Джеймс Чейз - Safer Dead [= Dead Ringer]

I said I knew.

‘But I found out it wasn’t her. It was the Bennett girl. She and Royce were meeting secretly. I had them watched. When he was supposed to be at the club in the morning, he was driving her around. When he told me to go back to the apartment as he had things to do at the club, he was taking her to dinner at Lodoni’s where no one knew either of them.’

‘Was this before Van Blake’s death?’

She turned her head to stare at me. In the dim light from the dashboard I could see her eyes were glittering with unshed tears.

‘What’s Van Blake’s murder to do with her?’

‘I don’t know; nothing perhaps. I was trying to fix the time.’

‘It was just before; two weeks.’

‘You said they were meeting secretly. How secretly? Did anyone know what was going on?’

‘No. I wouldn’t have known if I hadn’t hired an investigator to watch her.’

‘But why should Royce bother to keep it quiet? Was he scared you’d make trouble?’

She laughed; it wasn’t a pretty sound.

‘With the thugs he has to look after him, he didn’t have to be scared of anyone.’

‘Then why keep it secret?’

‘I don’t know. I tried to find out, but I didn’t get anywhere. I talked to the girl. She was crazy about him. I could see that by the way her silly face lit up when I mentioned his name, but she denied ever going out with him. I was fool enough to tell her I had had her watched. That was the worst mistake I’ve ever made.’ Again her fists closed into tight, white knuckled fists. ‘She told Royce. He came back to the apartment, and I could tell by his face it was my finish with him. I thought he was going to kill me. He told me to pack up and get out. I was too frightened even to speak. I think that’s why he didn’t kill me. He stood in the bedroom doorway and watched me while I packed. When I was ready to go, he got hold of my arms and held me while he talked. I had bruises from his fingers on my arms for weeks. He said I was not to leave town. I was to work at the Hey-Day club and I was never to talk about his affairs. He said Juan was going to be my jailer. If I ever talked about him, tried to leave town or came near him, Juan would take care of me. I could see he meant it. That’s how I’ve been living for the past eighteen months. I haven’t seen him to talk to for all that time. He never gave me a thing: not a nickel. And now look what I’ve done. If they catch up with me, they’ll kill me.’

‘They won’t catch up with you,’ I said, urging the car up to fifty-seven. I still had a little in reserve, but not much. The engine was so noisy we were practically shouting at each other now. I drove for a minute or so while I brooded over what she had told me. It hadn’t taken me far. At least, I had a witness now to prove Royce and Rutland were one and the same, and that put Royce in the middle of Fay’s disappearance. That was something, but I knew there must be a lot more to this than I knew. ‘Ever heard of a guy who called himself Hank Flemming?’ I asked abruptly.

She shook her head.

‘No. Why?’

‘He’s hooked up in this. Maybe you’ve seen him. He’s short, thickset with a round, heavy face. The last time I saw him he wore a dirty trench coat and a black slouch hat. Remember seeing anyone like that?’

It was a shot in the dark, but it scored a bull.

‘Andrews saw him.’

‘Andrews?’

‘He was the investigator I hired. He gave me a description of a man just like that.’

‘Where did he see him?’

‘He was at Lodoni’s restaurant one night when Royce and the Bennett girl were there. Andrews spotted this man in a car outside the restaurant. Royce took the Bennett girl past the car and as they passed, he dropped back a little and pointed to the girl. The man left the car after a while and went to the door of the restaurant and watched her. Andrews said it was as if Royce had put the finger on her, but I didn’t believe him. He wasn’t much of an investigator. He was always trying to chisel money out of me. I thought it was just a story he had made up to make me think he was doing more than he was.’

Now I was learning something. So it was Royce who had hired Flemming to murder Fay.

I started to ask her if Andrews had seen the man again when I happened to glance in the driving mirror. I had been listening so intently to what Lydia had been saying, my attention had strayed from the thought of pursuit. What I saw in the mirror gave me a jolt.

Two big yellow blobs of light hung in the darkness behind me. Maybe they were half a mile in the rear, but they were coming fast.

Lydia saw them at the same time as I did.

I heard her catch her breath as I shoved my foot down on the gas pedal.

The four lane highway was as straight as a yard stick and as dark as a chimney. With a flat out speed of sixty miles an hour I knew I had no chance of shaking off the pursuing car.

The yellow blobs of light crept closer.

Lydia, looking over her shoulder through the rear window, watched them, hypnotized, her face pallid in the light of the dashboard, her eyes wild and staring. I nudged her with my knee.

‘Can we get off this road?’ I shouted above the noise of the engine.

She came alive with an effort.

‘There’s a turning somewhere ahead.’

I snapped off the headlights. The following car was still a quarter of a mile or so in the rear.

I searched the darkness for an intersection sign and nearly missed it.

‘Just ahead now,’ Lydia cried, clutching my arm.

‘Watch out!’

I stamped on the brake pedal as the turning loomed up. The car tyres screamed in protest. Lydia, her hands on the dashboard, swayed forward and sideways against me as the Lincoln slewed around, the back wheels locked. The car wobbled, the off-side wheels lifted as I released the brakes, then we shot down the turning on to a snake-back road that forced my speed down to a dangerous thirty.

Without headlights and with the twists and bends I had all I could do not to run off the road. After I had driven three hundred yards or so, Lydia who was staring back through the rear window gasped, ‘They’ve passed! They’ve missed us!’

‘Where does this road lead to?’ I asked, turning on my headlights. I edged the speed up to thirty-five.

‘Glyne Bay. It’s a small beach town.’

‘Can we get back on to the Frisco road from there?’

‘No. This is the only road in and out. They’ll come back.’ She beat her fists together hysterically. ‘They’ll know we’ve taken this turning.’

I thought that was likely but I didn’t say so.

‘Take it easy. We’ll ditch the car and hide up somewhere. If I can get to a telephone I’ll call the Welden police. Glyne Bay’s in their district.’

The road straightened, and ahead I could make out the haze of street lights. I increased speed.

Lydia’s grip on my arm tightened.

‘They’re coming!’ she gasped.

I looked into the driving mirror. In the rear, on the snake-back road, I could see the blaze of headlights.

I pushed the gas pedal to the boards and the Lincoln surged forward.

Ahead, I saw a neon sign that ran: Turn left for Glyne Beach Motel .

I turned off my headlights, swung the car left, banged and rocked down a narrow drive-in that led to a large car park where forty to fifty cars stood in two long rows. I slammed on brakes, nailed the Lincoln beside a dusty Ford, opened the car door and slid out.

‘Come on!’

I could see the headlights of the following car turn into the drive-in. Catching Lydia by the wrist, I ran with her across the car park, through a double gateway, along a cinder path that opened out on to a big grass covered lot around which were fifty or so cabins.