‘That’s a lie,’ he said, and sounded as if he were speaking through clenched teeth.
‘I have the necklace, Mr. Cerf. The situation is tricky because we had no business to take it from the apartment. But I’m trying to keep you clear of police inquiries. I have accepted you as a client, and I’ll maintain our guarantee of secrecy as long as I can, but how long that will be depends on how fast I can find Mrs. Cerf.’
He sat staring at me, his fists clenched and an ugly glitter in his eyes, but he didn’t say anything.
‘To make matters worse there’s another murder,’ I went on. ‘Leadbetter, who was responsible for finding Dana’s body, was shot this afternoon. He either saw the murder committed or else the murderer. I think he was trying to blackmail the murderer and the murderer silenced him. Anyway he was shot this afternoon.’
Cerf made a sudden furious gesture with his hand, spilling ash over his trousers.
‘I must have been crazy to have employed you!’ he exploded, his face turning a deep purple. ‘I won’t be dragged into this! Do you understand? I’ll sue you! Just because this blasted woman gets shot...’
‘Dana Lewis was shot because you employed her to watch your wife,’ I broke in curtly. ‘And you know it! If it wasn’t for your wife, the girl would be alive now. It’s your responsibility as much as mine.’
He glared at me, muttering something under his breath, and drummed on the arm of his chair with angry fingers.
‘I don’t intend to accept the responsibility,’ he said.
‘If I decide to tell the police all I know, you’ll have to accept it.’
He touched his lips with the tip of his tongue, scowled down at his immaculate shoes and said in a more subdued voice, ‘Now look, Malloy, you’ve got to keep me out of this. I have my daughter to think of.’
‘Let’s think of Mrs. Cerf. Where is she?’
‘You said just now you have talked to her,’ Cerf said, looking up sharply. ‘Why ask me?’
‘Our talk was interrupted. I traced her to L’Etoile night club. She was hiding there. Has she come here?’
He shook his head.
‘Have you heard from her?’
‘No.’
‘Have you any idea where she could have gone?’
‘No.’
He was beginning to calm down now and the worried expression had come back.
He said, ‘She was at this night club all last night?’
‘Yes. Her story to Bannister - he owns the place - was that some man was pestering her and she wanted to keep out of his way. She offered her necklace to Bannister in return for protection, but Bannister didn’t get the necklace so he threw her out.’
‘This is fantastic,’ he muttered, getting to his feet. ‘Who’s the man who is pestering her?’
‘That’s something I have to find out. Maybe the guy who’s blackmailing her.’
He began to pace up and down, paused suddenly and looked at me.
‘You don’t think she shot this girl?’
I gave him a sour smile.
‘I don’t. Both Dana and Leadbetter were shot with a .45. Leadbetter was shot at about twenty yards range. I doubt whether any woman could hit a haystack at that range with a .45, let alone a target as small as a man’s head. But I’m not saying the police wouldn’t try to make a case against her. The way she’s behaving makes her suspect number one.’
‘I was a fool to have married her,’ he said, grinding his clenched fist into his palm. He went on, ‘Keep me out of this, Malloy. I’ve got to think of my daughter. I know I’ve been unreasonable, but surely you can understand my position? If I can do anything to help I’ll do it. But keep this away from the police and the newspapers.’
‘I’ll do what I can,’ I said. ‘But I must find Mrs. Cerf. Is there any way of stopping her money? If you can cut off her money so she’ll come to you . . .’
‘I can do that, and I will,’ he said. ‘I’ll see the bank tomorrow.’
I got to my feet.
‘It’s getting late. I won’t keep you any longer, Mr. Cerf. One more thing. I’d like my cheque.’
He hesitated, then went over to his desk, sat down and wrote out a cheque.
‘Here,’ he said, handing it to me. ‘Get me out of this mess, Malloy, and I’ll pay again.’
I slid the cheque into my pocket.
‘If I can’t get you out of it I’ll return the money,’ I said, and made for the door, pausing to ask, ‘How long have you had Mills in your employment?’
He looked startled.
‘Mills? Why? Has he anything to do with this business?’
‘I don’t know. I hear he lives in a very fancy style. I’m wondering if he is the fella who’s blackmailing Mrs. Cerf.’
‘Mills?’ He rubbed his fleshy chin, staring at me. ‘I don’t know anything about him. He’s been with me about a month or so. Franklin, my butler, engages the staff. Do you want me to talk to him?’
‘Not yet. I’ll dig up some more dirt on Mills first. Leave him to me. And if you hear anything of Mrs. Cerf will you get in touch with my office?’
He said he would, and as I moved to the door, he went on, ‘I’m sorry for the way I have acted, Malloy, and I appreciate all you’ve done up to now to keep me clear of this bus ness.’
I said I’d keep on with the job, and for him not to worry.
This new attitude of his made a nice change from being bawled out, but I knew he was piping down because he had to and not because he wanted to. I left him standing with his back to the fireplace, his dead cigar clenched tightly between finger and thumb and a sick look on his solid well-fed face.
The butler, Franklin, was hovering at the far end of the corridor. As soon as he saw me come out of the room he came silently towards me.
‘Miss Natalie is asking for you, sir,’ he said, disapproving as a bishop at a bubble dance. ‘If you will come this way.’
That was something I hadn’t expected, but I followed his ramrod back down the corridor to a door opposite the elevator. He tapped on the door, opened it and said, ‘Mr.
Malloy, madam,’ in a voice covered with frost and stood aside as I walked into a big, high-ceilinged room, lit by a bedside lamp that threw a soft light on the divan bed and wrapped the rest of the room in shadows.
Natalie Cerf lay in the bed. She had on black pyjamas, and her hands lay folded on the lilac-coloured sheet. Her dark, glossy hair was arranged on the lilac pillow to frame her thin, pinched face. Her dark eyes looked at me with the same searching scrutiny as when we had first met, giving me the same feeling that she could read the letters in my wallet and count the small change in my pockets.
I moved to the foot of the bed and waited. She remained motionless, staring at me until the bedroom door closed softly, and tire faint sound of Franklin’s footsteps faded away down the corridor. Then she said in her hard, tight little voice, ‘Have you found her?’
I shook my head.
‘Not yet.’
‘Have you tried L’Etoile night club?’
‘Do you think she’s there?’
She gave a quick nod of her head.
‘Either there or with George Barclay. There’s, nowhere else for her to go.’
‘What makes you so sure?’
A little sneer lifted the corners of her drooping lips.
‘I know her. She’s in trouble, isn’t she?’ Satisfaction gleamed in the dark eyes. ‘She has no one to go to except Barclay or that man at L’Etoile.’
‘What makes you think she’s in trouble, Miss Cerf?’
‘She murdered that woman operator of yours. Perhaps you don’t call that trouble?’
‘We don’t know she did. Do you?’
‘She’s been practising with a gun.’
‘What kind of a gun?’
She made an irritable little shrug.
‘A revolver. What does it matter? For the past week she’s been shooting at a
target out at East Beach.’
‘How do you know that?’
The dark eyes shifted away from my face.
‘I’ve had her watched — ever since she came here.’
I wondered if Mills had done the watching.
I said, ‘Because a woman shoots at a target it doesn’t follow she’s a murderess.’
‘Then why is she hiding? Why doesn’t she come back here? It would take a lot to keep her away from all the things Father has given her, and that’s what she is doing.’
‘There may be another reason. What do you know about Barclay?’
Again the little sneer came to her mouth.
‘He’s her lover. She was always going to his place.’
‘She was being blackmailed; did you know?’
‘I don’t believe it.’
‘Your father thinks so.’
‘He’s trying to find an excuse for her. She’s been giving her money to her lovers.’
‘All right. I’ll have another talk to Barclay.’
‘You’ve seen him?’ Her eyebrows came down in a sharp frown.
‘I get around, Miss Cerf. Does your father know about Barclay?’
She shook her head.
‘Did he tell you he found a suitcase in her cupboard full of knick-knacks taken from his friends?’ I said.
‘He didn’t have to tell me. She stole some of my things. She is a thief.’
‘You hate her, don’t you?’
The thin hands, like the claws of a bird, clenched into fists.
‘I don’t like her,’ she said in a carefully controlled voice.
‘The suitcase could have been planted in her cupboard. It’s been done before.’
‘You are a fool if you believe that. She’s a thief. Even Franklin has missed things from his room. We all know she’s a thief.’
‘Has Mills missed anything?’
Her mouth tightened and a flash of anger showed in her eyes.
‘He may have.’
‘But he would have told you, wouldn’t he?’
‘He would have told Franklin.’
‘Mills acted as Mrs. Cerf’s chauffeur, didn’t he?’
A faint spot of colour came into the pinched cheeks.
‘What if he did?’
‘Well, she’s attractive. He seems to have plenty of spare cash. I was wondering if they got together at any time.’
‘Got together for what?’ she asked, a little hiss in her voice.
‘I should have thought you would have been told about the facts of life by now, Miss Cerf.’
She took a handkerchief from under her pillow and began to nibble at it. Her lipstick made little red smears on the white cambric.
‘I don’t like your manner,’ she said.
‘Few people do, but they get used to it,’ I returned, wondering if I had imagined a slight movement of the long drapes that covered the window near the bed. I was careful not to look in that direction but I began to listen intently.
She said, ‘When you find her, are you going to hand her over to the police?’
‘Is that what you want me to do?’
‘That’s not the point. Are you or aren’t you?’
‘If I’m sure she shot Dana Lewis, I shall. But I’ll have to be sure first.’
‘Aren’t you sure?’ She sounded surprised.
‘I haven’t discovered the motive. Why should she shoot her? Tell me that and I might be convinced.’
‘My father’s settled money on her. In two years’ time, if she is still with him, she is to come in to a great deal of money.’ She lifted her head to look at me, and her long, dark tresses fell back from her face. ‘Isn’t that good enough for a motive?’
‘You mean Barclay would be evidence for a divorce, and she would lose the money, and that’s why Dana was shot?’
‘It’s plain enough, isn’t it?’
‘But Barclay has money.’
‘Not enough. You don’t know her like I do. She wouldn’t want to be dependent on Barclay: not if she could help it.’
‘It still doesn’t make sense.’ I was sure now I could hear someone breathing behind the curtained recess. I felt a creepy sensation run up my spine. ‘If she was so determined to have the money she would have come back here after the shooting. By going to Bannister she’s gypped herself out of it.’
‘She wouldn’t have gone to Bannister unless something had gone wrong: unless she had been seen.’
‘For someone who can’t get around, Miss Cerf, you seem to keep very well informed.’
‘Yes.’ She met my eyes calmly. ‘As I can’t get about I take precautions. I hope you will think over what I have told you. I want to go to sleep now. I’m tired.’ She switched on the tired, lonely look. ‘You should thank me. I’ve told you who murdered your friend. You should be able to do the rest.’ She waved her hand to the door. ‘Franklin will show you the way out. I don’t want to talk anymore.’
‘If you get any other ideas about Mrs. Cerf you might let me know. So far, you’re doing fine,’ I said.
‘I don’t want to talk anymore,’ she repeated firmly and closed her eyes, withdrawing her hands from above the sheet and hiding them from sight.
By now I had enough experience of her ways not to waste any more time on her. Anyway I was tired too. It had been a long day and a longer night. I crossed the room to the door.
As I opened it I took a quick look at the window recess.
I couldn’t see much because of the shadows, but I did catch a glimpse of something that glittered: something that could have been a shiny toe-cap of a knee-boot: the kind of boot Comrade Mills liked to wear. I wondered if Natalie knew he was there, and decided she probably did.
IV
In the distance a car backfired, making me jump. The sound reminded me of gunfire, and I told myself irritably that if I was going to start jumping out of my skin every time a car backfired I’d better give up my job and become a dancing master at an academy for young ladies. And as soon as the idea dropped into my mind, I wondered if I wouldn’t be a lot better off.
I sat in the car, bumping over the uneven beach road that led to my cabin. I was in no hurry and drove slowly. There was a moon like a grapefruit hanging in the sky, no stars and no clouds. The heat from the sun still clung to the sandy road, but there was a faint breeze coming off the sea that kept the temperature pleasant. The headlights of my car made a big white glare that bounced on the sand and came back at me.
I had been doing a lot of heavy thinking while I drove from the Santa Rosa Estate, and I was beginning to get a few ideas: the first tangible ideas I had had since the murder. I thought it would be nice to get home, mix myself a long drink with plenty of ice in it and sit out on the verandah and sort these ideas over. I wasn’t tired anymore. I decided to see the dawn come up over the hills, think over my ideas and then go to bed. On the face of it it seemed a pretty good programme, and I speeded up the car and went jolting over the sandy road, past the other beach cabins that were in darkness, along the half-mile of vacant building plots that separated my cabin from the rest of them, up the sharp little hill where I had a clear view of my cabin in the moonlight.
A light streamed out from my open verandah doors.
When I had left the place with Miss Bolus I had turned off the lights and locked the doors. Now the lights were on and the doors open. It occurred to me as I pulled up outside the gate that if this sort of thing was going to continue I might just as well have a hotel sign hoisted on the roof. I thought maybe Jack Kerman had got back from Los Angeles or Paula was waiting to talk to me or even Benny had come back from Frisco with news. I didn’t think anything was wrong until I reached the steps to the verandah, then I came to an abrupt halt.
Grey smoke hung in the air, drifted out through the open doorway: smoke that smelt of gunpowder. I remembered the car that had backfired, and felt suddenly spooked.
I climbed the steps
to the verandah like an old man with gout: tiptoed to the open door.
The smell of gunpowder was strong in the room. On the carpet by the open window was a .45 Colt automatic. That was the first tiring I saw. I looked from the Colt to the casting couch at the far end of the room and the hairs at the back of my neck bristled. Lying on the couch was a blonde woman in a white silk blouse and brick-red slacks. Blood flowed from a hole in her forehead and soaked into the big yellow cushion that had supported a number of female heads in its time. By tire looks of it now the cushion wasn’t likely to support any more heads.
I went slowly across the room and stood over her. She was dead of course. A .45 does a job of work. It is a little crude, a little too heavy and needs a strong wrist, but in the right hands it does do a job of work. Terror still lurked in her eyes.
A face framed in blood isn’t pretty: not even Anita Cerf’s beauty could ride above the smashed forehead and the blood.
I was staring down at her when the shadow of a man appeared on the opposite wall: the shadow of a man in a slouch hat, his arm raised and a blunt something in his fist. It all happened very quickly. I saw the shadow and heard the swish of the descending sap simultaneously and I ducked; but much, much too late. Then the top of my head seemed to fly off, and I felt myself falling.
chapter six
I
The sun crept around the edges of the blind and lay across the floor in two long, bright bands. In the hot, airless room there was a smell of whisky strong enough to get tight on, and it seemed to come from me: an overpowering smell as if I had fallen into a vat of the stuff and had taken a swim in it.
I didn’t like it. I didn’t like myself. My head felt like hell.
The bed on which I was lying was too soft and too hot. I kept thinking of a woman’s face framed in blood with a hole in her forehead through which you could stick your finger, and I didn’t like that either.
I looked at the two bright bands of sunlight on the floor. I wasn’t focusing well, but the carpet seemed familiar. There were holes in it burned by the cigarettes I had dropped on it.
1949 - You're Lonely When You Dead Page 13