Джеймс Чейз - Safer Dead [= Dead Ringer]

‘You don’t imagine anyone will believe you, do you?’ she said scornfully. ‘You can’t prove a thing.’

‘Let’s go on a step or two before we get to the proof,’ I said, my eyes on the gun. ‘Royce gained Frances’s confidence. He kidded her he was in love with her. He had to be careful in case there was a slip-up. He went around with her secretly so he couldn’t be connected with her if things went wrong. If she were going to take your place in Paris, she would know, when the news broke, that you two had planned Van Blake’s death, so she had to be taken care of once she had done her job. She had to disappear. It was to be a professional job: a barrel and cement job. Royce knew the guy to handle an assignment like that. He sent for Hank Flemming, a Frisco killer, and fingered Frances to him. When Frances came back from Paris, he was to do the job. The plan began to work. Royce cooked up some yarn that it was necessary for you to remain in Tampa City and yet appear to be in Paris. I don’t know what the yarn was, but when a girl like Frances falls for a smooth operator like Royce she would be prepared to swallow any yarn. You supplied her with money, clothes and your passport. A pair of dark glasses and a floppy hat would turn her into Mrs. Van Blake, leaving for Paris. Millionaires’ wives get preferential treatment at the passport barriers. No one looked at her twice. You took care to send her to the George V hotel instead of to your usual hotel, the Ritz. She was accepted at the George V because they didn’t know her, and she stayed there for four days. What you didn’t foresee was that a girl named Joan Nichols who had a talent for making friends with the wealthy, should force her company on Frances, thinking she was the famous and rich Mrs. Van Blake. You may be interested to know one of my colleagues has been to Paris, and we now have witnesses to prove Frances stayed at the George V under your name.’

‘I see.’ She moved restlessly. ‘But that doesn’t prove I killed my husband, does it?’

‘It upsets your alibi. But don’t let’s rush this. Let’s take it by dates. On August 2nd, you appeared to leave for Paris. I guess you got no further than Royce’s place where Frances was waiting. She went to the airport in your place and took off for France. You remained out of sight with Royce. You were pretty thorough in your plans. You and Royce had taken care to have watertight alibis. Who, then, from the police angle, had killed your husband? This is where you over played your hand. You supplied the killer. You knew Ted Dillon made a habit of poaching on the estate. On the night of August 5th, you came here with a gun and waited for him.’

‘Do you imagine anyone would believe that?’ she interrupted, her eyes glittering. ‘How was I to know he was coming?’

That pulled me up short. This was a point a smart attorney would pick on. She would have to know for certain that Dillon planned to poach that night. The whole success of her plan relied on him coming.

I stared at her, then looked around the room, and the nickel dropped. There could only be one explanation: she and Dillon had been lovers. That was why he had come so often, knowing, with her behind him, he wasn’t likely to run into trouble.

‘Yes; I had missed that point,’ I said. ‘Why else would you have a place like this, buried in the wood, nicely furnished, even to a bar, unless it was a meeting place? Did Van Blake know?’

‘You’re very quick, Mr. Sladen,’ she said. ‘Yes, he knew, but there was nothing he could do about it. He wouldn’t give me a divorce, no matter what I did. That was the main reason why I had to kill him.’

My hands suddenly turned clammy. She was now admitting she had killed her husband, and that meant she had made up her mind to silence me.

‘How was it no one heard the shot when you killed Dillon?’ I asked.

Her fixed smile began to get on my nerves.

‘If you must know,’ she said, ‘I muffled the gun with a cushion.’ She moved the gun so the barrel once more pointed at me. ‘It doesn’t make much noise.’

‘Did you experience a pang when you killed him?’ I asked. ‘Or did you feel he had served his purpose and it was just one of those things?’

Her cold, lovely face was expressionless as she said, ‘What else have you found out? You certainly seem to have been very busy.’

‘Let’s talk about your husband’s murder. He was in the habit of taking an early morning ride,’ I said. ‘You spent the night here, with Dillon under the boards.’ I paused while I looked at her. ‘I wonder if you had bad dreams that night or perhaps you don’t dream?’

She shook her head.

‘I’m one of those fortunate people who don’t dream.’

Her cold bloodedness began to make me sweat.

‘Early the next morning you were on the hill waiting for your husband,’ I went on. ‘He thought you were in Paris, and it must have been a shock to see you sitting there, apparently admiring the view. He was so surprised he didn’t notice the shot-gun, lying by your side. He only saw it when it was too late. Probably he leaned from his horse to ask you what you were doing there, when you shot him. You had to act quickly. You had probably got yourself a pair of corduroy slacks and a leather wind cheater like those Dillon wore. You hid the gun, then you put on Dillon’s crash helmet and goggles, ran down the hill to where he had left his motorcycle and drove to the harbour. People saw you, as you wanted them to see you, and they mistook you for Dillon. All you had to do was to leave the motorcycle in a shed that was seldom used, change into clothes you had probably left in the shed, and catch the first train to New York where Royce was waiting for you. You knew Latimer would send a cable to the George V hotel with the news, and Frances had been instructed that if a cable did come, she was to return at once. Royce was there to meet her. You took her place outside the airport.’

Without taking her eyes off me, she reached for the whisky bottle, splashed whisky into the lipstick-smeared glass and drank some of it. I saw her hand was unsteady.

‘Now Frances had to be taken care of,’ I went on. ‘Royce took her to Welden. He was a reluctant killer. He didn’t want to wipe her out unless he had to. He wanted to make sure first that you were going to get away with it: that your nerve wouldn’t crack if police pressure was put on you. So he persuaded Frances to alter her appearance, take another name and get work at the Florian club. By then Frances must have known she had made herself an accessory to murder. She was probably so scared she did what she was told to do. Then Joan Nichols called on you. It must have been a shock to you and to her when she found you weren’t the girl she had worked on in Paris. She probably tried to put the bite on you. You told Royce what was happening, and he decided both Frances and Joan had to go. He gave Flemming the signal to go ahead, and Flemming went ahead.’

I paused and watched her set down her glass. She seemed suddenly relaxed now, and she rested her elbows on the bar, the gun held loosely in her hand.

‘And you can prove all this?’ she asked mockingly.

‘Yeah, I can prove it,’ I said. ‘You made it too complicated. The more complicated a case becomes the easier it is to unravel, providing you get the essential lead. I got it when I learned how alike you and Frances Bennett were. I could see then how you fixed your alibi. You had a big advantage: the police were on your side. If you had kept your head and done nothing after Frances’s death you might have got away with it. When I started to stir up the past, you panicked. When Flemming called you and told you someone was making inquiries, and that Hesson had talked out of turn, you told Flemming to fix Hesson and me. When you heard I’d been to see Hartley you panicked again. In Hartley’s filing cabinet there were sketches he had made of Frances, sitting on your balcony. You thought I would see the likeness between you two, but you forgot I might get the information from Latimer. You went to Hartley and tried to get the sketches from him. Maybe he wouldn’t part. Maybe he realized that Frances had supplied your alibi. Anyway, he called me and asked me over. Were you hiding in the room when he called?’