James Chase - I Would Rather Stay Poor

‘You can’t handle it,’ Calvin said. ‘You’re in no condition to handle anything. You’re a drunk. You’ve got to face it. You’ve got to leave this to me.’

Slowly, she lowered the gun.

‘You’d be happy if I were dead, wouldn’t you, but I’m not going to die. While you were being so clever arranging to steal all that money, I too have been arranging how to protect myself. If I die, Dave, you’ll go to the gas chamber. I’ve fixed it for you.’ She put the gun down on top of the toilet seat. ‘If you think I am bluffing, go ahead and hit me over the head with your cosh and then drown me. Then see where it gets you.’

Calvin studied her, feeling hot sweat running down his back, aware his heart was thumping and there was a dry, sour taste in his mouth.

They stared at each other for a long moment, then he slowly backed out of the bathroom. Leaving the gun where it was, she followed him. He moved into his bedroom and she came in after him, closing the door.

He had her now. She was defenceless and he could see she was half drunk. He gripped the sock between his thick fingers. A quick movement and she would be lying at his feet. The bath was already filled. All he had to do…

But he knew by the mocking way she was staring at him that she had beaten him and with a sudden vicious movement, he threw the sock of golf balls across the room.

She leaned against the door, folding her arms across her breasts and she suddenly laughed: a hard, dry, mirthless sound.

‘That’s right, Dave. Now you’re showing some sense at last. When you were at the bank this morning, I wrote a letter. It was a long, complicated letter and it took me nearly all the morning. In it I set down everything you and I have done, how you murdered Alice and where you have hidden the money. There isn’t one thing we haven’t done together I haven’t written down. I’ve taken this letter to an attorney — never mind who — and I have told him to read the letter and act on it when I am dead. So long as I remain alive, Dave, you’ll remain alive, but if you try any of your bright murderous ideas, then you’ll follow me to the grave.’

Calvin ran this thick fingers through his hair. He moved away from her, rage burning inside him.

‘So now we’ll get married,’ Kit went on, ‘and we’ll go away as we planned. Then you’ll give me my share of the money. But from now on, Dave, you’re going to do what I tell you… do you understand?’

In the long pause as they looked at each other, they both heard the telephone bell ringing. Calvin went out into the passage. His legs felt unsteady and there was a feeling of fear and rage constricting his heart.

Major Hardy called up to him from the hall.

‘It’s the police, Mr. Calvin,’ he said. ‘They want to speak to you.’

Calvin hurried down and picked up the telephone receiver.

It was Easton to tell him they had found Alice’s body.

Calvin sat at the wheel of his car, his eyes staring into the lane of light made by the car’s headlights, his mind busy.

Sheriff Thomson had said over the telephone that he would be glad if Calvin would come down to his office right away. There was to be an emergency meeting and they would be glad of his help.

The time was now a few minutes to eleven. There was scarcely any traffic on the road. A few spots of rain showed on the windshield.

Calvin was thinking of Kit. The situation was dangerous unless she had been bluffing, but he had an uneasy feeling she hadn’t been. She had now put herself beyond his reach, but that was not all. She could walk in front of a car, fall ill, meet her death in dozens of accidental ways and this damned attorney would then open her letter and Calvin would be sunk. He must think of some way to persuade her to get the letter back from the attorney. It was intolerable to know that his life depended on her own span of life.

He suddenly became aware of a red light flashing in the middle of the road and he hastily braked, bringing the car to a stop in front of a police car that half blocked the road.

Two police officers approached him. He saw beyond them, two other policemen, guns in hands.

He leaned out of the car window, his mouth turning dry. One police officer turned the beam of a flashlight on him.

‘Identify yourself, please,’ he said curtly.

Calvin took out his wallet and handed it over.

‘What’s all this in aid of?’ he asked, forcing his voice to sound casual.

‘Why, it’s Mr. Calvin,’ the police officer said and suddenly grinned. ‘We’re looking for your bank robber. Every car in and out of Pittsville is being checked.’

Calvin said, startled, ‘But he left town forty-eight hours ago, didn’t he?’

‘Someone thinks he didn’t,’ the police officer said, returning Calvin’s wallet. He stepped back and saluted. ‘Okay, Mr. Calvin, go right on ahead.’

Calvin drove on. There was a set expression on his fleshy face and his eyes were uneasy. Why did they think the man they were after hadn’t left town? he wondered. Had he made a slip somewhere?

He was in for another little jolt as he pulled up outside the sheriff’s office. He saw a big red and black Cadillac with San Francisco number plates standing in the parking lot. He knew the car well. It belonged to Henry Marthy, the general manager of the Federal & National Banking Corporation and his boss. What was he doing here at this hour? Drawing in a deep breath, Calvin walked up the flight of steps and entered the sheriff’s office.

Marthy was talking to the sheriff. Travers was sitting at a desk, talking on the telephone. As Calvin entered the big room, he heard Travers say, ‘A standard Remington: 1959 model? Yeah, fine. Any special characteristics? The letters r and v? Right. Thanks a lot,’ and he hung up.

Only half listening, Calvin crossed the room and shook hands with Marthy.

‘It’s good to see you here, sir,’ he said with his charming smile. ‘This is a terrible thing. I’m glad of your support.’

‘It certainly is,’ Marthy said gravely. ‘You heard Miss Craig has been murdered?’

‘The sheriff telephoned me,’ Calvin said and turning to the sheriff, he went on, ‘I didn’t get all the details. Where did you find her, sheriff?’

‘We found the get-away car in the Downside railroad parking lot. She was in the boot,’ the sheriff said. He looked at his massive gold watch. ‘Easton will be here any moment now. He should have information for us. Let’s sit down.’

As they moved to the big table and began pulling out chairs, the door jerked open and Easton came in. He looked hot and anxious. His fat, weak face glistened with sweat and he wiped his hand on the seat of his trousers before shaking hands with Marthy.

‘Let’s sit down, gentlemen,’ he said. ‘I guess you want to know what’s been happening.’ He waited until Marthy was seated before sitting down himself. Calvin sat opposite Marthy with Travers at the bottom of the table and the sheriff on the other side of Marthy.

‘Well, there’s no doubt the girl was murdered,’ Easton said. ‘She was strangled. The M.O. puts the time of her death around two o’clock on the night of the robbery. The way I see it is this: this guy Acres persuaded the girl to help him grab the payroll. He took his time about it. We know he and she were meeting pretty regularly during the past three weeks. Finally, he persuaded her to help him. He sent her a note the day before the robbery reminding her to leave the back entrance to the bank unlocked. Then after the payroll was delivered, and after Mr. Calvin and Alice had left, he walked in, took all the light bulbs out of their sockets, cutting off the alarm system, and unlocked the safe, using Alice’s key and a duplicate she had got for him from Calvin’s key.’