James Chase - You Find Him, I'll Fix Him

To gain time, I said, “What was that?”

I opened the car door and got out. He followed me on to the sidewalk.

Patiently, and without much hope in his voice, he repeated the question.

“As far as I can remember.” I leaned into the car. “I won’t be a moment,” I said to Gina. “Wait for me, then we’ll have dinner together.”

Carlotti followed me up the spiral staircase. He was humming under his breath, and I could feel his eyes examining the back of my head.

I walked down the passage that led directly to my front door. I was half-way down the

passage when I saw the front door was standing ajar. I came to an abrupt stop.

“Hello… that’s funny,” I said.

“You shut it when you left?” Carlotti said, moving in front of me.

“Of course.”

We reached the door together.

“Oh, damn! Looks like burglars,” I said, and pointed to the smashed lock on the front door. I made a move into the hall, but Carlotti pulled me back.

“Please… let me go first,” he said curtly, and, moving silently, he stepped into the hall, crossed h with two quick strides and threw open the sitting-room door. I was right on his heels.

All the lights were on. We stood in the doorway and stared around the room that looked as if it had been struck by a hurricane.

Everything was in disorder. Cupboards stood open, a couple of chairs were overturned, all the drawers in the desk hung open, and all my papers were lying scattered on the floor.

Carlotti went swiftly into my bedroom. Then I heard him run down the passage to the bathroom.

I walked over to the desk. I looked in the bottom drawer in which I had locked the camera. The lock had been forced and, of course, the camera was gone.

It was ten minutes past eleven before I got rid of Carlotti and his mob of detectives who descended on my apartment, dusting everything for finger-prints, poking their noses in every nook and cranny, photographing the splintered door and generally raising all kinds of hell.

I had gone down to Gina, explained the situation and told her not to wait for me. She wanted to stay, but I wouldn’t let her. I had too much on my mind to have her around as well as the police.

She said she would call me in the morning, gave me a worried look, and then went away in a taxi.

Carlotti listened to my explanation about the camera. I showed him where I had put it, and he examined the broken lock of the drawer.

I’m not sure if he believed what I was telling him. His face was expressionless, but I had an idea he was only maintaining his usual polite calmness by an effort

“This is an odd coincidence, Signor Dawson,” he said. “You have the camera for only a few hours, then a thief breaks in and steals it.”

“Yeah?” I said sarcastically. “And he not only steals the camera, but also goes off with my goddamn clothes, my cigarettes, my booze and my spare cash. I don’t call that a coincidence.”

One of Carlotti’s men came over and murmured there were no finger-prints to be found except mine.

Carlotti gave me a thoughtful stare, then shrugged his shoulders.

“I shall have to report this to my chief,” he said.

“Report it to the President if you want to,” I returned. “Just so long as you get my clothes back.”

“The camera is a serious loss, signor.”

“I couldn’t care less about the camera. That’s your funeral. If you didn’t realize until now that

it was important to you, you can scarcely blame me that it’s been stolen. Grandi gave me the camera, and I signed a receipt for it. He told me neither you nor he wanted it. So don’t look at me as if I’ve cooked up this robbery just to get you into trouble.”

He said there was no need to get angry about such an unfortunate affair.

“Okay, so I’m not angry. Would you get your boys out of here so I can clear up and get some supper?”

It took them a further half-hour to satisfy themselves that there were positively no clues left by the burglar, then finally, and with the greatest reluctance, they went away.

Carlotti was the last to leave.

“This is an awkward situation,” he said as he paused in the doorway. “You should never have been given the camera.”

“I know. I can see that. My heart bleeds for you, but I was given the camera and you’ve got my receipt. You can’t blame me for what’s happened. I’m sorry, but I’m not going to lose any sleep about it.”

He started to say something, changed his mind, shrugged his shoulders and went away.

I had an idea at the back of my mind that for a couple of times, he would have accused me of staging the burglary myself just so he couldn’t lay his hands on the camera.

I wasn’t kidding myself. I was quite sure that, although most of my clothes, cigarettes, three bottles of Scotch and a few thousand lire were missing, the thief had broken in only for one purpose: to get the camera.

I did a little thinking while I hastily cleared up the mess in my bedroom and sitting-room. At the back of my mind I had the picture, of the broad-shouldered intruder I had seen creeping around the villa at Sorrento. I was willing to bet that he was the guy who had broken in here and had lifted the camera.

I had just finished tidying up my sitting-room when the front door bell rang.

I went into the hall, thinking Carlotti had come back with a flock of new questions. I slid back the bolt and opened the front door. Jack Maxwell stood outside.

“Hello,” he said. “I hear you have had a burglar.”

“Yeah,” I said. “Come on in.”

He looked at the broken lock on the front door with morbid interest, and then followed me into the sitting-room. “Lost much?”

“Just the usual things. I’m insured… so what do I care?” I went over to the liquor cabinet. “Have a drink?”

“I don’t mind having a brandy.” He dropped into a chair. “Was the old man pleased with the way I handled the write-up about Helen?”

“He seemed to be. Did you have much trouble?”

“One or two of the boys started to ask smart questions, but I told them they’d better talk to Chalmers. They said they’d rather kiss a smallpox case. That guy certainly is one of the best loved in this world.” He took the brandy I handed to him. “Has he gone yet or is he staying on?”

“He left on the three-forty plane from Naples.” I made myself a highball. “Hold everything for a moment. I want something to eat. I haven’t had a thing since lunch.”

“Well, come out. I’ll buy you something.”

“It’s too late now.” I picked up the telephone recover and called the hall porter. I told him to get me a chicken sandwich and bring it up pronto.

“Well, give us the dope,” Maxwell said, when I had hung up. “Did you find what she was doing in that place all alone? How did she die?”

I was careful what I told him, I said it looked as if there was a man in the background, that the police weren’t entirely satisfied that Helen’s death bad been accidental, and that Chalmers had told me to stick around and watch his interests. I didn’t tell him what June had said, nor that Helen had been pregnant.

He sat listening, sipping his brandy.

“So you’re not going home right away?”

“Not for a while.”

“I told you the old sonofabitch would want an investigation, didn’t I? Well, thank my stars,

I’m not involved.”

I said he was lucky.

“What’s biting the police? Why aren’t they satisfied?”

“Carlotti likes mysteries. He always turns molehills into mountains.”

“Does Chalmers think it was an accident?”

“He’s keeping an open mind about it.”