Lay Her Among The Lilies

never know with him. When he’s in the wrong mood he’s a killer. One day he’s okay, the

next he’s as dangerous as a tiger on hunger strike.”

I began wondering about Bland, asking myself if he could be bought.

“How about a cigarette?” I asked, lying back in the water. “I could do with one.”

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“Sure, baby. So long as you behave yourself, I’ll treat you like my brother.” He produced a

package of Lucky Strike, gave me one and lit it for me. “When you first come here all you

guys try to be smart and start trouble. Take my tip and don’t. We’ve got an answer for most

things. Just remember that.”

I dragged down smoke. It didn’t taste quite as good as I was expecting.

“How long do you think you’re going to keep me here?”

He took an old envelope out of his pocket and tapped ash into it, put it on the side of the

bath for my use.

“From the look of your record, baby, you’re in here for good.”

I decided I would try it.

“How would you like to earn a hundred dollars?”

“Doing what?” The small eyes alerted.

“Simple enough. Telephone a friend of mine.”

“And what would I say?”

But it was a little too quick and a little too glib. I studied him. It wasn’t going to work. The

mocking smile gave him away. He was playing with me.

“Never mind,” I said, drowned the cigarette and put the soggy butt into the envelope.

“Forget it. Let’s have a towel.”

He handed me a towel.

“Don’t get that way, baby. I might play. I could use a hundred bucks. What’s the telephone

number?”

“Forget it,” I said.

He sat watching me, a grin on his face, the butt of his cigarette resting on his lower lip.

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“Maybe you’d like to raise the ante,” he suggested. “Now, for five hundred …”

“Just get it out of the thing you call your mind,” I said, and put on my pyjamas. “One of

these days we’ll meet on more equal terms. It’s something I’m looking forward to.”

“That’s okay, baby. Have your pipe-dreams. They don’t hurt me,” he said, opened the door

and looked out. “Come on. I’ve got to get Hoppie up.”

There was no commotion from the opposite bathroom as I walked down the corridor. The

bath had done me good. If there had been a chance to get past that door I would have taken it.

But I was already making up my mind I would have to be very patient. I purposely walked

slowly, leaning on Bland’s arm. The weaker he thought me, the more I would surprise him

when it came to a showdown.

I got into bed and meekly allowed him to lock the handcuff.

Hopper said he didn’t want a bath.

“Now, baby, that’s no way to act,” Bland said reprovingly. “You gotta look smart this

morning. There’s an official visit at eleven o’clock. Coroner Lessways is coming to talk to

you.” He glanced at me and grinned. “And he’ll talk to you, too. Every month the city

councilmen come around to see the nuts. Not that they pay a lot of attention to what the nuts

tell them, but they come, and sometimes they even listen. But don’t give them that stuff about

murder, baby. They’ve heard it all. To them you’re just another nut along with a lotta nuts,

and it won’t do you any good.”

He persuaded Hopper to get out of bed, and they went off together to the bathroom. That

left me alone. I lay in the bed, staring at the six sharp-etched lines on the opposite walls and

used my head. So Coroner Lessways was coming. Well, that was something. As Bland had

said there wasn’t much point in my telling Lessways that Salzer was responsible for Eudora

Drew’s killing. It was too far-fetched; too unbelievable, but if I had the chance I might give

him something to chew on. For the first time since I had been in this trap I felt a little more

hopeful.

I looked up suddenly to see the door slowly open. There was no one in sight. The door

swung right open and remained open. I leaned forward to look into the empty corridor,

thinking at first the wind had opened the door, but remembered the latch had clicked shut

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when Bland and Hopper had left the room.

I waited, staring at the open door, and listened. Nothing happened. I heard nothing, and

because I knew someone had opened the door I felt suddenly spooked.

After what seemed an age I heard a rustle of paper. In the acute silence it sounded like a

thunder clap. Then I saw a movement, and a woman came into sight.

She stood in the doorway, a paper sack in one hand, a vacant, unintelligent expression in

her washed-out eyes. She regarded me steadily with no more interest than if I was a piece of

furniture, and her hand groped blindly in the sack. Yes, it was her all right: the plum-eating

woman, and what was more, she was still eating plums.

We looked at each other for a long moment of time. Her jaw moved slowly and

rhythmetically as her teeth chewed up a plum. She looked as bright and happy as a cow

chewing the cud.

“Hello,” I said, and it irritated me that my voice had gone husky.

Her fat fingers chased after a plum, found one and hoisted it into sight.

“It’s Mr. Malloy, isn’t it?” she said, as polite as a minister’s wife meeting a new member of

the congregation.