Джеймс Чейз - There’s Always A Price Tag

‘I could be,’ I said. ‘What do you know, Patsy?’

‘Jack sent me out of the room, but I listened outside the door,’ Patsy said, speaking fast and low. ‘The detective was asking questions about you and Mrs. Dester.’

I wiped the sweat off my face.

‘What kind of questions?’

‘He wanted to know if Jack knew anything about you and her: if you were friendly with her or went out with her.’

‘What did he say, Patsy?’

‘I don’t know. I couldn’t stay outside the door that long. After a few minutes, Jack came out and said he was going down to headquarters.’

‘How did he look?’

‘Scared. I’d keep away from him, Glyn. You mustn’t trust him. He only thinks of himself.’

‘I guess that’s right. Well, thanks, Patsy. Thanks a lot.’

‘Is there anything I can do? This woman’s dead, isn’t she? It’s in the papers.’

‘Yes, she’s dead. No, there’s nothing you can do. So long, kid, and thanks.’

I hung up and went back to my table, pausing at the bar to buy a pack of cigarettes. I lit one and sat down again. Solly would tell them how I had offered him five hundred dollars to dig into Helen’s past. They would guess I had planned to blackmail her. My mouth turned dry. That would explain why I had killed her if they ever hooked me to her killing.

I felt the net was tightening. A feeling of panic threatened to submerge me. For some minutes I sat motionless, trying to think of a way out, then I remembered Marian. It was possible that she had some money I could borrow. I went back to the telephone booth and called Dester’s number. A man’s voice answered. I had forgotten the policeman who had been left to watch the house. There were extensions all over the house. He would be certain to listen in to what I was going to say. I knew I couldn’t involve Marian in this business.

‘Hello there?’ the policeman was saying. ‘Who’s calling?’

I dropped the receiver back on to its cradle and came out of the booth.

I felt trapped and beaten. I very nearly gave up then. If I had had the courage I would have gone to police headquarters and told them the truth, but I just couldn’t face it. I told myself I still had a slight chance of getting away if I acted at once. I had to get rid of the suitcase. If they caught me with it I couldn’t see how I could ever beat the rap.

I picked up the case and left the drug store. Walking quickly, I made my way to the central bus stop and went into the left-luggage office.

‘I want to check this in for a few days,’ I said to the clerk who took the case indifferently, slapped on a label, gave me a ticket and tossed the case on to a shelf.

If I had any luck I should be out of the country before the case was found, if it were ever found.

I felt less scared now I was rid of the suitcase. I walked through the swing doors of the left-luggage office into the hot sunshine. There were about twenty buses lined up, waiting to go. The crowd of travellers moved around me, jostling me while I tried to make up my mind which bus to take. I decided finally to head for San Francisco. I walked over to the timetable board to see what time the San Francisco bus was due out.

I was running my finger down the long list of place names when, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a big man come up to stand close beside me.

I felt my heart contract. The kind of terror you experience in a nightmare took hold of me. Slowly I turned my head. A large, red-faced man in a shabby suit and a slouch hat was looking intently at me. He had cop written all over him.

‘Okay, Nash,’ he said curtly. ‘We want you. Come on, let’s go.’

I stood staring at him, unable to think, unable to move. Another big man materialized out of the crowd and closed in on me.

‘Take it easy,’ the first cop said. ‘There’s no need to get excited. Lieutenant Bromwich wants to talk to you. Come on.’

I went with them to the waiting car, got in the back with the first cop while the other one slid under the driving wheel.

Then I saw a third detective come out of the left-luggage office, carrying my suitcase. He got in the front, resting the suitcase across his knees.

‘Let’s go,’ the first cop said in a bored, flat voice.

The car moved off.

I looked out of the car window at the traffic, the people moving on the sidewalks, the shop windows and the blue of the sky. It seemed to me that it was imperative to store up in my mind the sight of these familiar things. I had a feeling I wouldn’t see them again.

The room was small with dirty yellow walls and it smelt of stale sweat, stale tobacco smoke, unwashed bodies and carbolic acid. The furnishing consisted of two hard, straight-backed chairs and a trestle table spotted with ink stains.

A bored policeman sat in a chair by the door and stared gloomily at a bluebottle fly that walked across the ceiling. I sat in the chair by the table, waiting.

Four hours had dragged by since I had been brought to this room. I had been given a cup of coffee that stood on the table, cold and untouched. The saucer was crammed with my cigarette-butts.

The policeman hadn’t spoken during the four hours. Every so often he would shift his small, hard eyes from the fly to me and then back to the fly again.

I didn’t kid myself. I was in trouble. The chances were that this was the beginning of the end of my life. This could be the first step towards the gas chamber. During the long hours of waiting, I had decided my only hope was to tell the truth. It depended on the attorney I could get whether the jury would believe me or not. At least Dester’s suicide note should stop them charging me with his murder, but would they believe I had never intended to kill Helen? Even if they did believe me, I would still go to jail for a long time. This was the end of me anyway. Maybe it would be better to go to the gas chamber than to spend twenty years behind walls.

The door suddenly opened and the cop who had picked me up at the bus station came in.

‘The lieutenant is ready for you now,’ he said.

I got up and walked across the room and followed him down a long corridor into another room less shabby than the one I had just left.

Bromwich stood by the window, a cigar between his teeth, a scowl on his face. Seated on a hard-backed chair before the desk, his pipe in his hand, was Maddux.

Bromwich pointed to a chair.

‘Sit down,’ he said.

The cop who had brought me went out, leaving the door half open. Moving slowly, I sat down.

Bromwich looked over at Maddux.

‘Okay, you can have him for ten minutes. Then I want him.’

‘Thanks, Lieutenant,’ Maddux said. ‘I won’t be longer than that.’

Bromwich gave me a hard, hostile stare and then went out, shutting the door behind him. Maddux began to fill his pipe.

‘Well, Nash,’ he said, not looking at me, ‘you didn’t last long, did you? You must have put in a lot of hard work and thought to have pulled a stunt like this, but it came unstuck pretty fast. It was a smart idea and you nearly foxed me. I picked up two clues that put me bang on the beam. I investigated your background and I found out that you had worked for a refrigeration company some two years ago. That made me think. Then when I talked to Miss Temple and she told me about her sleepwalking act and how you had insisted on keeping the freezer motor running, I saw how you had fixed it. Just two clues and a nice idea went haywire. It was a nice idea, Nash, but it couldn’t have worked: the lack of blood and the lack of fingerprints pointed to a trick. I had only to dig deep enough to find out how the trick was worked.’

I didn’t say anything. I watched him light his pipe.

‘You’re in trouble, Nash,’ he went on. ‘We have an open-and-shut case against you. We’re experts at this kind of racket. We don’t want a confession out of you. We have enough evidence against you to put you into the gas chamber twice over, but once will be enough.’