Ed Lacy - Breathe No More My Lady

“Had Mrs. Anthony ever met Prof. Brown before?”

“No.”

“Have you any idea as to why she wanted him out of your house? Did she find him loud, obnoxious, or—”

“Of course not. She barely had a chance to talk to him. She made the reason very clear—it was a matter of money. Fran felt if my name was linked in any way to his, it might hurt some movie sales I had in the works.”

“Matt Anthony, when you told your wife you would 'kill' her if she ordered your friend out of your house, did you mean that as a threat?”

“I did not! It was merely words—a phrase—one uses in the heat of anger.”

“Have you ever used that same phrase before?”

“Hundreds of times—ever since I could talk. It was said in the same sense as saying, if you don't pass the bread I'll break your arm. Or, get off the phone before I wring your neck. Merely words.”

“Then, am I correct in stating that in your own mind, at least, you were not threatening to actually kill your wife?”

“Absolutely correct!” Matt half rose from the witness chair. “I loved Fran.”

“Witnesses have testified that your wife nagged you, that the both of you often argued. Were you and Mrs. Anthony happy?”

“Yes. As a writer all people interest me, but few excite me. Fran was an exciting person. We had both been married and divorced before. If we hadn't been hitting it off, we would have separated. We were in love, happy, suited each other.”

“Mr. Anthony, have you ever in your life actually wanted to kill a person?

“I have—once.”

Jackson looked startled, even Wagner came to attention.

That smile—as if it was the key to a great secret—formed on Mart's face. “During the war a Nazi officer wounded me and killed several of my G.I. buddies. I tried to kill him with my bare hands.”

Jackson gave the court a big understanding grin. “We all know during the war thousands of Americans killed. Except for that one war experience, have you ever wanted to kill anyone?”

“No. Or hurt anybody, either.”

“Now, Mr. Anthony, let us continue with the events of July 25th. What happened after you talked to your wife on the veranda?”

“I went back to Hank. As I said, he couldn't help but sense Fran's hostility. He said he wanted to take the next train back to New York, that he had to see somebody about a job that afternoon....”

One of Wagner's assistants whispered something and they both turned to search out Brown in the crowd, then Wagner shrugged and shook his head. I wondered if be could still call Brown to the stand.

“... I drove Hank to the railway station, said I'd get in touch with him in a week or two. I saw Hank off and returned to the house—”

“One second, Mr. Anthony,” Jackson cut in. “Did your wife see Mr. Brown before he left the house? Did she speak to him?”

“No.”

“Now, both you and the Hunters have testified that you told your wife, '... if you ever say a single-out-of-the-way word to Hank, I'll kill you.' Those are your exact words?”

“Yes.”

“You said, '... if...' Francine ever said anything to Mr. Brown. After you... eh... talked to your wife on the veranda, said the words, did she ever see or talk to Mr. Brown again?”

“No. I told you, I drove Hank to the station.”

“Yes. Now when you returned to the house, what happened?”

“I found the Hunters sleeping on the lawn. Fran wasn't around. It was early afternoon, I thought it would be a good opportunity to try out my aqua-lung. I took the package from the car to the boat house, undressed. I saw Fran fishing a few hundred yards out in the bay, her back to me. I thought it would be a great joke to walk on the bottom of the bay, yank at her line. Unfortunately, the joke backfired. Since I had only used the lung once before—at a friend's place—I didn't know how to work it and somehow cut off my air supply. I had to surface.”

“Where did you come up?'

“A few feet from the boat. Of course Fran saw me. I swam over and climbed into the boat. She was beside herself with rage that I had purchased the diving outfit. I tried to explain it might give me material for a book. She called me a childish fool, and other names. I—”

“Exactly what other names, Mr. Anthony?”

“I don't see the importance of telling... She called me a dumb bastard and a stupid... Mr. Clair, there's no point in repeating the names. It might shock some people. Fran and I, being pretty worldly, used language that... again, her names were merely words said in anger.”

“What did you do after she called you the names?”

“I told her to take it easy, I knew what I was doing. I stood up to dive, swim back to shore and see what was wrong with the air valve. Fran got to her feet and tried to jerk the lung from my back. I pushed her away as I told her she would break the tubes. She came at me; grabbed the lines, cursing me. I said to stop it, said we'd talk it over later. She kept trying to break the lung. I got mad, pushed her away, screamed at her to stop. She came at me again, nearly upsetting the rowboat. I got so mad I... lost my head and struck out at her.” Again his voice sank to a nervous whisper.

“You said you struck out at her. You've done a lot of boxing, Mr. Anthony, did you hit her with your left hand or right? Was it a punch, a jab, a...?”

“I don't know! All I know is I was fed up with her carping about the damn aqua-lung! I know I struck out at her. All I remember is—the next thing I knew I was standing in the boat and Fran was... Oh, God, I keep seeing this over and over in my mind... poor Fran was hanging over the side of the boat, bleeding... her blood so dark on the green water.” Matt held a big hand in front of his face, bowed his head. I knew he wasn't acting now, that I was watching sincere sorrow.

In a voice syrupy with understanding, Jackson said, “I realize how painful this must be for you, but this is a court and I must ask you to tell us exactly what you did next.”

Matt took his hand away, wiped his lips. “I thought she was hurt. I knelt over her, was stunned to realize she was dead. It seemed impossible.”

“You were positive she was dead?” Matt nodded. “She didn't have a pulse. I took a silver spoon from her tackle box and held it to her mouth; she wasn't breathing. I started to pull her back into the boat, raise the anchor. Then I remembered the police wouldn't want me to touch a thing. I dived over and raced ashore. I dressed quickly, hid the diving outfit, and—”

“Why did you bother dressing, hiding the aqua-lung?” Jackson cut in.

Matt spread his hands on the air. “Frankly, I don't know. I was in a state of shock. I imagine I dressed because I thought I'd have to go for the police. I simply didn't remember about the phone. I was dazed. I kept drying my face and it was still wet... I was crying. As I started running toward tile house I kept thinking of the mess, the headlines. My aching head seemed to be in two parts: one dazed, the other full of racing thoughts. When I reached the house I saw the Hunters still dozing on the lawn. It came to me that I could avoid a scandal by calling it an accident. Frankly, I don't know now if I was thinking of myself then, or trying to avoid messy headlines for the sake of Fran's memory. Seeing the Hunters dozing, I knew it would be simple to use a gimmick I had once written into a story. A time gimmick that would establish an alibi for myself. As I said, I was thinking very fast and clearly—and at the same time I was confused, shocked. The dazed part of ray mind didn't give a damn what happened.” Matt stopped talking, stared at the crowded courtroom without seeing it.

Jackson said, “Exactly what do you mean by a 'time gimmick,' Mr. Anthony?”

Matt shook himself, as if he'd been lost in a day dream. “Joel Hunter was sleeping in his swimming trunks, wasn't wearing a watch. I played with the poodle for a moment, making him bark. The noise awoke Joel, but fortunately not Wilma, who was sleeping several yards away. Joel, mumbling, asked if I wanted to take a swim. I held up my wrist watch—but he was too far away to see it. It was 3:27 p.m. but I told him it was only a quarter to three, why not wait until Fran returned from fishing before we went swimming.”

“In other words, Mr. Anthony, you misled him about the time—a mistake of about three quarters of an hour?”

“That's correct. He went back to sleep, as I expected. I waited a moment, then tossed a pebble at Wilma. When she awoke I said, 'It's three-thirty, going to sleep the afternoon away?' She then awoke Joel, and I told him I'd just finished reading an article in a magazine lying on the table, that my eyes hurt. The implication was I'd read it during the supposedly three quarters of an hour Joel had been sleeping. I then sent May down to the dock to tell Fran to come back and join us in a swim. Naturally, she screamed upon seeing Fran hanging over the side of lie boat. I told her to call a doctor and the police as I swam out. Although I was still dazed, still terribly upset, I knew I was putting on a good act, that I could avoid a scandal. As it turned out, luck was with me—at first.”

“In what way, Mr. Anthony?”

Matt shook himself again. He was no longer smiling, had a far away look in his eyes. “What? Oh, the luck—the lousy luck. Fran must have caught a shoe lace on the duckboards of the rowboat, broke the lace when she fell. Well, the medical examiner decided, in view of that and the 'fact' we were all on the lawn while she was fishing, that she had stood up to cast, lost her balance or tripped over the lace, and fell. He called her death accidental.”

“Were you pleased with your cleverness, Mr. Anthony?”

“No. The full impact of losing Fran had hit me, I was sick. Just before supper, while I was dictating, May brought in—”

“You worked the same day?”

“Yes. Work is not only a habit, but also an escape for me. I had to think of something else, get my mind off Fran. Well, May brought Detective Kolcicki into my study. He told me flatly he didn't believe it was an accident, kept stressing that I'd threatened Fran. I... I tried to explain it really wasn't a threat. Then... the cobra struck up.” Matt was staring at the floor, his voice low but clear.

Jackson asked quickly, “Are you feeling well, Mr. Anthony?”

Matt nodded.

“Did you say something about a cobra?”

Matt stared at Jackson for a moment, as if seeing a stranger. “Did I? It's an expression of mine, meaning the fat's in the fire. You see, the fact is a cobra can't strike up.”

“Let us get back to what happened between you and Detective Kolcicki.”

Matt rubbed his hands together, then looked at the palms. “Of course. Well, I realized how silly my story sounded, that if I stuck to it, things would only be more involved. So I told him the truth. It was a relief, a great load off my mind. He typed it up and I signed the confession. Yes, I signed it!” Matt rose in the chair and then fell back, a cockeyed grin on his big mouth. He looked very sickly.

An attendant rushed over with a glass of water. Matt thanked him in a small voice, drank some. The judge asked if he wanted a recess. Matt shook his head gamely, whispered, “I want to get this ordeal over with, your Honor.”

Clair said, “Matt, perhaps a rest...?”

“No. I'm able to continue. Let's go.”

Jackson played with his beaded belt. “I have only one more question, Mr. Anthony. You have told us in great detail exactly what happened—except for the moment when you struck your wife. You obviously have a mind trained for detail, why are you vague about that all-important moment? Can't you recall if you struck her with your left hand, or your right...