1956 - There's Always a Price Tag (19 page)

I felt sweat running down my back and my breath was coming out of my mouth like the hiss of steam.

'You devil!' she screamed at me.

Down there on the floor she was in the full light of the flash beam. As she got up on hands and knees, her lips drawn off her teeth, she looked as vicious as a wild cat.

I don't think I have ever been more rattled. She looked as if she were going to kill me.

I waited until she was rising, then I stepped in, chopped her hands down with my left and hung a right-hand punch on the side of her jaw, hitting her with all my weight behind the punch.

Her head snapped back and she crashed against the leg of the table, sending the table skidding against the wall. She lay on her side, her legs sprawled, her arms above her head.

I stood over her, panting, my heart hammering so violently I could scarcely breathe. Then I bent over her, hooked my fingers in the neck of her frock and ripped it down to her waist. I rolled her over on her face, pulled her arms behind her and roped her wrists. All this time I kept on my gloves and it wasn't easy tying the knots, but I didn't take the gloves off. I roped her ankles, then going over to her handbag, I took out the silk scarf I had told her to bring with her and tied it tightly over her mouth.

She was breathing heavily, her eyes shut, the muscles in her face slack. She looked convincing all right. Already an ugly red patch was showing below her right eye. There was another bruise on her jaw.

Her ripped dress was crumpled and dusty. In her fall she had torn the knees out of her nylon stockings. I took off one of her shoes.

That completed the picture. It would be a damned suspicious cop who would imagine that it was she who had engineered the kidnapping of her husband. She looked as I wanted her to look: a woman who had been handled by a couple of vicious thugs.

I emptied the contents of her purse on the floor. She had about thirty dollars in small bills and I put them in my pocket, leaving the rest of the stuff.

Time was moving. I didn't like leaving her there to come to in the dark, but I had to. Although I had hit her harder than I had intended, I didn't think she would remain out for more than a few minutes.

I took the flashlight and went quickly out of the room, closing the door behind me. I went down the passage, pulled the entrance door shut and hurried over to the Rolls. I put the camel-hair coat and the hat in the suitcase which already held Dester's shoes and suit. I dumped the suitcase in the boot, then I took from my pocket one of those clip-on moustaches you buy at a novelty store and attached it to my upper lip. I had a check cap in my hip pocket. This I put on and pulled well down over my eyes. I took a look at myself in the driving mirror.

Then I headed for the highway.

* * *

At twenty minutes past one o'clock I drove through the gateway of Dester's residence and parked the Buick outside the garage. I looked towards the house. One lone light showed in Marian's bedroom window. I got out of the Buick and went up to my apartment. I washed my face and hands, then poured myself out a stiff shot of whisky. I was feeling pretty bad, shaking and scared, but I had had a lot of luck.

I had passed only two cars on the way back to Hollywood, and they were going fast. I had ditched the Rolls in a side street not too far from the street where I had left the Buick and no one had seen me leave the car. I had taken the suitcase to a bus station and had left it in the left-luggage office. The guy who gave me the ticket was sleepy and scarcely looked at me. He had tossed the suitcase on a shelf alongside a dozen other cases, and by the time he had turned, I was halfway to the door. I had torn up the ticket and had thrown it away.

On my way back to the Buick I had dumped the check cap in a trash bin and dropped the moustache down a drain.

The car-park attendant had gone home and the parking lot was deserted. There were only three other cars, besides the Buick there, and no one saw me drive the Buick away.

I felt better after the drink, and better still when I had had another. I sat down in an armchair and waited.

While I waited I thought about Helen out there in the hut, the cords biting into her wrists and ankles, her face aching like hell and I felt pretty low. Maybe I shouldn't have hit her. I could have roughed her up a little instead of slamming into her as I had done. But I knew it had to be convincing. I was sure when she had got over it, she would agree I had done right, but I worried all the same.

I sat there, sweating it out until half past two. Then just as I was getting out of the chair to go over to the house, the telephone bell rang.

The sound of the bell pretty nearly made me hit the ceiling. For a long moment I stared at the telephone, my heart thudding and my skin toning clammy. Then I walked over to it and lifted the receiver.

'Glyn?'

I recognized Marian's voice.

'Yes. I was just coming over.'

'I'm worried. Mrs. Dester hasn't come.'

'I know. I dozed off, then woke up and went down to see if the Rolls was in the garage. I'm coming over.' I hung up, took another shot of Scotch, then leaving the apartment, I went over to the house.

I found Marian in a dressing gown waiting for me in the lounge.

'Do you think there's been an accident?'

'I shouldn't think so. She's probably staying the night at the sanatorium.'

'But she said she would be back tonight.'

'She may have changed her mind.'

Marian moved restlessly about the room. I tried to appear casual, and I crossed over to the bar for a cigarette.

'Don't you think you should call the sanatorium, Glyn? Something may have happened to Mr. Dester. He was pretty shaky.'

'You saw him then?'

My heart was thudding again. I was careful not to look at her as I lit my cigarette.

'Yes, I saw him. Please call the sanatorium. I have a feeling something's wrong.'

'Okay.'

I put the call through. I got the night supervisor who told me that although they were expecting Dester, he hadn't shown up. I thanked him and replaced the receiver.

'They haven't arrived?' Marian asked, alarm in her eyes.

'No. It looks as if they've either had a breakdown or an accident.'

'What are you going to do?'

'This is tricky. I don't know what to do. Dester's supposed to be in New York. If it gets out he is going into a sanatorium, his creditors will move in. He owes thousands.'

'But you must tell the police. They may know something.'

'We should have heard if they had.'

'They may be lying somewhere on the road. You must call the police, Glyn.'

'There's certain to be some damned newspaper man who'll pick it up.'

'You must call them! You just can't do nothing!'

'Well, all right. It certainly looks bad.'

I went over to the telephone, dialled police headquarters and waited while the connection was made. I was aware of a cold, sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. This was it. There was no turning back now.

Once the cops were in, they would stay in to the end.

A hard voice that sounded like a handful of gravel being tossed against a concrete wall barked in my ear: 'Police headquarters. What is it?'

I thought from now on I was going to hear voices like that: suspicious, barking voices that would probe and yell at me. From now on I was in the middle of it. There was no backing out now: no change of mind. It would be me against a bunch of hard-eyed, gritty-voiced policemen and as a make-weight, there would be Maddux.

Taking a deep, long breath, I began to talk.

chapter ten

D
ester may have been a drunk and he may have been washed up in the movie business, but I quickly discovered that he was still an important figure in the eyes of the police.

I expected the desk sergeant, when I told him Dester and his wife had been missing for a couple of hours, would promise to inquire around at the hospitals and check the accident detail and let me know if he heard anything, but he shook me by saying he would send someone out to the house right away.

'You'd better get dressed,' I said to Marian. 'We're going to have visitors. There's no news of an accident. It beats me what's happened to them.'

Looking worried and a little scared, Marian left the lounge. I turned up Edwin Burnett's number in the telephone book and called his house. I got him out of bed after a long delay and told him the news. He seemed pretty startled.

'You say the police are coming over?'

'That's right. I thought maybe you'd want to be here.'

But he hedged. It was just after three o'clock, and I guessed he didn't want to make the trip at that time in the morning.

'You can handle it, can't you, Nash? Give me a call at ten o'clock at my office and let me know what's happening.' He gave me the number. 'It may be they have only had a breakdown. If the Press get on to you, don't tell them anything.'

'That's easier said than done, Mr. Burnett,' I said.

'I know, but we've got to be careful not to embarrass Mrs. Dester.'

I suddenly heard the faint note of an approaching siren. The sound chilled me.

'I think the police are arriving now. I'll call you at ten,' I said and hung up.

I crossed the hall and opened the front door just as the police car pulled up.

Two men got out, both in plain clothes. They came up the steps, and I stood aside to let them in.

One of them was a short, fat man with reddish hair, a fiery complexion and a mass of freckles. At a guess he was nudging forty-five or so. He had pale blue eyes that looked like blobs of frozen water. The other detective was taller, younger and dark, with a hatchet face and intent staring eyes.

'Lieutenant Bromwich,' the fat detective said, stabbing himself in the chest with his thumb. 'Sergeant Lewis.' He jerked his thumb in the direction of the younger man. 'Who are you?'

'I'm Glyn Nash.' I found my voice was a little husky. 'I'm Mr. Dester's majordomo.'

Bromwich screwed up his eyes. 'Major - who?'

'I look after Mr. Dester's affairs, drive his car, help him dress: that sort of thing.'

Bromwich gave me a suspicious stare, then walked past me into the lounge. Lewis remained in the hall. I followed Bromwich, who sat down in a lounging chair, pushed his pork-pie hat to the back of his head and stared around the room, a little grimace on his red face.

'How the rich live,' he said as if speaking to himself. He pulled out a notebook, thumbed it to a blank page, produced a stub of pencil and then stared at me. 'Let's have it. What time did they leave?'

I told him; then I went on to tell him where they were going, how I happened to be out and got back just after they had gone, how I had to return to the Buick to fix it, how I had come back and waited for Mrs. Dester to return. I explained that I had dozed off and didn't waken until Marian telephoned me. Then as soon as I realized the time and that Mrs. Dester hadn't come back and that Dester hadn't arrived at the sanatorium, I had called the police.

Bromwich sat listening, his face blank. He made no attempt to write anything in his notebook.

'Where's the girl?' he asked when I had finished.

'You mean Miss Temple?'

'That's who I mean.'

'She'll be down in a moment. She's getting dressed.'

He crossed one fat leg over the other.

'This guy Dester's supposed to be in New York, isn't he? I read somewhere he's now in television or something.'

I explained about that. I said I had no idea how the rumour started, but Dester was pretty ill and as far as I knew he wasn't going into television.

'He's a drunk, isn't he?' Bromwich asked.

'That's how you could describe him.'

'How is he off financially?'

'He owes money.'

'Much?'

I hesitated.

'Come on, come on,' Bromwich said. 'You don't have to be coy with me.'

'Around twenty thousand.'

Bromwich made a face.

'These rich.' He let it hang, then went on, 'Did they take any luggage?'

'Mr. Dester had a suitcase.'

'I've seen that Rolls. That's worth something.'

'I guess so.'

'Mrs. Dester take anything with her?'

I very nearly walked into that one.

'I don't know. I know Mr. Dester took a case with him because I packed it.'

Just then Marian came in.

Bromwich screwed his bullet head around and stared at her.

'This is Miss Temple,' I said. 'This is Lieutenant Bromwich,' I went on to Marian.

Bromwich waved Marian to a chair. He didn't bother to get up.

'Did Mrs. Dester take any luggage with her?' he asked. Marian looked startled. 'Why, no. Mr. Dester had a suitcase, but Mrs. Dester…'

'Okay, okay, just answer the questions.'

He got her to describe exactly what had happened when she saw Helen and me leave the house. It was a little eerie to hear her account of the departure.

'Mrs. Dester seemed to be having trouble with him,' Marian said. 'He knocked something over and there was a smash. He seemed very unsteady. He wanted the light in the hall turned off because it hurt his eyes. He came down the stairs very slowly, holding on to her arm.'

'What was he wearing?' Bromwich asked in a bored, flat voice.

'A dark brown, wide-brimmed hat, a camel-haired, belted coat, dark grey trousers and nigger brown reverse calf shoes,' Marian said promptly.

Bromwich looked up. 'Are you sure?'

'Yes.'

'You've got pretty good eyes, haven't you?'

'I was curious. I hadn't seen him before. He took some time to cross the hall.'

'How long have you been here?'

'Exactly a week.'

'And this was the first-time you set eyes on him?'

'Yes.'

I felt my hands go clammy. Was she going to say she didn't think he had been in the room all that time?

'So he stayed in his room for a week?'

'Mr. Dester stayed in bed,' I put in. 'He was pretty bad, and he slept most of the time.'

Bromwich swivelled his bullet head and stared at me.