James Chase - No Business Of Mine

you’ve talked. Do you know what you’re asking me to do? You’re

asking me to stick my neck in a noose.”

She gasped, tried to break away, but I held her close.

“I won’t do that for anyone, Netta. Not unless I’m sure whoever it

is is worth it and deserves it. That goes for you, so if you want my

help, sit still and talk, and talk fast.”

She went limp against me, her breath coming in shuddering gasps.

“Listen, Netta,” I went on, “that little guy was working for me.

Maybe you didn’t mean to kill him, but you killed him just the same,

and nothing either of us can do can bring him back to life again. I liked

him, and I feel bad about it. He had a lot of guts. If it’d been anyone

else but you I’d be calling the police right now. But I haven’t forgotten

what you did for me in the past. I owe you plenty, but I’m not helping

you until you talk. Now relax and tell me. Tell me everything from the

beginning.”

She beat her hands together. “But what do you want to know?”

she gasped. “Can’t you see, Steve, the longer we stay here the worse

it’ll be? They’ll find us . . . find me.”

“Who was the girl in your flat . . . the one who died?” I asked,

deciding questions were more direct, would get me quicker results.

She shuddered. “Anne . . . my sister.”

“Who was the guy with her?”

She looked up. “How did you know . . . ?”

I took hold of her chin between finger and thumb, looked into her

eves. She didn’t flinch.

“Quit stalling,” I said. “Answer my questions. Who was the guy

with her.”

“Peter French.”

“What was he to her?”

“Her lover.”

“And to you?”

“Nothing.”

“Sure?”

“Yes.”

“He killed her, didn’t he?”

Her face went paler, her teeth chewed her lower lip, but she said

it, “Yes.”

I drew back, wiped my face with the back of my hand.

“Why?”

“She found out he killed George Jacobi.”

“How?”

She shook her head. “She never had the chance to tel me.”

“French and you were seen around together. How did that come

about?”

“He was trying to find Anne. He thought if he kept near me I’d

lead him to her.”

“Where was she?”

“Hiding. She found out he and Jacobi were behind the Allenby

robbery, and then later that French had killed Jacobi. She was scared,

so she hid.”

“And French found her?”

She nodded. “He found her in a night club. She was drunk. Anne

was always getting drunk. French knew that, and he was afraid she’d

talk. He brought her to me.”

Why?

She twisted her hands in her lap. “He wanted to talk to her, to

find out how much she knew. The night club was close and there

wasn’t much time.”

“When did they arrive?”

“About one. I was asleep. I let them in. I could see Anne was

terrified, although she was very drunk. She managed to whisper to me

that French was going to kill her, and I wasn’t to let her out of my

sight.” Netta hid her face. “I can hear her voice now.”

I poured out another shot of whisky, fed it down her throat.

“Keep going,” I said. “Then what happened?”

“I didn’t know what to do. I wanted to get dressed, but Anne

wouldn’t let me leave her alone with French, and he wouldn’t let her

go into my room. I stal ed for time, and brought out drinks. He spiked

our drinks. I went out like a light. I hadn’t a chance to warn Anne. It

worked so quickly. I heard Anne scream, and then I knew nothing

more.”

“Then he murdered her?” I asked quietly.

She nodded dully, struggled with her tears. “I’m so frightened.

He’ll do the same to me!”

“Take it easy. What happened then? Come on, Netta, I want the

whole story. What happened then?”

“I have a confused recollection of getting into my clothes, being

half carried down the stairs. Ju Cole was on the landing. French spoke

to him, but I was too doped to hear what was said. French pushed me

out of the house. The night air pulled me together, and I started to

struggle.” She closed her eyes. “He hit me, and the next thing I

remember was being in his car. I struggled up, and he hit me again. I

came to later in a room. There was a woman watching me : Mrs.

Brambee. French came in after a while. He warned me he’d kill me if I

didn’t stay there and do what I was told.”

“Ever hear of Mrs. Brambee before?”

She nodded. “Anne had a cottage at Lakeham. French bought it

for her. He used to go down week-ends or whenever he had the time.

Mrs. Brambee looked after the place.”

“Why did they keep you a prisoner?” I asked, giving her another

cigarette.

“French wanted the police to think I and not Anne died in my

flat.”

“But why, for God’s sake?”

“He knew they couldn’t trace him through me, but he and Anne

had been around a lot together, and he was scared they’d connect

him with her death. There was something going on at the cottage he

didn’t want the police to find out, and he thought the police would

find the cottage if they began to make inquiries about Anne.”

“What was going on at the cottage?”

“I don’t know.”

“How did you find this out?”

“Mrs. Brambee told me. She was scared of French and liked

Anne.”

“When I turned up, he realized his scheme wouldn’t work, is that

it?”

“Yes. But Cole telephoned him, told him you had been up and

that you would most likely want to see the—the body. French got into

a panic, and with a couple of his men took Anne from the mortuary.

They rushed her down to the cottage, fixed it to look as if Anne had

committed suicide there instead of at my flat.”

“Well, I’ll be double damned,” I exclaimed. “You mean to tell me

the girl who died in your flat and the girl found in the cottage were

one and the same?”

“It was Anne.”

“But one of them was a red-head and the other a blonde.”

Netta shuddered. “French stopped at nothing. My hair’s not really

red. I had a bottle of henna dye and he dyed Anne’s hair while she

was drugged. Then when he brought her to the cottage he used a

peroxide wash, brought her hair back to its natural colour.”

I grimaced. This guy was certainly a cold-blooded rat if ever there

was one.

“Well, go on, what happened then?”

“I was in the way. The police were looking for my body. French

planned to kill me and plant my body where the police could find it. Ju

Cole wouldn’t let him. Ju and I had always got on together. As long as

Ju was with me, I was safe. He told me French had planted one of

Allenby’s rings in my flat and the police were looking for me. I got

scared. I thought the police were after me, and I knew French was

waiting his chance to kill me. I made Ju help me escape. I got away,

came to London. There was only one place I could think of to hide in .

. . here. Selma and I were friends. I used to come here in the old days,

before she married Jacobi. I knew Selma had gone to America with

Peter, after George had been killed. Peter smuggled her over.”

“Peter? Peter who?”

She frowned, passed her hand across her eyes. “I was forgetting

you didn’t know him. Peter Utterly. He was an American, over here in

the Army. He was nice, and when Selina was in trouble, he offered to

take her back to his home and to look after her.”