Evan Hunter - Nobody Knew They Were There

“I’ll come with you.”

“No, I’d rather you stayed here.”

“Why?”

“Sara, please do as I ask.”

“I want to be with you.”

“I’ll be back in ten minutes.”

I kiss her on the forehead, and quickly leave the room. From a pay telephone in the lobby, I call Eugene at his apartment in New York.

“I was just about to call you,” he says. “Abby tells me…”

“Never mind Abby. I haven’t got much time and there’s something I want to…”

“Is it true?”

“Is what true?”

“What she said you’re going to do.”

“I don’t know what she said, but I imagine it’s true, yes.”

“Who the hell do you think you are? Captain America?”

“Maybe so. If getting the bad guys..

“ Getting them? What the hell are you, Sam, some kind of twelve-year-old kid? Getting them?”

“Getting them, yes.”

“ Murdering them, you mean. Isn’t that the word you’re looking for? Good guys or bad guys, if you get them, it’s murder.”

“I don’t look at it that way.”

“Sam,” he says, and takes a deep breath. “Sam… what you’re doing is wrong. Legally, ethically, morally, any way you care to name.” He pauses. “I think you know it’s wrong.” He pauses again. “You must know it’s wrong, Sam. Either that, or you’re a raving lunatic.”

I do not answer him.

“Sam?”

“I’ve got to do this.”

“Why? Don’t you realize…?”

“I’ve got to.”

There is something in my voice that stops him cold. The line crackles with static. We are silent for several seconds.

“Eugene,” I say at last, “I've written a letter than I'm going to mail as soon as I get off the phone. You should receive it by Monday or Tuesday. You’re to open it only in the event of my death. It’ll give you the name and address of a girl out here, and specific instructions to follow should anything happen to me.”

“If you came home right this minute, nothing would happen to…”

“Eugene, let’s not argue, okay? Do you know where my will is?”

“I think I know where your will is, yes.”

“It’s in the office safe.”

“I know where your goddamn will is, Sam.”

“In the event of my death, my estate goes one-third to Abby and two-thirds to my issue, per stirpes.”

“I’m familiar with the will.”

“This girl may be pregnant, Eugene….”

“Which girl?”

“The one I wrote you about, in which case I want to make certain the child’s taken care of. In the event of my death, and should the girl give birth within nine months…”

“When was the date of last access, Sam?”

“I don’t know. I don’t remember. Monday, I guess. Yes, Monday night. That’s not important, Eugene.”

“You’re acknowledging paternity, it’s damn important when you last…”

“Today’s date will cover it fine. Nine months from today, Eugene. That’ll be fine.”

“Suppose she runs out tomorrow and gets laid by the local…”

“Eugene, I love this girl.”

He is silent.

“I love her and I trust her. She’ll have a copy of the letter, and I’ll instruct her to contact you should anything happen to me. The letter acknowledges paternity, and gives you her name and address. It should hold, if Abby or David decide to contest it.”

“If you wrote it, I’m sure it’ll hold. You’re a very good lawyer, Sam. And a goddamn fool.”

“Thank you. Eugene, if anything should happen to me, and if for one reason or another you don’t hear from her, will you please contact her and find out what…”

“I will, yes.”

“This’d be covered by the doctrine of en ventre sa mère, Eugene. A child in esse at the time of my death…”

“I know, Sam, please stop talking about the time of

your death, will you?”

“I’m leaving it up to you, Eugene. To take care of everything, okay?”

“Yes, yes.”

“Okay then.”

“Sam? Come home. Please.”

“Good-bye, Eugene.”

I signal the operator and ask for my overtime charges. I deposit the change, and then walk to the mailbox across the lobby, and drop the letter to Eugene into the slot. Ralph is watching me from behind the desk. I pay the hotel bill and leave a Los Angeles forwarding address. In the garage next door, I put on the chains, and then check out the car and drive it around to the hotel entrance. It is now twenty minutes to ten. I go upstairs to Sara, and she embraces me the moment I enter the room. I tilt her face and kiss her. There are fresh tears in her eyes. The telephone rings, startling us both. I fully expect it will be Eugene. Instead, it is Professor Raines.

“Has Wegiowski been paid?” I ask at once.

“I don’t know, Epstein’s in charge of money matters. Besides, it hardly matters any more.”

“What do you mean?”

“We’ve decided not to go ahead with it,” Raines says.

“What?”

“We’re calling it off.”

“What?”

“Can you hear me all right?”

“What do you mean you’re calling it off? Who decided it?”

“We did. The three of us.”

“Why? What the hell prompted…?”

“It’s too dangerous. Hester was visited after the party last night by those two gentlemen you mentioned. It’s unsafe to do it here, we’d all be involved. We’d rather wait until another time.”

“ I'd rather not”

“That’s unfortunate, Mr. Eisler.”

“For you, maybe. I’m blowing that bridge at ten forty-eight. Good-bye, Professor Raines.”

I slam the phone onto the cradle. Sara is watching me from across the room.

“Come on,” I tell her.

It is a cold clear day.

The sky is intensely blue, cloudless. The fresh snow in the ravine seems strewn with glittering minuscule diamond chips. At twenty-five minutes past ten we arrive at the overlook a half mile past the bridge. The car radio is blaring rock-and-roll music. Sara makes her turn past the redwood picnic tables, swinging the car around in a wide U. Then she pulls up the brake, and I go back to the trunk and remove the gift-wrapped blasting machine from it. In the car again, my hands tremble as I try to untie the knot “Let me,” Sara says.

I hand her the package. Swiftly, soundlessly, she loosens the ribbon. “All right?” she says.

“Yes.”

She smiles fleetingly, lowers the brake, and starts back toward the bridge again. It is now ten-thirty. I take the blasting machine out of the cardboard box. My hands are still shaking. Sara parks the car on the far side of the curve, and again asks, “All right?”

“Yes.”

“Shall I cut the engine?”

“Yes. If anyone comes along, just say the carburetor’s flooded.”

“Yes, fine.”

“What will you say?”

“That the carburetor’s flooded.”

“You’ll hear the train when it’s coming. That’s when you can start the engine again.”

“All right.”

“Sara, do we need that damn music?”

“It relaxes me.”

“Sara, this is a copy of a letter I mailed to my partner today. If anything should happen to me…

“Nothing will happen to you.”

“But if, I want you to open it and read it.”

“All right.”

“And if there’s any problem at all, you contact him. My partner, Eugene Levine.”

“All right”

“I have to go now, Sara.”

“All right, Arthur.”

“I love you.”

“Oh, yes, I love you.”

I take her into my arms, kiss her gently, and get out of the car. I cross the highway and climb over the guard rail. I am beginning to think we have been squandering time, we should have left the hotel earlier. I push my way through the deep snow, and climb up to the boulder. I brush snow away with my gloved hands, searching for Weglowski’s lead wires. I look at my watch. It is ten thirty-six. I find the wires at last, quickly fasten them to the brass screws, and tighten the wing nuts over them. I stand up and wave to the car. Sara is on the highway, facing me and the bridge. She waves back, and then gets into the car again. I look at my watch. Two minutes have gone by since I fastened the wires to the box. I look out over the tracks to the western end of the bridge. I wonder if the snow will affect the dynamite in any way. Will it explode if it is wet? My heart is pounding. I glance down to the concrete pier on my side of the bridge.