Джеймс Чейз - Believe This... You’ll Believe Anything

The sound of the storm was continuous. The screaming noise of the wind pounded on inside my skull.

Then who had taken the gun?

The only one who knew I had it was Val.

Val!

She had begged me to shoot her! Had she, in a mad moment gone to my office while Dyer and I were checking the doors and windows, found and taken the gun?

I stumbled to my feet.

God! Had she killed herself?

In this infernal noise I wouldn’t have heard the shot. I stood for a long moment in the grip of panic. It was at this moment when I thought I might have lost her for good that I fully realised how much I loved her, how much I depended on her to wipe out the memory of those six empty years when I had her only in my dreams.

I went out into the corridor.

Was she already dead?

Moving slowly, my heart hammering, I walked down to her door. I put my head close to the door panel and tried to listen but the noise of the raging hurricane blotted out every sound.

Bracing myself, I opened the door.

Would I find her lying on her bed, lost to me forever? Would she be bleeding from a dreadful wound in the head?

‘Who is it?’

Her voice! She was alive!

I moved quickly into the room and closed the door I stood there, looking at her as she sat in a chair near the hurricane lamp, her hands in her lap, the lamp lighting the rise and fall of her lovely breasts and casting her tense white face into sculptured shadows.

‘Oh, Val!’

I stumbled to her and fell on my knees, my head on her thighs, my hands around her waist.

Gently her fingers moved into my hair.

‘Tell me.’ Her voice was unsteady. ‘Don’t be frightened. Tell me I am free.’

I remained motionless. What had she said?

A tremendous clap of thunder shook the windows.

‘Clay, darling...’

Tell me I am free.

I was still so shaken to find her alive, my brain refused to function.

‘Clay!’ Her voice sharpened. Her hands moved to my shoulders. She pushed me upright so we looked at each other. ‘What has happened?’

Why was it her face seemed to me to be chiselled out of marble? A trick of the flickering light?

‘Give me the gun,’ I said.

‘Gun? What do you mean?’

I got unsteadily to my feet.

‘Don’t fool with me, Val! Give me the gun!’

‘Gun? Clay! Pull yourself together. You told me you had the gun!’ Her voice turned shrill.

‘It’s gone! For God’s sake, Val, don’t torture me like this! You took it, didn’t you?’

‘I?’ She leaned forward, her fists clenched, her face the colour of old parchment, her eyes wild and wide. ‘No! What are you saying? Isn’t he dead?’

‘No, I was going to kill him.’ I turned away from her. I couldn’t face her wild, despairing eyes. ‘I had it all planned. It was to look like suicide. It seemed so simple. The motive was there. They always look for a motive. He was being threatened by prison or exile. He had lost all his money. All I had to do was walk in there and shoot him through the head.’ I moved further away from her. ‘The gun has gone!’

There was a long pause, then she said in a voice I could scarcely hear: ‘Who took it?’

‘I was sure it was you.’

‘No...’

I lifted my hands helplessly.

‘What can I do now? I have no weapon. I can’t fight with him. He is far too strong.’

She drew in a long, slow breath.

‘I told you...’ She stared down at her clenched fists. ‘There is nothing to do. He is protected. Devils always are protected. Please go. If he found you here...’

‘I promised to help you. I am going to help you!’

‘Please go away!’ She dropped her head in her hands and began to sob.

‘I will free you, Val!’ I said frantically. ‘By tomorrow you will be rid of him!’

‘Oh, go away! Spare me your empty promises. I told you! There is no solution. For God’s sake, go away!’

I left her and returned to my office. I put the torch on the desk and stood listening to the creaking boards guarding the windows as the wind slammed against them.

Your empty promises .

That really hurt.

I went around my desk and sat down. The flickering lamp cast ghostly shadows.

If Val hadn’t taken the gun, who had?

I tried to remember when last I had seen it. Then I recalled opening my desk drawer and looking at the gun early this morning. I hadn’t looked at it since. So either Vidal, Dyer or Gesetti could have found and taken it.

I discounted Vidal immediately. I was sure, had he found it, he would have demanded an explanation: why had I a gun in my desk? If Dyer had found it, I felt almost sure he would have left it alone. I couldn’t imagine Dyer touching any gun.

Then it must be Gesetti!

I reached for the whisky, poured a stiff shot and drank it. The spirit bolstered my jumping nerves. Snatching up my torch, I went to the door and peered up the dark corridor and then down the dark stairs. Moving swiftly, I descended the stairs and finally reached Gesetti’s room. I paused to listen. He was still snoring.

For a long moment I hesitated, then turning the door handle, I moved into the room, leaving the door ajar.

There was a smell of stale sweat, sickly hair oil and cigarette smoke hanging in the darkness.

My heart was slamming against my ribs and my mouth was dry. If it hadn’t been for the whisky I would have backed out of the room.

Gesetti gave a sudden violent snort that lifted the hairs on the back of my neck, then he stopped snoring.

Had he come awake?

I remained motionless, sweat trickling down my face. I heard him heave himself over, grunt and then the snoring began again.

Still I waited. Then satisfied he was truly asleep, I screened the bulb of my torch with my fingers and turned it on.

Keeping the shielded light away from the bed, I looked around the small room. Against the wall, close to me, was a chest of drawers. This would be the most likely place for him to have put the gun. Gently, I eased open the top drawer. It was full of fancy shirts, but no gun.

Closing the drawer, I pulled open the second drawer. As it came open it gave a sharp squeaking sound that chilled my blood. I snapped off the torch.

The snoring stopped.

Inch by inch I began to close the drawer.

Then out of the darkness, Gesetti growled, ‘Who the hell’s there?’

I had the drawer shut now and I stepped quickly away from the chest.

‘It’s all right.’ I turned on my torch. My voice was a strangled whisper.

Gesetti was sitting up in bed. His snake’s eyes glittered in the light of the torch. He looked as if he were about to spring at me.

‘What do you want?’ he snarled.

‘I... I just looked in to see how you were.’ I backed towards the door.

‘Yeah?’ His big fists rested on his knees. He was wearing his black open neck shirt. His heavy fat jowls were covered with stubble. ‘I’ll tell you. I’ve got a goddamn headache and I want to sleep. That’s how I feel! Now piss off and don’t come sneaking in here again or I’ll kick the hell out of you!’

I stepped into the dark corridor and closed the door. I was so shaken I felt I was about to throw up.

As I started down the corridor, I saw a light coming from the stairs and the sounds of someone descending. I paused, leaning against the wall.

Dyer came into view. He had on a dark blue dressing gown. The beam of his torch lit up the stairs.

I watched him. He went straight to Vidal’s door, tapped, opened it and paused in the doorway.

‘Didn’t I tell you I was not to be disturbed?’ I heard Vidal bark.

‘I’m sorry, sir, but Mrs. Vidal...’ Dyer’s voice trailed away.

‘Well, What about Mrs. Vidal?’

‘She seems upset, sir. I heard her crying and sort of moaning. I thought you should know.’