Maurice Procter - Murder Somewhere in This City

Starling and Clogger had no more time for her. They were watching Lolly Jakes, who had started work with a razor on the locked moneybag which was chained to the girl’s wrist. “It’ll ruin the edge,” he grumbled, as the keen blade sheared through tough leather. Soon he opened the ruined bag, and shook bundles of notes onto the seat between himself and Starling. “Christ, there’s a fortune here!” he exclaimed.

“There sure is,” said Starling. “This is a better job than the other one. Keep ’er rolling, driver. We don’t want to lose this little lot.”

Laurie Lovett was following a prearranged route, selecting long streets which ran roughly parallel to a main road, avoiding traffic lights and point-duty policemen. He was getting along fast. He had fifteen miles to go, and he meant to cover the distance before the police knew what land of a car to look for.

Starling had been counting money. “Bundles of a hundred,” he announced, and Jakes said: “Thirty bundles. Then there’s these fivers.”

“Two hundred fivers,” said Starling.

“Hell’s bells! There’s four thousand nicker here!” cried Jakes, after a little sum in the quick mental arithmetic of the inveterate follower of racing.

In the front seat, Clogger rubbed his hands and chortled. “Nearly a thousand apiece, when we’ve paid out the chicken-feed,” he said.

“Nine hundred apiece,” Starling amended. “And two hundred apiece for the old un and the young un.”

“The kid?” Clogger objected. “But he’s only-”

Starling held up his hand. “He’s in it,” he said. “We’ve got to keep him happy.”

“Don’t get me wrong,” said Clogger, after a quick glance at Laurie Lovett. “I don’t want to do anybody out of his share. I’m just thinking he might start flashing his wad and get noticed.”

“He won’t,” said Laurie, with his eyes on the road. “I’ll see he behaves.”

Starling was sitting with one foot on the girl’s chest. She had been struggling feebly, and panting and gasping. As she had not been making much noise, he had ignored her while he counted money. Now she lay still. He looked down, and saw that her eyes were open.

“Mention no names,” he said. “The filly’s listening.” Then, uneasily, he looked again. The girl’s eyes were open in a fixed stare. The blood receded from his face, then rushed back in a red tide. He looked at the others. They had not noticed. They could not see the girl’s face, and they did not crane to look. They did not want her to see too much of them. But it did not matter how much she saw of Starling, in their opinion. He was already on the run. When he was caught, as they knew he would be sooner or late, he would take his punishment without betraying them.

Now they were safely out of the city, but they still had to pass through the town of Boyton. They were also forced to keep to the main road to maintain their speed, and there was some danger that they might meet a police car whose crew had been warned to look out for them. They hoped fervently that it would be at least half an hour before the police learned about the Buick.

At last they were through Boyton. They left the houses behind, and began the long climb up to the moors. Starling gnawed at his left thumbnail.

“When are we going to dump the dame?” Clogger wanted to know.

“The first bit of quiet road,” said Jakes.

“We won’t take her too far,” said Clogger, almost gay now. “Don’t forget she’s got to walk back.”

For the last ten minutes Starling had been getting used to the idea that he was riding with death. “So what?” was his attitude. The world outside the car was still rolling. The bees were still busy in the heather. The same clouds were in the sky. The girl was dead, so what?

Of that other death which, now, would always be a probability of the near future he tried not to think. He tried to shut a door of his mind against it. When it would not be shut away, he tried to be disdainful of it. “So what? We’ve all got to die sometime.”

He wondered how the others would react. This Clogger Roach, for instance. He was looking very pleased with himself. Now watch him grow white in a night.

“She’s done all the walking she’ll ever do,” he said quietly.

Clogger and Jakes turned their heads quickly, their smiles fading. They stared. Then Jakes pulled Starling’s knee aside and looked down at the girl’s face.

“Christ!” he said unhappily. “She’s croaked.”

Starling nodded. “Some time ago,” he said.

“You bloody fool,” said Jakes, his voice rising with panic.

“Hell fire!” Clogger whispered, and he had indeed turned pale. “You didn’t have to do that, did you?”

Laurie Lovett was silent. He kept his eyes on the road as if nothing had happened. But a muscle of his jaw had started to twitch.

The same fear was upon them all. They were reminded of a man they all knew by sight. He kept a pub in Hollinwood. The name of the pub was “Help the Poor Straggler.” The man’s name was Albert Pierrepoint. He was the public hangman.

“Thank God, I never laid a hand on her,” said Clogger fervently.

Lovett was taking a bend at high speed. He did not look at Clogger, but from the corner of his mouth he said: “You lent Don your knobkerrie, remember?’

“Murder. We’re all in it,” Jakes mumbled.

“I think you’d better pull yourselves together,” said Starling somberly. “You thought of getting away with the robbery, didn’t you? Why not this job as well? It’s one witness less, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but murder…” said Jakes. “You know how they are with that. They’ll never give up.”

“That may be,” said Lovett. “But they’ll never know it’s us if we behave right in our heads.”

“Oh, give over,” Starling growled. “We’re not here to cheer him up.” He looked back through the rear window of the car. The road was deserted. “This’ll do,” he said. “Pull up, Laurie, and well get rid of her.”

The car stopped. Starling reached over and opened the door beside Jakes. He pointed. “Drop her behind that hummock,” he said.

“Not me!” was the objection.

“Why not you? You did her in.”

Starling moved, and Jakes’s hand went to his razor pocket. But Starling had produced a big automatic pistol. His companions stared at it.

“All right, I did her in,” he said. “And I can do you in. One murder or two, what’s the difference?”

“Where did you get that?” Clogger asked, in astonishment.

Starling allowed himself a faint grin. He had found the pistol fully loaded in a drawer in the Fentons’ bedroom. No doubt it was a memento of World War II, highly prized by Steel Erector Fenton. Well, he was returning home today. If she had discovered the theft of the gun, Mrs. Fenton would be in a panic.

“Never mind where I got it,” he said. “I’m a dangerous gunman, didn’t you know? Lord Justice D’Arcy said so when he sent me down for fourteen. Now then, we’re wasting time. Get this thing out of my sight!”

Jakes knew Starling very well. He knew that Lord Justice D’Arcy had not exaggerated. Watching the pistol, he stepped backward out of the car. Grunting with effort, he pulled the body from the car and carried it over the rough ground. The slashed bag dangled from the chain attached to the slender wrist.

At that moment another car appeared on the crest of the eastward slope. It approached rapidly.

Jakes dropped the body behind the hillock. He ran back to the Buick and scrambled in as it began to move. “What do we do with this feller?” Clogger was asking in an agitated voice.

Apparently nobody knew what to do, nor was there time to decide. Starling said: “Cover your faces,” and hands with outspread fingers were held up to mask identity. As the strange car drew near, Lovett made the Buick swerve toward it. But he dared not risk a crash, and it was only a halfhearted attempt to force the other car off the road. The other driver sounded his horn and held his course, and went on toward Granchester.