1976 - Do Me a Favour Drop Dead

by James Hadley Chase

  I drew in a long, slow breath.

  ‘I would like to speak to Mrs. Frank Marshall.’

  ‘Will you hold on?’

  A long, long pause, then another woman’s voice said, ‘Who is it?’ Certainly not Beth.

  ‘I want to speak to Mrs. Marshall. This is Keith Devery.’

  ‘She is not here.’

  ‘It is important that I contact her.’ I tried to keep my voice steady. ‘Would you please give me her telephone number?’

  ‘You should ask Mr. Bernstein,’ and the line went dead.

  For some moments, I sat hesitating. Should I wait? Beth could telephone me at any moment, but I had a feeling she wouldn’t. From the moment when she had left the house with Bernstein, I had had this vague suspicion she was walking out on me, and now the suspicion turned into frightening reality.

  Snatching up the telephone receiver, I called Bernstein’s office. After a delay, he came on the line.

  ‘What is it, Devery?’ There was a hard, impatient snap in his voice.

  ‘I want to speak to Mrs. Marshall,’ I said. ‘Where can I contact her?’

  ‘Have you sold the car?’

  ‘Yes. The cheque is in the mail. Where can I contact Mrs. Marshall?’

  ‘Now listen to me, Devery. You have been paid off. Mrs. Marshall isn’t well. She told me she doesn’t want to be bothered by you nor anyone else in Wicksteed. If there is anything you want to say, say it, and if it is important enough, I’ll tell her. What is it?’

  Feeling cold and sick, and now realizing that I had been taken for a sucker, I replaced the receiver.

  I sat for some minutes, staring out of the window, then blood rushed to my head.

  ‘Okay, Beth,’ I said aloud, spitting out the words. ‘Don’t imagine you’ll get away with this! I’ll find you! You owe me half a million and I’m collecting it!’

  I got to my feet and slammed my fists together.

  ‘Make no mistake about that, you two-faced bitch! I’ll find you!’

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  I spent the night in the bed on which Beth and I had made love so often. The wind moaned around the house and there were moments when I imagined I could hear Frank’s dying fingers scratching on the garage door. It was probably the worst night I have ever lived through, although that first night when the cell door clanged shut, could have been worse, but not much worse.

  I now had to accept the bitter fact that Beth had played me for a sucker. She had encouraged me to murder Frank; she had relied on my planning; she had gone along with everything I had said, and once Frank was dead, she had ditched me, knowing I couldn’t expose her without exposing myself to a murder charge. Okay, she had been smart, but now, it was my turn to be smart. With a feeling of vicious fury, I told myself she wasn’t going to get away with this. If it was the last thing I did, I would fix her.

  Lying in the bed, I thought about her. I remembered our conversation which now seemed a long time ago.

  I remembered saying to her: What would you do if he died and you got his money?

  She had been lying, naked, by my side, and I could see her in my mind as clearly as if she were with me at this moment and I could hear her sigh as she said: Do? I would go back to Frisco where I was born. A woman with a million dollars can have a ball in Frisco.

  If I could believe that then she would still be somewhere in Frisco, but Frisco was a big city. Hunting for her could be a slow, perhaps impossible task.

  I moved restlessly as I thought. She was now worth a million. She wouldn’t stay at some cheap hotel or motel. She would want to spend her money. She would install herself in some luxury apartment or some luxury hotel or even rent a house. I would have to be careful not to alert her I was hunting for her. To make inquiries could send her on the run. No: that wasn’t the way to play it.

  It wasn’t until the sky turned grey and the first hint of the sun came through the big window that an idea occurred to me.

  I remembered the big restaurant-cum-motel just outside Frisco and remembered her telling me that she once worked there. Then I remembered the chef . . . what was his name?

  Mario? Yes, Mario. He had been scared of her. Maybe if I handled him right, he could give me some information about her. I knew next to nothing about her except she had said she planned to live in Frisco, that she had been born there, that she had met Marshall at this restaurant. Before I began to hunt for her I had to get as much information about her as I could and Mario seemed a good bet.

  I decided not to waste time. As soon as I had breakfast, I cleaned up, locked up the house, put the keys in an envelope addressed to the real estate agent, then getting in the VW, I drove down the dirt road to the Frisco highway, knowing I would never see that house again.

  As I was about to edge out on to the highway, I saw Sheriff McQueen’s car waiting to turn against the traffic. I felt my heart skip a beat. What was he doing here? Had he become suspicious?

  McQueen was at the wheel and a young, fresh complexioned man, wearing police uniform sat at his side. Seeing me, McQueen waved, then as a gap appeared in the traffic, he swung the car and pulled up close to me.

  I got out of my car and walked over to his, my heart thumping, my hands sweaty.

  ‘Hi, Sheriff,’ I said. ‘You’ve just caught me. I’m pulling out.’

  ‘Meet Jack Allison, my new deputy,’ McQueen said, nodding to the man at his side.

  ‘Hi,’ Allison said and gave me a friendly grin.

  ‘So Ross finally got his transfer,’ I said for something to say.

  ‘He’s quit the force.’ McQueen shrugged. ‘Got himself a job with a Security company in Frisco.’ He grimaced. ‘Glad to see him go.’

  ‘I guess.’ A pause, then I said, ‘I’m going to Frisco myself. I’m hoping to find a job.’ I took the envelope containing the keys of the house from my pocket and offered it to him. ‘If you could give these keys to Mr. Curby, the real estate agent, I would be most obliged.’

  ‘I’ll give them to him.’ He took the envelope and put it in his pocket. ‘So you’re leaving. Why not stay in Wicksteed, Devery? You could do a lot worse. Bert was talking about you last night. He still wants you to be his partner.’

  I shook my head.

  ‘I guess I’m footloose, Sheriff. I want to try my luck in a big city.’

  ‘Any news of Mrs. Marshall?’

  ‘Not a thing. Mr. Bernstein is handling her affairs. He sacked me.’ I gave what I hoped was a rueful smile. ‘The house is sold. I guess that’s it.’

  ‘Yeah. It doesn’t look as if Mrs. Marshall will help with our scheme?’

  ‘I wouldn’t know, Sheriff. Joe could have a word with Mr. Bernstein.’

  ‘Yeah.’ He started his engine. ‘Well, okay, Devery. I wish you luck. Don’t forget Bert still wants you as a partner. He thinks a lot of you.’

  ‘I won’t forget.’

  I shook hands with him and then with Allison, then I got back into my car. I drove on to the highway, leaving them looking after me.

  I arrived at the restaurant-cum-motel a little after 15.00.

  Parking the car, I walked into the restaurant, paused to look around, then picked a corner table near the bar. The lunch rush was over and the place was empty. After a minute or so, Mario came from the kitchen and wandered over to me. When he reached my table, he recognized me and his fat face lit up with a smile.

  ‘It’s Beth’s friend,’ he said and offered his hand.

  I shook hands with him.

  ‘Have a beer with me if you’re not busy,’ I said.

  He laughed.

  ‘Does it look as if I’m busy?’ He waved to the empty room. ‘I won’t get busy now for a couple of hours.’ He went away, poured two beers, returned and sat at the table. ‘Devery . . .that’s the name, isn’t it?’

  ‘You have a good memory.’

  ‘Yeah. It helps to have a good memory in my business. People like to be recognized. Yeah. . . you were teaching her to drive . . . a joke.’
He laughed.

  I stared directly at him.

  ‘She made a good screw.’

  He nodded.

  ‘I’m sure. I never got there myself, being happily married.’

  He grimaced. ‘I don’t need women like Beth.’

  ‘You heard about her husband . . . Frank Marshall?’

  He sipped his beer, screwing up his eyes as he regarded me.

  ‘What about him?’

  ‘He’s dead.’

  Putting down his beer, Mario crossed himself.

  ‘God rest his soul. It will come to all of us.’ He drank some beer, then went on, ‘From what I’ve heard he wasn’t much . . . a lush, wasn’t he?’

  ‘You can say that again.’

  ‘I heard he owned a big house. Did she get that?’

  ‘That and some money.’

  He laughed and slapped his fat thigh.

  ‘Trust Beth. She was always on to a winner. So she has the house and some money.’ He leaned forward as he asked, ‘How much?’

  As if I would tell him.

  ‘I wouldn’t know . . . some money.’

  ‘Well, that’s nice. Now she can keep her fancy cop in cigarettes and beer.’

  The cold dead finger crept up my spine. Somehow I managed to keep my face expressionless.

  ‘Cop? What cop?’

  ‘You wouldn’t know him: a deputy at Wicksteed: one of those jerks who is always looking for trouble . . . name of Ross. She was crazy about him and I guess still is. On his day off, he would come here when she was running this joint. She would leave everything to me to handle and shack up with him in one of our cabins.’ He paused and winked at me. ‘The way you and she shacked up when she brought you here. Every week, he came and screwed her. To see her with him was something. She couldn’t keep her eyes nor her hands off him. In my time, I’ve seen women besotted with men, but nothing like this. Well, if she had money now, he’ll get it. He had a hook in her and, believe me, it’s a hook that’ll stay in.’

  I sat staring at him. What he had said hit me like a punch in the belly. I felt bile rush into my mouth. Getting up I ran to the men’s room, somehow reached a loo, then threw up.

  Ten minutes later, I got hold of myself. I washed my face, drank some water, then bracing myself, I returned to the restaurant. My heartbeat was sluggish. I was sweating and my mind only half working.

  Mario had finished his beer and stared at me as I joined him at the table.

  ‘Something wrong?’ he asked as I dropped into my chair.

  ‘It’s okay now. Something I ate last night. I had to throw up. Let’s have a shot of whisky.’

  His face brightened.

  ‘I don’t often drink whisky, but why not?’

  I had myself under control by the time he came back with a bottle of Old Roses and two shot glasses. He poured. We drank.

  ‘What did you eat last night?’ he asked sympathetically.

  ‘Clams . . . never again.’

  ‘That’s it. They are either right or they are poison. Are you okay now, Mr. Devery?’

  I finished my drink, poured another and shoved the bottle his way.

  ‘I’m fine. You were telling me about Ross. I met him. I once had a job in Wicksteed. I hear he has resigned from the police force and is in some security job here.’

  ‘Is that right?’ Mario shrugged. ‘I wouldn’t know.’

  ‘Have you seen Beth since I was last here?’

  ‘No.’ He grimaced, sipped his drink, then added, ‘I’m not sorry. She always finds fault. Do you think she is in Frisco?’

  ‘I know she is.’

  ‘Then maybe she’ll look in.’ He finished his drink. ‘No skin off my nose if she doesn’t.’

  ‘From what she told me, she always wanted to settle here.’ I poured him another drink.

  ‘That’s right. She was born here. Her father left her a little house on Orchard Avenue. He called the house Apple Trees. She once told me there wasn’t an apple on the place. She told me she had an offer to sell, but she wouldn’t. She said the house was part of her background.’

  I had all I wanted to know. Finishing my drink, I dropped a five dollar bill on the table and stood up.

  ‘Well, I guess I’m on my way,’ I said. ‘It’s been nice talking to you.’

  He stared up at me.

  ‘Is there something wrong?’

  ‘Keep the change.’

  I walked out of the restaurant and to my car.

  I booked into a cheap motel and shut myself in the small cabin. I needed to be on my own, to sit still and to think. I told the elderly reception clerk I had been driving all night and wanted to rest up for a while. He couldn’t have been less interested. I asked him if he had a street guide of Frisco. He found one after searching through a drawer.

  Shut up in the shabby air conditioned room, I lit a cigarette and took stock.

  It was as if I had been blindfolded and now Mario’s information had whipped off the blinder and I could see just what a sucker I had been.

  With the cigarette burning between my fingers, I thought back. I recalled the first time I had met Ross. I could see him clearly: tall, thin, young - around twenty-nine - small hard cop eyes and a thin mouth. Beth’s lover! A man, according to Mario, with whom Beth was besotted. By sheer chance he had investigated me and had found I had been in jail. He must have, discussed me with Beth. I was a stranger in town with a criminal record. To them, I must have seemed a gift from the gods to be used as their cat’s paw. Ross had been at the railroad station when Marshall had arrived, drunk. I was sure now this had been a deliberate set-up. I had fallen for it by driving Marshall home and he had fallen for it by hiring me to act as his chauffeur. Probably Beth had persuaded him he must have someone to drive him. The rest had been too easy. All she had to do was to get me on the bed. The rest of the grave I had dug for myself. Then I remembered the time when I had driven Marshall back from Frisco and had found Ross with Beth. He had probably been screwing her, thinking Marshall would be away for three or four days. They must have had a hell of a fright, but they had played it so cool, they had fooled me. I now could understand why Ross had said Marshall’s death was an open and shut case. The last thing either of them would want was a murder investigation and McQueen and Luke Brewer had fallen for it.

  I moved restlessly.

  Both of them had certainly played it smart, landing me with a murder and no money. They were probably laughing their heads off that they had found such a sucker.

  Well, she had got the money and she had got her boyfriend, but she and Ross still had me, although right now they wouldn’t know that.

  Picking up the street guide I located Orchard Avenue. There was just a chance she was there with him. After all, I reasoned, she couldn’t have got the money just yet although Bernstein would arrange credit for her, but there was still a chance she was there.

  If I found her what was I going to do?

  I thought about this. It presented a problem. It would be useless to corner her and demand my share of the money. She would only laugh at me. Suppose I threatened to tell Bernstein the whole story? That wouldn’t get me anywhere except a long term in jail, even if she got one too, but with her money and Bernstein working for her the chances of her drawing a murder rap were remote. It would be my word against hers and I would have to admit it had been my plan and I had actually murdered Marshall. She could swear she hadn’t known a thing about it, and there was no proof that she had.

  After more thinking, I was sure that trying to bluff her would only land me in trouble. I would have to find some way to get the money out of her, and that I was determined to do.

  Then I remembered what Mario had said: A deputy at Wicksteed. She was crazy about him and I guess, still is. To see her with him was something. She couldn’t keep her eyes nor her hands off him. He had a hook in her and, believe me, it’s a hook that will stay in.

  If this were true, and I had to make sure it was true, then Ross could give me
the chance of getting the money from her.

  It came down to this: was Ross’s life worth five hundred thousand dollars to her? If it wasn’t then I would have to think again, but if it was, the money was as good as mine.

  I remained in the motel cabin until dusk, then I went over to the cafe and had a hot dog and a coffee. There were very few people in the cafe and none of them paid any attention to me.

  Orchard Avenue was tucked away off one of the climbing hills southwest of the city. I found it with some difficulty, having to stop and ask a couple of times. As soon as I saw the street sign, I found parking and leaving the VW, I walked down the long street with wooden bungalow style houses either side. Each house had a name, but I didn’t find Apple Trees.

  The street was some two hundred yards long so I crossed and started down the other side.

  Halfway down I saw a fat woman leaning on a gate, smoking a cigarette and taking the night air. As I walked by her, she said, ‘You looking for someone, mister? I see you looking.’

  The street lighting wasn’t much but I could just make out a fat, friendly looking face. She was wearing a shapeless dress and she looked lonely. I had my back to the light so she couldn’t make much of me.

  ‘Good evening,’ I said. ‘Yes, I was looking for a house.’

  She nodded.

  ‘I guessed you were. These house names are darned stupid. Why not numbers? Maybe I can help you.’

  My mind worked swiftly. Was this dangerous? She could be a friend of Beth’s, but looking at her, I doubted it.

  ‘Apple Trees,’ I said. ‘I hear it is up for rent I’m looking for a place for my wife and kids.’

  She sucked smoke down, coughed, then thumped her floppy bosom.

  ‘I shouldn’t smoke, but I can’t give it up - no will power.’

  She dropped her cigarette butt on the grass and put her foot on it. ‘Apple Trees?’ She gave a snort. ‘You’d never find it unless you were told. Top of the road, down a narrow lane between two houses and it’s right at the back, but don’t waste your time, mister. It’s not for rent. She moved back a couple of days ago.’

  The way she emphasized ‘she’ alerted me. Disapproval oozed from her.