1956 - There's Always a Price Tag (25 page)

* * *

Marian and I didn't get Dester's papers parcelled up until past eight o'clock. We had come across another drawer of bills just when we thought we had finished and that held us up.

After I had struck a grand total, I said, 'Well, I don't think there will be much left: he now owes close on fifty thousand.'

'Do you think if anything happens to him that the insurance company will pay up?' Marian asked.

'I don't know. It depends what has happened to him. Anyway, I don't care one way or the other. I don't want the money.' I got to my feet 'Well, I guess you don't have to hang on any longer unless you want to, kid. Why don't you go to a movie or something?'

She shook her head.

'I don't feel like it. Do you want to go?'

The thought of staying in this house waiting for Lewis to go to bed wasn't a pleasant one, but I dared not leave the house. Lewis had shown a mild interest in the freezer. There was just a chance that, left on his own, he might take the bottles off the top and look inside.

'Let's go into the lounge. Maybe there's something to watch on television.'

Lewis was watching the fights when we entered the lounge.

'These are pretty rotten,' he said, glancing over his shoulder at us. 'If you two want some other programme, it's okay with me.'

Marian said she didn't want to watch.

'I'm going over to my room,' she said, 'I have some letters to write.'

I was glad to get her out of the house.

'I'll come over with you,' I said.

We walked across to the garage in the fading light and paused at the entrance.

'I'll get back,' I said. 'I want an early night. All this commotion has made me tired.'

'You don't think anything will happen tonight, Glyn?'

'I'm sure it won't. Forget it, kid. Dester's miles away by now. In another few days you can quit.'

'I shall be glad to go.'

I bent and kissed her. 'I'll see you in the morning.'

I hurried back to the house. Lewis was lolling in his chair, staring at a couple of bruisers being careful not to hurt each other. 'These two puffs have been waltzing around the ring now for ten minutes. They haven't laid a glove on each other yet.'

I looked at my strap watch. It was getting on for nine. I had still at least four hours to kill before I could start on the last leg of this nightmare. I sat down, lit a cigarette and watched the screen.

After five more dreary minutes had ticked by, the referee stopped the fight and called it a no contest.

'About time too,' Lewis said. 'Anyway, they won't get paid.'

Another couple climbed into the ring and another slow, unexciting fight started. After a while I noticed Lewis had fallen asleep.

I looked at him. His thin face hadn't relaxed in sleep: it looked as if it had been carved out of stone. I didn't dare do anything yet. I began to check off in my mind the points I had to remember. I had everything ready. First I would have to remove the bottles from the top of the deep-freeze cabinet, then I had to get him out of the cabinet, take him into the garden, and then fire off the gun.

It was only then that I realized with a sudden sick shock that I wouldn't be able to get back into the house before Lewis came down to investigate the sound of the shot.

I couldn't take the risk of him spotting me in the garden. He might look out of his window and see me coming back to the house or he might rush down and meet me as I was entering the house.

I sat staring at the bright television screen, fighting against my rising panic. How was I to get around this snag? It took me several minutes to accept the fact that I dared not take Dester out into the garden.

Then it dawned on me that I had been making things more difficult for myself. Dester had originally shot himself in his study. The safest thing for me to do was to set the stage exactly as it had been and stage the suicide once more in his study. I could fire the gun through the open window. The fact that the window was open would point to the way Dester had entered the study. I began to breathe again. It was better this way. As soon as I had fired the shot I would cross the passage into the kitchen, wait until Lewis had gone into the study, then I'd leave the kitchen, creep halfway up the stairs, turn and run down noisily as if I had just come from my room.

In theory it sounded fine, but I flinched from the reality of carrying it out. I dreaded opening the freezer and seeing him again, but I had to do it.

Around half past ten Lewis abruptly woke up. I had been watching him and when I saw him stir, I closed my eyes and pretended I had also fallen asleep.

'Sweet grief! Those puffs are still waltzing together,' he said in disgust as he sat up.

I stirred and opened my eyes. 'Well, they sent us to sleep: what more do you want?' I turned off the set. 'I guess I'm going up to bed.'

'Yeah,' Lewis returned and stretched. 'I've been wasting time. I should have been in bed long ago.' He got to his feet. 'Do you lock up here?'

'Sure,' I said. 'It won't take me long. You go on up.'

'I guess I'll come around with you. I wouldn't want a burglar to break in while I'm snoring upstairs. I'd get ribbed for the rest of my days.'

He followed me into the hall and watched me lock and bolt the front door, then he came after me, down the passage into the kitchen and watched me fasten the kitchen door.

'That's it,' I said. 'Now let's get upstairs.'

He pulled aside the kitchen curtains.

'This window's not locked,' he said and slid the catch. 'Let's have a look at the rest of the windows.'

I could have strangled him, but there was nothing to do but to follow him into the dining room, the lounge and finally into Dester's room. He had checked and found the windows of the lounge and dining room were locked. He pushed open the door leading into Dester's study, snapped on the light and crossed the room to the window.

'This isn't locked,' he said.

I was staring at the desk, a cold chill creeping up my spine. Like a careless, stupid fool I had left the pair of gloves right by the typewriter in full view. I took a step forward in the hope I could snatch them up before he turned, but he was already turning and I stopped short.

'Well, that's that,' he said. 'No one can get in now without breaking a pane.'

He moved across the room, not looking at the desk, and stepped into the passage. I turned off the light and followed him out, leaving the door half open.

'Let's go,' he said. 'If you hear anything, call me, I usually sleep like a dead man.'

We went upstairs together and parted at the head of the stairs. He went towards the guest room at the far end of the passage, next door to Helen's room.

'So long,' I said. 'Sleep well.'

He nodded, then went into his bedroom and shut the door. I stood for a moment, listening, then I turned off the hall lights from the two-way switch and then went down the passage to my room.

I walked slowly over to the bed and sat on it.

Had he seen the gloves? That was the kind of stupid slip that could put a man in the death cell. What was I thinking about to have made a mistake like that? Maybe he hadn't seen them. He hadn't remarked on them, but did that mean anything?

I felt sweat on my face as I realized just what kind of a job I had on my hands this night. I had all those bottles to take off the cabinet, and when I had got Dester out of the freezer, I had to put the bottles back again. I had to do that without making the slightest sound. I wasn't kidded by that last remark of Lewis's about sleeping like a dead man.

By checking what he had thought to be all the windows, he had satisfied himself that no one could get in without breaking a windowpane, but he had missed the cloakroom that led off into the hall. That was the way Dester had to come, I told myself. But Lewis had complicated things for me. I had to fire the gun in Dester's study. That meant I had to unlatch the window, open it, fire the gun out of it, close and latch the window again. That would take up most of my escape time. I would have to move like lightning if I were to get out of the room before Lewis reached the head of the stairs where he could see into the hall.

I got to my feet and undressed slowly. I put on pyjamas and a dressing gown. I had brought the gun up from the study. I checked it, then I took out the empty shell and loaded the live slug in its place. With a handkerchief I wiped over the gun very carefully, and wrapping the handkerchief around the butt, I put the gun in my dressing gown pocket.

My first move would be to go downstairs into Dester's study and get the gloves. I knew I mustn't touch anything until I had my hands covered. One fingerprint would blow my plan sky high. I looked at my strap watch. The time was five minutes past eleven. I couldn't start this thing until after one o'clock. I had to be sure that Lewis was heavily asleep. I turned off my bedroom light, then opening the door I looked along the passage to Lewis's door. No light showed from under the door. That at least showed he was in bed.

I pushed my door to without shutting it and groped my way back to the bed and stretched out on it.

I lay in the darkness and waited, and for the first time since I was a kid, I prayed.

chapter thirteen

T
he clock in the hall chimed the quarter after one o'clock. For the past two hours I had been lying on the bed, sweating it out and listening to the violent rain storm that lashed against the bedroom windows: a storm that had blanketed every other sound in the house. It had lasted half an hour and as quickly had died out. I swung my legs off the bed and sat up. I remained motionless, listening. Only the busy ticking of the bedside clock and the violent thumping of my heart came to me as I sat in the darkness.

I reached out and turned on the bedside lamp. Then I stood up, slid my feet into slippers and moved to my bedroom door to look out into the darkness of the passage. No light showed from Lewis's door. I listened for another long minute, then, satisfied he was asleep, I went over to the chest of drawers and picked up my flashlight. I turned it on and then put out the bedside light.

Moving silently I reached the hall and moved down the passage and into Dester's study. I closed the door, turned on the light and picked up the gloves that were lying on the desk. I put them on. My hands were shaking so badly that I had trouble in getting the confession note from under the pile of typing paper. I nearly stripped off the gloves as I fiddled to pick up the sheet, but stopped myself in time. I fed the sheet of paper into the machine, being careful to line up the last word with the guide line of the machine.

I went over to the window, unlatched it and opened it a few inches.

Turning off the light, I opened the door and stood listening. There was no sound to alarm me, and bracing myself I went silently along the passage, lighting my way with my flashlight, into the kitchen. I shut and locked the door, then I turned on the light and looked across at the deep-freeze cabinet.

I was in a pretty bad state of nerves by then. My heart was beating so violently that I felt suffocated and my gloved hands were shaking. I started to remove the three dozen bottles of whisky that were piled on top of the cabinet. I was careful not to let the bottles clash together and I stood them in neat rows to one side of the cabinet. It was when I was taking the last of the bottles off that I very nearly ran into disaster. As I picked up two of the bottles, the remaining bottle toppled over and began to roll towards the edge of the cabinet top. I hurriedly set down the two bottles as the third bottle reached the edge, toppled over and fell. Somehow I got my hand under it when it was inches from the floor and held it. I stood for a long moment, sweat on my face and my body trembling, then I set down the bottle and straightened up. It had been a close call.

I crossed over to the door, turned the key and opened the door a few inches and listened.

This was the moment. Once I got him out of the cabinet I would have to hurry. If Lewis came down before I could get Dester into the study and before I could fire the shot, all this agony of nerves, my careful planning, the risk I was taking would be for nothing.

I went back into the kitchen, closed and locked the door again, and then walked over to the cabinet. As I put my hands on the lid to lift it, my nerve failed. I stepped back, wiping the sweat off my face with the sleeve of my dressing gown. I crossed to a cupboard, opened it and took out a drinking glass. I just couldn't open the cabinet without a shot of whisky. I opened one of the bottles, fumbling at it with my gloved fingers, but I got it open, splashed three inches of whisky into the glass and shot it down my throat. I felt the whisky hit my stomach and felt my nerves tighten under the impact. It did the trick.

Although I was tempted to repeat the dose, I resisted the temptation. I put the glass down and, leaving the opened bottle of whisky on the table, I turned back to the cabinet. As I was lifting the lid, I suddenly stiffened. My heart jumped, then raced. Had I heard something? Had the stairs creaked as if stealthy feet were moving down them? I lowered the lid hurriedly, walked swiftly to the door, turned off the light, unlocked the door and opened it an inch or so. I listened, holding my breath, trying to hear any sound above the thudding of my heartbeats. I stood there for what must have been five agonizing minutes, but I heard nothing, and finally, convinced my imagination had been playing me tricks, I closed and locked the door again, turned on the light and leaned against the door, trying to control my shaking limbs.

I went back to the cabinet, lifted the lid, and with my breath whistling between my clenched teeth, I looked down at him.

He lay on his side, the wound in his head away from me. He looked quite natural, as if he were asleep.

I bent down and touched the side of his neck. He was scarcely cold. There was less moisture in the cabinet than I had thought: most of it had been absorbed by his clothes which felt wet to the touch. This didn't worry me as it had rained heavily and I thought it would be a fair risk to assume the police wouldn't be suspicious since Dester had no top coat with him.