James Chase - The Guilty Are Afraid

It was Rankin.

“I hear you had visitors last night.”

“Yes.”

“Any idea who they were?”

I stared up at the ceiling as I said, “I’d have told Candy if I had. They went through Sheppey’s things, now they’ve given me the same treatment.”

“Watch out they don’t give you an icepick.”

“There’s that.”

“I thought I’d check with you. Candy didn’t find a thing. You have no ideas?”

“Not at the moment. I’m bending my brain on it now. If I come up with anything I’ll tell you.”

There was a pause, then he said, “I’ve talked to the priest. Hahn wasn’t lying. This girl was just what he said she was. She didn’t go out with men, and the priest said she would never associate with any strange man. He’s quite convinced about that.”

“She associated with Sheppey.”

“Yeah. Well, I have work to do. I’m trying to get a line on that icepick.”

“I was going to ask you about that. No prints?”

“No. You can buy a pick like that at any hardware store. I have men asking around. If I get anything I’ll let you know.”

I thanked him. At least I was getting more cooperation from him than I had expected.

He reminded me I would have to attend the inquest on Sheppey’s death that would be held in the late afternoon, then he hung up.

I finished my coffee, then called Ella at the office. I asked her how Sheppey’s wife had taken the news. She said she had had a bad time with her, but she thought she would be over the shock by now.

“She’ll have my letter this morning. Keep the cash box locked, Ella. It’s my bet she’ll be around asking for some dough before long. Tell her I’ll be mailing her a cheque tonight.”

Ella said she would do that.

We talked business for a few minutes. Two cases had come in: both of them sounded lucrative and interesting but I wasn’t even tempted.

“See if Corkhill will handle them on a fifty-fifty basis,” I said. “I’m staying here until I’ve cracked this one. Can you manage?”

“Of course.”

And I knew she would manage. She was as sharp and as smart as anyone I could hope to have working for me. We talked some more, then I said I’d call her in a day or so and hung up.

By now my room was unpleasantly hot.

I still felt a little under the weather and decided I’d go down to the beach, take a swim and then plan out a campaign with the sun to inspire me.

I got dressed, dug out my swimming trunks from my bag and stuffed them into my pocket, then I took the elevator to the ground floor.

Brewer, the fat reception clerk, took my key.

“Mr. Brandon,” he said, looking confused, “I’m afraid that . . .”

“I know: don’t tell me,” I said. “You have a sudden rush of business and you could use my room.” I smiled at him. “I don’t blame you. Okay, I’ll find somewhere else. Just give me until tonight.”

“I’m sorry, but we are getting a lot of complaints.” He actually looked sorry. “We have had the police here four times in twenty-four hours since you’ve been here.”

“Yes, I know. I can imagine how you feel about that. I’ll move out tonight.”

“That’s very nice of you, Mr. Brandon.”

I went out to the Buick and drove down to the beach. By then it was just after twelve noon, and the beach was crowding up. I managed to find a place to leave the Buick, then I made my way to a bathing station. The umbrellas were out. The boys and girls were already at play: some were throwing the medicine ball, some swimming, some starting on the round of before-lunch cocktails from silver flasks, some were just lying and letting the sun burn them up.

I changed into my trunks, stepped over muscular, brown bodies, picked my way past blondes, brunettes and redheads, wearing the minimum, before I could get to the sea.

I swam out for about a quarter of a mile at my fastest clip. I felt in need of the exercise. Then I turned around and came back more leisurely. The sun was hot now, and there were even less places on the beach.

I came out of the sea and paused to look around, trying to find a place where I needn’t rub shoulders with anyone else, but it wasn’t easy. Then I saw a girl, sitting under a blue and white umbrella, waving at me.

She was wearing a white swimsuit and she had on a pair of doughnut-sized sun goggles. I recognized her silky blonde hair and her shape before I recognized what I could see of her face.

Margot Creedy was inviting me to join her.

I picked my way over the bodies until I reached her.

She looked up at me, her lovely face wearing a slightly cautious expression, and she gave me the same small smile she had given me when we had first met.

“It’s Mr. Brandon, isn’t it?” she said, and she sounded slightly breathless. “It is Mr. Brandon?”

“Well, if it isn’t, someone has stolen my skin,” I said. “Is that Miss Creedy behind those big, big goggles?”

She laughed and took the goggles off. Make no mistake about this fact: the girl was quite a dish. Apart from her shape which, in that swimsuit, was sensational, there wasn’t a flaw in her.

“Won’t you sit down or are you tied up or something?”

I dropped down on the hot sand right by her.

I said I wasn’t tied up or anything, and went on, “Thank you for being helpful last night. I wasn’t expecting you to do that for me.”

“I just happened to be at the club.” She hugged her knees, staring over the top of them at the sea. “Besides, I was curious. There’s something intriguing as well as morbid about a murder case, isn’t there?” She put on her goggles again. I was sorry because they were so big they blotted out half her face. “I was quite sure when you asked me if your friend had been to the club that he hadn’t. I just had to check to see if I were right. It is very difficult now for a non-member to get in.”

“Have you seen the papers this morning?” I asked, stretching out on the sand. By turning my head I could still have an exciting view of her.

“You mean the second murder? Do you know who the girl is? Was she the one who met your friend: the one he went with to the bathing cabin?”

“That’s her.”

“Everyone is talking about her.” She reached for her big beach bag and began to hunt around in it the way women do. “It’s most mysterious, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but there’s probably a very simple explanation.”

The heat of the sun was beginning to bother me a little so I turned on my face and moved my body a little more into the shade made by the umbrella. Lying that way I could look directly up at her face. It was something that I would be happy to do any time of the day or night: she really was quite a dish. Possibly the loveliest girl I’ve ever seen.

“Could she have committed suicide?”

“She could have, I suppose, but it is very unlikely. Why stab yourself with an icepick? There are simpler ways.”

“But suppose she killed your friend? She might have felt a need to atone for what she had done. The papers say she was very religious. She might have felt the only way to atone was to die the way he had died.”

This startled me.

“For the love of mike! Did you think that up yourself?”

“Well, no. I was talking to some people. One of them said it and I thought it could be right.”

“I wouldn’t worry my brains how she died if I were you,” I said. “That’s a job for the police. She worked at this place out at Arrow Point. The School of Ceramics they call it. Have you ever been there?”

“Why, of course. I go there a lot. I’m just crazy about some of the designs that man Hahn makes. He really is wonderful. Last week I bought a statue of a little boy he made. It was enchanting.”