1976 - Do Me a Favour Drop Dead

by James Hadley Chase

  ‘Let’s eat,’ I said. ‘While you cook up something, I’ll take a look at him.’

  I quietly opened his bedroom door. The bedside lamp was on and he was awake. The whisky bottle was empty.

  ‘How do you feel, Frank?’

  ‘I’m okay.’ His voice was a surly growl.

  ‘Feel like something to eat?’

  ‘No.’ He waved to the empty bottle. ‘Get rid of this and bring me a fresh one.’

  ‘Sorry, Frank, no more drinking tonight. I’ve had strict instructions. Mr. Bernstein is holding me responsible. The doctor says you’ll be dangerously ill if you have even one more drink for two days.’

  His eyes turned mean.

  ‘You’re employed by me, not Bernstein!’

  ‘I’m still sorry, Frank.’

  He regarded me, then a crafty expression came into his eyes.

  ‘I’ll settle for a double and no bottle. How’s about it?’

  I pretended to hesitate, then I nodded.

  ‘Well, okay, but that’s the last you get.’

  ‘Stop gabbing. Go get it!’

  I went downstairs, took out a full bottle of whisky, made a double, then as Beth came to the door I handed her the bottle.

  ‘Any more in the house?’

  ‘That’s the last one.’

  ‘Hide it and hide it good. . .in the garden.’

  I took the drink up to his room, added a shot of charge water and gave it to him. He gulped it down and relaxed.

  ‘I’ll sleep now,’ he said. ‘Turn the light off.’

  I took the glass, turned off the light and went to the door.

  ‘You’ll be fine tomorrow, Frank.’

  He grunted and I closed the door.

  I stood for a moment at the head of the stairs. With any luck he would be dead by tomorrow. I felt a tingle of excitement run up my spine. In a month or two, Beth and I would be worth a million!

  I drew in a long deep breath, then went down to the kitchen.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  A little after 21.00, I went into the garage. I again tested the swing up garage door. Held by the outside wedge, it was rock firm. Then I got into the Caddy and started the motor, also switching on the heater at quarter power. Getting out of the car, I shut and locked all the car doors. Marshall was to have no chance to turn off the engine.

  There was a small pilot light above the door leading into the passage which automatically lit up when you opened the door leading into the passage or when you swung up the garage door.

  Moving into the passage, I shut the door, then went back to the living room.

  Beth was sitting as I had left her, motionless, her hands in her lap. She looked at me, her eyes remote.

  ‘It’s all set,’ I said. I looked at my watch. ‘I’m going up now. You stay here for an hour, then come up. Take a bath. If he is awake I want him to know you’re going to bed. Stay in your room. From now on, I’ll handle it.’

  She nodded.

  ‘This is it, Beth. Do you still want to go ahead? With any luck you and I will be worth a million by tomorrow.’

  ‘Yes.’

  She was the ice woman again. A screwball, I thought, watching her, but without her, I couldn’t get the money and that was all I was now thinking about.

  ‘If he walks into the trap, Beth,’ I said at the door, ‘I’ll tell you. Don’t go to sleep. It could be a long wait.’

  Again she nodded.

  Leaving her, I went up the stairs. Soundlessly, I eased open Marshall’s door an inch or so. I could hear his heavy breathing and now and then a strangled snore. I went into my bedroom, turned down the bed, then changed my shoes for a pair of sneakers. Turning off the overhead light, I turned on the bedside lamp and sat in an armchair. Faintly, I could hear Marshall snoring. I wondered if he would sleep right through the night. If he did my plan was sunk.

  I spent the next hour thinking about Beth and thinking about the money. I realized if Marshall were found dead tomorrow, I would have to leave the house. I couldn’t remain here with Beth alone. There must be no head wagging or gossip about us in Wicksteed. I would go back to Mrs. Hansen, then when Beth knew she had control of the money, I would go to Frisco and wait for her to join me. The thought of being separated from her for at least a month bothered me, but I knew we had to play it safe.

  Around 22.30, I heard her come up the stairs. Moving silently, I half opened my door and watched her go into her bedroom. I waited, hearing her moving around. She closed the closet door with a loud click, then she came out in a dressing gown and went into the bathroom, leaving the door ajar. She began to run the bath. If Marshall was awake fie must hear these preparations for going to bed.

  I turned off the bedside light, then switching on a small pocket flashlight, I reversed the key in the lock, stepped into the corridor and locked the door, removing the key.

  The bath water had stopped running. The house was silent. I couldn’t hear Marshall snoring. Had he woken? I went downstairs and into the living room. I didn’t turn on the lights, but using my flashlight, I went over to the window recess. I had already picked this as my hiding place. The recess was covered by heavy ceiling-to-floor curtains. There was room enough behind the curtains to take a chair. Pulling back the curtains, I carried a small armchair into the recess, then closed the curtains and sat down.

  I was aware my hands were clammy and there were sweat beads on my face. All I now could hear was the rustle of leaves as the wind increased. I looked out of the window. The big moon was half hidden by drifting black clouds. The window was sprinkled with rain. I hoped there wouldn’t be a storm. I wanted to hear every sound that went on in the house.

  Parting the curtains, I sat forward and listened. I could hear Beth’s bath water running away. Then I heard her bedroom door close. Then there was silence.

  The wind began to whine around the house and the rain increased. Leaving the recess, I went into the hall. I had to hear if he got out of bed. I sat on the bottom stair and tried to relax.

  I sat there for three tense, nerve wracking hours, continually looking at my strap watch. Apart from the sound of the wind and the rain, I heard nothing.

  From time to time, I stood up and stretched, but I didn’t move around as the wooden floor of the hall was old and creaked.

  At 02.00, I began to worry. Maybe that last double whisky had fixed him and he would sleep until daylight. I wondered if Beth was awake. She was cold and indifferent enough to be sleeping. I listened to hear any snoring from Marshall, but could hear nothing, but the rain beating down. I longed to smoke, but resisted the temptation.

  The clock in the living room struck the half hour and I cursed to myself. The gamble wasn’t going to work! Getting to my feet, and flicking on my flashlight, I returned to the window recess and sank into the armchair. I drew the curtains. The tension of waiting, the previous night’s loss of sleep were taking their toll. I felt suddenly exhausted and desperately tired. My eyelids kept drooping. He hadn’t fallen for the bait! I shouldn’t have given him that whisky! Now, I would have to think of another scheme to get rid of him. My eyes closed. I was now too tired to care. I nodded off.

  I woke with a start as the clock struck three.

  The light was on in the living room! Immediately alert, my heart pounding, I parted the curtains so I could see.

  Marshall, in his pyjamas, was standing in the doorway, his hair mussed, his face inflamed, his eyes furtively searching the room. He moved unsteadily to the liquor cabinet, paused to listen, then opened the double doors. He peered in, then uttered a four-letter word. For a long moment he stared into the empty cabinet, then shut the doors. Again he looked around the room, then staggered out and towards the kitchen.

  With my heart pounding, I went silently to the door. I watched him turn on the kitchen light. I could see his broad back as he went to the refrigerator, opened the door, peered in and again muttered the four-letter word. He shut the refrigerator door and stood motionless for several seconds,
then he moved out of sight.

  He was remembering the bottle of whisky in the Caddy’s glove compartment. He had taken the bait!

  Moving silently, I paused at the kitchen door, my hand in my pocket, my fingers around the wooden wedge. He had gone down the passage that led to the garage!

  I moved into the kitchen. Sweat was bothering me, and with the back of my hand, I wiped it from dripping into my eyes.

  My heart was now pounding so violently I had trouble with my breathing. I could hear him stumbling down the passage to the garage door. I moved forward. I could see him as he opened the door leading into the garage. The pilot light came on and he started forward, then stopped.

  ‘What the hell!’ I heard him mutter. ‘The motor’s running!’

  He stood staring into the garage, his back to me. I realized he was sober enough to smell the buildup of fumes. Even from where I stood, I could smell them.

  If he turned around, I was sunk. In a blind panic, I rushed forward, my hands outstretched. They slammed against his back, pitching him into the garage. Sweat blinding me, my breath rasping through my clenched teeth, I slammed the door shut, bent and shoved the wedge home.

  I had scarcely time to kick the wedge into place when he thudded against the door.

  ‘Get me out of here!’ he bawled. ‘Beth! Hear me! Get me out of here.’

  Panting, I leaned hard against the door. Again he thudded his body against the door which creaked alarmingly, but held.

  ‘Keith!’ His voice sounded fainter.

  I was cold and shaking. It couldn’t last more than another minute or so, I told myself. Drop dead . . . drop dead!

  Again he thumped on the door, but they were feeble little thumps now, then there was a slithering sound, as clawing at the door, he sank down.

  I moved away from the door, took out my handkerchief and blotted my face. My legs were trembling. I became aware that Beth was standing at the end of the passage, watching.

  ‘Go away!’ I said huskily, hating her to see the state I was in. ‘Go away!’

  She pulled her dressing gown around her, nodded and moved out of sight. I stood listening. All I could now hear was the steady beat of the car engine. I gave the wedge another kick, then moved back into the kitchen.

  Beth was there, a glass of neat whisky in her hand. She thrust it at me. I drank, the glass rattling against my teeth.

  We looked at each other.

  ‘It’s done,’ I said, only when the whisky began to bite. ‘Go to bed.’

  ‘Is he dead?’ The flat, cold indifferent voice could have been querying if the cat I had drowned was dead.

  ‘He will be. Not yet . . . he is unconscious, but in a few more minutes.’ I wanted another drink. Seeing the whisky bottle on the sink, I picked it up, but my hand was shaking so badly, I slopped whisky on to the draining board and not in the glass.

  Beth took the bottle from me and poured the drink. Her hand was rock steady.

  ‘Careful of that,’ she said. ‘I’ll go back to bed now. We call Dr. Saunders at eight o’clock?’

  I stared at her. Her utter indifference horrified and angered me.

  ‘He’s dying in there,’ I said, my voice cracking and out of control. ‘Doesn’t it mean anything to you?’

  Her remote eyes examined my sweating face.

  ‘It was your idea,’ she said. ‘It wasn’t mine. Go easy with the whisky,’ and turning, she went silently out of the kitchen as a sudden crash of thunder shook the house.

  The clock downstairs struck seven.

  For the past hours, I had been lying on my bed, my mind in a turmoil.

  I had committed murder!

  Planning a murder was one thing. While I had planned it, my mind was obsessed with Beth and money. Now I had done it, fear of the consequences swamped me. I told myself that Marshall would have died from drink anyway, but that didn’t help. I thought of Beth. While we were making love, she was the most important thing in my life, but when I thought of her standing in the kitchen, cold, ruthless and utterly indifferent knowing Marshall was suffocating to death, my lust for her faltered.

  I had brought the bottle of whisky up with me and I now reached for it, but as my hand hovered over it, I restrained myself. I was not going to become a lush like Marshall because of her.

  I got off the bed, stripped off my shirt and went into the bathroom. I shaved and sloshed water over myself. Then putting on a clean shirt and my shoes, I opened the bedroom door.

  As I did so, Beth’s door opened.

  She had on the shapeless sweater and slacks and her hair was anyhow. Her face was pale, and there were dark rings under her eyes, but her expression was controlled and deadpan.

  We looked at each other.

  ‘I’ll go down and open the garage door,’ I said. ‘The concentration of gas in there will be dangerous. We’ll have to give it time to clear.’

  She nodded.

  I went down, left the house and walked around to the garage.

  I pulled out the wedge and dropped it into my pocket. Then with my heart thumping, I swung up the garage door and stepped back. Peering into the garage, all I could see was the Caddy. He must be lying out of sight at the back of the car.

  I returned to the house, went through the kitchen to the garage door and removed the second wedge. I went into the boiler room and dropped the two wedges into the oil furnace.

  As I started up the stairs, I saw her in the living room, staring out of the window. She had removed the armchair from the recess and had put it back where it usually stood.

  I took the bottle of whisky from my bedside table, emptied the contents down my toilet basin, then took the empty bottle into the kitchen and dropped it in the trash bin.

  ‘Okay,’ I said. ‘Come on. It’ll be safe enough now.’

  ‘You can do it,’ she said without turning.

  ‘I can’t handle him alone.’

  She didn’t turn. Going to her, I gripped her arm.

  ‘We’re in this together!’ I shouted at her. ‘Come on!’

  She hunched her shoulders, then without looking at me, went into the kitchen. Moving ahead of her, I went down the passage and opened the garage door.

  He was lying face down, his head close to the exhaust pipe.

  He looked as if someone had deliberately put him there.

  Was he dead?

  With a shaking hand, I took the car keys from my pocket, unlocked and opened the car door. The heat in the car hit me like a blow in the face. I slid in and turned off the motor, then reaching across, I opened the glove compartment and took out the half bottle of whisky, holding it by its neck. I had thought about this. Both Marshall and I had handled the bottle. I wasn’t worried about my prints, but I wanted them to find his on the bottle.

  Unscrewing the cap, I laid the bottle on the floor of the car.

  The whisky ran out making a stain on the lamb’s wool carpet.

  While I was doing this, Beth stood motionless in the doorway, her arms crossed while she stared fixedly at Marshall’s body.

  I got out of the car. Bracing myself, I went to him, knelt and dragged him over on his back. One look at him told me he was dead. His eyes were wide open and fixed. There were tiny flecks of foam around his mouth.

  ‘We’ve got to get him into the car.’ My voice was a croak.

  ‘Is he dead?’

  ‘Look at him! Of course he’s dead!’

  I saw her shudder, then she came to me. Between us, we dragged him to the car door. While she held him, I went around and opened the passenger’s door. Kneeling on the bench seat, I hauled him in while she pushed.

  ‘Okay. Now call Saunders,’ I said. ‘Tell him we found him in here and you’re sure he is dead. Tell him the motor was running and ask him what we should do.’

  She went away.

  I let his body fall forward across the driving wheel. The car stank of whisky. Shutting the passenger’s door, but leaving the driving door open, I walked into the fresh air. Loweri
ng the garage door, I examined it to see if the wedge had left a mark.

  It hadn’t. I went back into the garage and examined the door leading to the kitchen. There was a slight mark, but so slight as to be almost invisible. I was sure no one would notice it.

  I then checked the whole set-up, knowing this was the last chance I would have before the Sheriff arrived.

  It looked good with Marshall slumped over the driving wheel, the empty whisky bottle at his feet, the heater control on. It seemed to me the picture told its own story.

  I went into the living room. Beth was standing by the window, her back to me.

  ‘What did he say?’

  ‘To leave him how we found him. He’s coming, and he is calling the Sheriff.’

  I went to her and swung her around.

  ‘Now listen to me! Neither the Sheriff nor Bernstein have ever seen you. For God’s sake, take that deadpan expression off your face! You have just lost your husband! Okay, you were sick of his drinking, but that doesn’t mean you don’t give a damn that he is dead! Try to show some emotion!’

  She jerked free.

  ‘And you get a hold of yourself,’ she said in a low, hissing voice. ‘You looked frightened.’

  I was frightened! With an effort I pulled myself together.

  ‘I’ll call Bernstein.’ I went to the telephone and dialled his home number. When he came on the line, I told him that Marshall was dead and how it had happened.

  Apart from a grunt or two, he listened and didn’t ask questions.

  ‘The doctor and the Sheriff are on the way,’ I said. ‘Could you get over here, Mr. Bernstein?’

  ‘You’re sure he is dead?’

  ‘I’m sure.’

  ‘I’m coming,’ and he hung up.

  Beth had gone into the kitchen. She came out with two cups of coffee.

  ‘Be very careful how you handle Bernstein,’ I said. ‘He’s coming. Remember he’s the dangerous man.’

  ‘Don’t keep on! I’ll handle him!’ Her voice was sharp.

  We sipped the coffee.

  ‘I won’t be able to stay on here, Beth,’ I said. I’ll have to go back to Wicksteed. We can keep in touch by telephone. I’ll call you every evening at half past eight from a call box. If there is an emergency, call Mrs. Hansen and say there’s something wrong with the Caddy and you want me to come up.’