Джеймс Чейз - I Hold the Four Aces

Helga’s eyes opened wide.

‘Yes, but...’

‘Then I suggest Mr. Grenville unlocked and unbolted the front door. There could be no one else.’

‘Are you daring to suggest that Mr. Grenville engineered his own kidnapping?’ Helga shrilled.

‘These photographs are fakes, madame. Mr. Grenville was the only one here who could unlock the front door,’ Hinkle said. ‘The conclusion is obvious.’

‘No! He loves me! He would never, never do such a thing!’ Helga began to beat her fists together. ‘I won’t listen to you! I know you hate him, but I love him! I won’t listen to you!’

‘Before leaving you with Mr. Archer, I took the liberty of turning on the tape recorder,’ Hinkle said, unperturbed. ‘We have a recording of the conversation between you and Mr. Archer. I have also the number of his car. I suggest, madame, we should now seek the help of the police.’

‘The police? No! Chris is in the hands of the Mafia! They are threatening to cut off his ear unless I pay.’ Jumping to her feet, she stared wildly at him. ‘What is money? I don’t give a damn as long as I get him back! I’ll pay! I’m not listening to your insinuations! You are suggesting hateful things because you hate him! Keep out of this! I am going to get him back, no matter what it costs!’ She ran from the room and into her bedroom, slamming the door.

For a long moment, Hinkle stood still, his face clouded, then he moved out onto the terrace. He stood by the terrace rail, staring out across the lake, his mind busy.

Archer eased his heavy body in the driving seat of the Mercedes as he drove through Cassarate and headed towards the lake road to Paradiso.

He was feeling relaxed and satisfied. He had certainly dug the knife into that bitch and had turned the blade. He chuckled. It was a pity he hadn’t seen her reaction when she had looked at those photographs, but he could well imagine how she would have gone to pieces. To see her darling lover with blood on his face would utterly demoralize her. He was sure he would have no trouble with her. She would pay up.

A million dollars! he thought. In three days’ time, he would be able to buy himself as many suits as he wanted. He could go to the barber once a week instead of cutting his own hair. He could once again eat at the best restaurants; stay at the best hotels! She deserved no pity. She had given him none in the past. This was sweet revenge!

It had been a brilliant idea of his to let her imagine Grenville was in the hands of the Mafia. How Grenville would laugh. Damn it! They must celebrate. Then he frowned. Grenville must keep out of sight until the money was paid, but at least they could have a bottle of champagne. Archer nodded. Yes, he thought, splendid idea — an idea Grenville would appreciate.

After some difficulty, he found parking in Lugano, and went to the Inno store. There, he bought two bottles of good champagne, then selected a variety of hors d’oeuvres with several cheeses. They would have a little feast, while he told Grenville how clever he had been.

Carrying his purchases, he returned to the Mercedes and headed back to his rented villa. By now, he thought, Helga would be busy examining her list of stock holdings, trying to make up her mind which to sell. Whatever stock she did sell to make up two million dollars, she would be the loser. The Dow Jones index was flat on its back. Serve the bitch right! That was her funeral, and Archer laughed. He could imagine her driving her fancy Rolls to Bern to consult her banker, panic gnawing at her. Sweet revenge!

The four aces, he thought. I hold them all, and this time, she can’t bluff her way out! I have her exactly where I want her!

He pulled up outside the rented villa, collected his purchases and hurried up the path. He opened the front door.

‘Chris! It worked!’ he shouted.

Silence greeted him.

Frowning, he walked into the empty living-room, then into the bedroom, then into the second bedroom. There was no sign of Grenville. Suddenly uneasy, Archer looked into the kitchen, hurried to the bathroom and threw open the door to the toilet.

Grenville was not in the villa.

Grenville had watched Archer drive away, then he had returned to the shabby little living-room and had sat down. He would probably have an hour to wait before Archer returned. He didn’t envy Archer. He had now learned that Helga could be all steel, but Archer had seemed very confident. Grenville had no doubts that she was madly in love with him. He just hoped that Archer would handle her carefully. He was now satisfied that he could trust Archer. All the same, he told himself, he would keep close to Archer, once the money was paid. When such a sum was involved, one couldn’t be too careful.

He lit a cigarette, as he followed in his mind Archer’s progress through Cassarate and up to Castagnola. He looked at his watch. In another ten minutes, he thought, Archer would be arriving at Helga’s villa. It was a bore that they had to stay in this miserable little villa for three days, but he bowed to Archer’s warning that he must not show himself on the streets. It would be a complete give-away if he were spotted. The Swiss police were busy-bodies, Archer had said, and they always looked twice at foreigners. He remembered the policeman who had threatened to give him a parking ticket. He frowned. He had behaved stupidly. That policeman had his name and address and would recognize him again. Thinking about the incident, Grenville shrugged his shoulders. It didn’t matter, he told himself. In three days’ time, he would be at the Geneva airport, waiting to take-off for New York, then from New York, he would fly down to Miami, spend a couple of days there, and then on to the West Indies.

He wondered what Archer would do with his share of the money. Thinking about Archer, Grenville decided he wasn’t a bad fellow, and, there was no doubt, he had brains. Given decent clothes, Grenville thought, and a respectable haircut, he could look quite impressive. Thank God, he told himself, that he had never got so financially low as Archer had. There had always been some stupid woman to finance him, but with a million dollars, he would be free of all that, and he would be independent!

A slight sound behind him made him look around.

Standing in the doorway was Segetti, and just behind him, Belmont. Startled, Grenville jumped to his feet.

‘What are you two doing here?’ he demanded sharply. ‘I thought you were on your way to Geneva.’

‘We changed our minds,’ Segetti said, and moved into the room. ‘Didn’t we, Jacques?’

Belmont didn’t say anything. He leaned against the doorpost and stared bleakly at Grenville.

‘So what do you want?’ These two looked unpleasantly menacing and Grenville had a presentiment of danger. He moved away from the armchair in which he had been sitting.

‘What do we want?’ Segetti smiled. ‘We want you, Mr. Grenville.’

‘What do you mean?’ Grenville’s heart began to thump.

‘You understand English? We want you to come with us.’

‘That’s the last thing I’ll do,’ Grenville blustered. ‘Now stop this nonsense. You have been well paid. Get out!’

‘This time, Mr. Grenville, it won’t be tomato ketchup, it will be for real,’ and Segetti produced a vicious-looking Luger automatic, fitted with a silencer. He pointed the gun at Grenville.

Grenville felt a rush of cold blood up his spine. Never before in his life had anyone threatened him with a gun. The sight of that evil-looking little hole in the silencer directed at him, brought him out in a sweat of fear.

‘Don’t point that thing at me!’ he quavered. ‘Don’t — don’t shoot!’

‘Come along, Mr. Grenville,’ Segetti said. ‘We are going for a little drive. You will sit in the front seat. I shall be in the back seat. If you attempt to do anything foolish, you will get a silent bullet through your spine.’ He smiled. ‘I don’t make idle threats. Let’s go.’