1964 - The Soft Centre Read online

  'I found nothing! I don't know what you're talking about! If I had found anything, I'd have turned it over to you. I saw this car, I thought it was dumped. I tipped off the U-Drive people.' Karsh shifted in his chair. 'I swear to God ...'

  'You found out the name of the woman who hired the car and you telephoned her, didn't you?'

  Karsh rolled his eyes.

  'Wait a minute ... just out of curiosity, I did ask Morphy who had rented the car, but I didn't telephone her. Where did you get that from?'

  'You telephoned this woman and you asked if she had lost her driving licence, didn't you?'

  'Not me, Chief. You're confusing me with someone else. Not me.'

  For the next hour, Terrell and Beigler battered away at Karsh, but they didn't break him. Finally, in disgust, Terrell had to admit defeat. He had no proof. He was sure Karsh was lying, but he knew he was wasting his time trying to get him to admit anything.

  'Get him out of my sight!' he said finally and walked over to the window, turning his back on Karsh as Beigler hustled him out.

  There was another irritating wait, then Hess came in.

  'Nothing, Chief,' he said. 'Jacobs gave me Burnett's prints, but they don't show on my list.'

  Terrell grunted and waved him away. He looked over at Beigler who was drinking coffee.

  'Well, that's it. It's my bet Burnett did the job, but we can't nail it on to him ... anyway, not yet. Maybe not ever.'

  Beigler picked up the Sue Parnell file.

  'We keep this open then?'

  'That's it,' Terrell said as he began to fill his pipe. 'You never know. We may have some luck. I don't know how long he'll stay in the sanatorium. As long as he's there, he's safe, but if he comes out, he could do it again. If he does, then we'll have him. These killers usually try it again. Yes keep the file open.'

  ***

  Dr. Adolf Zimmerman was short and excessively fat. His eyes, like green gooseberries, dwelt behind horn rimmed, thick lensed glasses. He had the quiet soothing manner of a priest in a confessional box.

  He came into the lounge where Val had been waiting for the past two hours. She had heard a murmur of voices outside the door before he came in. She had heard Dr. Gustave say, 'If you would rather talk to her alone ... then go ahead,' and she had flinched, feeling sure the operation had failed. But when Zimmerman came in to find her tense and white-faced, he smiled assuringly.

  'I am satisfied the operation is a success,' he said. 'Now don't look so worried. I am sorry to have been so long, but I have to work very carefully.'

  He sat down near her. 'I won't bother you with technical details, but your husband is going to be quite normal in a few weeks. There was pressure on the brain. This has been removed. It should have been done before. It would have saved you a lot of anxiety. I wish I had been consulted sooner. However, it is done now.'

  Val drew in a deep breath.

  'You really mean he will be normal again?'

  'Yes. In two weeks, he can leave here. I think it would be a good idea for you two to go right away somewhere ... a sea trip. Why not the South of France? Relax, laze, get to know each other again. Then when you return, all this will be in the past forgotten. You will be able to start a new life together ... it will be exciting.'

  'There is no chance that he will ever become violent?'

  Zimmerman smiled. He looked very sure of himself. Again Val was reminded of a well fed priest giving comfort to a penitent.

  'I can understand that question. You are frightened. Of course ... that was an unpleasant moment for you. It was caused by pressure ... the pressure is no longer there. I assure you ... you have nothing to worry about.'

  Val thought of the blood-stained jacket that was now white ashes disintegrated by the wind.

  Nothing to worry about. She knew now, in spite of her faith in Chris, that he had killed this woman. Even this news that Chris would be normal again couldn't take the cold fear away that someday the police might find out he had done this awful thing.

  Zimmerman got to his feet.

  'I have a plane to catch. I arrive ... I leave ... I never seem to have any time for myself. Don't worry about anything. Have patience. In two weeks, you and your husband can be completely carefree. I envy you, Mrs. Burnett. It is always an adventure to begin life again.'

  When he had gone, and as she was about to leave the room, Dr. Gustave came in.

  'Well, Mrs. Burnett,' he said, smiling at her, 'you must be relieved. In a few days you may see your husband. Dr. Zimmerman is very confident. I think you can look forward now to a future of happiness.'

  But there was something in his manner that made Val look sharply at him.

  'Dr. Zimmerman tells me Chris will be quite normal again,' she said. ‘He said there was pressure ...'

  'Dr. Zimmerman is always optimistic,' Gustave said quietly. 'He has to be. I am less optimistic because I see so many after effects of difficult brain operations. We are fortunate if we are successful in one case out of three. So I don't want you to be too hopeful until Chris is ready to leave here. The next two weeks will tell us what to expect. Even then, we can never be entirely sure. A lot depends on the patient.'

  'So you don't think he's really cured?' Val said, feeling a chill crawl up her spine.

  'I didn't say that. We just don't know. We must wait and see. I don't want you to have any false impressions. I think in about two weeks, I'll be able to tell you better.'

  As Val walked down the steps of the sanatorium towards her car, she experienced a cold, hollow feeling of fear at the thought of meeting her husband again.

  chapter thirteen

  September 3rd.

  I haven't written up this diary now for more than a mouth. I just haven't had any reason to keep a day-to-day account of what has been happening to me since Chris left the sanatorium. That fat old brain specialist said it was always an adventure to begin life again. But is it?

  What kind of an adventure? He promised Chris would become normal. I suppose he is, but he isn't the man I married. I can't help it... and I do try ... but I keep thinking of that woman.

  Her memory ... the awful way she died, makes it impossible for me to continue to love him. Every time I look at his slim, fine hands, I think of the knife hacking at that woman.

  I was glad he didn't want to go to the South of France. I am sure now I couldn't have faced such a trip with him alone. When he suggested we should come back to the Spanish Bay hotel and spend two more weeks here while he convalesced, I was relieved. We have been here now for ten days. We do a lot of bathing. We sit in the sun. We read. Chris is back on Dickens again. I am sure he knows that I know he killed this woman. We can't relax together. We 're polite. We smile at each other. We are both very anxious not to disagree with anything either of us say. I now know it can never be the same as it was before this ghastly accident. He tells me how anxious he is to return to New York. Dr. Gustave doesn't want him to go back for another week. He looks curiously at Chris when he comes here to talk to him. I have this feeling he isn't sure about the operation, but he won't commit himself... what doctors ever do? I walked with him to his car yesterday. Chris watched us from the terrace. Dr. G said I mustn't expect too much. ... what does that mean?

  Last night... I suppose this really is why I have begun to write up this diary again ... after Chris and I had sat on the terrace, watching the moon light up the sea . . . he came to my room. He wanted to make love to me. This was the first time he had these feelings for me for more than two years. During those two years I had lain in my lonely bed, aching for him, aching for him to take me, to feel him move into my body, to feel his face against mine. But seeing him come into the room, lit only by the moon, I felt terrified. I thought of his hands and the knife and the woman. He sat on the side of the bed and he put his hands in mine. But the touch of his hands turned me cold and sick. I suppose the expression on my face warned him to go no further. He smiled at me ... I thought of Mona Lisa ... it was that kind of smile, and he
said, 'We'll get adjusted. You've been patient with me. I can be patient too. ' But I felt that he was disappointed and even suddenly bored with me. When he had gone back to his room, I cried. I now know I can never bear him to touch me. Is it what that fat old man calls an adventure to begin life again?

  ***

  September 6th.

  We were sitting together on the terrace when this girl came down the steps of the hotel. She was quite lovely: young, golden with the sun, wearing a bikini and her hair was the colour of honey. She walked with an assurance that I have never been able to acquire. She was practically naked. The fold of her buttocks and the thrust of her breasts were something that stabbed me with envy. She went down to her car. She slid under the wheel knowing everyone, including Chris and myself were watching her.

  Chris said, 'Did you see that girl? I wonder who she is? Did you notice the way she moved?'

  I said stupidly, 'What girl? No, I didn't notice.'

  It was a lie, and lie knew it was a lie. He turned a page of his book. Secretly watching him, I could see he wasn't reading.

  In spite of the sun, I felt suddenly cold.

  It was their last day at the Spanish Bay hotel. Val was busy packing. Tomorrow morning, they would be flying back to New York. Chris was on the terrace reading Little Dorrit. As Val was closing the last suitcase, the telephone bell buzzed.

  It was her father.

  'Val? All well?'

  'Yes, Daddy. We leave on the ten o'clock plane.'

  'Fine. I'll be at the airport to meet you. How's Chris?'

  'He's wonderful. He can't wait to get back to the office.'

  'Is that right? But how is he, Val? Look, I'm not sold on that fat quack. Is Chris really all right?'

  'But, Daddy, what are you saying? Of course he's all right! He's now ready to start work again.'

  'Well ... all right ... if you say so ... I talked to Zimmerman. I didn't like him. He's too sure of himself. I don't like people who are that sure of themselves.'

  Val closed her eyes. She knew from past experience that her father was always right.

  'Darling, Chris is fine. Do stop worrying. We'll be back tomorrow. You'll see ... Chris is really fine.'

  'And you, Val? How about you?'

  She suddenly felt a wave of emotion rush through her. She couldn't speak. She felt tears running down her face.

  'Val! I said how about you?' her father said impatiently.

  'I—I'm fine too,' she said. 'Thanks for calling, Daddy. I—I look forward to seeing you,' and she replaced the receiver.

  She sat crying for several minutes, then she touched her eyes with her handkerchief and got to her feet. She remembered what Chris had once said: Your father is a remarkable man. He hasn't got the soft centre that I have ... you know what I mean: a soft centre? It is something that can happen to anyone who is just ordinary. You think you are all right, that you are making a big success of life, that you have all the confidence, ambition and determination to beat the best, then suddenly the hard core that is in you to get anywhere in this life, turns soft.

  That's what has happened to me.

  He had advised her to divorce him. She now knew she would have to get the divorce. This dead and mutilated woman lay between them forever. Yes, she would have to get a divorce.

  She thought of the years ahead of her. She would, of course, go back to her father's house. At least, that would give him pleasure. And Chris? What would become of him?

  She got to her feet and went to the window and looked down on the terrace. The blonde girl in her red bikini was sitting by Chris. The sun lit up her hair. She was laughing and she was very animated. Chris was laughing too. He looked happier than Val had seen him since the accident.

  Suddenly he got to his feet and extended his hand. The girl grasped it and stood up. Together they walked along the terrace and down the steps towards the beach.

  Val had a feeling that at last Chris' adventure to begin a new life could be beginning. She went back to the suitcases and began to re-pack, putting her things in one suitcase and his in another.

  THE END

  Table of Contents

  chapter one

  chapter two

  chapter three

  chapter four

  chapter five

  chapter six

  chapter seven

  chapter eight

  chapter nine

  chapter ten

  chapter eleven

  chapter twelve

  chapter thirteen