The Postman Always Rings Twice by James M. Cain Page A

sunk. But here, if I looked bad, there could be quite a few things and still I wouldn't look much worse. The worse I looked on account of being drunk, the less the whole thing would look like a murder.
          The cops looked at each other, and the coroner studied me like he thought I was crazy. They had already heard it all, how I was pulled out from under the back seat.
          "You're sure of that? That you were driving?"
          "Absolutely sure."
          "You had been drinking?"
          "No sir."
          "You heard the results of the tests that were given you?"
          "I don't know nothing about the tests. All I know is I didn't have no drink."
          He turned to Cora. She said she would tell what she could.
          "Who was driving this car?"
          "I was."
          "Where was this man?"
          "On the back seat."
          "Had he been drinking?"
          She kind of looked away, and swallowed, and cried a little bit. "Do I have to answer that?"
          "You don't have to answer any question unless you so wish."
          "I don't want to answer."
          "Very well, then. Tell in your own words what happened."
          "I was driving along. There was a long up-grade, and the car got hot. My husband said I had better stop to let it cool off."
          "How hot?"
          "Over 200."
          "Go on."
          "So after we started the down-grade, I cut the motor, and when we got to the bottom it was still hot, and before we started up again we stopped. We were there maybe ten minutes. Then I started up again. And I don't know what happened. I went into high, and didn't get enough power, and I went into second, right quick, and the men were talking, or maybe it was on account of making the quick shift, but anyhow, I felt one side of the car go down. I yelled to them to jump, but it was too late. I felt the car going over and over, and the next thing I knew I was trying to get out, and then I was out, and then I was up on the road."
          The coroner turned to me again. "What are you trying to do, shield this woman?"
          "I don't notice her shielding me any."
          The jury went out, and then came in and gave a verdict that the said Nick Papadakis came to his death as the result of an automobile accident on the Malibu Lake Road, caused in whole or in part by criminal conduct on the part of me and Cora, and recommended that we be held for the action of the grand jury.
          There was another cop with me that night, in the hospital, and next morning he told me that Mr. Sackett was coming over to see me, and I better get ready. I could hardly move yet, but I had the hospital barber shave me up and make me look as good as he could. I knew who Sackett was. He was the District Attorney. About half past ten he showed up, and the cop went out, and there was nobody there but him and me. He was a big guy with a bald head and a breezy, manner.
          "Well, well, well. How do you feel?"
          "I feel O.K., judge. Kind of shook me up a little, but I'll be all right."
          "As the fellow said when he fell out of the airplane, it was a swell ride but we lit kind of hard."
          "That's it."
          "Now. Chambers, you don't have to talk to me if you don't want to, but I've come over here, partly to see what you look like, and partly because it's been my experience that a frank talk saves a lot of breath afterwards, and sometimes paves the way to the disposition of a whole case with a proper plea, and anyway, as the fellow says, after it's over we understand each other."
          "Why sure, judge. What was it you wanted to know?"
          I made it sound pretty shifty, and he sat there looking me over. "Suppose we start at the beginning,"
          "About this trip?"
          "That's it. I want to hear all about it."
          He got up and began to walk around. The door was right by my