earth didn’t he come in?”

I gathered the remnants of my courage together, and told her: “He killed your father tonight.”

Her mouth moved breathlessly and then forced out words. “You’re joking, aren’t you? He couldn’t have.”

“He did.” I took refuge in facts. “I found out this afternoon where your father was being held. I phoned Graves from Los Angeles and told him to get there as soon as he could, with the sheriff. Graves got there ahead of me, without the sheriff. When I arrived, there was no sign of him. He’d parked his car somewhere out of sight and was still inside the building with your father. When I went inside, he hit me from behind and knocked me out. When I came to, he pretended he’d just arrived. Your father was dead. His body was still warm.”

“I can’t believe Albert did it.”

“You do believe it, though.”

“Have you proof?”

“It will have to be technical proof. I had no time to look for it. It’s up to the police to find the proof.”

She sat down limply in a leather armchair. “So many people have died. Father, and Alan–”

“Graves killed them both.”

“But he killed Alan to save you. You told me–”

“It was a complex killing,” I said, “a justifiable homicide and something more. He didn’t have to kill Taggert. He’s a good shot. He could have wounded him. But he wanted Taggert dead. He had his reasons.”

“What possible reasons?”

“I think you know of one.”

She raised her face in the light. It seemed to me that she had made a choice between a number of different things and settled on boldness. “Yes, I do. I was in love with Alan.”

“But you were planning to marry Graves.”

“I hadn’t made up my mind until last night. I was going to marry someone, and he seemed to be the one. ‘It is better to marry than to burn.’ ”

“He gambled on you, and won. But the other thing he had gambled on didn’t happen. Taggert’s partner failed to kill your father. So Graves strangled your father himself.”

She spread one hand over her eyes and forehead. The blue veins in her temples were young and delicate. “It’s incredibly ugly,” she said. “I can’t understand how he did it.”

“He did it for money.”

“But he’s never cared for money. It’s one of the things I admired in him.” She removed her hand from her face, and I saw that she was smiling bitterly. “I haven’t been wise in my admirations.”

“There may have been a time when Graves didn’t care about money. There may be places where he could have stayed that way. Santa Teresa isn’t one of them. Money is lifeblood in this town. If you don’t have it, you’re only half alive. It must have galled him to work for millionaires and handle their money and have nothing of his own. Suddenly he saw his chance to be a millionaire himself. He realized that he wanted money more than anything else on earth.”

“Do you know what I wish at this moment?” she said. “I wish I had no money and no sex. They’re both more trouble than they’re worth to me.”

“You can’t blame money for what it does to people. The evil is in people, and money is the peg they hang it on. They go wild for money when they’ve lost their other values.”

“I wonder what happened to Albert Graves.”

“Nobody knows. He doesn’t know himself. The important thing now is what is going to happen to him.”

“Do you have to tell the police?”

“I’m going to tell them. It will make it easier for me if you agree. Easier for you in the long run, too.”

“You’re asking me to share the responsibility, but you don’t really care what I think. You’re going to tell them anyway. Yet you admit you haven’t any proof.” She moved restlessly in the chair.

“He won’t deny it if he is accused. You know him better than I do.”

“I thought I knew him well. Now I’m uncertain – about everything.”

“That’s why you should let me go ahead. You have doubts to resolve, and you can’t resolve them by doing nothing. You can’t go on living with uncertainty, either.”

“I’m not sure I have to go on living.”

“Don’t go romantic on me,” I said harshly. “Self-pity isn’t your way out. You’ve had terrible luck with two men. I think you’re a strong enough girl to take it. I told you before that you’ve got a life to make. You’re on your own.”