Джеймс Чейз - There’s Always A Price Tag

That really jolted me. My heart skipped a beat and I felt sweat break out on my body. I looked quickly over my shoulder and through the rear window.

She was right.

Not more than thirty yards behind us I could see the yellow light of the big motorcycle lamp and the outline of the flat cop cap.

‘Slow down a little and let him pass,’ I said hoarsely.

Helen eased down to thirty-five miles an hour, but the cop hung back.

‘What is he up to?’ I said, trying to control my rising panic.

‘He’s probably on patrol.’

She sounded as calm as an evangelist at a tea party.

‘He’ll recognize the car. We’ve got to lose him,’ I said. ‘We turn off about a mile ahead of us. He mustn’t see us do it. Pull up! Let him get ahead.’

‘We can’t pull up. He might ask us what we are stopping for and get a good look at you.’

‘We’ve got to lose him! Don’t you realize this is the exact spot where, we’re supposed to run into the ambush? If we go another half-mile, we’re sunk!’

She looked into the driving mirror.

‘He’s coming up now,’ she said and slowed the car slightly.

The beam of the motorcycle lamp shone in our wing mirror. Then the cop drew alongside us. I sank further down into my seat as he went by.

‘He looked at you,’ Helen said softly. ‘He must know the car.’

The cop was pulling ahead now. Suddenly, as if he remembered an appointment, he opened up the throttle and the gleam of his tail lamp disappeared into the darkness.

‘He’ll remember us,’ I said and looked back over my shoulder at the straight empty road. ‘This is the spot where the kidnappers’ car is supposed to overtake us. He’ll remember there was no traffic on the road.’

‘So what do we do?’

Her voice was sharp; she sounded as if she were getting jittery.

‘We’ve got to alter the story. You’ll have to tell them the kidnappers drove out of the road from the forestry station and blocked the highway, forcing you to stop. That’ll fix it.’

‘Yes.’

‘Don’t forget: they drove suddenly out of the concealed road that leads to the forestry station and you had to pull up fast to prevent a pile up. You’ve got that?’

‘Yes.’

‘Look — there’s the turning. Slow down.’

I looked over my shoulder. There was no sign of any headlights behind us. We were having some luck after all.

‘Okay, now turn off.’

She swung the Rolls on to the dirt road. I leaned forward to cut the headlights and to turn on the spot lamp.

A five-minute drive brought us to the barbed-wire gate. She pulled up and I got out, opened the gate and waved her through. Then I shut the gate, and walked beside the slow-moving car, directing her to one of the huts. She pulled up outside the hut, turned off the spot lamp and got out.

Up on this hill it was dark and still and as quiet as a graveyard. I felt the cool breeze against my sweating face. My heart was thumping and I was feeling slightly sick.

From my pocket I took a small flashlight and went to the door of the hut. I pushed against it, but it was locked.

‘Wait here,’ I said, and moving to the first window, I broke a pane with the butt of the flash lamp, reached inside and slipped back the catch. I pushed open the window, and climbed through into a small room equipped with a desk, a filing cabinet and a chair. I went out into a passage, listened for a moment, then went down to the entrance door. It took me only a few minutes to undo the screws that held the lock and to take the lock off, then I opened the door.

‘Come on in,’ I said.

Helen followed me down the passage to a door at the far end. I pushed open the door and sent the beam of my flashlight into the darkness. I could see the room was big. There was a table in the middle of the room and four or five wooden crates stacked against a wall.

‘This’ll do,’ I said. ‘We’d better not put on the light. It might be seen from the highway.’

Helen stood near me, looking around the room. I could hear her light, quick breathing.

Around one of the crates was a thin cord. I took out my penknife, cut the cord from it, and cut two short lengths. I put the flashlight on the top of a crate, turning the beam on to Helen. She was watching me. Her face was tense and pale, but she didn’t look scared.

‘You’ll be okay,’ I said. ‘The staff will be here early. You won’t have more than six hours to wait before you’re found. You know the story. You’ll be so shaken and hysterical they won’t get much from you. They’re certain to call the cops.’

‘I know what we planned,’ Helen said curtly. ‘I’m not scared.’

I laid the two lengths of cord on the table. My heart was slamming against my ribs.

‘This is it. There’ll be no turning back now. Once they find you, we’re in it up to our necks. Do you still want to go ahead?’

She looked at me.

‘Do you still want to go ahead?’

Did I? I hesitated. I thought of all that money. I thought of going to Rome with Marian.

‘Yes.’

‘Then don’t waste time.’

She crossed her wrists and held them out towards me. I hadn’t warned her what I was about to do. That was a small bit of the plan she didn’t know about. I didn’t want to do it, but I knew I had to. The setup just had to look convincing.

I moved a little to one side as if I were going to pick up the cords on the table. Then I balled my right fist, set myself and slammed a punch at her jaw.

The light was bad and I was flustered. Instead of hitting her where I intended to hit her, my fist thudded against her cheekbone, just below her right eye. She went down as if she were pole-axed, but I hadn’t knocked her out as I had intended to do. She gave a thin, strangled scream as she rolled over on the dusty floor. Her white hat fell off, her skirts rode up above her knees.

I felt sweat running down my back and my breath was coming out of my mouth like the hiss of steam.

‘You devil!’ she screamed at me.

Down there on the floor she was in the full light of the flash beam. As she got up on hands and knees, her lips drawn off her teeth, she looked as vicious as a wild cat.

I don’t think I have ever been more rattled. She looked as if she were going to kill me.

I waited until she was rising, then I stepped in, chopped her hands down with my left and hung a right-hand punch on the side of her jaw, hitting her with all my weight behind the punch.

Her head snapped back and she crashed against the leg of the table, sending the table skidding against the wall. She lay on her side, her legs sprawled, her arms above her head.

I stood over her, panting, my heart hammering so violently I could scarcely breathe. Then I bent over her, hooked my fingers in the neck of her frock and ripped it down to her waist. I rolled her over on her face, pulled her arms behind her and roped her wrists. All this time I kept on my gloves and it wasn’t easy tying the knots, but I didn’t take the gloves off. I roped her ankles, then going over to her handbag, I took out the silk scarf I had told her to bring with her and tied it tightly over her mouth.

She was breathing heavily, her eyes shut, the muscles in her face slack. She looked convincing all right. Already an ugly red patch was showing below her right eye. There was another bruise on her jaw. Her ripped dress was crumpled and dusty. In her fall she had torn the knees out of her nylon stockings. I took off one of her shoes.

That completed the picture. It would be a damned suspicious cop who would imagine that it was she who had engineered the kidnapping of her husband. She looked as I wanted her to look: a woman who had been handled by a couple of vicious thugs.

I emptied the contents of her purse on the floor. She had about thirty dollars in small bills and I put them in my pocket, leaving the rest of the stuff.