Джеймс Чейз - There’s Always A Price Tag

‘I don’t believe you,’ Helen said, her voice harsh. ‘Anyway, do you think I care what you do?’

‘No, I don’t think you do,’ he returned. ‘That is not the point. Very soon now I shall shoot myself in this room. It is unlikely that anyone except you and Nash will hear the shot. Now listen to this very carefully: you will have a few hours — not more — to turn this suicide into murder. You won’t be able to turn it into an accident: people don’t accidentally shoot themselves through the head.’

She was staring at him now as if she had thought he had gone crazy.

‘If the police say I have killed myself, the insurance company won’t pay out. But if the police say I have been murdered, then the insurance company will have to pay out. Are you following all this? Can you see the trap I am setting for you? Now do you see what I mean when I told you I am giving you the opportunity of punishing yourself? The bait in the trap is worth three-quarters of a million. You have only to fake clues, tell enough lies to turn my suicide into a murder, and then — if you have been very clever and you haven’t made any mistakes — you will get the money.’

Something cold dropped on to my hand. I found I was sweating. Looking across at Helen, I saw her face was white and she was as rigid as a statue.

‘I don’t know what happens when one dies,’ Dester went on, ‘but odd things can happen. It may be I shall be able to watch you after I am dead. I hope so for it will be amusing.’ He lit another cigarette while he stared at Helen. ‘I have an idea you won’t be able to resist the bait. You will try to turn my suicide into murder. I don’t think you are clever enough to pull it off, not against a man of Maddux’s brains. It is only fair to warn you that he is exceptional. You could so easily make a mistake and you might then find yourself charged with my murder, which would be rather funny considering you have already tried to murder me, wouldn’t it? I have made it still more complicated for you by asking Nash here to listen to all this. But he may not be impossibly difficult. You have a way with men, and it is possible you may persuade him to keep his mouth shut or even help you. After all, three-quarters of a million is a very large sum, and in return for a share in the money, he might be persuaded to help you.’

Helen jumped to her feet

‘I’m not listening to any more of this!’ she exclaimed. ‘You drunken fool! You wouldn’t have the nerve to kill yourself. Keep your rotten money! I don’t want it! There are plenty of other fish in the sea besides you! Go to hell and stay there!’

She flung back the door and stormed out into the hall. I watched her run up the stairs, and a moment later, a door slammed violently.

I got up. I was sweating and shaking.

‘And I guess I don’t want to hear any more either,’ I said, and without looking at him I walked into the hall, jerked open the front door and walked down the steps.

I was halfway to the garage when I heard the sound of a shot. The bans rattled the windows of the house and stopped me as if I had walked into a wall.

For a long moment I stood motionless, then turning, I ran back to the house and up the steps and into the hall.

At the head of the stairs, white-faced, her eyes wide, was Helen.

I looked up at her.

‘Go and see,’ she said in a hoarse whisper. I braced myself, then crossed the hall and opened the study door.

Dester had fallen forward across the desk. Blood from his smashed skull made a growing pool on the blotter that was absorbing most of it. The .38 automatic I had seen him with lay on the floor near his feet.

I didn’t have to touch him to know he was dead. With such a terrible head injury he had to be dead.

I stood staring at him, my mind vacant with horror. I couldn’t believe he had done this thing, then jerking my eyes away, I walked to the door and out into the hall.

Helen had come down the stairs. She stood motionless, staring at me.

‘Is he dead?’ she asked.

‘Yes.’ My own voice was as shaky as hers.

‘The mad, drunken fool! I thought he hadn’t the nerve to do it.’

She went past me and into his study.

I felt a trickle of cold sweat run down the side of my face, and I put my hand in my pocket for my handkerchief. My fingers touched the envelope containing the letter he had asked me to post. I pulled it out, stared at it for a long moment, then I slit the envelope and pulled out a sheet of paper. I read the letter, my mind only half aware of its meaning. Then I read it again:

From Erle Dester

June 19th

256 Hill Crest Avenue

Hollywood

MY DEAR BURNETT,

Because of your years of experience as an attorney, I don’t suppose what I am about to write to you will shock you over much. I’ve come to the end of things, and tonight I intend to shoot myself. You know enough about my affairs to realize as I do that there is now no future for me.

You know too how badly Helen has treated me. I have no intentions of letting her profit by my death. I have seen Maddux of the National Fidelity Insurance Company and have arranged with him to cancel the clause in the policy covering self-destruction. The new clause covering this is attached to the policy which you will find in the right-hand top drawer of my desk.

So the position is that since I am shooting myself the policy will be cancelled. However, Helen is desperate for money, and three-quarters of a million is a tempting sum. It is possible she may be desperate enough to attempt to defraud the insurance company. She could do so by making my suicide appear to be murder. This sounds far-fetched to you, doesn’t it? But I know Helen a lot better than you do. I have a young fellow working for me: his name is Glyn Nash, and it is possible Helen may fake my suicide to look as if I had been murdered by him or some unknown person. If she does do this, I am most anxious that you should not interfere. I have no doubt that Maddux will find her out, but if she succeeds or if she makes a mistake that will endanger her life, you will then, of course, take action and show this letter to the police.

I feel a short term in prison for attempted fraud would do her a lot of good. You think I am being vindictive? Perhaps I am, but I feel justified.

To satisfy your legal mind I am asking Miss Lennox to witness my signature. I repeat again that I am killing myself, and no matter what Helen says, this is not a case of murder but of suicide.

Miss Lennox has, of course, no knowledge of the contents of this letter.

So long.

    ERLE DESTER

Witness: MAY LENNOX

Secretary,

1145c Marlin Avenue

Hollywood.

‘What are you doing?’ Helen asked sharply. I turned and looked at her. White-faced, she stood in the doorway, watching me.

I folded the letter and put it in my pocket.

‘What are you reading?’ she asked.

I scarcely heard her. I was remembering his words: You have only to fake clues, tell enough lies to turn my suicide into murder, and then — if you have been very clever and you haven’t made any mistakes — you will get the money.

Three-quarters of a million!

I realized that his letter gave me protection if I could only think of a way to turn his suicide into murder. If I made a mistake, if I was found out, I had only to produce this letter to keep out of trouble.

‘Glyn!’

It was the first time she had ever called me by my first name.

‘Wait,’ I said. ‘Don’t do anything. Let me think.’

‘We must get a doctor and call the police,’ she said. ‘I’ll use the phone upstairs.’