Джеймс Чейз - You’re Lonely When You’re Dead

Barclay’s reaction was immediate. Moving fast for a big man he socked Kerman on the side of the head. It was a nice punch, and Kerman went down, taking the table with him. By the time Barclay turned to let fly at me I was already moving in on him. I got my face out of the way of a left swing, touched him lightly on the chest with my left, straightened him a trifle, then uncorked the right-hand wallop that Comrade Mills had treated so flippantly, only Barclay wasn’t in Mills’s class and he took the punch on the side of his jaw. His eyes rolled back, the whites showed and he fell forward on his face with a crash that shook the room.

‘Nice work,’ Kerman said, getting slowly to his feet. He held the side of his face tenderly. ‘He packs quite a punch. Think we could help ourselves to a little of his whisky?’

‘Let’s help ourselves to a lot,’ I said, stirring Barclay’s thick body with my foot.

Kerman went over to the cocktail cabinet, still rubbing his face. He made two drinks, handed me one and swallowed the other at a gulp. I drank half mine and set the glass on the table. I was worried about Barclay. He hadn’t acted like a guilty man, and I had an uneasy feeling he had been genuine when he said he didn’t know what I was talking about.

‘We’ll have to handle this a little smarter than we’re doing now,’ I said, ‘if we don’t want a showdown with the cops.’

Kerman poured himself another drink. Now he had got his hands on the whisky he was thoroughly happy.

‘We’re doing all right,’ he said. ‘He started the fight anyway. Let’s get him talking,’ and he picked up the soda syphon and squirted a jet of soda into Barclay’s face.

Barclay grunted, rolled over, shielding his face with his hands, then slowly lifted his head and blinked up at us.

‘Come on, sissy, don’t loll around all night,’ Kerman said, putting down the syphon. ‘We have a lot to talk over,’ and he reached for an Indian club that was hanging on the wall and balanced it lightly in his hand. ‘And don’t go showing off your strength again or I’ll give you a tap with this.’

Barclay got to his feet, stripped off his sodden scarf and dropped it on the floor. His eyes were dark explosions, but without a word he walked slowly over to the settee, sank down on it and fingered his jaw where a lump was forming.

‘Now, suppose we start all over again?’ I said, lighting a cigarette. ‘How did this suit get into your cupboard?’

After a long pause he said with a snarl in his voice, ‘I tell you I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

And the trouble was I didn’t believe he did.

‘All right,’ I said. ‘So you don’t know what I’m talking about. Well, I’ll tell you. Three days ago Franklin Cerf hired us to watch his wife. Never mind why. He had his reasons, but we needn’t go into that. Dana Lewis was the operator detailed to shadow Mrs. Cerf. She reported that Mrs. Cerf and you were on friendly terms and were meeting secretly. This information was not passed on to Cerf by the way. Last night she received a telephone call about one o’clock, and she left her apartment. She was found later on the sand dunes near East Beach, shot through the head.

‘Her murder puts us on a spot We guarantee our clients absolute secrecy, and if we help the police we can’t avoid breaking our guarantee and giving Mrs. Cerf away. That’s bad for our business, and we’ve decided to carry out our own investigation.

‘We are looking for Mrs. Cerf. You may or may not know she’s disappeared. We thought this place would be a likely hide-out for her, and late this afternoon I came here to see if she was around. No one was home so I searched the place. I didn’t find Mrs. Cerf, but I did find Dana Lewis’s clothes in your bedroom cupboard. I’m giving you a chance to explain how they got there. If you can’t give me an explanation then I’m going to assume you killed her and take the necessary action. You have a pretty sound motive for getting rid of her. She knew you and Mrs. Cerf were fooling around together. You’re not the type who’d welcome an outraged husband on your heels, and you might have been tempted to shut her mouth with a gun. Now do you understand what I’m talking about?’

He stared at me for a long minute.

‘Why, you’re crazy!’ he exclaimed. ‘I’ve never set eyes on the girl, and besides, I was out of town last night. I’ve just got back.’

‘Kerman and I exchanged glances.

‘Where were you?’

‘Los Angeles. I left here at five o’clock yesterday evening by car and I’m just back. You’ll find a bag in my car if you like to look.’ He had lost a lot of his smug complacency now, and anger had given place to uneasiness.

‘Where did you spend the night?’

‘I was with a girl.’

Kerman shot his cuff and produced a pencil.

‘Let’s have her name and address, pally,’ he said.

Barclay gave him a cold stare.

‘That’s likely, isn’t it?’

‘Well, there’s no harm asking,’ Kerman said, disappointed.

‘Look, Barclay,’ I put in. ‘Please yourself, but if you give us the name and address so we can check your story you’ll be putting yourself in the clear. That is if the girlfriend doesn’t mind.’

Barclay gave a sour smile.

‘What the hell!’ he said. ‘She won’t mind. Kitty Hitchens — Apartment 4834 Astoria Court.’

That seemed to be that. I intended to send Kerman to check, but I hadn’t a doubt he was speaking the truth. The address came out too pat for a lie.

‘She could always say you were with her even if you weren’t,’ I pointed out just for something to say.

‘The doorman saw me. I had a drink at the bar and the barman knows me. The elevator boy will remember me too. I often go over there. They’ll remember I didn’t leave until three o’clock this afternoon.’

‘Is she as good as all that?’ Kerman asked, interested.

Barclay glared at him.

‘But it still doesn’t explain how these clothes got into your cupboard, does it?’ I said.

‘I guess not, and I don’t believe they were there. I think you two punks were going to stick me for blackmail only you fluffed it.’

‘Mind if we go upstairs and have a look around? Her underwear and shoes are missing. I hadn’t time to look for them on my first visit.’

He stared at me, his thick fingers drumming on the table.

‘How do I know you didn’t plant them up there when you came a while ago?’

‘You don’t. You just have to be the trusting type. Let’s go up and see.’

We went up. None of us had much heart for the search, and it was pure accident that Kerman found the shoes. They were concealed at the back of the airing cupboard in the bathroom, under a pile of blankets.

‘Pretty smart,’ Barclay said, sneering. ‘Going to make anything of it?’

‘You wouldn’t be so damned cocky if we were the police,’ I said. ‘Now we’ll really take the joint to bits.’

We did, but we didn’t find Dana’s underclothes. There were another woman’s garments in one of the bedrooms: a couple of pairs of pyjamas, some stockings and an evening dress. Barclay said they belonged to a girl he once knew, but who hadn’t been around for some time. Kerman gaped at him in sheer amazement.

We trooped back to the living-room, and I put the shoes with Dana’s coat and skirt. There was a short pause while Barclay poured drinks. He handed us each a whisky and went to sit on the settee.

Although he was acting tough I could see he had been shaken by the discovery of the shoes, and his controlled uneasiness convinced me still further that he didn’t know anything about Dana’s death.

‘Where do we go from here?’ he asked, after he had swallowed half his drink.