The Guilty Are Afraid

She started to say something and then stopped. She suddenly lost her beauty. She looked older, defeated and completely lost.

“There is no answer to that, is there?” he said. “Now listen to me, Margot. I control this town. The police do what I tell them. Brandon has no power here. You have nothing to fear from him. All I want from you is the truth, then I will be able to cope with the situation. Did you kill this man Sheppey?”

She looked up at him; her eyes suddenly trusting.

“I had to, Daddy—there was no other way.”

His mouth tightened, but otherwise his expression didn’t change.

“What do you mean—there was no other way?”

“He was going to tell the police about Cordez,” she said. “I couldn’t let him do that.”

“Why not?”

She made a helpless little movement.

“You wouldn’t understand . . .”

“You are trying to tell me you are a drug addict: that’s it, isn’t it?”

“I suppose so.”

He took his glasses off, stared at them, put them back on and pushed them up on to his forehead.

“This woman Thelma Cousins.” He began to move around the room again. “Did you stab her as he says you did?”

“I had to, Daddy.”

“And Thrisby?”

She shut her eyes, her hands pressing her breasts.

“Yes.”

“You seem to have made a pretty squalid mess of your life, Margot,” he said, without looking at her.

She sat motionless, her hands clenched.

“Well, all right,” he went on. “Everyone is entitled to lead the life they choose.” He suddenly crossed over to a chair and sat down. “You know it is hard to believe you’ve done this, Margot. It is not going to be easy to get you out of it either.”

She leaned forward, her hands now so tightly clenched the knuckles showed white.

“You won’t let them send me to prison, will you?”

“No, I won’t let them do that.”

He stood still, staring out of the window while he thought.

Except for the sound of her quick, frightened breathing there was complete silence in the room. I watched them, not moving, aware of the gun he held in his hand.

After a minute or so, he said, “Now listen to me, Margot; you must leave St. Raphael immediately.” He took from his wallet a flat packet of money and tossed the packet over to her so it dropped into her lap. “You’ll need money. Go to your aunt’s place. Stay there and try to behave yourself. I will make the necessary arrangements here. Take Brandon’s car. It’s outside, so use it. I want you to drive as quickly as you can to your aunt: do you understand?”

“Now wait . . .” I began, but stopped as Creedy lifted the .25 and covered me.

“Keep your mouth shut!” he said. “I need very little persuasion to shoot you. It would make my task a lot easier if you were dead. Don’t give me the excuse.” Still keeping me covered, he again looked at Margot. “Do you understand?”

She nodded.

“Yes.”

“Then get off.”

“You will make it all right for me?”

“Of course. Get off now. Take Brandon’s car. I’ll see he is compensated.” As she got quickly to her feet, he went on, “I hope the new life you are going to find will bring you more happiness than your old life has done.”

She wasn’t listening. She was looking at me, her hand holding the roll of money tightly, her eyes glittering with triumph. Then she ran out of the lounge, down the verandah steps and seconds later I heard the Buick start up.

“You might fool her, but you don’t fool me,” I said to Creedy. “You’re not human! No jury would ever put her into the gas chamber. You can’t do this to her!”

“No daughter of mine is going to rot in a jail,” he said curtly and, getting to his feet, he slid the gun into his pocket and walked over to the window to watch the taillights of the Buick disappearing up the rough road towards the promenade.

I turned and ran out of the bungalow.

Creedy had driven himself down in a big, black Cadillac. It stood under the palm trees, its lights still on. I ran across to it, slid under the driving wheel, started the engine, swung the car around and drove at a racing speed after the Buick.

III

Margot had a long start on me. I could see the twin red lights of the Buick as it left the rough road and turned on to the promenade. I was some five hundred yards behind her.

I slammed the Cadillac over the road; the car shuddering as its wheels banged into the potholes at high speed. As I got on to the promenade, I caught a glimpse of the twin red lights as Margot whipped the Buick into the turning that led to Franklyn Boulevard. I wondered if she were going back to her apartment to get her clothes before leaving town and that raised my hopes.

I was scared to drive too fast. Rankin had said there were thirty prowl cars on the road. To be stopped now for speeding would ruin my chance of catching up with her.

Again I caught sight of the Buick as it fled up Franklyn Boulevard and I swore under my breath as it swept past the Franklyn Arms. So she wasn’t stopping off at her apartment. I wondered if she had spotted the Cadillac and I increased speed slightly, closing the gap between the two cars.