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

‘I was a fool to have married her,’ he said, grinding his clenched fist into his palm. He went on, ‘Keep me out of this, Malloy. I’ve got to think of my daughter. I know I’ve been unreasonable, but surely you can understand my position? If I can do anything to help I’ll do it. But keep this away from the police and the newspapers.’

‘I’ll do what I can,’ I said. ‘But I must find Mrs. Cerf. Is there any way of stopping her money? If you can cut off her money so she’ll come to you...’

‘I can do that, and I will,’ he said. ‘I’ll see the bank tomorrow.’

I got to my feet.

‘It’s getting late. I won’t keep you any longer, Mr. Cerf. One more thing. I’d like my cheque.’

He hesitated, then went over to his desk, sat down and wrote out a cheque.

‘Here,’ he said, handing it to me. ‘Get me out of this mess, Malloy, and I’ll pay again.’

I slid the cheque into my pocket.

‘If I can’t get you out of it I’ll return the money,’ I said, and made for the door, pausing to ask, ‘How long have you had Mills in your employment?’

He looked startled.

‘Mills? Why? Has he anything to do with this business?’

‘I don’t know. I hear he lives in a very fancy style. I’m wondering if he is the fella who’s blackmailing Mrs. Cerf.’

‘Mills?’ He rubbed his fleshy chin, staring at me. ‘I don’t know anything about him. He’s been with me about a month or so. Franklin, my butler, engages the staff. Do you want me to talk to him?’

‘Not yet. I’ll dig up some more dirt on Mills first. Leave him to me. And if you hear anything of Mrs. Cerf will you get in touch with my office?’

He said he would, and as I moved to the door, he went on, ‘I’m sorry for the way I have acted, Malloy, and I appreciate all you’ve done up to now to keep me clear of this business.’

I said I’d keep on with the job, and for him not to worry. This new attitude of his made a nice change from being bawled out, but I knew he was piping down because he had to and not because he wanted to. I left him standing with his back to the fireplace, his dead cigar clenched tightly between finger and thumb and a sick look on his solid well-fed face.

The butler, Franklin, was hovering at the far end of the corridor. As soon as he saw me come out of the room he came silently towards me.

‘Miss Natalie is asking for you, sir,’ he said, disapproving as a bishop at a bubble dance. ‘If you will come this way.’

That was something I hadn’t expected, but I followed his ramrod back down the corridor to a door opposite the elevator. He tapped on the door, opened it and said, ‘Mr. Malloy, madam,’ in a voice covered with frost and stood aside as I walked into a big, high-ceilinged room, lit by a bedside lamp that threw a soft light on the divan bed and wrapped the rest of the room in shadows.

Natalie Cerf lay in the bed. She had on black pyjamas, and her hands lay folded on the lilac-coloured sheet. Her dark, glossy hair was arranged on the lilac pillow to frame her thin, pinched face. Her dark eyes looked at me with the same searching scrutiny as when we had first met, giving me the same feeling that she could read the letters in my wallet and count the small change in my pockets.

I moved to the foot of the bed and waited. She remained motionless, staring at me until the bedroom door closed softly, and tire faint sound of Franklin’s footsteps faded away down the corridor. Then she said in her hard, tight little voice, ‘Have you found her?’

I shook my head.

‘Not yet.’

‘Have you tried L’Etoile night club?’

‘Do you think she’s there?’

She gave a quick nod of her head.

‘Either there or with George Barclay. There’s, nowhere else for her to go.’

‘What makes you so sure?’

A little sneer lifted the corners of her drooping lips.

‘I know her. She’s in trouble, isn’t she?’ Satisfaction gleamed in the dark eyes. ‘She has no one to go to except Barclay or that man at L’Etoile.’

‘What makes you think she’s in trouble, Miss Cerf?’

‘She murdered that woman operator of yours. Perhaps you don’t call that trouble?’

‘We don’t know she did. Do you?’

‘She’s been practising with a gun.’

‘What kind of a gun?’

She made an irritable little shrug.

‘A revolver. What does it matter? For the past week she’s been shooting at a target out at East Beach.’

‘How do you know that?’

The dark eyes shifted away from my face.

‘I’ve had her watched — ever since she came here.’

I wondered if Mills had done the watching.

I said, ‘Because a woman shoots at a target it doesn’t follow she’s a murderess.’

‘Then why is she hiding? Why doesn’t she come back here? It would take a lot to keep her away from all the things Father has given her, and that’s what she is doing.’

‘There may be another reason. What do you know about Barclay?’

Again the little sneer came to her mouth.

‘He’s her lover. She was always going to his place.’

‘She was being blackmailed; did you know?’

‘I don’t believe it.’

‘Your father thinks so.’

‘He’s trying to find an excuse for her. She’s been giving her money to her lovers.’

‘All right. I’ll have another talk to Barclay.’

‘You’ve seen him?’ Her eyebrows came down in a sharp frown.

‘I get around, Miss Cerf. Does your father know about Barclay?’

She shook her head.

‘Did he tell you he found a suitcase in her cupboard full of knick-knacks taken from his friends?’ I said.

‘He didn’t have to tell me. She stole some of my things. She is a thief.’

‘You hate her, don’t you?’

The thin hands, like the claws of a bird, clenched into fists.

‘I don’t like her,’ she said in a carefully controlled voice.

‘The suit-case could have been planted in her cupboard. It’s been done before.’

‘You are a fool if you believe that. She’s a thief. Even Franklin has missed things from his room. We all know she’s a thief.’

‘Has Mills missed anything?’

Her mouth tightened and a flash of anger showed in her eyes.

‘He may have.’

‘But he would have told you, wouldn’t he?’

‘He would have told Franklin.’

‘Mills acted as Mrs. Cerf’s chauffeur, didn’t he?’

A faint spot of colour came into the pinched cheeks.

‘What if he did?’

‘Well, she’s attractive. He seems to have plenty of spare cash. I was wondering if they got together at any time.’

‘Got together — for what?’ she asked, a little hiss in her voice.

‘I should have thought you would have been told about the facts of life by now, Miss Cerf.’

She took a handkerchief from under her pillow and began to nibble at it. Her lipstick made little red smears on the white cambric.

‘I don’t like your manner,’ she said.

‘Few people do, but they get used to it,’ I returned, wondering if I had imagined a slight movement of the long drapes that covered the window near the bed. I was careful not to look in that direction but I began to listen intently.

She said, ‘When you find her, are you going to hand her over to the police?’

‘Is that what you want me to do?’

‘That’s not the point. Are you or aren’t you?’

‘If I’m sure she shot Dana Lewis, I shall. But I’ll have to be sure first.’

‘Aren’t you sure?’ She sounded surprised.

‘I haven’t discovered the motive. Why should she shoot her? Tell me that and I might be convinced.’

‘My father’s settled money on her. In two years’ time, if she is still with him, she is to come in to a great deal of money.’ She lifted her head to look at me, and her long, dark tresses fell back from her face. ‘Isn’t that good enough for a motive?’