Джеймс Чейз - There’s Always A Price Tag

‘Is the sergeant all right?’ I asked the policeman at the door.

He turned and looked at me, his small, hard eyes aggressive.

‘Yeah, he’s fine. He’s only got a cracked skull, but there’s nothing else the matter with him.’

It was pretty obvious by the way he spoke he had no time for Lewis. I went on waiting.

At half past four another van arrived. Four men came in carrying a long, black, coffin-like box. I guessed they would be from the morgue. Around ten past five, they recrossed the hall, carrying the box on their shoulders, their knees sagging slightly under its weight.

After being in the freezer for nearly ten days, Dester was at last going to his grave. I turned my head away, feeling sick, and the dull thump of the coffin as it was shifted from the men’s shoulders to the floor of the van, turned me cold.

The first light of dawn was coming through the curtains when Bromwich came in. He walked with a little swagger, and there was a cocky expression in his hard eyes.

‘You two can go to bed. I’ll want you at the inquest. Should be in a couple of days. Sorry to have kept you up.’

I had hidden my clenched fists in my trousers pockets. At his words my fists relaxed once more into shaking hands. ‘Aren’t there any more questions?’ I said, trying to make my voice sound steady.

He grinned. ‘It’s all fixed. I told that cluck Maddux how it was, but he wouldn’t listen. It was as plain as the nose on my face. Dester didn’t want to go into the sanatorium. On the way they quarrelled. He hit her, killed her and planted her out at the forestry station. Then he realized he hadn’t the nerve to go through with the faked kidnapping. He decided to take the easy way out. Did you see his confession note?’

I nodded.

‘There you are. He came back for his gun, shot himself and that’s it.’

I couldn’t believe he meant what he said. Surely he must have had some suspicions that the setup wasn’t quite on the level? Surely the doctor had cast some doubts?

‘Then we can go to bed?’ I said to make sure I had heard him aright.

‘Sure, go to bed. I’ve got to talk to the Press. Maybe they’ll want a word with you before you go. Just stick around for another five minutes.’

‘Is Sergeant Lewis all right?’

‘He’s another cluck. I had an idea Dester would come back. I told Lewis to watch out, but the mug had to walk into a cracked skull. He’ll be all right. He has a head like stone.’

He went out into the hall and started to talk to the newspaper men. Marian and I looked at each other. I managed to smile at her.

‘Well, that seems to be that,’ I said. ‘I guess you’ll want to leave tomorrow, or rather today. I’ll help you find a room.’

She started to say something when the Press moved in. For the next half-hour we answered the questions that were fired at us. They wanted to know about Dester’s private life; if he had quarrelled with Helen, how she had reacted, what I thought of him and her: stuff like that. I was careful to say nothing that could be proved untrue, but I did hint that they quarrelled, and there had been times when he had thrown things around. You couldn’t call him violent, I told them; maybe hasty tempered. I gave them the idea that it didn’t surprise me to hear Helen had died from a blow from his fist.

We got rid of them at last. Bromwich had already gone. Only the policeman at the lounge door remained. He said Bromwich had told him to stay on for a few hours in case sightseers tried to get into the house.

Marian said she would go back to the garage apartment. We arranged to meet again at ten o’clock. I saw her to the apartment.

‘As soon as the inquest is over, Glyn, I’m going to Rome,’ she told me. ‘I want to get away from all this. You are coming with me, aren’t you?’

I still had most of the two thousand dollars that Dester had paid me. It wasn’t a great deal, but I wanted to get away from all this too. I didn’t hesitate.

‘You bet I’m coming.’

‘Will you be able to manage?’ She looked anxiously at me. ‘Will you get your legacy by then?’

I looked at her, not knowing what she meant. Then I remembered I had been crazy enough to have told her before the insurance plan had come unstuck that I was coming into a legacy.

‘Why, no. I don’t think that’s coming off now,’ I said. ‘But I’ve got some money put by. I’ll manage. Maybe I can get myself a job in Rome.’

‘Let’s talk about it at breakfast’

We left it like that. I went back to the house. The policeman was sitting on the terrace, basking in the early morning sun. He had made a pot of coffee, and he nodded at me as I went by and on to the house.

I stood in the hall for a minute or so, trying to realize that I was out of danger. There was the inquest, of course. An inquisitive coroner could ask some awkward questions, but it seemed to me that the main danger was over. It seemed incredible that the plan had succeeded so well. But I had still things to do. There was the soiled cloth in the saucepan I had to get rid of and my pyjamas and dressing gown. As soon as I had the house entirely to myself I would burn them, I told myself.

I felt I couldn’t live another minute without a shot of whisky. The tension and the acute anxiety of the past four hours had left me exhausted. I walked into the lounge and began to head towards the bar when I stopped short, my nerves jangling, my heart skipping a beat.

Lolling in one of the lounging chairs was a tall, dark man of about my own age who was nursing a glass of whisky, a cigarette hanging from his lips.

He looked up at me and gave me a slow, lazy grin. His darkly tanned, humorously ugly face lit up as he smiled and he waved the glass of whisky at me.

‘Rotten habit to drink at this hour,’ he said. ‘My wife would have a fit if she could see me, but I’ve been up all night and I can’t take it unless I have twelve hours sleep.’

I remained motionless, looking at him.

‘Are you from the Press?’ I managed to get out.

‘Me? Do I look like a pressman?’ His grin widened. ‘No. I’m Steve Harmas, special investigator for the National Fidelity Insurance Company. I’m waiting for old man Maddux. He’s due here any moment.’

I felt a cold chill creep over me. ‘Maddux?’

‘That’s right. No one could keep the old wolfs snout out of a setup like this for long.’ Again he grinned at me. ‘Have a drink. You look as if you need one.’

A few minutes to seven-fifteen, Maddux walked into the lounge. By then I had shaved, showered and dressed, moving like an automaton, my heart cold with fear. I kept telling myself that if the police were satisfied, there was no reason why Maddux shouldn’t be. I reminded myself again and again that it was in his company’s interest to accept the theory that Dester had killed his wife and then had shot himself. If the coroner found that Dester had committed suicide then Maddux’s company would not be liable for three-quarters of a million dollars. Surely he wouldn’t be such a fool as to try to prove Dester had been murdered? He would jump at the chance not to pay out the money.

For the past hour, Harmas had been talking in his slow, drawling voice about the political situation as he saw it. He seemed to take a great interest in the Russian attitude and America’s policy in Europe. I scarcely listened to what he was saying, but that didn’t stop him talking.

As soon as Maddux walked into the lounge, I noticed a sharp change come over Harmas. He no longer looked lazy. His face became alert, his eyes hardened and he uncoiled his tall frame from the chair and stood up as if he had released a spring inside him.

Maddux looked at us and walked over to the empty fireplace. He set his back to it, took out his pipe and began to fill it.