The Dead Stay Dumb

by James Hadley Chase

  He swore softly. “You hurt bad?” he said.

  She raised her head slowly. Her mouth was screwed up and he could see the marks of her teeth on her lip, where she had bitten the pain silent. The glaring light made her look ghastly. Her hair had gone limp and beads of sweat made her look as if she had just come out of rain.

  Roxy leant well forward, gaping at her. “We gotta get a doctor to her,” he said. “She looks bad.”

  Dillon looked at him hard. “Sure she looks bad,” he said slowly. “Yeah, we better get a doctor.”

  Roxy swung round and started the engine. Dillon put his hand on his shoulder. “Wait,” he said. “We can’t drive into a town with her like that…. It would start something. I’ll stay here an’ look after her.” He put a lot of meaning in the last words.

  Roxy started to argue, but a look that had come into Dillon’s eyes stopped him. “Okay,” he said huskily.

  He reached forward and turned off the engine, then he opened the door and got into the road. Dillon said under his breath, “I’ll sound the horn.”

  Myra raised her head. “Roxy… where… are… you… goin’?”

  Roxy said, “I’m gettin’ a croaker… you’ll be okay… just you stay quiet.”

  A sudden wave of panic swept over Myra. “Roxy…. don’t leave me… don’t leave me… with him!”

  Roxy was already walking quickly down the dark road, his shoulders arched as if he expected a violent blow.

  Dillon reached up and shoved the light out of her eyes. “You’re goin’ to be okay now,” he said.

  Myra crouched back against the seat. “Give me a break,” she implored him. “I know what… you’re goin’ to… to do. Don’t… please—”

  Dillon leant forward. “You nuts or somethin’?” he said. His face was glistening. Two deep lines ran from his nose to the corners of his mouth. “What you squawkin’ about?”

  “You wouldn’t… treat… me like a dog?” she gasped.

  Dillon threw off pretence. “You didn’t give Fan a chance, did you?” he snarled. “You burnt her, didn’t you, you little heel? You took all that dough an’ I wasn’t to see any of it. You know too much, sister—”

  “Look, I’m bleedin’…. It hurts so… don’t hurt me any more.” She took her hand from her side and tried to reach him. He shied away from her blood-encrusted fingers. Quietly he groped for his gun. His fingers closed on the cold barrel. He got a grip and drew it off the seat, holding it behind his back.

  “Sure I’ll give you a break,” he said, grinning at her.

  She was dazed with the pain and loss of blood. She could only see his outline bending over her, and his words came to her faintly. She began to cough again, and a sudden rush of blood to her mouth terrified her.

  “I’m scared…” she whimpered. “I’m scared….”

  Dillon brought his hand from behind his back. His arm flashed up and then down. He hit her on the top of her head with the gun butt with all his strength. In the silence of the night he heard her skull crack. Blood came out of her mouth again as she fell forward.

  Dillon scrambled out of the car. He ran round to the other side and opened the door. Then, cautiously, he fumbled for her in the dark. His hand touched her head and he drew back, catching his breath a little. His hands were slippery with her blood.

  He stood there, glaring at her dim outline, suddenly frightened to touch her. In a fit of insane panic he began to beat her head and shoulders with the gun butt. At last he stopped and stood panting, his chest heaving and his mouth slack. Her two legs hung indecently from the car door. The rest of her was hidden in darkness. Moving forward slowly, he reached down and wiped his hands on her stockings. He did it in little jerks, as if he expected the legs to come to life.

  The moon suddenly swung above the clouds, lighting the road. Roxy sat on the grass farther up the road, his head in his hands. He swore continuously, refusing to let his brain dwell on what was going on. Two short blasts from the horn of the car made him get unsteadily to his feet.

  * * *

  Ma Chester was a small, mean-looking woman, with hard eyes and a thin pinched mouth. She stood on the stoop of the farmhouse and looked down on them. Round her waist was a piece of sacking that did for an apron. Her gnarled hands were folded across her withered breasts, and Dillon could see her black broken nails clawing at the cotton stuff of her dress.

  The farmhouse was well hidden in the hills. It was several miles from the main road, and stood entirely alone. It was well off the beaten track.

  The sun was just up. Dillon and Roxy had spent the night in the woods, fearing to call at the farmhouse at night. They were both tired and irritable. Dillon’s nerves seemed to stand outside his body, so that the slightest movement or sound jarred him.

  Roxy handled Ma Chester. She seemed to know all about it. Joe had got her on the telephone.

  She said, “I guess you two want to see your room.”

  They followed her into the farmhouse. There, was a smell of dirt and cooking in the place. Dillon twitched his nose a little.

  The main living-room was bare and dirty. An old man who looked old enough to be Ma Chester’s father sat in a small rocker in front of the kitchen stove. In spite of the growing heat from the sun, he seemed to be cold, shivering every now and then. He was bald, unshaven and rheumy. He didn’t bother to look up as they came in.

  Ma Chester led them through to a door at the far end. The room would have shamed an Eastside tenement. Dillon looked round, his face showing his disgust.

  “I’ll bring you some breakfast,” the old woman said. She said it as if she expected a refusal.

  Dillon said, “Yeah, and make it a big one.”

  When she had gone, pulling the door behind her, Dillon wandered round the room. “A thousand bucks for this,” he said. “I’ll wring that goddam chiseller’s neck.”

  Roxy sat on the bed gingerly. “They’ll never find us here,” he said. “I bet Joe won’t turn in much dough to the old girl. He’ll keep it for himself.”

  Dillon went over to the window and looked out. Roxy watched him cautiously. Roxy was scared of Dillon. The horror of last night was still with him. Sitting there on the bed, he could relive everything he had done. They had found a big gravel dump off the road and had shoved her body into it, pulling the gravel down on top of her. Roxy shivered a little. Maybe they wouldn’t find her for weeks, maybe they’d find her tomorrow.

  Dillon said, “Snap out of it!”

  Roxy jerked up his head. Dillon had turned and was watching him. “That broad never was no good,” Dillon said. “She had it comin’ for a long time. What could we do with her? If we’d left her, she’d’ve squawked. I know.”

  “Sure, sure,” Roxy said hastily, “we’ll forget it.”

  Dillon said in a threatening voice, “You’d better.”

  Just then Ma Chester put her head round the door. “You can eat now,” she said.

  The two men wandered into the other room. The table was covered with a soiled newspaper. Old man Chester was already eating. Dillon looked at him with disgust. The old man glanced up and grunted. Ma Chester said, “Don’t you take any notice of him… he’s deaf.”

  Dillon jerked a chair out and sat down. The food was poor and coarse.

  Roxy said, “You gotta radio here?”

  Ma Chester stood over the stove, watching the coffee. She shook her head. “Nope,” she said. “We ain’t got a radio.”

  Dillon cut the salty ham angrily. “I thought every farm had a radio,” he said.

  “Well, we ain’t,” Ma Chester snapped. “We’re poor, see?”

  “You’re tellin’ me,” Dillon snarled.

  The shack door opened and a girl came in. Both Roxy and Dillon stopped eating and stared at her. She was big. Her straw-coloured hair hung down to her shoulders. Her dirty cotton dress barely concealed her over-ripe figure. She was as tall as Dillon, with big hands and feet. Her features were regular and good, but the expression on her face
and in her eyes was that of a child of seven.

  She stood there shifting her feet, looking with scared eyes at the two at the table.

  Ma Chester said, “Sit down, Chrissie; these two gentlemen ain’t goin’ to worry you.”

  There was a long awkward silence as she shuffled over to the table and sat down. Then with a burst of confidence she said, “Did you come in that big car?”

  Dillon glanced over at Roxy. Roxy said, “Yeah, that’s right.”

  Chrissie smiled timidly. “We ain’t got a car,” she said, reaching out a large hand for some bread. “Can I go for a ride?”

  Ma Chester snapped, “Don’t you worry these gentlemen. You get on an’ eat.”

  Chrissie began to bolt her food. She had an enamel mug of milk by her plate, and when she drank Dillon could see the milk running down her chin on to the front of her dress. He was suddenly aware of a sour smell coming from her, the same sort of smell small children have if they’re not looked after. He felt a little sick and pushed his plate away. Then, muttering something, he got up.

  Ma Chester said, “Here’s the coffee.” She banged a pot on the table. Dillon reached out and poured himself a cup and took it to the window. When Ma Chester went back to the stove, Chrissie leant forward and scooped the ham Dillon had left on to her plate.

  Roxy laid down his knife. “You’re hungry?” he said, for something to say.

  She looked at him and gave a pleased little smile. “Yes, I am,” she said. “Will you give me a ride, Mister?”

  Roxy nodded. “Sure I will.”

  “You be quiet,” Ma Chester said from the stove.

  A sudden blank look came over Chrissie’s face and she began to mumble. A little saliva ran down her chin. Ma Chester walked over to her and rapped on the top of her head with her knuckles, just like she was rapping on a door. Chrissie pressed her head against the old woman’s breast, a look of contentment coming over her bovine face.

  Ma Chester said to Roxy, “She’s simple, but she’s a good girl. There’s something wrong with her head. She gets like this sometimes. I rap her nut like this, an’ it helps her.” The old woman’s face had softened while she was speaking, and she looked down at the girl with a rough tenderness that quite altered her face.

  Roxy sat there staring with a morbid fascination. “She’s quite a big girl, ain’t she?” he said at last.

  “She’s eighteen,” Ma Chester told him. “But I guess she’s never grown up.”

  Dillon couldn’t stand any more of it. He went outside. The hot sun was fast drying the heavy dew. The ground was steaming a little, and a faint white mist, extending as far as the eye could see, hovered just above the ground. The air smelt good and he was glad to get away from the staleness of the shack.

  He walked over to the car and glanced inside. The back seat was stained dark with Myra’s blood. He wrinkled his nose a little. This was a hell of a morning.

  Over the way he noticed a well, and he went over and drew a bucket of water. Then, finding some rags under the front seat, he began sponging the mess away. He had just got through and had got rid of the water when Roxy came out.

  Dillon looked at him. “I’m goin’ to go nuts in this dump,” he said. “Just wait until that chiseler comes out here…. I’ll kill him.”

  Roxy sat on the running-board of the car and lit a cigarette. “Hell,” he said. “It’s somethin’ to be safe, ain’t it?”

  “That loony gives me the creeps,” Dillon muttered, shoving the back seat into place.

  “Aw, she’s okay…. She’s just a kid really…. You look on her as a kid. She ain’t goin’ to worry you.”

  Chrissie came out just then. She edged over to them. “You’ve made the seat all wet,” she said, looking into the back of the car. “Why have you done that?”

  Dillon turned away. He spat on the ground. As he moved off, Chrissie said, “I don’t like him,” to Roxy.

  Roxy grinned at her. “He’s all right,” he said. “I guess he’s got somethin’ on his mind.”

  Chrissie looked puzzled. “What?” she said. “How do you mean, somethin’ on his mind?”

  Roxy scratched his head. “You know,” he said; “he’s worried about something.”

  “Is that all?” She lost interest. “When are you taking me for a drive, Mister?”

  Roxy said, “I can’t take you now. Maybe tomorrow. But not just now. What do you do with yourself all day?”

  She stood looking longingly at the car. “Aw, not much,” she said. “I play… I like playing best.”

  Roxy eyed her over. He thought it was tough for a fine-looking broad to be so simple. “Well, let’s play at somethin’, shall we?” He felt a little embarrassed, but he was sorry for her.

  She looked at him as if making up her mind whether he’d be worth playing with. Then she nodded.

  Dillon had made a circuit of the shack and was standing watching them. A curious gleam came into his eye.

  “Take her down to the river,” he said. “Get her to swim.” He said out of the corner of his mouth, “Get her goin’. She might be worth lookin’ at.”

  Roxy’s face went a deep crimson. “You lay off that,” he said angrily. “This kid’s simple, see? I ain’t standin’ for any of that stuff.”

  Dillon stood looking at him, his face sullen. “Aw, go an’ play dolls,” he sneered. “You give me a pain.”

  He stood looking after them as they wandered away into the woods.

  After two days on the farm Dillon was nearly crazy. He was nervous of walking too far from the thick woods. He was sick of sitting inside watching old man Chester, or listening to Ma Chester singing her son’s praise.

  Roxy, for something better to do, had turned his attention to the farm. Dillon was too lazy to do that. Chrissie followed Roxy about like a dog. She had got over her first shyness and Roxy quite liked her. She was amused at most things he said, which flattered him, and she helped him with the work on the farm.

  He was quite startled at her strength. She would think nothing of shifting heavy sacks or logs of wood, that made Roxy sweat to move. Under his directions, put in the simplest way, she carried out quite a programme. Sometimes she got bored and began to fool, then Roxy took her off for a walk.

  Dillon watched them contemptuously. He made no attempt to join them. Roxy never discussed her when they were alone. Chrissie went to bed around eight o’clock, arid Roxy and Dillon played cards monotonously into the night.

  It was Sunday, and Dillon was jittery. Joe Chester was coming out, and he’d have news. Cut away from the radio and the newspapers, neither of the men knew what was going on. Even Roxy couldn’t get up any enthusiasm to play with Chrissie. He hung around the shack doing odd jobs, his eye on the dirt road.

  It was after ten o’clock when Joe turned up. He came bumping along the dirt road in a new car. He looked mighty pleased with himself.

  Chrissie was the first to spot him, and she lumbered down the road to meet him. Joe stopped the car and let her get in.

  Dillon and Roxy watched them. Dillon said, “We gotta get this punk alone.”

  Roxy said, “Sure… we’ll get him all right.”

  It was some little time before Joe could get round to them. Ma Chester and Chrissie were all over him. Even old man Chester wakened up and had something to say. By the time Joe shook them off, Dillon was in a vile temper.

  The three of them walked into the wood, and when they were some distance from the shack, they sat down on the grass.

  Dillon said, “Now come on, for God’s sake. What’s been goin’ on?”

  Joe gave him a worried look. “I don’t like it,” he said, wagging his head. “The Feds are raising hell.”

  “What you mean, raising hell? Got a newspaper with you?”

  Joe shook his head. He seemed quite surprised at the idea. “No, I ain’t got no newspaper,” he said.

  Dillon looked at Roxy, his face dark with fury. “What a guy!” he snarled. “Came from town an’ ain’t got the g
oddam sense to bring a newspaper.”

  Even Roxy was put out. “Why, Joe,” he said, “I guess that’s dumb.”

  “Dumb?” Dillon snarled. “Why…” he broke off, spluttering.

  Joe looked concerned. “If I thought you guys wanted a paper, I’d’ve brought it.”

  Dillon nearly struck him. He clenched and unclenched his fists. “Listen, you bohunk,” he said at last. “We gotta have a radio up here, see? I gotta know what’s goin’ on. I’ll go nuts in this dump if I don’t get some information through.”

  Joe nodded. “Sure, I’ll bring one up when I get round again.”

  Dillon said, “You’ll bring one up right away.”

  Roxy hastily said, “Well, come on, Joe, what’s been happening?”

  Joe looked glum again. “The Feds have been in to see me. They’ve been everywhere. They found the car you ditched not far from my place…. I guess that was a smart thing to do.”

  Dillon demanded, “Do they know you’ve got this dump up here?”

  Joe shook his head. “Nope,” he said. “I guess they don’t. Look here, Mister, it ain’t goin’ to be good for me or my folks if they catch you here.”

  “What the hell do you think I’m payin’ you a thousand bucks for?” Dillon snarled.

  “I was comin’ to that.” Joe shifted his eyes. “I guess I had a bad bit of luck the other day. I lost that dough in a crap game.”

  Dillon stiffened. “What the blazes has that got to do with me?” he demanded.

  Joe picked at the grass, keeping his head turned. “Why, I guess maybe you’re right. It ain’t got a lot to do with you, but I just told you.”

  Dillon said, “See here, Chester, I gave you that dough to keep us under cover. If you’ve lost it, that’s too bad, but it ain’t our funeral, see?”

  Joe shifted the conversation. “Ma tells me you’ve made a swell job of work with the old fence,” he said to Roxy.

  Roxy shrugged. “I’d go nuts tryin’ to pass the time. I enjoyed doin’ it.”

  Dillon said between his teeth, “Suppose you skip this an’ tell me what’s been goin’ on.”

  “Sure I’ll tell you.” Joe leant back on his elbows, raising his skull-like face to the sun. “Well, you know how it is, the newspapers have been playin’ the Hurst murder up. The Feds have been lookin’ for you. Comin’ round asking questions. Huntin’ around; you know how it is.”