Page 48 - Murder on the Dirigible

Murder on the Dirigible

your captain has done nothing but run away from responsibility all
his life. We all took pity on him because his plane was shot down in
the war. I did. I thought I could shape him up. I couldn’t. Instead I
watched him go from bad to worse. This sabotage business was the
last straw. I couldn’t have cared less if he was accused of killing Fisk.

MATTHEWS: Rita, don’t make this any harder than it is.

POMELLO: They’ve got to understand. When I saw you protecting
your daughter just now, I couldn’t believe it: risking your neck to save
someone else’s! It’s the first decent thing you’ve ever done. I can’t let
this go on. Metcalf, you’re barking up the wrong tree.

METCALF: Yeah, sure, and the sun don’t rise in the east.

POMELLO: And I’ll tell you why: all you can think of is that
someone hated Fisk enough to kill him. I didn’t hate him; I loved
him.

METCALF: What? That crook? There’s no accounting for taste, eh,
Oglethorpe?

OGLETHORPE: Oh, quit ribbing me. You’ve got no right.

POMELLO: You still don’t get it. Fisk was the only man who cared
for me. He looked out for my interests. He didn’t have to get
involved in this West Coast Helium Navigation problem; he had
plenty of money. He was doing it for me, because I was going to lose
the company, otherwise. But he was sick. He went to my doctor, so I
knew the truth: he was dying of cancer. No hope. He took pills to kill
the pain, but they weren’t helping enough. It hurt me terribly to
watch him suffer. I had to put him out of his misery.

METCALF: (goes to her side) You, Mrs. Pomello: you?

POMELLO: Yep, little old me. I’ve had the poison for years, a
souvenir of South America. It was his own golf tee. I took it from his
golf bag before we left. The rest was easy. He never knew what hit
him.

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