Джеймс Чейз - There’s Always A Price Tag

After all Dester had actually shot himself. I had only to put the gun in his hand to turn the clock back. I got to my feet and began to pace up and down while I thought about this idea. The police couldn’t prove that Dester had died more than a week ago. They would think he died when I got him out of the freezer. That part of the original scheme still stood.

The advantage of this new scheme was that I need not take Dester’s body out of the grounds. I could carry his body into a quiet part of the garden and dump him there with his gun in his hand. When he was found the police would think he had returned to the house to get the gun. I could tell them that I knew he kept a gun in his desk drawer. I could even leave a half-finished confession note in the typewriter.

The more I thought about this idea the more I was convinced that it would let me out. Marian wasn’t in the house any longer. I would be free to get him out of the cabinet whenever I was ready.

But she would have to hear the sound of the shot when he was supposed to kill himself. That was essential. I wanted the police to find him quickly. If he had any spare cartridges the hearing of the shot would present no difficulties. When I had set the stage, all I had to do was to fire a shot into the air, take out the shell case, put a new cartridge into the gun and the gun into his hand, then run back to the house. By the time Marian called me up to know what the shot meant I should be back.

I went at once to Dester’s room to hunt for a box of cartridges. After a five-minute feverish search, I found the box tucked under a pile of shirts. I took a cartridge from the box and put it in my pocket.

There was nothing I could do this night. First I had to get the gun from the safe deposit. I would get it in the morning, then I would stage the suicide the same night. That meant I would have to turn off the motor of the deep-freeze cabinet some time during the morning. By midnight, Dester’s body would be almost back to normal and I would be able to handle him. The thought of taking him out and carrying him into the garden scared me, but I had to do it. I couldn’t risk letting the police investigate me. I had to lead them away from myself and fix their attention on Dester.

It was getting on for two o’clock by the time I went to bed. My mind was a lot easier. If I could only pull this off I was out in the open again, and I could get away from this house and put the whole nightmare business behind me.

It had taught me a lesson, I told myself. No more quick-rich schemes. I’d get back to my advertising work. I didn’t have to work for Solly. I could get a job with some other firm. I’d work at it this time. Then when Marian came back from Rome we’d get married.

I was so sold on the feeling that I was going to get myself out of this jam that I drifted off into a dreamless sleep, and it wasn’t until Marian disturbed me by moving about downstairs that I woke up around nine o’clock.

When I had shaved, showered and dressed I came downstairs. She had put a tray of coffee, soft-boiled eggs and toast on the terrace and we had breakfast together.

‘At eleven o’clock Burnett’s coming over,’ I said. ‘I’d be glad if you would help me. I’ve got to list Dester’s debts and put his papers in order.’

Up to now she hadn’t said anything about leaving. If I was to stage this scheme of mine tonight, it was essential that she should be here. I had to have a reliable and independent witness to the hearing of the shot.

After we had washed up the dishes, we went into Dester’s study and Marian and I started in to work. We ransacked all the desk drawers and piled the papers we found there on the desk. Then we went through them, Marian calling out the amounts of the bills while I noted them down. We had been doing this for over a half an hour when suddenly she stopped. I looked up to see she was staring at a long envelope with a heavy seal on the back of it.

‘What have you got there?’ I asked sharply.

‘It was among all these bills.’

She passed it to me.

I looked at it and read the inscription.

For the attention of Mr. Edwin Burnett. Erle Dester’s Last Will and Testament. June 6th 1955.

I stared at it for a long moment. For no reason at all that I could think of this slim envelope made me uneasy. I wanted to open it, but with Marian watching me, I knew I couldn’t do that.

I laid it down. ‘I’ll give it to him. From the look of things, Dester hadn’t much to leave.’

My voice sounded odd in my ears. It must have sounded odd to Marian for she looked quickly at me.

‘Let’s get on. These guys will be here in half an hour.’

We were still at it when Burnett’s car arrived. I had by then some idea of what Dester owed. As far as I could judge it was around twenty-seven thousand. His assets were two thousand in the bank, the house, the two cars and the contents of the house. With any luck and with a good auctioneer, it should be possible to raise the money to pay off his creditors.

As Burnett was getting out of his car, another car came up the drive: this time a police car.

Marian and I stood in the open doorway while Burnett turned to meet the occupants of the other car. From it got a big, beefy man with a purple complexion and close-set, hard eyes, Lieutenant Bromwich and Sergeant Lewis and another man who immediately held my attention.

This man had the shoulders of a prize fighter and the legs of a midget. He wasn’t more than five feet six in height. His thinning grey hair was unruly, and his face, that reminded me of one of those rubber dolls you can squeeze into all shapes and sizes, was as bleak and as hard as a Siberian winter. He wore his well-cut clothes carelessly. His shirt collar was rumpled, his tie hung askew, but I could see he was the important member of the party. Even the big, purple-faced man, who I guessed was Chief of Police Madvig, stood back to allow him to be the first to be greeted by Burnett.

The five men stood talking for a brief moment, then they came up the steps.

I watched them, aware that my heart was thumping and my hands were cold and clammy.

Burnett said to the short-legged man, ‘I don’t think you have met Glyn Nash. He is Dester’s secretary.’

I found myself looking into a pair of slate grey eyes. I felt my right hand squeezed in a grip that cracked my bones.

‘Nash, I want you to meet Mr. Maddux of the National Fidelity Insurance Company,’ Burnett said.

As I looked into those slate grey, wintery eyes I remembered what Dester had said about this man: He has a big reputation in the insurance world. He is smart, tough and extremely efficient. It is said of him that he knows instinctively when a claim is a fake or not. He has been with the National Fidelity for fifteen years, and during that time he has sent a large number of people to jail, and eighteen people to the death cell.

And that was what he looked like: a force to be reckoned with.

Madvig, Burnett and Bromwich drifted into the hall at the heels of Maddux. As usual Lewis stayed behind. They seemed uncertain what was going to happen whereas Maddux gave the impression that he knew exactly what he was about to do.

‘I haven’t a lot of time,’ he said. His voice matched his face. ‘Let’s get around a table and talk.’

I took them into the lounge. There wasn’t a table, but that didn’t seem to worry Maddux. He took up a position before the empty fireplace: a position that dominated the room while Burnett, Madvig, and Bromwich almost apologetically took lounging chairs that faced Maddux.

Marian and I stood in the doorway.

‘Come in, you two,’ Maddux said and waved us to two chairs slightly away from where the other three were sitting. ‘We’ll need your help.’