it, as I had said. How could she tell? But I knew by now what kind of mind I was dealing with. For one thing, she could be carefully adding up all these little things: my forgetting to bring in the paper, the strange way the radio had conked out so conveniently.
And, of course, there was always the chance that she had heard the whole thing on the radio during the afternoon. If she had, she was laughing.
I started around the circle again. If she did know, I didn’t dare go to sleep. If she didn’t know, I had to keep her from learning. That meant she had to stay in here where she couldn’t see a paper until she was out of the news, two or three days, or maybe longer.
That, in turn, meant waiting to get at the money, not being able to run. And how much waiting did I think I could take, never knowing from one hour to the next when Charisse Finley might remember who I was?
I could feel the skin along my spine contract with chill at the thought. I couldn’t take it. I’d go raving mad sitting here hour after hour just waiting for them to knock on the door. I was even in the phone book. All they’d have to do was drive out here and walk in.
And all the time they’d be hammering at Charisse Finley. Where did you see him? Or his picture? Try to remember. Think. Maybe he was in the papers. About how long ago? Try to guess. A big guy who looked like he’d slept in his face? Maybe he was a pug. Try some pictures of fighters, Joe. How about football players?
We couldn’t wait. I had to get out of here. I’d take her down to the banks as soon as they opened in the morning. I’d wear dark glasses and stay in the car, parking as close to each one as possible, making her go right in and out again. She wouldn’t have a chance to get at a paper. Not until after we’d got the money, anyway; and afterward it wouldn’t matter. Just let her try to hold out any of it or get it back.
I couldn’t sit still any longer. I could feel pressure building up inside me as if I were going to explode. I went into the kitchen and mixed two drinks. I’d tell her the plans were changed. But I had to make it sound reasonable, not let her know what I was afraid of.
I brought the drinks in and gave her one.
Then, before I could think of how to start, she glanced thoughtfully at me, frowning a little, and said, “Do you remember asking me about the names those boxes were rented under?”
I had started to taste the drink. Something about the way she said it made me stop. “Yes,” I said. “Why?”
She hesitated just slightly. “Well, I. . . I mean, something has been bothering me, and the more I puzzle about it, the more confused I become. You see, I had it all written down.”
“Confused about what?” I demanded.
“The names. I—”
“Look,” I snapped at her, “don’t try to tell me you’ve forgotten ‘em. You knew ‘em this afternoon.”
She shook her head. “No. It’s not that. I remember them perfectly. But, you see, there are three banks and three names, and now I’m not certain which goes with which.”
It was just as if she had read my mind. I held the glass in my hand and stared at her.
Eighteen
What was she trying to do?
That was what made it awful. You didn’t know. There was no way you could know.
Maybe she had heard the news and was trying to break my nerve and make me run. But why? If I ran, and took the keys with me, she’d never get the money. That couldn’t be it.
Maybe she was stalling so we’d be here long enough for me to break down from sheer exhaustion and finally go to sleep, so she could kill me. But in that case, didn’t she know that if we waited too long and the police did get here they’d find her too? Waiting was just as dangerous for her as it was for me. No, it was more so, because if they found her here alive I’d no longer be charged with murder, but she would.
Maybe she did know it but was still cold-nerved enough to play out a bluff like that until everybody else