She said, “That was to give to Jerry Fanneal. I got afraid of him. I wanted him to get out. When I couldn’t raise the cash, I said I’d help him get it from his own family; and so I put up the talk for him to Steve Fanneal.”
“What?” said Fred.
She had to tell him again and when she was through she referred Fred to me. “Let him tell it now.”
She had me in the hole; and she knew it; and Fred saw it. I had no chance at all of convincing Fred that the man I met with her was not Jerry but Keeban. Here was she denying, like everyone else, that Keeban could exist; here was she explaining how Jerry had come to do this murder. I knew better than to try to tell my story.
Shirley carried on. “Jerry and I met him and he got the money. Ten thousand in cash, wasn’t it?” she examined me. “If he denies it, Fred, ask the teller in his bank—last week Thursday he got it.”
“Did you?” asked Fred.
“I did,” I said.
He nodded to Shirley. “Go on.”
“He gave it to Jerry to go away.”