Dell Shannon - Extra Kill

She looked up at him for a long minute, wide-eyed, a little smile still on her painted mouth. Then she said, "You're much cleverer than I thought the police were. You do know, don't you?"

"We know. We know all about it, Miss Ferne. But maybe you'd like to give us your version."

She fitted a new cigarette into the jeweled holder and he leaned to light it for her. "I wonder-it might be good publicity." She laughed. "You know what they say about publicity?-it doesn't matter what you get in the papers for, just get there! I daresay,"-and her tone was complacent-"I'd have a number of contract offers, afterward

… I don't believe Stanley's been trying to do anything, just spite, and besides he's getting old, losing his grip. I'll get a new agent

… Because of course I'll get off, nobody would say I was guilty-when they know why. Not if there are any women on the jury," and she giggled, and then looked thoughtful. "Or perhaps men would be better. Yes. I must remember to tell my lawyer. I'll have someone really good, to put on a good production… It might be interesting."

"I'm looking forward to it. You were going to give us your version."

She smoothed her hair, looking up at him sideways, coyly. "He insulted me, that was why, really. And a lie. Yes, I did love him-dear Brooke-and I'd been kind to him, awfully kind. I felt sorry for him, you know, the poor boy hadn't any money but the pittance Martin could afford to pay him. And he was proud, really he was, I thought he didn't like to take presents from me, but he always gave in so charmingly! And he spent too much money on me, at quite nice, expensive places-"

"Like the Voodoo Club."

"Oh, yes, we went there a lot. It was only fair I should try to make some return. But he was shy too-I thought-" she gave a little gasp. “I was sure he loved me too, only he was too shy and proud to say-because I had more money, and then there was just the tiniest difference in our ages-"

"Just twenty-eight years' difference," said Mendoza crudely.

For one moment her face was convulsed with rage. "You-! It doesn't matter, it doesn't matter-it was a lie, a lie, a lie! He was going away, he was packing-when I came-he let me in, we were in the living room but I could see into the-I'd made up my mind to smooth matters out for him-you know-and tell the dear boy I returned his love-I'd be proud and happy to marry him-I knew he'd been hesitating to-you know-try his fortune with me. And he-and he-it was a lie, of course, he was drunk or he'd gone mad or something! I told him and he swore at me, he called me-"

"An old hag," said Mendoza softly. (And this was it, the offbeat little idea in his mind.) "He said you're an old desiccated bag of bones, a wrinkled mummy, he'd as soon go to bed with his grandmother-a silly old painted bitch pretending to be sixteen-" And he stepped back quickly from her clawing fingers, and Hackett and the policewoman took her by the shoulders and forced her down to the chair again. She sat rigid for a minute, and the mask of rage smoothed out to her usual vapidity. "You see, I nearly killed you then. Any woman- And he was mad, it's a wicked, wicked lie, all anyone has to do is look at me," and up went the manicured hand, gracefully, to the perfect coiffure. "Real beauty doesn't fade, of course. And I do have enough self-respect to keep myself up, retain the youthful outlook-that's the great secret. You remember that, dear," she said condescendingly to the policewoman. "But even though I knew it was a lie-as anyone can see-I, well, I suppose I lost my temper. Just for a minute. I slapped him, I know, and he must have been frightened-of me, imagine!-because he stepped back and picked up that gun. I'd given it to him, you know-silly boy, it made him feel like an adventurer or something, I think-it was an old one of Bill's. He couldn't ever have shot anyone with it, he didn't have the courage for that. I reached for it and got it away from him-really you could say it was self-defense!-and I must have hit him with it, because he fell down and when I felt him, well, he was dead. It was his own fault, he shouldn't have lied to me like that! You can see how it was."

"I can see. So you started to leave."

"Well, there wasn't anything else to do, was there? He was dead, and while it was his own fault, I didn't want to be connected… It was raining quite hard then, and when I opened the door-I'd left my car on the street that time, very foolishly-there was this sudden great flash of lightning, it lit up everything-"

"Including the police car sitting right outside. And the driver. And its number. Yes, I know all about that too. And several people have identified the gun. It was that extra kill that was your biggest mistake, Miss Ferne… You thought the driver had seen you, and you decided-shall we say-you might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb? So you thought it over, and went back to get the gun, and then you found the car had gone. You spent quite a while hunting it."

She looked down and then up through her lashes, demurely. "I know that whole thing was foolish, I realized it almost as soon as it was over. But I was frightened, and not thinking very clearly-and of course women haven't logical minds, have they? There wasn't any way to be sure I'd really killed him, that was the trouble. It was awful, driving all over looking for that car-I passed several police cars, but I couldn't always read the number, and I was frantic-and then, it was like a miracle, I saw it just ahead, stopped, and the roof light showed up its number, the right one. Seven-four-seven it was. So I went around the block-of course I'd made sure the gun was loaded… You know, I hadn't fired a gun in years, and I was always better with a ride too, but it came back, if you know what I mean. But I couldn't be sure. So then-I was thinking much more clearly by that time, of course-I thought, well, Brooke was leaving anyway, why not just make it look as if he'd gone away? And then it wouldn't matter about the policeman, no one would know Brooke was dead. So I went back, and that time I parked behind the building. I hadn't any trouble getting in, you see, he'd already put that note for the landlady, with the key in it, on the front door. And at first I thought of putting everything, Brooke and the suitcases, into the car, and going down to the beach-but it would have been awfully difficult, being a woman I'm not very strong, of course. And then I thought of that funny trap door. I'd only been to his place once before, you know-he was ashamed of it, I think-but he'd shown it to me then, because I noticed the hinges on the floor, such a funny place, and asked. I think it was clever of me to remember and take the time to bury him. Dead things begin to-to-you know, have an odor, after a while. I didn't think it needed to be very deep, just enough. And it was the oddest thing, very lucky, there was a trowel, just lying there on the couch in the living room-I can't imagine why. Very lucky, because of course you couldn't use a spade down there, there wasn't room. It took ages, after I'd pushed him down there, and I was terribly frightened once when some people came in-I don't know who. They knocked, and I knew the door was unlatched-they might come in-so I just closed the trap and waited. I'd left my purse in the car. I knew there wasn't anything damaging for them to see. They stayed an awfully long time, I could just barely hear the voices, you know. I thought they'd never go-"

"Weren't you," he asked of private curiosity, "at all nervous down there in the dark with a dead man?"

She stared up at him. "I was waiting for them to go, so I could get on with burying him. No, why? You said, about later on, I couldn't face going down again-how silly-it wasn't that, it was my shoes-I'd almost ruined them, quite expensive shoes, and I didn't want to get them dirty again after I'd… And I did think, those things-to plant on someone else, if… I remembered to wear my gloves all the time, except just at first, and I wiped off things I remembered touching then. Only I lost a button from one of them, somewhere-"