Джеймс Чейз - Do Me a Favour Drop Dead

She had on the shapeless sweater and slacks and her hair was anyhow. Her face was pale, and there were dark rings under her eyes, but her expression was controlled and deadpan.

We looked at each other.

‘I’ll go down and open the garage door,’ I said. ‘The concentration of gas in there will be dangerous. We’ll have to give it time to clear.’

She nodded.

I went down, left the house and walked around to the garage. I pulled out the wedge and dropped it into my pocket. Then with my heart thumping, I swung up the garage door and stepped back. Peering into the garage, all I could see was the Caddy. He must be lying out of sight at the back of the car.

I returned to the house, went through the kitchen to the garage door and removed the second wedge. I went into the boiler room and dropped the two wedges into the oil furnace. As I started up the stairs, I saw her in the living room, staring out of the window. She had removed the armchair from the recess and had put it back where it usually stood.

I took the bottle of whisky from my bedside table, emptied the contents down my toilet basin, then took the empty bottle into the kitchen and dropped it in the trash bin.

‘Okay,’ I said. ‘Come on. It’ll be safe enough now.’

‘You can do it,’ she said without turning.

‘I can’t handle him alone.’

She didn’t turn. Going to her, I gripped her arm.

‘We’re in this together!’ I shouted at her. ‘Come on!’

She hunched her shoulders, then without looking at me, went into the kitchen. Moving ahead of her, I went down the passage and opened the garage door.

He was lying face down, his head close to the exhaust pipe. He looked as if someone had deliberately put him there.

Was he dead?

With a shaking hand, I took the car keys from my pocket, unlocked and opened the car door. The heat in the car hit me like a blow in the face. I slid in and turned off the motor, then reaching across, I opened the glove compartment and took out the half bottle of whisky, holding it by its neck. I had thought about this. Both Marshall and I had handled the bottle. I wasn’t worried about my prints, but I wanted them to find his on the bottle.

Unscrewing the cap, I laid the bottle on the floor of the car. The whisky ran out making a stain on the lamb’s wool carpet.

While I was doing this, Beth stood motionless in the doorway, her arms crossed while she stared fixedly at Marshall’s body.

I got out of the car. Bracing myself, I went to him, knelt and dragged him over on his back. One look at him told me he was dead. His eyes were wide open and fixed. There were tiny flecks of foam around his mouth.

‘We’ve got to get him into the car.’ My voice was a croak.

‘Is he dead?’

‘Look at him! Of course he’s dead!’

I saw her shudder, then she came to me. Between us, we dragged him to the car door. While she held him, I went around and opened the passenger’s door. Kneeling on the bench seat, I hauled him in while she pushed.

‘Okay. Now call Saunders,’ I said. ‘Tell him we found him in here and you’re sure he is dead. Tell him the motor was running and ask him what we should do.’

She went away.

I let his body fall forward across the driving wheel. The car stank of whisky. Shutting the passenger’s door, but leaving the driving door open, I walked into the fresh air. Lowering the garage door, I examined it to see if the wedge had left a mark. It hadn’t. I went back into the garage and examined the door leading to the kitchen. There was a slight mark, but so slight as to be almost invisible. I was sure no one would notice it.

I then checked the whole set-up, knowing this was the last chance I would have before the Sheriff arrived.

It looked good with Marshall slumped over the driving wheel, the empty whisky bottle at his feet, the heater control on. It seemed to me the picture told its own story.

I went into the living room. Beth was standing by the window, her back to me.

‘What did he say?’

‘To leave him how we found him. He’s coming, and he is calling the Sheriff.’

I went to her and swung her around.

‘Now listen to me! Neither the Sheriff nor Bernstein have ever seen you. For God’s sake, take that deadpan expression off your face! You have just lost your husband! Okay, you were sick of his drinking, but that doesn’t mean you don’t give a damn that he is dead! Try to show some emotion!’

She jerked free.

‘And you get a hold of yourself,’ she said in a low, hissing voice. ‘You looked frightened.’

I was frightened! With an effort I pulled myself together.

‘I’ll call Bernstein.’ I went to the telephone and dialled his home number. When he came on the line, I told him that Marshall was dead and how it had happened.

Apart from a grunt or two, he listened and didn’t ask questions.

‘The doctor and the Sheriff are on the way,’ I said. ‘Could you get over here, Mr. Bernstein?’

‘You’re sure he is dead?’

‘I’m sure.’

‘I’m coming,’ and he hung up.

Beth had gone into the kitchen. She came out with two cups of coffee.

‘Be very careful how you handle Bernstein,’ I said. ‘He’s coming. Remember he’s the dangerous man.’

‘Don’t keep on! I’ll handle him!’ Her voice was sharp.

We sipped the coffee.

‘I won’t be able to stay on here, Beth,’ I said. I’ll have to go back to Wicksteed. We can keep in touch by telephone. I’ll call you every evening at half past eight from a call box. If there is an emergency, call Mrs. Hansen and say there’s something wrong with the Caddy and you want me to come up.’

She nodded.

‘As soon as you know you’re going to get the money, Beth, I’ll move to Frisco. You stay on for a week or so, then put the house up for sale and then join me. Right?’

Again she nodded.

‘I hate being away from you for so long, but there’s no other safe way. No one must suspect what we mean to each other.’

‘Yes.’

The flat, remote voice made me want to shake her.

At this moment Dr. Saunders arrived.

‘I’ll handle him,’ I said. ‘Don’t forget you’re shocked. Go upstairs and lie down. Keep out of the way until the Sheriff comes. You’ll have to see him.’

Her expression still deadpan, she went out of the room and up the stairs as I went to the front door.

Dr. Saunders regarded me. I explained who I was, said Mrs. Marshall was upset and wanted to be alone, then I took him to the garage and left him there.

I stood around, aware my hands were sweaty and my heart was beating unevenly. After ten minutes or so, he came out of the garage.

‘We’ll leave him as he is until the Sheriff arrives,’ he said.

Seeing an approaching cloud of dust on the dirt road I said, ‘He’s coming now.’

We waited. The Sheriff, with Ross at his side, pulled up outside the house.

I stood back while McQueen talked to Saunders, then he and Saunders, with Ross tagging behind, went into the garage.

I went into the living room and sat down. I was pretty sure I could handle McQueen, but I was uneasy of Ross. He was one of those smart bastards who would look for trouble.

I smoked four cigarettes before I saw, through the window, Dr. Saunders drive off. I smoked another three before I saw McQueen and Ross coming to the house. Ross carried the whisky bottle in a plastic sack.

I got to my feet and moved to the living room door as they came into the hall.

‘Where’s Mrs. Marshall?’ McQueen asked as I moved back and they came into the living room.

‘She’s upstairs,’ I said. ‘This has been a shock. I’ll get her if you want to talk to her.’

‘I’ll talk to you first.’ McQueen pulled at his droopy moustache and selecting a chair, sat down. Ross put the bottle on the table, then sat down and took out a notebook. ‘Sit down, son,’ McQueen went on. ‘Suppose you tell us about it?’