I'll Bury My Dead

by James Hadley Chase

  His amber-colored eyes searched her face.

  “I was expecting you to call me, but you didn’t. I think I’d better come in.”

  “I don’t want you to come in,” she said, trying to close the door. “I don’t want to see you anymore.”

  He moved forward, riding her back into the lobby.

  “I’m getting wet,” he said with deceptive mildness. “Did you see English?”

  She turned and went unsteadily into the sitting room. She lurched as she reached the fireplace. On the mantel was a bottle of brandy and a glass half-full of brandy.

  He took off his wet coat and hat and dropped them on the floor of the lobby, then he turned and quietly pushed home the bolt on the front door.

  He walked into the sitting room, smiling.

  “You haven’t answered my question. Did you see English?”

  “I saw him,” she said, and dropped onto the settee, holding the glass of brandy, slopping some of it as she sat down.

  “You don’t sound very happy,” he said, “wasn’t our idea a success?”

  “It was your idea, not mine,” Corrine said, “and it was a lousy idea. He didn’t give a damn.”

  Sherman went over to the cellarette, selected a brandy glass and came over to the fire. He half filled the glass, sniffed at it, and cocked his head on one side.

  “This isn’t at all bad. Did Roy buy it?”

  She scowled up at him.

  “I didn’t tell you to help yourself,” she said belligerently. “Who do you think you are—coming here, drinking my brandy?”

  He laughed.

  “Don’t be ridiculous. We’re lovers, Corrine.”

  Her face darkened.

  “We’re not! That’s not going to happen again. I don’t know what came over me. I don’t want you here—you and your lousy ideas!”

  “It was a very good idea,” Sherman said. He drank some of the brandy and put down the glass. “Tell me what happened.”

  “I’m not going to. It was horrible!” Corrine said, and began to cry. “I wish I hadn’t done it. They—they laughed at me.”

  “Who laughed at you?” Sherman asked, his eyes intent.

  “I don’t know. They all laughed at me. They didn’t believe it. He was so damned smooth about it. They could see I was drunk.”

  “Who are—they?”

  “The people in the bar, of course.” Corrine’s voice went shrill. “Who else do you think? One of them called me a drunken tart!”

  “You told English they were lovers then?” Sherman asked, watching her.

  “Of course I did! That’s what you told me to do, and he didn’t give a damn. He said it wasn’t my business nor his,” Corrine said, dabbing her eyes. “He sent me home with some smooth punk from the club. That’s how your lousy idea worked out.”

  Sherman nodded. He had learned what he wanted to know—that there had been witnesses to Corrine’s outburst. He finished his brandy, and touched his thin lips with his handkerchief.

  “You might be interested to know,” he said, “that after you had left the club, English went to Vince’s apartment. He found Julie and Vince there in what is called a compromising situation. He shot Vince, and then Julie. The police are already on the scene, and I imagine English is under arrest by now for murder.”

  Corrine stared at him, her plump, baby face seemed to shrink, and her big blue eyes looked enormous.

  “He shot them?” she said huskily.

  “That’s what he did,” Sherman said, taking out a package of chewing gum and stripping off the paper. “Do you think my idea is so lousy now?”

  “You mean—he killed them?” Corrine’s voice went up a note.

  “Yes, he killed them.”

  “I don’t believe it!”

  “You will when you see tomorrow’s newspapers.”

  “How do you know? You talk as if you were there!”

  “I wasn’t far away,” Sherman said, smiling. “I more or less saw what happened.”

  “I didn’t want them to be killed!” Corrine said, starting to her feet. “I—I only wanted to hurt him!”

  “You have hurt him,” Sherman said. “You’ve done more than that—you’ve ruined him. Possibly he’ll go to the chair.”

  “But I don’t want to ruin him!” Corrine wailed. “He was kind to me. He—he said I was a member of the family.”

  “How touching!” Sherman said with a little sneer. “In spite of the fact he calls you a member of the family, he didn’t hesitate to steal twenty thousand dollars from you.”

  Corrine stared at him, her fists clenched.

  “I don’t believe Roy ever had all that money,” she said. “I was a fool to have listened to you. You’re responsible for this. It was your idea. You wanted to get even with him, and you used me to do it!”

  “What a clever girl you’ve suddenly become,” Sherman said, smiling. “Suppose that was so, what are you going to do about it?”

  “I’m going to the police!” Corrine said. “It was a wicked thing to have done. If I tell them, they might let him off.”

  “I don’t think they will, and you’ll only look a bigger fool than you looked tonight,” Sherman returned, his jaws moving as he chewed. “Don’t be stupid, Corrine. There’s nothing you can do now except keep your mouth shut.”

  “We’ll see about that!” Corrine said angrily. “I’ll talk to Lieutenant Morilli. He’ll tell me what I should do.”

  Sherman lifted his shoulders.

  “Well, I can’t stop you, of course, if that’s what you want to do,” he said. “But I think you had better keep clear of it.”

  “I can’t keep clear of it!” Corrine snapped. “They’ll call me as a witness. They’ll ask all kinds of questions, and don’t imagine you’re going to keep out of it. I’ll tell them it was your idea.”

  Sherman nodded as if he expected her to say that. He began to wander around the room, his hands in his pockets, his jaws moving, his eyes expressionless.

  “Yes, I suppose you will,” he said, pausing by the window. He reached out and took hold of a red silk curtain cord, hanging by a hook. His fingers absently tested its strength.

  “This is an extraordinary thing,” he said, “I’ve been looking for a curtain cord like this for weeks. You wouldn’t believe it, but I can’t find this exact shade anywhere.” He took the cord off the hook and moved over to the lamp to examine it. “Do you happen to remember where you bought it?”

  “You’re not going to put me off like that!” Corrine snapped. “You’re trying to change the subject. I’m going to telephone Lieutenant Morilli right now!”

  “I’m not trying to change the subject,” Sherman said mildly. The cord hung like a red snake in his fingers. “I do wish you could remember where you bought this.”

  “I don’t remember,” Corrine said and picked up the telephone book. “Please leave it alone. I don’t like my things being messed about.”

  “Well, if you can’t remember, you can’t—a pity,” Sherman said, watching her, his eyes suddenly cold.

  Corrine was bending over the telephone book she had placed on the table. Sherman moved so he was behind her. He arranged the cord into a loop.

  The sudden sound of chimes at the front door turned him into a motionless statue.

  Corrine looked up, frowning. She saw Sherman’s reflection in the mirror above the mantel. He was standing close beside her, his hands raised, the loop of the cord hovering above her head.

  She knew at once what he was about to do, and she stumbled aside, keeping her back turned to him.

  “I’ll answer it,” she managed to get out, and before he could stop her, she ran unsteadily to the door, opened it and went into the lobby.

  She tried to open the front door, her knees buckling under her. Then she saw the bolt had been pushed home and she jerked it back.

  A tall, dark girl in a rain-soaked mackintosh stood on the step.

  “Mrs. English?”

  Corrine nodded.
Her breath whistled through her open mouth and she was trembling so violently she could scarcely stand.

  “I’m Lois Marshall, Mr. English’s secretary,” Lois said. “May I come in?”

  “Oh, yes,” Corrine gasped. “Yes, come in.”

  Lois looked at her sharply as she stepped into the lobby.

  “Is anything the matter? You look frightened.”

  “Frightened?” Corrine said huskily. “I’m terrified. There’s a man in there…”

  Sherman came to the sitting room door, a .38 Police Special in his hand. He pointed it at Lois, and smiled.

  “Come in, Miss Marshall,” he said quietly. “Unexpected, but nevertheless welcome.”

  Corrine’s hand fluttered to her face.

  “I—I think he was going to strangle me,” she said, and slid to the floor in a faint.

  III

  English lifted his hands.

  “Well, there you are, that’s the setup. How do you like it?”

  Crail took out his handkerchief and wiped his sweating face.

  “This is bad, Nick,” he said in a hard, tight voice.

  “A master of the understatement,” Leon said from his armchair. “The man says it’s bad. Brother, it’s a lot worse than bad. The lid’s blown right off.”

  English said curtly, “You haven’t been much help, Ed. I told you to watch that devil. I warned you he’d start something.”

  “Take it easy,” Leon said. “We were watching him. I hired two of Black’s men, and they’re good. We haven’t let him out of our sight since noon. There are only two exits to Crown Court, as you know. I had them both covered. I remained in your apartment, and every half-hour I went along to Sherman’s apartment and listened outside the door. He was in there, playing his radio.”

  “But he shot Julie and Harry!”

  “Sure she didn’t make a mistake?”

  “No. She described him. It was Sherman all right.”

  “He couldn’t have left the building.”

  “Is he there now?” Crail put in.

  “He should be. When Miss Marshall called me I left Burt and Horwill watching the entrance and the rear exit. I guess he’s there or they’ll know about it.”

  English went over to the telephone, dialled Sherman’s number and listened to the steady ringing. After a while he hung up.

  “He doesn’t answer.”

  “That doesn’t prove he isn’t there,” Leon said.

  “There’s only one thing you can do,” Crail said. “Come down with me to headquarters and let us give the commissioner the whole story.”

  English smiled sarcastically.

  “How he’ll love it! How Rees will love it! How the mayor will love it! Do you think one of them will believe me? Not a chance in hell!”

  “He’s right,” Leon said. “He can’t give himself up.”

  “But he’s got to give himself up!” Crail said violently. He turned to English. “You can see that, can’t you? It’s your only hope of beating this rap.”

  English shook his head.

  “Once they get me in their clutches, Sam, the rap’s unbeatable. There are too many of them against me.”

  “Nonsense!” Crail exploded. “If you run away, you’re signing your death warrant! Let me fight for you, Nick. I give you my word I’ll put up a fight that’ll make legal history.”

  “He won’t be interested in legal nor any other history once he’s in the chair,” Leon said. “You keep out of this, Crail. All you lawyers think about is fighting in court. We’re going to fight outside court, then if we don’t pull it off, you can take over.”

  “Yes,” English said. “That’s how it’s going to be.”

  “But don’t you see,” Crail said, pounding the table with his fist, “if you run now, you don’t give me a weapon with which to fight.”

  “Listen to that. Even in a situation like this,” Leon said sarcastically, “the man refuses to end his sentence with a preposition.”

  “Shut up!” Crail shouted, his fat face furious. “I know what I’m talking about! Nick, you’ve got to listen to me. Come down with me to headquarters, and let me tell the story. It’s your only way out.”

  “It isn’t,” English said. “If I can get my hands on Sherman I’ll damn well choke a confession out of him!”

  “That’s talking,” Leon said approvingly. “I’ll find him, you choke him.”

  Crail nearly tore his hair.

  “Don’t listen to this crazy man, Nick! You must take my advice. Damn it! I’m the best lawyer in the country, and I’m telling you you must not run away! Do you imagine I’d tell you to give yourself up unless I was convinced there was no other out for you?”

  English smiled.

  “Take it easy, Sam. I know your advice is sound, but you’re forgetting what I’m up against. I’ve got too many enemies. Rees is only waiting for a chance to fix me, and I’ve given it to him. With me in jail, the D.A. knows Beaumont will fold up. It can’t be done. No matter how smart you are, you can’t beat the combination. It’s too strong. There’s only one way of beating this rap. We’ve got to find Sherman, and we’ve got to crack him so he’ll come clean. There is no other way.”

  Crail started to say something, controlled himself and took a turn up and down the room. His face was pale, and his eyes feverish.

  “I know what you’re up against all right,” he said, “and I still say you must give yourself up. Leave the fighting to me. If you don’t, you’re a dead duck. All right, suppose you find Sherman, suppose you crack him, what good do you imagine that will do you? Once he’s in the box he’ll deny everything you’ve made him admit, and then where will you be? You’ve got to be the innocent man who has been framed. You’ve got to start that way, and an innocent man doesn’t run away. Leave it to me to make the jury believe you.”

  “It’s not good enough,” English said. “Sorry, Sam, but I’m going to drop out of sight. Ed and I are going to find Sherman, and we’re going to fix him.”

  Crail stood looking at English for a long moment, then he lifted his fat shoulders.

  “All right, but don’t forget I’ve warned you. I’ll do what I can when it comes to the trial, but you’re tying my hands.”

  “If you’ll lend me your hankie, I’ll cry,” Leon said.

  “I’ve warned you,” Crail went on, ignoring Leon. He picked up his hat and coat. “You know where to find me, Nick, when you want me. Good luck to you.”

  English came over and shook hands.

  “Take it easy, Sam. I’ve handled my affairs all right up to now, and I think this is the way to play it.”

  “We’ll see. For one thing, where are you going to hide? This town’s like a hot stove already, and they’ll take it to pieces as soon as they know you’re ducked out of sight. It’s not as if you’ll go unrecognized. Nearly everyone in town knows what you look like.”

  “Don’t worry about that,” English said quietly. “I’ll get along. See you in court, Sam.”

  When Crail had gone, English poured a little whisky into a glass and drank it. His face was hard and pale.

  “He’s right, you know, Ed,” he said, beginning to pace up and down. “If we can’t find Sherman, I’m sunk.”

  “We’ll find him, and we’ll make him talk.”

  English glanced at the clock on the mantel.

  “I wish Lois would hurry up,” he said, sitting down. “She’s been gone three quarters of an hour.”

  Leon stretched his long legs toward the fire.

  “Gone where?”

  “To get Corrine. I didn’t tell Sam because he would have started fussing about the legal end, but Corrine must have been working with Sherman. If I could talk to her, I might get her to admit it. She could be a big help in upsetting Sherman. Once we’ve got Sherman in the box, Corrine’s evidence might unseat him.”

  “Let’s hope Sherman hasn’t thought of that angle,” Leon said lazily, reaching for a pack of cigarettes.

  English stiffe
ned and half sat up.

  “What did you say?”

  Leon glanced up, surprised at the sharpness of English’s tone.

  “I said I hope Sherman doesn’t realize Corrine could be used as a witness against him. Might be bad for her if he did.”

  English got to his feet. The look in his eyes brought Leon out of his chair.

  “What’s biting you?” Leon demanded.

  “I must be out of my mind!” English said. “I let that girl go…”

  “So what? What are you worrying about?”

  “Suppose Sherman’s there? Suppose she walks into him?”

  “Suppose he isn’t?” Leon said. “Suppose she doesn’t walk into him? Don’t take your clothes off, Nick. The chances are…”

  “To hell with chances!” English returned. “I shouldn’t have let her go. That fella’s a homicidal maniac! I’m going to see what’s happened to her.”

  “Now wait a minute,” Leon said, his voice sharpening. “You’re staying right here. Don’t you know the cops are looking for you? How far do you think you’ll get? I’ll go. The chances are she’ll be here by the time I get back.”

  “I’m going with you!”

  “Then if she came back with Corrine she’d find no one here. Use your head, Nick!”

  English hesitated, then shrugged.

  “I guess that’s right. Well, get going, Ed! For Pete’s sake, get there fast.”

  “Leave it to me,” Leon said, snatching up his hat and coat and plunging out of the room.

  He ran down the stairs into the street, struggling into his mackintosh as he went. It was still raining hard, and he splashed through puddles to reach his car, parked some yards from Lois’s walk-up.

  He drove rapidly. He had to cross town to reach Lawrence Boulevard. On the way he noticed an unusual number of prowl cars on the streets, and he guessed they were looking for English.

  He rubbed his sweating face with the back of his hand, scowling. A fantastic situation, he thought. Nick English on the run! It was unbelievable. Nick English of all people, with his power, his money and his empire, to be hunted like an Eastside hoodlum!

  He slightly increased his speed, but he was careful not to drive so fast that he would attract the attention of the prowl cars.

  He reached Mason Street, turned into Addison Street, and slowed down as he looked for Lawrence Boulevard.