It was only as I was driving back to my apartment I realized I still didn’t know the name of Sarti’s client who had hired him to watch Helen. This was something I had to know.
I wondered if I should go back to Sarti’s apartment and get Carlo to squeeze the information out of him, but I decided against this. There was no point in giving Carlo any more information than I could help.
I happened to be near the offices of the International Investigation Agency. I wondered if I should risk trying to get the information for myself. It would mean breaking into the place. At least at this hour of three o’clock on a Sunday afternoon it should be fairly safe. I decided to do it.
I left my car down a side street, took from the boot a tyre lever and a screw driver and, concealing them in the pccket of my raincoat, I walked quickly to the block of offices where the agency was housed.
The front entrance was shut and locked. I went around to the back of the building to the janitor’s entrance and found the door open. I walked into a lobby full of dustbins and empty milk bottles, paused to listen, then, hearing nothing, I made my way quietly up the stairs to the first floor.
I found the International Investigation Agency at the far end of a corridor. It consisted of six rooms, and no light showed through the frosted panels of the doors. I went from door to door, rapping each and waiting, but no one answered my knock.
With a heavily beating heart I took out my tyre lever, inserted it in between one of the doors and the doorpost and put a little pressure on it. The lock broke without any alarming noise and the door swung open. I entered an empty office, closed the door and looked around.
This office belonged to one of the executives. I went through the communicating door into the second office. It wasn’t until I reached the fourth office that I found what I was looking for. Along the wail was a row of filing cabinets. I selected the file marked “C", and with the aid of my screw driver and tyre lever I managed to force the lock and get the file open.
I spent ten minutes going through the mass of folders in the file, but I didn’t find one with Helen’s name on it. I stood back foxed. There were so many files in the drawers that it would have been impossible to have gone through them all. It then occurred to me that there was a chance that Sarti had kept Helen’s file away from the rest. I went into the fifth office.
There were three desks in this room: one of them was Sarti’s. I knew that by the notes in the In-tray addressed to him.
I sat down at the desk and went through the drawers. The third one down on the right was locked. I made short work of it with my tyre lever, pulled it open and felt a surge of relief run through me. The only thing in the drawer was the file I was looking for.
I took it from the drawer and laid it on the desk and opened it. For about a minute I examined it then I shoved back the chair, reached for a cigarette and lit it. I knew now who had instructed Sarti to watch Helen, and I was completely taken out of my stride.
Sarti’s file began:
Acting on the instructions of la Signorina June Chalmers, I have to-day arranged with Finetti and Molinari to keep a twenty-four hour watch on la Signorina Helen Chalmers…
June Chalmers!
So she was at the back of this! I flicked through the reports until I came to one headed with my name. There were ten pages given up to my association with Helen. At the top of the page was the following:
Copy of report sent to la Signorina Chalmers, Ritz Hotel, Paris, August 24th.
The report contained all the details of Helen’s plan to rent a villa in Sorrento, of her suggestion to me that we should go there as Mr. and Mrs. Sherrard, that she should arrive at Sorrento on the 28th and I would join her on the 29th.
I sat back, feeling sweat on my forehead. It was obvious that at some time Sarti had planted a microphone in Helen’s apartment to have learned all these details. It was obvious too that June Chalmers had known I had gone to Sorrento to be Helen’s lover when I first met her at the Naples airport. Then why hadn’t she told Chalmers?
I hurriedly folded the file and put it away in my pocket. I couldn’t remain here any longer. There was always the chance that the janitor might take a walk around the office block and catch me here.
I put my tools in my pocket, then after peering cautiously down the long corridor I made my
way quickly down the stairs and out into the street.
I drove back to my apartment. Stripping off my raincoat, I sat down and again went through the file.
It was far more comprehensive and complete than Sarti had led me to believe. Not only were the telephone conversations recorded, but also my conversations with Helen while I had been with her. There were conversations between her and other men also recorded that made hairraising reading: the file was bulging with evidence that proved beyond doubt the kind of immoral life Helen had lived. Every one of these reports had been sent to June Chalmers, either to New York or to Paris.
Why hadn’t she used this information? I kept asking myself. Why hadn’t she given me away to Chalmers? Why hadn’t she warned him of the life his daughter was leading?
I had no answers to these questions and, finally, I locked the file away in my desk.
The time was now after five o’clock. I put a personal call through to Jack Martin, and was told there was a half-hour wait for New York. I booked the call, and went over to the window and stared down at the fast-moving Sunday traffic until the call came through.
“Is that you, Ed?” Martin asked as I came on the line. “For the love of mike! Who’s paying for this call?”
“Never mind that. What have you got for me? Have you managed to dig up anything on Manchini yet?”
“Not a thing. I’ve never heard of him,” Martin returned. “Are you sure you’ve got the name right? You don’t mean Toni Amando, do you?”
“My guy calls himself Carlo Manchini. Where does Amando come in?”
“Your description fits him. He’s big, tough and dark, and he’s got a zigzag scar on his chin.”
“That sounds like him. My man’s got a voice like a hog caller and he wears a gold ear-ring in his right ear.”
“That’s the fella!” Martin said excitedly. “That’s Amando! There can’t be two of them.”
“What do you know about him, Jack?”
“He’s not here any longer, I’m glad to say. He was a troublemaker and as dangerous as a rattlesnake. He’s somewhere in your territory, I believe. He left with Frank Setti when they ran Setti out of the country.”
“Setti?” My voice shot up.
“That’s right. Amando was Setti’s gunman and lieutenant.”
This was the first really constructive piece of news I had had up to now.
Setti’s gunman!
Now, at long last, some of the pieces of this jigsaw puzzle were falling into place. Martin was speaking again. “Have you run into him in Italy?”
“Yes. I think he’s hooked up in a dope-smuggling racket. I wanted to get a check on him.”
“Setti ran dope here before he was kicked out. He’s in Italy, too, isn’t he?”
“So I hear. Look, Jack, I can prove Amando flew from Rome to New York two days before Menotti was knocked off, and he returned to Rome the day after.”
“Well, that’s something. I’ll pass the information to Captain Collier. He may be able to use it. That may be the link he’s looking for. He was so sure either Setti or Amando knocked off Menotti, but both of them had cast-iron alibis at the time Menotti died. They had a flock of witnesses that put them in a gambling joint in Naples.”
“Amando boasts that he is red-hot at manufacturing alibis. Talk to Collier, Jack, and thanks for the information.”
I began to pace the room while I turned over this new information. It looked as if my theory that Carlo had killed Menotti and that Helen had tried to blackmail him was right. But I hadn’t as yet a shred of evidence that would convince a jury. It was all theory, but I was moving in the right direction.
I was tempted to go to Carlotti and tell him the whole story. With his organization, there was a chance that he might get at the truth with this theory as a lead.
I resisted the temptation. The moment Carlo learned that I had been to Carlotti, he would produce his mass of evidence against me and that would cook me.
It wasn’t the time yet to tell Carlotti the truth. I had to have some real concrete evidence.
I spent the rest of the evening going through Sarti’s report again and racking my brain for angles. My hope now, I decided, was to concentrate on Carlo. When I got to Naples, I would go out to Myra’s villa and see if I could turn up anything there.
Before I caught the first plane out to Naples on Monday morning, I called Gina at her apartment.
“Hello, Ed,” she said. “I’ve been waiting to hear from you. What is happening?”
“Plenty. I can’t talk now. I’m in a rush. I’m flying down to Naples in five minutes to attend the inquest. We’ll get together when I get back.”
“But you keep saying that. I’m sure there is something wrong. I’m worried about you, Ed. Why do you keep avoiding me?”
“I’m not avoiding you! I’m busy! Skip it, will you? I’ve only got a couple of minutes. Here’s what I want you to do. The police have taken the guard off Helen’s apartment. The key is with the janitor. Will you get the apartment cleared for me?”
“Yes, of course.”
“I’ll be back sometime to-morrow and I promise to call you. Can you do something about the apartment to-day?”
“I’ll try.”
“Tell Maxwell the old man wants it done. He won’t raise objections.”
“And you will call me when you get back?”
“Yes, of course. So long for now.”
I had to run across the tarmac to catch the plane.
I reached Naples soon after ten-thirty. I booked a room for the night at the Vesuvius, had a wash, then took a taxi to the coroner’s court.
I was surprised to find I was the only witness to be called. Grandi and Carlotti were there. Grandi gave me a long, gloomy stare and then looked away. Carlotti nodded, but he didn’t come over.
Giuseppe Maletti, the coroner, a bald-headed little man with a sharp, beaky nose, avoided meeting my eyes. He kept looking in my direction, but always managed to focus on a spot just above my head at the last moment.
I was called upon to identify Helen’s body and to explain why she had been in Sorrento.
The three newspaper men who attended were obviously bored by the proceedings, and their expressions became gloomier as I explained that, as far as I knew, Helen had rented the villa for a month’s vacation. There was nothing said about her renting it in the name of Mrs. Sherrard.
As if for something to say, Maletti asked me if I knew if Helen had had a bad head for heights. I was tempted to say she had, but, catching Grandi’s sardonic eyes at this moment, I decided it was safer to say I didn’t know.
After a few more stock questions that got no one anywhere, Maletti indicated that I could step down. He then called Carlotti.
Carlotti’s evidence electrified the three newspaper men and the odd straggler who had come in to pass an hour out of the heat.
He said he wasn’t satisfied Helen’s death was accidental. He and the Naples police were pursuing certain investigations that would probably prove that Helen had met with foul play. He said their investigations should be successfully concluded by the following Monday, and he would like the inquest adjourned until then.
Maletti looked as if he had been stricken with a sudden attack of toothache. He said he hoped the Lieutenant had substantial reasons for asking for an adjournment, and Carlotti said mildly that he had. After a long hesitation, Maletti granted the adjournment, and scuttled away as if he were scared someone would question his authority for such an action.
The three newspaper men combed Carlorti, but he had nothing to tell them. As they made a bee-line for the door, I blocked their way.
“Remember me?” I said, and smiled at them.
“This is something you can’t talk us out of.” the reporter for L’Italia del Popolo said. “This is news, and we print.”
“Just so long as you print facts, and not opinions,” I said. “Don’t say I haven’t warned you.”
They shoved past me and ran for their cars.
“Signor Dawson…”
I turned.
Grandi was standing at my side. There was a bleak expression in his eyes.
“Hello there,” I said.
“Signor Dawson, I hope for your co-operation. We are looking now for the American who was at Sorrento on the day la signorina died. We have found a man who answers to the description we have obtained from witnesses. We are arranging an identity parade. You happen to be of the same height as this man. Would you very kindly consent to be a member of the parade?”
I felt a cold, sinking feeling inside me. “I’ve got a cable to get off…”
“It will only take a few minutes, signor,” Grandi said. “Please come with me.” Two uniformed policemen moved forward, smiling at me. I went with them.
There were ten men already standing in a line: two of them were Americans, one of them was a German, the rest were Italians. They were all shapes and sizes. The two Americans were about my height.
“Merely a matter of a few seconds,” Grandi said with the air of a dentist who is about to extract a molar.
A door opened and a thick-set Italian came in. He stood looking along the line, his unshaven face embarrassed. I didn’t recognize him, but by his worn overcoat and the leather gauntlet gloves he carried I guess he was the taxi-driver who had driven me from Sorrento to Naples on the mad rush to catch the Rome train.
He looked down the line and his eyes rested on me. I found I was beginning to sweat. He stared at me for about three seconds. They felt like an eternity, then he turned around and went out, slapping his thigh with his gloves.
I wanted to wipe my face, but I didn’t dare. Grandi was looking at me and when I met his eyes, he gave me a sour smile. Another Italian was brought in. I knew who he was: he was the attendant at the left luggage office at Sorrento station where I had left my suitcase before walking out to the villa. His eyes swept down the line until they reached me. We stared at each other, then after looking at the other two Americans he went but. Two more men and a woman then came in. I had no idea who they were. They too glanced down the line, their eyes passing over me. They concentrated on one of the Americans at the far end of the line. They stared at him and he stared back, grinning. I envied him his lack of a guilty conscience. I was glad they didn’t stare at me as they had at him. I saw Grandi was scowling. Finally they went away.
Grandi indicated that the parade was over. The ten men drifted away.
“Thank you, signor,” Grandi said to me as I moved after them. “I am sorry to have detained you.”
“I’ll survive,” I said. I saw he didn’t look too pleased and I guessed the last three witnesses could have upset his hopes.
“Did you find the man you are after?”
He looked fixedly at me.
“I’m not prepared to answer that question at the moment,” he said, and, nodding curtly, he went away.
I left the coroner’s court and drove back to the hotel. Going up to my room, I put a call through to my Rome office.
Gina told me that she had arranged with the woman who specialized in second-hand clothes to inspect the contents of Helen’s apartment that afternoon.
“It should be cleared by to-morrow,” she told me.
“That’s fine. Is Maxwell there?”
“Yes.”
“Put him on the line, will you.”
“Ed, you should know this: Lieutenant Carlotti has been asking questions about you here,” Gina said.
I stiffened.
“What sort of questions?”
“He asked me if you knew Helen Chalmers. He wanted to know if the name of Mrs. Douglas Sherrard meant anything to me.”
“Did he? What did you say?” I found I was gripping the receiver unnecessarily hard.
“I told him Mrs. Douglas Sherrard meant nothing to me, and that you did know Helen Chalmers.”
“Thanks, Gina.”
There was an awkward pause, then she said, “He also wanted to know where you were on the 29th. I said you were at your apartment working on your novel.”
“That’s what I was doing.”
“Yes.”
There was another awkward pause, then she said, “I’ll put you through to Mr. Maxwell.”
“Thanks, Gina.”
After a moment or so, Maxwell came on the line.
I told him the coroner had adjourned the inquest until Monday.
“What’s biting him then?” Maxwell asked.
“The police think it’s murder.”
He whistled.
“That’s pretty. What makes them think that?”
“They didn’t say. Cable head office and tell them the facts, and ask for guidance. It’s up to the old man whether they print or not. The other papers are certain to cover it.”
“Well, what are the facts?”
“The inquest is adjourned until next Monday as the police want more time to make further inquiries. They have evidence that points to foul play.”
“Okay. Nothing more?”
“That’s all.”
“I’ll handle it. By the way, Ed, you didn’t by any chance bump the girl off, did you?”
I felt like a boxer who has taken a low punch.
“What’s that?”
“Oh, skip it. I was only fooling. That lynx-eyed cop was asking me questions about you and Helen. He seemed to think you knew her better than most.”
“He’s crazy.”
“I guess you must be right, I’ve always thought cops were crazy. Well, so long as you’ve got an easy conscience, why should you care?”
“That’s right. Get that cable off, Jack.”
Maxwell said he’d get it off right away.
“So long,” he said. “Try and keep out of trouble.”
I said I would.
Soon after nine o’clock, I left the Vesuvius hotel and drove the car I had hired out to Sorrento. I arrived at the harbour a little after nine-thirty. Leaving the car parked under the trees, I walked down to the harbour.
There were still three or four boatmen lounging outside the steamer station, and I went over to them. I asked one of them if I could hire a rowing-boat. I said I wanted to have a couple of hours’ exercise, and I wanted to row myself.
The boatman stared at me as if he thought I was crazy, but when he realized I was willing to pay him for his boat, he got down to business. I haggled with him for ten minutes, and finally got it for five thousand lire for three hours. I gave him the money, and he took me down to the boat and shoved me off.
It was a fine, dark, star-lit night, and the sea was as smooth as a pond. I rowed until I was out of sight of land; then I shipped oars and stripped off my clothes. I had put on a pair of bathing trunks before I left the hotel, and thus clad, I again started rowing heading towards Myra Setti’s villa.
It took me about an hour of steady rowing before I saw in the distance a red light on the harbour wall.
I paused, letting the boat drift. Above the harbour I could see the outlines of the villa. There was a light on in one of the ground-floor rooms.
I began to row again, and finally reached the rocks only a few hundred yards from where Helen had been found. Just around the cliff, another three hundred yards further on, would be Myra’s villa.
I beached the boat, pulling it up on the soft sand, making sure that the tide wouldn’t drift it off. Then I waded out into the sea and began to swim towards the villa.
The sea was warm and I made good progress, being careful to make no noise. I swam silently into the harbour, keeping away from the code of red light that reflected down on the still water.
There were two powerful motor-boats moored in the harbour and a small rowing-boat. I headed towards the steps that led up to the villa. I swam cautiously, looking along the wail of the harbour, my ears pricked for any suspicious sound. It was as well that I was on the alert, for I suddenly saw a little red spark make a circle in the air, and then drop into the sea and go out with a hissing splutter. Someone out of sight in the shadows had just tossed away a cigarette butt.
I trod water, making no sound. By now I was close up against the harbour wall. I saw a mooring ring just above my head and, cautiously, I reached up and caught hold of it. I hung on to it, looking in the direction from where the cigarette butt had come. After a minute or so I made out the dim figure of a man, sitting on a bollard. He appeared to be looking out to sea. He was on the other arm of the harbour, a hundred feet or so from where I was and some thirty yards from the steps. I waited. After about five minutes, he got to his feet and walked slowly along the harbour arm to the far end.
He came under the red light and I could see him clearly. He was tall and powerfully built. He was wearing a white singlet, black trousers, and a yachting cap on the back of his head. He lolled over the wall, his back to me, and I saw him light another cigarette.
I lowered myself into the water again and, using a breast stroke, swam silently to the steps. With my hand on the lowest one, I looked over my shoulder. The man was still staring across at the lights of Sorrento, his back turned to me. I pulled myself out of the water and moved silently up the steps, keeping in the shadows of the overhanging trees. I looked back, but the man was still motionless, looking away from me.
I went up the steps until I reached a terrace that overlooked the harbour. There I paused and stared up at the villa, fifty feet above me.
I could see a big, lighted window, uncurtained. There was no sign of life up there, but I could hear the faint sound of dance music coming either from a radio or a record.
Keeping to the shadows, I moved silently and slowly up another flight of steps that brought me on to the second terrace.
There was a patch of dark shadow, made by an orange tree, opposite the lighted window. I kept in the shadow, sure that no one could see me, and looked into a large luxuriously furnished lounge.
There were four men around a table in the centre of the room. They were playing poker. Beyond them, lying on a settee, was Myra Setti. She was reading a magazine and smoking; by her was a radiogram from which came the soft sound of dance music.
I looked at the men at the table. Three of them were the rough types you can see any day in a Warner Bros, movie. Their clothes were flashy, their neckties dazzling, their faces, burned brown by the sun, were hard, thin and vicious. It was the fourth man who held my attention. He was a man of about fifty; big, grossly fat and dark-skinned. I had seen too many pictures of him in the papers in the past not to recognize him. I felt a little surge of triumph run through me. I had succeeded where the whole of the Italian police force had failed! I should have guessed before now that this inaccessible villa could be Frank Setti’s hide-out but, somehow, I hadn’t thought of him being here.
The four men were intent on their game of poker. It was easy to see who was winning. Six tall stacks of counters stood before Setti. The other three had scarcely a counter between them. As I watched them, a tall thin rat of a man threw down his cards with a gesture of disgust. He said something to Setti, who grinned wolfishly at him, shoved back his chair and stood up. The other two also threw in their hands and relaxed back in their chairs, scowling.
Setti looked over at Myra and said something to her. She glanced up, her face heavy with boredom, nodded, then returned her attention to her magazine.
The tall man came over to the window and threw it open. I crouched down against the low wall. The sound of dance music came out through the open window loudly now.
“Jerry’s late,” the tail man said, speaking over his shoulder to Setti.
Setti got up from the table, stretched his massive limbs and came to the window.
“He’ll be here,” he said. “Jerry’s a good boy. He has a long way to come.” He looked over at Myra. “Turn that damn thing off. I can’t hear myself speak.”
Without looking up from her magazine, Myra reached out and turned off the radiogram.
Setti and the tall man stood by the window, listening. I listened too. I thought I could hear the faint throb of a motor boat engine somewhere out to sea.
“Here he comes now,” the tail man said. “Harry’s down there, isn’t he?”
“He damn well better be,” Setti growled. He moved away from the window and walked out of the room. A moment later, he came out on to the terrace.
I began to sweat. I knew if I was found here my life wouldn’t be worth a dime. They’d cut my throat and bury me at sea. My hiding-place wasn’t any too safe. If any one of them came over to the orange tree they couldn’t fail to see me. It was too late to move now. I lay flat, holding my breath and squeezing myself against the terrace wall.
Setti sat down at one of the tables, about fifty feet from me. The tall man came out and stood looking out to sea.
“Here he comes,” he said.
Myra came out and joined him. He pointed out into the darkness.
“Do you see him?”
“I see him,” she said. She put her hands on top of the wall and leaned forward. She was so close to me I could smell her perfume.
The red harbour light flicked off and then came on again.
There was a long pause. Setti lit a cigar. Myra and the tall man continued to stare down at the harbour. I lay so still that a lizard, mistaking me for part of the scenery, ran lightly across my bare back.
Then I heard the sounds of someone running up the steps. A man appeared, wearing a red singlet, black trousers and rope-soled shoes. He was youngish, good-looking in a flashy tough way, and he grinned widely at Myra as he came on to the terrace.
“Hi, there,” he said.
Myra’s boredom vanished. She gave him a dazzling smile.
“Hi, Jerry!”
He crossed over to where Setti was sitting and dumped on the table an oilskin-wrapped parcel.
“Hi, boss. Here it is.”
Setti leaned back and smiled at him.
“Fine. Sit down, kid. Here, Jake, get him a drink.”
Jake went into the lounge. Myra came over and Jerry took her hand.
,
“May I kiss your daughter, boss?” he asked, grinning at Setti.
“Go ahead,” Setti said, shrugging his sholders. “If she wants it, why should I worry? Have any trouble coming over?’
“Not a thing.”
Myra and he kissed, then he pulled her on to his lap and put his arms around her.
“This is a good place for a run,” he went on, “but how are you going to get the stuff into Nice, boss?”
“Carlo’s fixed that,” Setti said. “Now, there’s a smart boy.”
Jerry’s face hardened.
“He could be too smart,” He looked at Myra. “Have you been seeing anything of him lately, babe?”
Myra’s eyes opened wide, innocently.
“Carlo? Don’t be crazy! Why should I want an ape like him around when I’ve got you?”
“I guess that’s right,” Jerry said, frowning. He didn’t seem convinced. “Well, watch out, baby. You keep clear of him.”
Setti sat back, smiling and listening.
“You’re jealous,” Myra said, and touched Jerry’s face. “You don’t have to be.”
Jerry patted her flank, then looked over at Setti.
“What’s Carlo fixed then?”
“He’s got a newspaper man to run the stuff into Nice: Ed Dawson of the Western Telegram,” Setti said, grinning from ear to ear.
“Dawson!” Jerry sat forward. “I know that punk! I’ve seen him around in Rome. Is he doing it?”
“That’s the idea. Carlo’s got him where he wants him. We can’t go wrong with a guy like Dawson acting as carrier. Smartest thing Carlo’s ever done.”
“Well, for the love of mike! Yeah, that sure is smart.”
Jake came out with a whisky and soda and gave it to Jerry.
“Come on in, kid. I’ve got the dough for you,” Setti said, getting to his feet. “Are you going to stay for a while?”
“I don’t have to get back until to-morrow night.”
Myra got off Jerry’s lap and slid her arm though his.
“Never mind about the money now, honey,” she said. “Let’s go to my room. I want to talk to you.”
Jerry looked over at Setti.
“Is that okay with you, boss?”
Setti smiled.
“Sure. Myra’s a big girl now. She does what she likes. The dough’s all ready for you when you want it. When’s the next run?”
“Three weeks from to-night. It’s all fixed.”
Carrying his drink, Jerry followed Myra into the villa. Jake stared after them, frowning.
“Carlo’s going to stick a knife into that guy one of these days,” he said.
Setti laughed.
“Forget it! Let Myra have her fun. If she wants two boy friends, let her have them.” He tossed what remained of his cigar over the terrace. “Put the stuff in the safe, Jake. Carlo doesn’t want it until Thursday. You take it to Rome on Wednesday night… understand?”
Jake grunted. He picked up the oilskin package and the two men went into the villa.
As soon as they were out of sight, I got to my feet. Here was the way out for me. If the package failed to get into Carlo’s hands by Thursday, then I wouldn’t have to take it to Nice. There was only one way to handle this. I had to get back to Sorrento fast and alert Grandi.
I went down the steps towards the harbour, being careful to move silently. I reached the last few steps. I could see the red light on the harbour wall, and I paused in the shadows, looking for the man they had called Harry.
There was no sign of him. I hesitated. Where was he? I didn’t dare slide into the water until I knew just where he was. My eyes searched the dark shadows. I looked along both arms of the harbour. There was still no sign of him.
Then suddenly I became aware of soft breathing behind me. A cold creepy chill snaked up my back. I half-turned when a muscular, hairy arm hooked under my chin and slammed against my throat, and a hard, bony knee drove into my spine.