Just Another Sucker (13 page)

I told her the whole story. When I was through, I said, ‘You’ll have to have an explanation for the bust wing. You can say you did it when you came out of the garage. I don’t know how far Renick will press you. He might ask where you have been. If he does, tell him to mind his own business. This hit and run story is phoney. I don’t think he will press you, but you’ll have to be ready for him.’

‘You seem to have handled this pretty badly,’ she said. ‘Why didn’t you tell me about the accident?’

‘Oh, forget it!’ I was getting fed up with criticism. ‘Nothing happened your end? You stayed in the hotel and kept off the streets?’

‘Yes.’

‘You haven’t forgotten all the dope I gave you, just in case your father calls in the police.’

‘I haven’t forgotten.’

It was twenty minutes to two when we reached the cabin. I pulled up and gave her the key.

‘Go in there and change and wait for me. I should be back around two-thirty.’

She took the key and got out of the car. I handed her the suitcase.

‘I’ll be waiting,’ she said. She suddenly smiled at me. ‘Take care of that money, Harry.’

‘I’ll take care of it.’

She leaned into the car.

‘Kiss me.’

I put my arm around her shoulders and pulled her to me. Our lips touched. She drew away, her finger touching her mouth.

‘It’s a bore you’re married, Harry.’

‘That’s the way it is,’ I said, staring at her. ‘But don’t kid yourself… I wouldn’t swop.’

‘That’s what I mean... it’s a bore.’

I started the car.

‘I’ll be seeing you.’

She stood back and as I drove down East Beach Road, I saw her in my driving mirror, walking slowly back to the cabin.

I had already chosen the spot from where I would signal Malroux. There was a big thicket behind which I could hide the car. There was also plenty of cover for me, and I had a clear, uninterrupted view of the road.

I drove the car off the road, turned off the lights, walked back to the road to satisfy myself the car couldn’t be seen. I then squatted down behind a bush, my flashlight in my hand and waited.

It wouldn’t take Malroux more than ten minutes to reach this spot if he left his house punctually at two. I had just time for a cigarette.

As I squatted there, smoking, my nerves seemed to be crawling out of my skin. Suppose Malroux was planning a trap?

Suppose he had brought O’Reilly along with him and when they saw my light, O’Reilly, a tough ex-cop, jumped out of the car and went for me?

I tried to assure myself Malroux wouldn’t risk his daughter’s life, but suppose he had guessed this was a faked kidnapping? Suppose…?

Then I saw distant headlights and I hurriedly stubbed out my cigarette.

This was it, I thought, in another few seconds I’d know if I had walked into a trap.

In the moonlight, I could see the car. It was the Rolls. I let it come closer, then pushing my torch through the shrub, I began pressing the button on and off, sending a flicking beam into the road.

The Rolls was moving at about twenty miles an hour. I could see there was only the driver in sight.

But that didn’t mean anything. If O’Reilly was with him, he would be hidden at the back.

The car was level now. It slowed slightly. I saw Malroux make a movement, then with an effort, he tossed a bulky briefcase out of the window. It landed with a thud in the road within ten feet of me.

The Rolls gathered speed and swept on, heading for Lone Bay.

I remained squatting behind the bush, staring at the briefcase lying on the road for several seconds, scarcely believing the money was there, and within my grasp.

I looked down the road. The red tail lights of the Rolls were fast disappearing in the distance. I stood up, grabbed the briefcase and ran back to the Packard. I threw the briefcase on the back seat, slid under the driving wheel and drove fast towards the beach cabin.

I was elated. It had turned out to be the easiest job in the world, and now I was worth fifty thousand dollars!

I reached the cabin as the hands of the clock on the car’s dashboard showed twenty-five minutes to three. I parked the car and got out, reaching into the back for the briefcase. Then I paused to look around. There was no other car in the park, and that surprised me.

Rhea should have been here by now. She couldn’t have walked. Then where was her car?

Maybe, I told myself, she had had trouble getting away. Maybe O’Reilly had been on the alert, and she would be late. That wasn’t my funeral. I wasn’t going to wait for her. I would take my cut, give the rest to Odette and get home.

I hurried across the sand to the cabin which was in darkness. That wasn’t unexpected. Odette would be sitting on the veranda waiting for me. She wouldn’t have put on the lights in case someone, passing, might wonder what was in the cabin at this late hour.

But when I walked up the veranda steps there was no sign of her. I paused, suddenly uneasy.

‘Odette!’

No sound came to me. The air conditioner was on. Cold air came out of the cabin and dried the sweat on my face.

I entered the cabin, shut the door, put the briefcase on the table and groped for the light switch. I turned on the light.

The room was just as I had left it a few hours ago.

I listened, puzzled and very uneasy.

‘Odette!’ I raised my voice. ‘Hey! Are you there?’

The silence in the cabin was now frightening me. Had she lost her nerve and bolted? Or maybe she had fallen asleep while waiting for me.

I crossed the room and opened the bedroom door. My hand ran down the wall until my fingers found the light switch. I flicked it on.

Just for a brief moment I relaxed when I saw her lying on the bed. Her face was turned away from me. Her black hair was spread out on the pillow. The red wig lay on the floor at the foot of the bed.

‘Hey! Wake up! I’ve got the money!’ I said, then a cold chill began to crawl up my spine.

Twisted tightly around her throat, cutting into her flesh, was something that looked like a nylon stocking.

I took two, slow hesitant steps forward and I peered at her. I caught a glimpse of the blue skin, the protruding tongue and the flecks of white foam around her lips. Shuddering, I stepped hurriedly back.

I just stood there, my heart scarcely beating, while I tried to accept the fact that she had been brutally and horribly strangled.

II

This was murder!

With my mind paralysed with shock, I walked unsteadily into the lounge and across to the bar. I poured myself a shot of Scotch. It helped steady me.

Where was Rhea? I looked at my watch. It was now three minutes to three. Why hadn’t she come? I had to know if she was coming.

After hesitating for some moments, I reached for the telephone and called her house.

I recognised the butler’s voice as he said, ‘Mr. Malroux’s residence. Who is this, please?’

He didn’t sound as if he had been dragged out of bed. Probably, he was sitting up, waiting for Malroux to return.

‘Mrs. Malroux,’ I said. ‘She is expecting me to call. Tell her it is Mr. Hammond calling.’

‘I am sorry, sir, but Mrs. Malroux is asleep. I can’t disturb her.’

‘I must talk to her. She’s expecting me.’

‘I’m very sorry, sir.’ He almost sounded sorry. ‘Mrs. Malroux isn’t well. The doctor has given her a sedative. She is not to be disturbed.’

‘I didn’t know. Well, thanks,’ and I hung up.

What did this mean? I asked myself. Was her illness an excuse so she could slip out of the house and not be missed or had she become really ill?

I wiped my sweating hands.

By now Malroux would be at the Lone Bay parking lot, and waiting. When Odette didn’t show up, he would return home. How soon would it be before he alerted the police?

Then a sudden horrible thought dropped into my mind that set my heart pounding. Those two tapes, so safely lodged in the bank, were useless to protect me now. A faked kidnapping was one thing, but murder was something else. This murder could be pinned on me. The police would say Odette and I had quarrelled over dividing the money, and I had killed her.

I couldn’t leave her body here. I would have to get rid of it. If I left it here, Bill Holden would find it and call the police. They would want to know who had rented the cabin and he would name me. They would want to know why I had rented this de luxe cabin for close on two weeks when I had been out of a job and had no money. They would want to know where I had been this night. Tim Cowley had seen me with a girl. I had introduced her to him as Ann Harcourt. The police would check, and when they found Ann Harcourt didn’t exist, they could easily put two and two together and make her Odette Malroux.

How would Rhea react when she learned that Odette had been murdered? Would she admit planning a faked kidnapping and accuse me of killing Odette? I had to talk to her!

But first I had to get rid of Odette’s body.

The thought of touching her made me feel sick, but I had to do it. I would have to dump her somewhere where she wouldn’t be found until I had had a chance to talk to Rhea.

I decided to take the body to an old worked out silver mine, a mile off the highway. It had the advantage of being on the road home and was a very unfrequented spot. Out there, she could remain undiscovered for months: maybe no one would ever find her.

I hated to do such a brutal thing to her, but I had to think of myself. I took another drink, then bracing myself, I went out and moved the Packard closer to the cabin. I unlocked the trunk of the car and opened it. Then I returned to the cabin and went into the bedroom.

Without looking at her, I flicked the bed cover over her and picked her up. She was surprisingly heavy. I carried her out to the car and slid her into the trunk, then as gently as I could, I pulled the bed cover from under her and then closed the trunk.

By then I was feeling pretty bad. I went back to the cabin and took another drink, then I went into the bedroom, straightened the bed and put the cover on. I put the red wig in her suitcase and checked to make sure there was nothing else belonging to her I had overlooked. Satisfied, I went into the lounge.

As I was crossing to the door, I saw the briefcase on the table. I had completely forgotten about the money. I was no longer interested in it anyway. I didn’t dare touch it. It was murder money. It would have to be dumped with Odette’s body.

I grabbed up the briefcase, then turned off the light and locking the cabin, I got in the car.

I had a three mile drive. Before reaching the mine, I had to pass through Palm Bay. The mine was between Palm Bay and Palm City. The time was now ten minutes after three. There would be no traffic, but there would be patrolling cops. I would have to be careful: no fast driving. I mustn’t do anything that would attract attention to myself.

I drove onto the highway.

It was as I was driving down the main street of Palm Bay that my plan to get rid of Odette’s body blew up in my face.

At the intersection, I spotted a cop, standing by the traffic lights. The lights flicked to red when I was within forty yards of them. I eased down on the brake, bringing the Packard to a smooth standstill.

I sat motionless, trying to behave as if I didn’t exist, aware the cop was idly staring at me because he had nothing else to stare at.

It seemed to me, he and I were the only two people left on earth. The gay neon lights of Palm Bay flashed on and off, entirely for our benefit. The heavy, yellow moon floated in a cloudless sky and shone down on us. There was no sign of any other person in the broad, long, long road.

I stared at the red light, willing it to change to green. It seemed symbolic to me: it screamed danger to me, and I gripped the steering wheel so tightly my fingers ached.

The cop cleared his throat, then spat in the road. The sound made me start and I looked quickly at him.

He was swinging his night-stick aimlessly, and he was staring at me. He was a big, solidly built man with a round ball-like head that seemed to sit on his vast shoulders as if he had no neck.

Would the lights never change?

I felt sweat on my face and I shifted my eyes back to the glaring red warning sign just ahead of me.

Then it flicked to green.

I took my foot off the brake and with infinite care, I pressed down on the gas pedal, meaning to move smoothly away, doing nothing to incite the cop’s criticism.

The car moved forward, then there was a sudden jarring sound and the car jerked sharply to a standstill.

I shifted the gear from ‘drive’ to ‘neutral’, and then back to ‘drive’. I pressed down on the gas pedal.

The engine roared, but the car didn’t move.

I sat there, with panic crawling over me, knowing that at long, long last, and after years of good service, the gearbox had finally packed up. Some cog had lost its final tooth, and now I was stuck with a cop within ten feet and me and Odette’s dead body in the trunk behind me.

I couldn’t move nor think. I just sat there, gripping the driving wheel, not knowing what to do.

The green light flicked to red again.

The cop took off his cap and scratched his shaven head. The light of the moon played on his red, brutal face. He was of the old school: a man of about fifty. He had seen everything bad, everything rotten and he had been, and still was, hated by those he also hated. He was a man who would rather get you into trouble than out of it.

I slid the gear lever into reverse, hoping I could move the car from the middle of the road to the kerb, but the reverse gear didn’t respond.

The red light flicked to green again.

The cop stepped off the sidewalk and came over.

‘Planning to sleep here the night, buster?’ he said in a hard cop voice that went with his face.

‘Looks like I’ve got a bust gearbox,’ I said.

‘Yeah? What are you going to do about it?’

‘Is there a garage open anywhere close?’

‘I’m asking the questions, buster. I’m asking you what you are going to do about it?’

‘Get a tow,’ I said, trying to keep my voice under control.

‘Yeah? And what’s going to happen to this heap while you’re fixing a tow?’