The Man In The Seventh Row by Brian Pendreigh Read Free Book Online Page A

makes her way to Cinema 2 and sits in the seventh row of the near-deserted auditorium. Few tourists venture inside. Their time is limited. They can see films at home. Only here can they see Bogart's handprints.
    There is a roll of drums and a crash of cymbals as the film begins, an old grainy black and white print.
    'Harry M. Popkin presents,' says the opening credit across the picture of a high-rise building, little squares of light in a few of its windows helping differentiate it against the black night. A figure walks into view. The audience gets only a brief glimpse of his back before the title credit D.O.A. fills the entire screen. It is an old film and the picture is the shape of a television screen, only slightly wider than it is high.
    Anna had never heard of D.O.A. , but it is part of a festival of old films. It had been recommended in the 'Times' and she did not have anything special to do. She never has anything special to do since she split up with Brad three months ago.
    The figure moves towards the building and the camera follows him down a white-walled corridor towards an inquiry desk. Just short of the desk he stops and asks a uniformed officer a question. The policeman is talking to a man in a fedora. The officer glances at the stranger and, resuming his previous conversation, gestures with a thumb over his right shoulder. The man follows the direction indicated, down another long corridor, at the end of which is a door marked 'Homicide Division'. He is shown into an office, where a middle-aged man in a suit is sitting behind a desk considering some papers. 'I want to report a murder,' says the newcomer. 'Who was murdered?' asks the man behind the desk. For the first time we see the other man's face. He is a man in his thirties, unshaven, with a heaviness about his jowls and thick, dark hair greased back from his forehead. She is not sure if she would have recognised the actor as Edmond O'Brien if she had not just read the credits, though she knows she has seen him in black and white movies she has watched on television on weekend afternoons and late at night when she can't sleep.
    O'Brien pauses for dramatic effect after the question 'Who was murdered?'
    'I was,' he says.
    Great beginning, thinks Anna. Great beginning.
    The policeman turns away and looks at a sheet of paper. The man asks if he wants to hear his story or not, for he does not have much time. The policeman asks if his name is Frank Bigelow. The man's mouth drops open in surprise. He confirms he is Frank Bigelow. The policeman instructs a colleague to send a message that they have found him, and invites Bigelow to tell his story.
    A misty whirl transports the viewer back in time. Bigelow is an accountant. Medical tests reveal toxin in his system and he is told he has only a few days to live. He discovers that one of his clients has unwittingly involved him in a convoluted web of deceit, betrayal and murder that will cost him his life. He can still talk, he can still walk, but he is no longer alive. He tracks down and shoots his own killer, tells the police his story and dies. The police classify him 'dead on arrival'.

8

    The lounge bar of the Roosevelt Hotel is unusually busy for early afternoon. Tourists coming, going, hanging around. Anna has a choice. She can sit at the table of the loud, middle-aged people, who seem to represent a curtailed tour of the islands of the northern hemisphere in their costume of Hawaii shirts and Bermuda shorts. Or she can sit next to the young bedenimed Mexican couple, holidaying, perhaps honeymooning, absorbed in their Rough Guide itinerary and their love. Or she can choose the seat opposite the man in the plain black tee-shirt and black linen suit, who has just drained the brandy balloon and is now rubbing the rim of a cold Rolling Rock against his bottom lip. Angelic blond hair and blue eyes are offset by the dark stubble on his chin, the furrows across his brow and the downturn of his mouth. His hair is dyed