James Chase - Lay Her Among the Lilies

“You haven’t given me one.”

“Must have a book. That’s another of these punks’ fads. They like to see a patient reading.”

He charged out of the room and returned a little breathlessly carrying a heavy volume which he slapped down on my knees.

“Get stuck into that, baby. I’ll find you something with a little more zip in it when they’ve gone.”

“How do I turn the pages with only one hand?” I asked, looking at the book. It was entitled Gynecology for Advanced Students.

“Glad you reminded me, baby.” He took out his key. “We keep the cuffs out of sight. These punks are softhearted.”

I watched him transfer the handcuff to my ankle, scarcely believing my good luck. It was quite a moment in my life.

“Okay, baby, mind you behave,” he went on, as he re-tidied the bed. “If they ask you how you like it here, tell them we’re looking after you. Don’t let’s have any back answers. They won’t believe anything you say, and you’ll have to talk to me after they have gone.”

I opened the book. The first page I came to made me blink.

“I don’t know if I’m old enough to look at this,” I said, and showed him the page.

He stared, sucked in his breath sharply, snatched the book away from me and gaped at the title.

“For crying out loud! Is that what it means?” and he went shooting out of the room with it, returning breathlessly with a copy of the parallel translation of Dante’s Inferno. I wished I had kept my mouth shut.

“That’ll impress them,” he said with satisfaction. “Not that the punks can read, anyway.”

A few minutes past eleven o’clock the sound of voices came down the corridor, and in through the half-open door.

Bland, who had been waiting by the window, straightened his jacket and smoothed down his hair.

Hopper scowled and closed his book.

“Here they come.”

Four men came into the room. The first was obviously Dr. Jonathan Salzer: the most distinguished looking of the four; a tall, thin man with a Paderewski mop of hair, as white as a dove’s back. His tanned face was set in cold, serene lines; his eyes were deep-set and thoughtful. A man, I imagined, on the wrong side of fifty, still powerful, his body as straight and as upright as a cadet’s on passing-out parade. He was dressed in a black morning-coat, striped trousers and was as immaculate as a tailor’s dummy. After you had got over the shock of the mop of hair, the next thing you noticed about him was his hands. They were quite beautiful hands; long and narrow, with tapering fingers: a surgeon’s hands or a murderer’s hands: they could be good at either job.

Coroner Lessways followed him in. I recognized him from the occasional photographs I had seen of him in the press: a short, thickset man with a ball-like head, small eyes and a fussy, mean, little mouth. He looked what he was: a shyster who had spent all his life pulling fast ones.

His companion was another of the same breed, over-fed and tricky.

The fourth man hovered outside the door as if he wasn’t sure whether to come in or not. I didn’t bother to look his way. My attention was riveted on Salzer.

“Good morning, gentlemen,” Salzer said in a deep, rich voice. “I hope I find you well. Coroner Lessways, Councilman Linkheimer and Mr. Strang, the well-known writer, have come to see you. They are here to ask you a few questions.” He glanced at Lessways. “Would you care to have a word with Mr. Hopper?”

While Lessways was gaping owlishly at Hopper and keeping at a safe distance, I turned to look at the fourth man whom Salzer had introduced as Strang.

For a moment I thought I really had gone crazy, for standing in the doorway with a nonchalant look of boredom on his face was Jack Kerman. He was wearing a tropical white suit, horn spectacles, and out of his breast pocket a yellow and red silk handkerchief flopped in the best traditions of the dandy.

I gave a start that nearly upset the bed. Luckily Salzer was busying himself with my medical chart and didn’t notice. Kerman looked woodenly at me, lifted one eyebrow and said to Salzer, “Who is this man, Doctor? He looks well enough.”

“This is Edmund Seabright,” Salzer told him. His cold face lit up with a smile and he reminded me of Santa Claus about to hand out a toy to a good child. “He has only recently come to us.” He handed the medical chart to Kerman. “Perhaps you would be interested to see this. It speaks for itself.”

Kerman adjusted his horn spectacles and squinted at the chart. I had an idea he couldn’t see well in them, and knowing him, guessed he had borrowed them from someone.

“Oh, yes,” he said, pursing his lips. “Interesting. I suppose it’s all right to have a word with him?”

“Why, certainly,” Salzer said, and moved to my bed.

Kerman joined him and they both stared at me. I stared back, concentrating on Salzer, knowing if I looked at Kerman I would probably let the cat out of the bag.

“This is Mr. Strang,” Salzer said to me. “He writes books on nervous diseases.” He smiled at Kerman. “Mr. Seabright imagines he is a famous detective. Don’t you, Mr. Seabright?”

“Sure,” I said. “I am a detective. I’ve discovered Anona Freedlander is right here on this floor, and Nurse Gurney is dead and her hotly has been hidden somewhere in the desert by your wife. How’s that for detection?”

Salzer’s kind, sad smile embraced Kerman.

“He runs true to type as you can see,” he murmured. “Both the women he has mentioned disappeared; one about two years ago, the other recently. The cases were reported in the newspapers. For some odd reason they prey on his mind.”

“Quite so,” Kerman said seriously. He studied me, and behind the thick glasses his eyes seemed to squint.

“And there’s another thing you should know.” I half sat up and whispered, “I have a handcuff on my leg.”

Lessways and Linkheimer had joined Salzer and were staring at me.

Kerman raised his eyebrows languidly.

“Is that true?” he asked Salzer.

Salzer inclined his head. His smile was for the whole of suffering humanity.

“Sometimes he is a little troublesome,” he said regretfully. “You understand?”

“Quite so,” Kerman said, and looked pained. He did it so well I wanted to kick him.

Bland came away from the window and stood at the head of my bed.

“Take it easy, baby,” he said softly.

“I don’t like this place,” I said, addressing Lessways. “I object to being drugged every night. I don’t like the locked door at the end of the corridor, nor the mesh-grill over the window at the other end of the corridor. This is not a sanatorium. It’s a prison.”

“Mv dear chap,” Salzer said smoothly before Lessways could think of anything to say, “you get well and you shall go home. We don’t want to keep you here unless we have to.”

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Bland slowly clench his list as a warning for me to be careful what I said. There were a lot of things I could have said, but now Kerman knew I was here I decided not to take any chances.

“Well, let’s get on,” Lessways said. “All this looks very good.” He beamed at Kerman.

“Have you seen all you want to see, Mr. Strang? Don’t let us hurry you.”

“Oh, yes,” Kerman said languidly. “If Dr. Salzer wouldn’t object, I might like to call again.”

“I’m afraid that would be against the rules,” Salzer said. “Too many visits might excite our friends. I’m sure you will understand?”

Kerman looked at me thoughtfully.

“You’re quite right. I hadn’t thought of that,” he said, and drifted towards the door.

There was a stately exodus, Salzer being the last to leave.