You Find Him, I'll Fix Him

by James Hadley Chase

  “Ed, you should know this: Lieutenant Carlotti has been asking questions about you here,” Gina said.

  I stiffened.

  “What sort of questions?”

  “He asked me if you knew Helen Chalmers. He wanted to know if the name of Mrs. Douglas Sherrard meant anything to me.”

  “Did he? What did you say?” I found I was gripping the receiver unnecessarily hard.

  “I told him Mrs. Douglas Sherrard meant nothing to me, and that you did know Helen Chalmers.”

  “Thanks, Gina.”

  There was an awkward pause, then she said, “He also wanted to know where you were on the 29th. I said you were at your apartment working on your novel.”

  “That’s what I was doing.”

  “Yes.”

  There was another awkward pause, then she said, “I’ll put you through to Mr. Maxwell.”

  “Thanks, Gina.”

  After a moment or so, Maxwell came on the line.

  I told him the coroner had adjourned the inquest until Monday.

  “What’s biting him then?” Maxwell asked.

  “The police think it’s murder.”

  He whistled.

  “That’s pretty. What makes them think that?”

  “They didn’t say. Cable head office and tell them the facts, and ask for guidance. It’s up to the old man whether they print or not. The other papers are certain to cover it.”

  “Well, what are the facts?”

  “The inquest is adjourned until next Monday as the police want more time to make further inquiries. They have evidence that points to foul play.”

  “Okay. Nothing more?”

  “That’s all.”

  “I’ll handle it. By the way, Ed, you didn’t by any chance bump the girl off, did you?”

  I felt like a boxer who has taken a low punch.

  “What’s that?”

  “Oh, skip it. I was only fooling. That lynx-eyed cop was asking me questions about you and Helen. He seemed to think you knew her better than most.”

  “He’s crazy.”

  “I guess you must be right, I’ve always thought cops were crazy. Well, so long as you’ve got an easy conscience, why should you care?”

  “That’s right. Get that cable off, Jack.”

  Maxwell said he’d get it off right away.

  “So long,” he said. “Try and keep out of trouble.”

  I said I would.

  III

  Soon after nine o’clock, I left the Vesuvius hotel and drove the car I had hired out to Sorrento. I arrived at the harbour a little after nine-thirty. Leaving the car parked under the trees, I walked down to the harbour.

  There were still three or four boatmen lounging outside the steamer station, and I went over to them. I asked one of them if I could hire a rowing-boat. I said I wanted to have a couple of hours’ exercise, and I wanted to row myself.

  The boatman stared at me as if he thought I was crazy, but when he realized I was willing to pay him for his boat, he got down to business. I haggled with him for ten minutes, and finally got it for five thousand lire for three hours. I gave him the money, and he took me down to the boat and shoved me off.

  It was a fine, dark, star-lit night, and the sea was as smooth as a pond. I rowed until I was out of sight of land; then I shipped oars and stripped off my clothes. I had put on a pair of bathing trunks before I left the hotel, and thus clad, I again started rowing heading towards Myra Setti’s villa.

  It took me about an hour of steady rowing before I saw in the distance a red light on the harbour wall.

  I paused, letting the boat drift. Above the harbour I could see the outlines of the villa. There was a light on in one of the ground-floor rooms.

  I began to row again, and finally reached the rocks only a few hundred yards from where Helen had been found. Just around the cliff, another three hundred yards further on, would be Myra’s villa.

  I beached the boat, pulling it up on the soft sand, making sure that the tide wouldn’t drift it off. Then I waded out into the sea and began to swim towards the villa.

  The sea was warm and I made good progress, being careful to make no noise. I swam silently into the harbour, keeping away from the code of red light that reflected down on the still water.

  There were two powerful motor-boats moored in the harbour and a small rowing-boat. I headed towards the steps that led up to the villa. I swam cautiously, looking along the wail of the harbour, my ears pricked for any suspicious sound. It was as well that I was on the alert, for I suddenly saw a little red spark make a circle in the air, and then drop into the sea and go out with a hissing splutter. Someone out of sight in the shadows had just tossed away a cigarette butt.

  I trod water, making no sound. By now I was close up against the harbour wall. I saw a mooring ring just above my head and, cautiously, I reached up and caught hold of it. I hung on to it, looking in the direction from where the cigarette butt had come. After a minute or so I made out the dim figure of a man, sitting on a bollard. He appeared to be looking out to sea. He was on the other arm of the harbour, a hundred feet or so from where I was and some thirty yards from the steps. I waited. After about five minutes, he got to his feet and walked slowly along the harbour arm to the far end.

  He came under the red light and I could see him clearly. He was tall and powerfully built. He was wearing a white singlet, black trousers, and a yachting cap on the back of his head. He lolled over the wall, his back to me, and I saw him light another cigarette.

  I lowered myself into the water again and, using a breast stroke, swam silently to the steps. With my hand on the lowest one, I looked over my shoulder. The man was still staring across at the lights of Sorrento, his back turned to me. I pulled myself out of the water and moved silently up the steps, keeping in the shadows of the overhanging trees. I looked back, but the man was still motionless, looking away from me.

  I went up the steps until I reached a terrace that overlooked the harbour. There I paused and stared up at the villa, fifty feet above me.

  I could see a big, lighted window, uncurtained. There was no sign of life up there, but I could hear the faint sound of dance music coming either from a radio or a record.

  Keeping to the shadows, I moved silently and slowly up another flight of steps that brought me on to the second terrace.

  There was a patch of dark shadow, made by an orange tree, opposite the lighted window. I kept in the shadow, sure that no one could see me, and looked into a large luxuriously furnished lounge.

  There were four men around a table in the centre of the room. They were playing poker. Beyond them, lying on a settee, was Myra Setti. She was reading a magazine and smoking; by her was a radiogram from which came the soft sound of dance music.

  I looked at the men at the table. Three of them were the rough types you can see any day in a Warner Bros, movie. Their clothes were flashy, their neckties dazzling, their faces, burned brown by the sun, were hard, thin and vicious. It was the fourth man who held my attention. He was a man of about fifty; big, grossly fat and dark-skinned. I had seen too many pictures of him in the papers in the past not to recognize him. I felt a little surge of triumph run through me. I had succeeded where the whole of the Italian police force had failed! I should have guessed before now that this inaccessible villa could be Frank Setti’s hide-out but, somehow, I hadn’t thought of him being here.

  The four men were intent on their game of poker. It was easy to see who was winning. Six tall stacks of counters stood before Setti. The other three had scarcely a counter between them. As I watched them, a tall thin rat of a man threw down his cards with a gesture of disgust. He said something to Setti, who grinned wolfishly at him, shoved back his chair and stood up. The other two also threw in their hands and relaxed back in their chairs, scowling.

  Setti looked over at Myra and said something to her. She glanced up, her face heavy with boredom, nodded, then returned her attention to her magazine.

  The tall ma
n came over to the window and threw it open. I crouched down against the low wall. The sound of dance music came out through the open window loudly now.

  “Jerry’s late,” the tail man said, speaking over his shoulder to Setti.

  Setti got up from the table, stretched his massive limbs and came to the window.

  “He’ll be here,” he said. “Jerry’s a good boy. He has a long way to come.” He looked over at Myra. “Turn that damn thing off. I can’t hear myself speak.”

  Without looking up from her magazine, Myra reached out and turned off the radiogram.

  Setti and the tall man stood by the window, listening. I listened too. I thought I could hear the faint throb of a motor boat engine somewhere out to sea.

  “Here he comes now,” the tail man said. “Harry’s down there, isn’t he?”

  “He damn well better be,” Setti growled. He moved away from the window and walked out of the room. A moment later, he came out on to the terrace.

  I began to sweat. I knew if I was found here my life wouldn’t be worth a dime. They’d cut my throat and bury me at sea. My hiding-place wasn’t any too safe. If any one of them came over to the orange tree they couldn’t fail to see me. It was too late to move now. I lay flat, holding my breath and squeezing myself against the terrace wall.

  Setti sat down at one of the tables, about fifty feet from me. The tall man came out and stood looking out to sea.

  “Here he comes,” he said.

  Myra came out and joined him. He pointed out into the darkness.

  “Do you see him?”

  “I see him,” she said. She put her hands on top of the wall and leaned forward. She was so close to me I could smell her perfume.

  The red harbour light flicked off and then came on again.

  There was a long pause. Setti lit a cigar. Myra and the tall man continued to stare down at the harbour. I lay so still that a lizard, mistaking me for part of the scenery, ran lightly across my bare back.

  Then I heard the sounds of someone running up the steps. A man appeared, wearing a red singlet, black trousers and rope-soled shoes. He was youngish, good-looking in a flashy tough way, and he grinned widely at Myra as he came on to the terrace.

  “Hi, there,” he said.

  Myra’s boredom vanished. She gave him a dazzling smile.

  “Hi, Jerry!”

  He crossed over to where Setti was sitting and dumped on the table an oilskin-wrapped parcel.

  “Hi, boss. Here it is.”

  Setti leaned back and smiled at him.

  “Fine. Sit down, kid. Here, Jake, get him a drink.”

  Jake went into the lounge. Myra came over and Jerry took her hand.

  ,

  “May I kiss your daughter, boss?” he asked, grinning at Setti.

  “Go ahead,” Setti said, shrugging his sholders. “If she wants it, why should I worry? Have any trouble coming over?’

  “Not a thing.”

  Myra and he kissed, then he pulled her on to his lap and put his arms around her.

  “This is a good place for a run,” he went on, “but how are you going to get the stuff into Nice, boss?”

  “Carlo’s fixed that,” Setti said. “Now, there’s a smart boy.”

  Jerry’s face hardened.

  “He could be too smart,” He looked at Myra. “Have you been seeing anything of him lately, babe?”

  Myra’s eyes opened wide, innocently.

  “Carlo? Don’t be crazy! Why should I want an ape like him around when I’ve got you?”

  “I guess that’s right,” Jerry said, frowning. He didn’t seem convinced. “Well, watch out, baby. You keep clear of him.”

  Setti sat back, smiling and listening.

  “You’re jealous,” Myra said, and touched Jerry’s face. “You don’t have to be.”

  Jerry patted her flank, then looked over at Setti.

  “What’s Carlo fixed then?”

  “He’s got a newspaper man to run the stuff into Nice: Ed Dawson of the Western Telegram,” Setti said, grinning from ear to ear.

  “Dawson!” Jerry sat forward. “I know that punk! I’ve seen him around in Rome. Is he doing it?”

  “That’s the idea. Carlo’s got him where he wants him. We can’t go wrong with a guy like Dawson acting as carrier. Smartest thing Carlo’s ever done.”

  “Well, for the love of mike! Yeah, that sure is smart.”

  Jake came out with a whisky and soda and gave it to Jerry.

  “Come on in, kid. I’ve got the dough for you,” Setti said, getting to his feet. “Are you going to stay for a while?”

  “I don’t have to get back until to-morrow night.”

  Myra got off Jerry’s lap and slid her arm though his.

  “Never mind about the money now, honey,” she said. “Let’s go to my room. I want to talk to you.”

  Jerry looked over at Setti.

  “Is that okay with you, boss?”

  Setti smiled.

  “Sure. Myra’s a big girl now. She does what she likes. The dough’s all ready for you when you want it. When’s the next run?”

  “Three weeks from to-night. It’s all fixed.”

  Carrying his drink, Jerry followed Myra into the villa. Jake stared after them, frowning.

  “Carlo’s going to stick a knife into that guy one of these days,” he said.

  Setti laughed.

  “Forget it! Let Myra have her fun. If she wants two boy friends, let her have them.” He tossed what remained of his cigar over the terrace. “Put the stuff in the safe, Jake. Carlo doesn’t want it until Thursday. You take it to Rome on Wednesday night… understand?”

  Jake grunted. He picked up the oilskin package and the two men went into the villa.

  As soon as they were out of sight, I got to my feet. Here was the way out for me. If the package failed to get into Carlo’s hands by Thursday, then I wouldn’t have to take it to Nice. There was only one way to handle this. I had to get back to Sorrento fast and alert Grandi.

  I went down the steps towards the harbour, being careful to move silently. I reached the last few steps. I could see the red light on the harbour wall, and I paused in the shadows, looking for the man they had called Harry.

  There was no sign of him. I hesitated. Where was he? I didn’t dare slide into the water until I knew just where he was. My eyes searched the dark shadows. I looked along both arms of the harbour. There was still no sign of him.

  Then suddenly I became aware of soft breathing behind me. A cold creepy chill snaked up my back. I half-turned when a muscular, hairy arm hooked under my chin and slammed against my throat, and a hard, bony knee drove into my spine.

  PART TWELVE

  I

  In the brief second before the arm tightened on my throat, cutting the air from my lungs, I realized this man, probably the one who they called Harry, was as strong, if not stronger, than I was. Already I was fighting for breath, and my lungs felt as if they were bursting. I couldn’t get at him, for he was bending me back, his knees grinding into my spine. There was only one way out of a hold like this: I let myself go limp. My legs buckled and I collapsed on my knees. As I did so I managed to arch my back and bring him forward.

  I heard him give a muffled curse, and his grip on my throat tightened viciously. I made a desperate effort to heave him over my head, but he was too heavy. Instead, my heave unbalanced us both. My feet slipped on the wet steps and together we rolled into the sea.

  The shock of landing in the water loosened his hold. I caught hold of his wrist and peeled his arm off my throat, then I twisted around so that I faced him and drove my hand under his chin, sending him over on his back. I broke free of him and rose to the surface gasping.

  My one fear was that he would shout for help. Whatever happened those in the villa mustn’t know I had been up there.

  He bobbed up within three yards of me. I saw him before he could shake the water out of his eyes. I dived under him, caught hold of one of his feet and dragged him d
own.

  He kicked so violently that I had to let go of him. We both came to the surface together. I could just see his staring eyes and snarling mouth. He came at me and lifted his right hand out of the water. I saw a flash of steel. I threw myself sideways. The knife missed me by inches. I dived, came around in a tight circle, spotted the dark form of his body within reach and grabbed him around his waist, pulling him under the water. My left hand groped and found his right wrist.

  He fought like a madman, and it was as much as I could do to hold him. I held him down as long as I could, then, when my own lungs were at bursting point, I let go of him and kicked my way up to the surface. He took four or five seconds longer to break surface, and when he did come up, I could see by his feeble strokes that he was on his last legs.

  He had lost the knife, and as he tried desperately to get away from me, he gave a croaking shout.

  I sprinted after him and, putting my hand between his shoulders, I shoved him under again. I dived after him, but now he was offering practically no resistance, and when we came to the surface once more he was done. He would have sunk if I hadn’t grabbed him by his collar and held him up. His head lolled on his shoulders and I couldn’t hear him breathe. I was only a few yards from the moored rowing-boat. I towed him over to it, and heaved him in, nearly upsetting the boat as I did so. I got in after him and knelt beside him. As he seemed in a bad way, I rolled him over on to his face so the water he had swallowed could drain out of him, then I untied the mooring line, got the oars out and began to row as hard and as fast as I could towards Sorrento.

  I must have got about half-way — I had lost the lights of the villa — when Harry stirred and started to mumble. I wasn’t going to give him a chance to recover. I didn’t fancy a fight with him in this small boat. I hurriedly shipped oars, then, scrambling over the other rowing seat, I reached him as he slowly hauled himself into a sitting position.

  He lifted his head and his chin made a perfect target. I hung a right on the point of his jaw that took the skin off my knuckles. He went over backwards as if he had been shot, and then, as his head cracked on the bottom of the boat, he went limp.