James Chase - Just Another Sucker

Nina said, ‘This woman, Harry, must have a lover. Don’t tell me a woman like her is prepared to live with a sick old man. I’ve seen her photographs. I’m sure she has a lover.’

She was right, of course. I wondered why I hadn’t thought of the possibilities of a lover before.

‘Let me think a moment. You’ve given me an idea.’ I lit a cigarette, my mind busy. After a while, I said, ‘Let’s suppose there is a lover. Rhea tells him, when Malroux dies, half the fortune goes to Odette.

Suppose this guy thinks it would be better for the two of them to grab the lot. Neither of them are willing to take the risk of murdering Odette, so they look around for a fall guy and they pick on me. The kidnap plot is just a smoke screen. I fall for it. Odette falls for it too. Why she falls for it, defeats me, but she falls for it. Rhea and her boy friend are sitting pretty. If anything goes wrong, I’m the guy who’ll take the rap. The more I think about it, the more sure I am you’re right. There is a man behind all this — the lover — and he must be the one who killed Odette.’

For the next hour we talked, speculated and tried to plan, but we didn’t get anywhere. All the time, we both were thinking that the minutes were bringing us closer and closer to the time when we had to steal the car and move Odette’s body. It was a thought that froze both of us.

Somewhere in the distance, a clock chimed one. Nina looked at me.

‘We’d better make a start.’

Neither of us spoke on the way back to the bungalow. We walked side by side, holding hands. There was nothing to say, both of us realised the full horror to which we were walking.

The street in which we lived was deserted. By now the TV sets had been turned off. The windows of the neat bungalows were dark. We were alone in this little suburban world.

At the intersection of Pacific Avenue and Pacific Boulevard, we paused.

‘We’ll get the car,’ I said.

We walked down Pacific Boulevard until we came to the Mercury. Every house and bungalow was in darkness. Without hesitation, Nina slid into the driving seat and started the engine. I went around to the off-side door which she opened for me and I got in beside her, being careful not to touch any part of the car. She drove the car into our street and pulled up outside our bungalow. I got out to open the gates and then the garage doors. Nina backed the Mercury down the runway. The Mercury and the Packard were now bumper to bumper.

Nina got out of the car and joined me. We both looked at the trunk of the Packard.

This was the moment.

‘Go into the bungalow and wait for me,’ I said.

‘I’ll help you, Harry,’ she said, a quaver in her voice.

I put my arms around her and hugged her. I knew what it meant for her to make such an offer.

‘I’m handling this myself,’ I said. ‘You must leave me to it.’

‘I’ll stand by the gate, just in case…’

She walked to the gates and stood there, looking up and down the road.

I went to the garage and took up the tyre lever and forced open the trunk of the Mercury. I swung up the lid.

I then unlocked the trunk of the Packard and swung it open.

The distance clock struck the quarter of the hour.

I dragged Odette’s body from the Packard’s trunk into the trunk of the Mercury. Handling her was a gruesome experience: an experience I will take to my grave.

While Nina continued to watch, I went into the bungalow and got the briefcase. I put it beside the dead girl and then I closed the lid of the trunk.

‘Okay,’ I said to Nina. ‘Let’s go.’

We got in the car. We were close together. I could feel she was trembling. She drove the car to the corner of Pacific Boulevard and there we left it. Silently, we walked back to the bungalow. We met no one.

As I shut the front door, Nina gave a strangled sigh and slid to the floor in a faint.

They found Odette’s body a little after ten o’clock the following morning.

I had been in my office since nine o’clock, sweating it out and waiting for the telephone bell to ring.

I had had a pretty bad night. When Nina came out of her faint, she developed symptoms of shock, and I had had quite a time with her. I finally made her take two sleeping tablets. Once I was satisfied she was asleep, I had gone to the garage and collected Odette’s suitcase from the trunk. I had then examined every inch of the trunk to make certain there was no trace of her to be found if those two soldiers came back in the morning to search the car. I even went over the inside of the trunk with the electric cleaner.

Then I took the suitcase to the furnace room and lit the furnace. I opened the case. It contained the scarlet dress she had worn when she had gone to the Pirates’ Cabin, the white plastic mack, the red wig and the usual toilet things a girl carries on a journey. I burned the lot, and I cut up the suitcase and burned that too.

I scarcely had any sleep that night and I was feeling pretty bad when I left for the office the following morning. Nina looked ill. We didn’t say much to each other. Both of us had this sick feeling of dread, knowing before very long the body must be found.

I found it impossible to work. I sat at my desk with a file in front of me and smoked endless cigarettes, waiting for the telephone bell to ring.

When it did finally ring, my hand was shaking so badly I nearly dropped the receiver.

‘We’ve found her!’ Renick’s voice sounded excited. ‘They have her down at headquarters. Come on, I’m on my way now.’

I found him and Barty waiting at the elevators. Barty was pressing the call button impatiently.

‘She’s dead,’ Renick said to me as I came up ‘She’s been murdered. She was found in the trunk of a stolen car in Pacific Boulevard.’

Little was said on the quick trip to headquarters. We drove straight into the yard. The Mercury stood in the shade with four or five plain clothes men grouped around it, watching a photographer at work.

I felt cold and sick as I got out of the police car and walked with Renick and Barty to the Mercury. I kept my eyes averted as Renick looked into the trunk.

‘I want the Medical Examiner to have her as soon as the photographer has finished,’ he said to one of the plain clothes men. ‘I want you boys to go over every inch of this car. Don’t miss a thing.’ He squatted down to stare again into the trunk. ‘Hey, what’s this? Looks like the ransom briefcase.’ He took out his handkerchief, reached inside the trunk and covering the handle of the case with the handkerchief, he lifted it out. ‘Don’t tell me the money’s here. It’s heavy enough.’ He set the case down and opened it while the other detectives crowded around. ‘Full of newspapers!’ he looked at Barty. ‘What the hell does this mean?’

‘Look at the dress she’s wearing,’ Barty said. ‘The barman at the Pirates’ Cabin said she had on a red dress and a white plastic mack. She’s changed her clothes.’

I had known the risk I was taking with the cheap blue and white dress, but nothing would have induced me to have taken the dress off the body and put the red dress back on her. It was something I couldn’t have done.

‘Where did the dress come from?’ Renick asked, puzzled. He turned to me. ‘Look, Harry, take a car and go to Malroux’s place. Ask Mrs. Malroux if the girl owned such a dress and bring someone down here to identify her.’

I stared at him.

‘You mean you want me to see Mrs. Malroux?’

‘Sure, sure,’ Renick said impatiently, ‘and break the news to the old man. Get O’Reilly to come down and identify her. We don’t want Malroux to see her. If he wants to come, warn him she isn’t a pretty sight, but check on that dress, it’s important.’