James Chase - Safer Dead

To the left of the cupboard was a small wall safe; a key was in the lock and the safe door was half open. I went over to the safe and peered in. A thick packet of fifty-dollar bills lay on top of a pile of papers, neatly tied with white tape. I took out the packet of currency to look at the papers.

‘Don’t move,’ Sergeant Lassiter said from the doorway.

I remained motionless, the bundle of bills clutched in my right hand, my shoulders hunched, my heart hammering.

‘Okay, turn around and keep your hands still.’

I turned very slowly.

Lassiter stood in the doorway of the lounge, a .38 police special dwarfed in his big hand. The black nosed barrel pointed at my chest.

He looked at me and I looked at him. His small, hard eyes opened a trifle as he recognized me and his thin lips came off his teeth in a wolfish grin.

‘Hello, peeper,’ he said. ‘You’ve certainly found yourself some material to write about this time.’ He moved slowly into the lounge, his gun continuing to cover me. ‘Two killings and a robbery: pretty nice going.’

I cursed myself for touching the money. I opened my fingers and the packet of bills dropped with a little thud on the carpet. I was in the worst kind of jam, and I knew I wasn’t going to talk myself out of it.

‘I know it looks bad,’ I said, trying to keep my voice steady, but I didn’t kill them. Hartley called me at my hotel. He wanted to see me. I came over and found him dead.’

‘Yeah? I knew he called you. I traced the number and came over to see what was cooking,’ Lassiter said, grinning. ‘Looks like it was a good idea I did. Where’s your gun?’

‘I haven’t got a gun. I didn’t shoot him!’

‘Who’s going to believe you?’ Lassiter said. ‘This is the easiest pinch I’ve ever had. Back up against the wall!’

I did as I was told, keeping my hands above my shoulders. He went to the telephone, bent over it without taking his eyes off me. He lifted the receiver with his left hand.

‘Give me police headquarters,’ he said, ‘and snap it up.’

My shoe touched an electric light plug in the wall. Keeping my eyes on his I cautiously raised my right heel until it rested on top of the plug.

‘This is Lassiter,’ the sergeant barked into the receiver. ‘Get a patrol car out to 246, Cannon Avenue fast. Tell the lieutenant I’ve a guy here who’s just shot Lennox Hartley and his servant. I caught him red handed.’

I shifted the whole of my weight on to the plug. I felt it rip away from the wall. I gave it a quick side kick: there was a flash and the lights went out.

I dropped down on hands and knees as Lassiter’s gun roared, rattling the windows. Plaster came down on top of me as the slug smashed into the wall where I had been standing. Luckily for me the hall lights had gone out too. Thick darkness gave me a brief feeling of security, then Lassiter fired blindly again. The bullet nearly parted my hair.

I threw myself sideways where I knew a settee stood. I was behind it when he fired again. The gun flash showed me he was right by me. I reared up and hit out where his head should be. It wasn’t a bad shot. My fist caught him on the ear and sent him staggering. I dropped on hands and knees as he fired. The slug smashed one of the big windows.

I scrambled away, still on hands and knees, my breath whistling out through clenched teeth. I heard him blunder over to the door. Moving slowly, my hands outstretched for obstacles, I made my way towards the window.

In the distance I could hear the faint sound of a police siren that grew in intensity as the prowl car rushed towards the house. My groping hands must have passed over the top of a low table. My knee caught it and sent it over with a thud on the carpet I jumped wildly to the left, cannoning into a chair, sending that over too.

Lassiter fired and the slug whined close, then he came blundering forward, cursing savagely. He was on top of me before I could get out of his way. His left hand grabbed my sleeve. I jerked away, stepped sideways and hit out. My fist scraped along the side of his jaw at the same time as his gun went off. The flash scorched my face and scared me half silly. My punch made him reel back. He must have got snarled up with an armchair for he went over with a crash that shook the room.

I bolted over to the window, dragged back the drapes and let in the moonlight. Headlights of a fast moving car made two fingers of light in the dark road. The police siren was screaming now and I could see the red spotlight on the roof of the approaching car. I shoved my foot through the window and kicked out the glass.

The police car pulled up with a screech of tortured tyres. Two policemen spilled out of the car, guns in hand, leaving the car doors hanging open.

One of them vaulted over the gate and ran up the path. I could hear Lassiter cursing as he disentangled himself from the chair. I had intended to bolt out of the window and into the garden, but I saw now it was too late. The cop running up the path would be certain to see me as I dropped into the garden. I stepped back and got behind the window drapes.

I stood motionless, my heart hammering, and waited. Lassiter came blundering to the window and leaned out. He was so close to me I could smell the stale tobacco smoke in his clothes.

‘He went this way!’ he bawled. ‘He can’t have got far.’

Then to my utter relief, he swung a great leg over the windowsill and dropped into the garden.

‘I can’t see him, sarg,’ one of the policemen called.

I didn’t wait to hear Lassiter’s cursing. Moving quickly, I made my way in the darkness across the room and into the hall. I groped my way up the stairs until I reached the landing, then I paused to listen.

More sirens howled in the night. More cars screeched to a standstill outside the house. I could hear Lassiter’s bull voice shouting, but I couldn’t make out what he was saying. I flicked my cigarette lighter alight. A door faced the head of the stairs. I crossed the landing, turned the handle and stepped into Hartley’s bedroom.

The curtains were drawn. I shut the door and flicked down the light switch. The lights came on. There was blood on the white carpet. A .38 automatic lay on the blue cover of the bed. The blood told me this was where the Filipino had been shot and the gun on the bed was the murder weapon. I took out my handkerchief and dropped it over the gun, lifted it and sniffed at the barrel. It reeked of exploded gunpowder. I felt I needed a gun so I shoved it into my hip pocket. Then turning off the light I pulled aside the curtain and looked down into the garden.

The moonlight made the close cut lawn look white. Three policemen, guns in hand, were moving cautiously in a line away from the house. There was no escape that way. Then I heard the front door slam open and a tramping of feet in the hall.

I tiptoed across the room and eased open the door.

‘Get some lights on here,’ a voice growled.

I could see the beams of several flashlights stabbing into the darkness below. There was a short pause, then the lights flashed up.

A short, thickset man, his face brick red, a black fedora set squarely on his head, stood over the dead Filipino.

Lassiter stood by the front door; his brutal face was shiny with sweat.

‘You’re sure he went by the window?’ the short man asked without looking at Lassiter.

‘Yeah. I saw him go. He can’t get far,’ Lassiter snarled. ‘He kicked out a wall plug and fused the lights, Lieutenant.’

I guessed then that the short, thickset man was Lieutenant Joe Carson, ex-Police Captain Bradley had mentioned.

‘The captain will love this,’ Carson said. ‘If we don’t pick up this guy, you’ll be back pounding a beat.’

Lassiter moved uneasily.