1953 - The Things Men Do

by James Hadley Chase

  I sat looking down at my desk. After a long pause, I said, "I'm sorry, but I don't remember seeing anything suspicious or hearing anything either."

  He let out a long, sighing breath of disgust.

  "Oh well, it can't be helped. I thought I might strike lucky with you, seeing the position you have here. Never mind. Most of my work consists of asking questions and getting the wrong answers. I'd better have a talk with the other people down the street. They may have seen something. Thanks, Mr. Collins, for giving me your time. If you do remember anything you think might help me, give me a ring, will you?" He put his card on the desk "We'll make it worth your while. So long, and keep thinking, won't you?"

  I didn't say anything. I just sat still, looking beyond him at the crowd standing in front of the sorting-office.

  "By the way, that young fella I saw leaving just now." Norton said. "Would he have seen anything, do you think?"

  I kept a grip on myself with an effort.

  "No. He's not working here."

  "Oh, isn't he? I imagined he was. My mistake."

  "My wife and I run this place."

  "Could I see her for a moment?"

  "She didn't see anything, Mr. Norton. She would have told me if she had. She's busy right now."

  "Well, okay. Talk to her, will you? You never know. She might remember something. Give me a ring if she does. So long, Mr. Collins."

  "So long," I said.

  I watched him walk slowly down the length of the garage.

  I could tell by the way he held himself and by his slowness that he wasn't satisfied, and that his mind was busy. He suddenly snapped his fingers, turned and came back.

  "I knew there was something. Weren't you a friend of Guard Yates? I fancy one of the blokes over at the sorting-office said something about you and Yates being pals."

  I looked at him, and a sudden cold wind seemed to blow through my brain.

  “What do you mean?"

  "The guard who was killed," Norton said patiently. "Guard Bill Yates. Weren't you a friend of his?"

  chapter fourteen

  For a long moment I sat still staring at him. I felt as if someone had hit me a violent blow on the top of my head. I couldn't move nor speak.

  "Didn't you know?" Norton said. "I'm sorry. I thought someone must have told you. This'll be a bit of a shock for you."

  I got slowly to my feet

  "What the hell are you talking about?"

  "I'm sorry," Norton said, and I could see by his startled expression I must have looked as if I were going out of my mind. "I quite thought you knew. It was Bill Yates who was killed in the hold-up."

  I came around the desk and caught hold of his coat-front and shook him.

  "You're lying! Bill wasn't there!"

  "Here, steady on!" His eyes bulged and his face went red. "Take it easy, Mr. Collins."

  "You're lying!" I said, my voice off key. I shook him again.

  "Bill was up north. He left on Saturday. It wasn't he who was killed. Do you hear, you damned liar?"

  "Take your hands off me!"

  "Don't you dare come here and tell any more lies! Now get out!"

  I shoved him away so violently he crashed against the wall.

  "You’re crazy!" he gasped, straightening his coat. "What do you think you're doing?"

  "Get out!"

  "All right, if you know so much, then it wasn't Yates. To hell with you!"

  He walked down the garage without looking back.

  I watched him go, my heart hammering, my whole body shaking.

  It couldn't be Bill! Bill was with his people, miles away.

  He couldn't have got back in time to go with the van.

  That fool of a reporter must have got the names mixed.

  Someone must have told him Bill was the regular guard on the van, and he had jumped to the conclusion that Bill had been on the van at the time of the hold-up.

  I wiped my face with my handkerchief. I had been reckless to have acted the way I had. I shouldn't have treated him like that It was unwise to make an enemy of a newspaper man. I half started down the garage to stop him and apologize, but he had already gone.

  He had given me a fright: a hell of a fright, but I was over the first shock now. At least, Bill was safe, but what of the guard who had been killed?

  This was murder!

  I walked down to the garage doors to close them, my mouth suddenly dry. This was murder!

  Then I stopped short and looked at the Jaguar standing against the wall. I felt a little chill run up my spine as I thought of those two suitcases in the boot. I had forgotten about them.

  If the police found them they would have an excuse to arrest me. If they believed I was handling stolen property, the next step would be to hook me up with the mail robbery.

  Joe said Gloria would collect the car this morning, but would she? Would she have the nerve to come here with the police outside the door and the Pressmen taking photographs? I doubted it.

  I didn't hesitate for more than a few seconds. I had to get rid of those suitcases and at once. I was undecided for a moment whether to take the Jaguar or my truck. I knew the police opposite wouldn't fail to see me drive out. If I went in the Jaguar they might be curious, but I should be fairly safe in the truck.

  Moving quickly I closed the garage doors and bolted them, then I opened the boot of the Jaguar and hauled out one of the cases.

  It was as much as I could do to carry it over to the truck. I heaved it up on the tailboard and shoved it out of sight. Then I went back for the second case. It took me several agonizing seconds to drag it to the back of the truck. It was far too heavy for me to get it up on the tailboard single handed. I got two planks and a rope. Laying the planks on the tailboard so they formed a ramp, I tied the rope to the handle of the case and hauled it up the ramp into the truck.

  Sweat was running off me by the time I had got the case into the truck, and I was gasping for breath. But I couldn't afford to waste a second. I stood the planks against the wall, found a large tarpaulin which I tossed over the cases, then I went quickly to the foot of the stairs.

  "Ann?"

  She came out on to the landing,

  "I'm just going to take a run around the block. One of the brakes is grabbing and I want to test it. I won't be long, and I've shut up."

  "All right, Harry."

  I opened the garage doors and drove out the track.

  The crowd had thinned out by now, but I was very conscious of the two policemen standing in front of the sorting-office. Both of them looked sharply at me as I jumped out of the truck to close the garage doors.

  But neither of them made any move as I got back into the truck.

  It wasn't until I turned the corner that I let out a long breath of relief. I drove along Oxford Street towards Holborn.

  The long street was empty of traffic and I made sure no one was following me.

  There was a big rubbish tip near Moorfields underground station. I decided to drop the cases there. At this hour of the day and on Sunday, I didn't think anyone would be about.

  It took me a quarter of an hour to reach the rubbish tip.

  As I had imagined the place seemed deserted but I cruised around for a few minutes to make sure. Then I quickly backed the truck up the ramp so the tailboard overhung the dump.

  I spent a few seconds wiping the cases carefully to remove any fingerprints on them, then I put on a pair of gloves I always kept handy in the truck and heaved the cases down on to the tip.

  I watched them bump and roll down the pile of rubbish until they vanished in a cloud of dust. I wasn't kidding myself they would remain undiscovered. They would be found all right, but at least, they wouldn't be found in my garage.

  I headed back to Eagle Street.

  As I pulled up outside the garage I glanced at my wrist-watch. The time was now eight-thirty. It had taken me a little over half an hour to get rid of the cases.

  I opened the doors and drove the truck in. A
s I did so I saw one of the policemen outside the soiling-office turn abruptly and walk inside.

  As I shut the garage doors, Ann appeared in the office doorway.

  "Harry, come upstairs!"

  The urgency in her voice startled me. I shot the last of the bolts and walked quickly down the length of the garage.

  She had already gone up the stairs and I followed her.

  I found her in the sitting-room. She had been crying, and one look at her white, frightened face brought me to a standstill.

  "What's the matter?"

  "Have you heard about Bill?"

  "Bill?” I reached forward and caught hold of the back of a chair to steady myself. The muscles in my legs began to flutter. "What do you mean?"

  "They killed him, Harry."

  For a moment I thought I was going to be sick.

  "They couldn't have! He wasn't there! What are you trying to do to me?"

  "He got back in time to go with the van. He's dead, Harry."

  I moved slowly and stiffly around the chair and sat down.

  "How do you know? I don't believe it! There's a mistake, Ann. He can't be dead!"

  "The police told me."

  My heart seemed to stop and then race madly.

  "The police? Ann! The police haven't been here, have they?"

  "Oh yes," she said in a flat, tired voice. "They came just after you left. They wanted to see you. They wanted to ask you about Bill."

  "But Bill couldn't have got back in time! I saw him on to the train. There's been a mistake . . ."

  "Oh, Harry! Do you think I'd say it was Bill unless it was Bill? He's dead! They killed him!"

  I stared at her.

  The room suddenly spun before my eyes, went dark and I had a horrible feeling I was going to faint I got hold of myself, pressing the heels of my hands against my eyes.

  "Did you have anything to do with this robbery, Harry? You've got to tell me! I must know!"

  Bill dead! If I had only told him what I had suspected he would be alive now. Ann was still speaking, but I didn't hear what she was saying. There was a dead feeling inside my head. They had killed Bill! In spite of all my precautions, all my planning, Bill was dead.

  "Harry!"

  I started, shook my head and stood up.

  "Leave me alone, Ann. I've got to think. Don't talk to me for a moment."

  "But I've got to talk to you!" she cried. "Don't you understand the police have been here? They've been asking questions. I trusted you, Harry. I told them the truth, believing you were telling me the truth. Now, I'm not sure any more. Don't you understand? I may have said something to give you away. You've got to listen!"

  "What have you told them?" I went up to her and caught hold of her arms, peering into her white face. "What have you told them?"

  "They wanted to know about Bill; about the telephone call from the doctor. They asked if you had ever been to the sorting-office."

  "What did you tell them?"

  "I said you went over there last night to give Harris a cup of tea."

  I let go of her and stepped back.

  "Harry! Didn't you give him a cup of tea? You went over there—I saw you!"

  "No, I didn't give him the tea. I didn't see him."

  "But you said you did give it to him!"

  "Did I? I don't remember what I said. I didn't give him any tea. I looked for him, but I didn't see him so I came back."

  I wasn't thinking of what I was saying. All I could think of was that Bill was dead, and it was my fault that he had died. If I had warned him at the beginning and hadn't thought only of myself, he would be alive at this moment "Harry! You're lying to me!" Ann tried, beating her fists together. "Oh, Harry, for God's sake, tell me the truth. At least tell me the truth. You know I love you: you know I will do anything for you; but I must know the truth. What were you doing over there last night?"

  The first shock was passing. I felt a cold, murderous rage against Dix growing inside me. If it was the last thing I did I was going to find and kill him.

  "Harry!"

  I looked at her, and she stepped back, catching her breath.

  "Don't look like that! What is it? What are you thinking?"

  "I'm thinking it's time, Ann, I did tell you the truth," I said quietly, "I went over to the sorting-office last night to put the alarm bell out of action: the alarm bell on Bill's van."

  She closed, her eyes. Her hands went to her breasts, and she stood for a long moment, motionless. Then she opened her eyes and looked at me.

  "Why did you do it?"

  "Because I hadn't the guts to refuse to do it, Ann. That's why I did it."

  "Dix and the others are responsible for the robbery then?"

  "Yes."

  "And that girl: she is one of them?"

  "Yes."

  "Oh, Harry, how could you?"

  "I broke my promise to you, Ann. I went to see her when you were away at your mother's. Dix blackmailed me. If I didn't put the alarm bell out at he was going to show you proof that I had been with that girl: and it wasn't pretty proof. I hadn't the guts to face you, so I did it."

  She sat down suddenly, her fists clenched tightly in her lap.

  "I thought I had got Bill out of the way. I wouldn't have gone through with it if I had any idea that Bill might run into that mob."

  "His mother's not ill then?"

  "No. I told him that lie to get him out of London. I still can't think how he could have got back. I saw him on the train." '

  "He did get back, Harry."

  "Ann, I don't expect you to forgive me, but I want you to know I'm sorry. She didn't mean anything to me: it was a physical something I hadn't the guts to control."

  She got up then and moved over to the window and rested her forehead on the window pane.

  "What are you going to do, Harry?"

  "I'm going to find Dix. You'd better go to your mother, Ann."

  She turned quickly and stared at me.

  "Why do you want to find Dix? Let the police find him! You've got to think of yourself now, Harry. Don't you understand, you might get into serious trouble?"

  "You mean I could go to prison? All right, then I'll go to prison, but I'm finding Dix first."

  Something attracted her attention in the street and she turned quickly to look out of the window.

  "They're coming now, Harry."

  I joined her at the window with two quick strides. I was in time to see two plain clothes officers enter the garage.

  "It's all right, Ann," I said, wanting to put my arm round her, but not doing so. "Don't be frightened. I'll go down and talk to them."

  I went across the room, opened the door and without looking back, went down the stairs.

  The two detectives were sanding just outside my office as I pushed open the door at the foot of the stairs.

  "Mr. Collins?"

  "That's right."

  "I'm Detective Sergeant Hollis, and this is Detective Constable Davies. I am making inquiries concerning a mail van robbery, and believe you may be able to help us. I understand you are a friend of William Yates, the postal guard who was murdered in the early hours of this morning."

  I looked at the two men: both dark, both massive, both wearing nondescript dark suits. The Detective Sergeant was the younger of the two. His square-shaped face was expressionless, his eyes alert but impersonal.

  "That's right."

  "Mr. Collins, I would be glad if you would come to the station with me. The Chief Superintendent is anxious talk to you."

  I felt a sudden sinking feeling inside me.

  "I can't very well leave my business. Couldn't he come here?"

  "Haven't you anyone to look after your business for an hour or so?"

  I hesitated. I didn't want to go with them, but I knew they could force me if they wanted to, and there was no point in getting on the wrong side of them.

  "I suppose my wife could manage."

  "I have a car outside. I'll see you are driven back.
We won't keep you long."

  "Well, all right. I'll just tell my wife." I looked at them. "Do you want to come up with me?"

  The Detective Sergeant allowed himself an impersonal smile.

  "That won't be necessary, Mr. Collins."

  I went up the stairs, a little shaky at the knees. At least they weren't arresting me. They wouldn't have let me out of their sight if they suspected I had something to do with the robbery.

  Ann was waiting on the landing.

  "They want me to go to the station," I said, pitched my voice so the two detectives could hear what I saying. "I won't be more than an hour."

  She looked at me, and I was shocked to see the terror in her eyes. I shook my head at her, and managed to force a smile.

  "They're going to drive me back."

  She took hold of my hand and pulled me into the dining-room and shut the door.

  "Do they suspect anything?" she whispered.

  "I don't think so. They would have come up if they did. Don't worry, Ann, I'll be back soon."

  "Harry, we must stay together. I'm not going to leave you. Nothing matters now, darling, except what lies ahead. Nothing matters. I mean that."

  I looked at her, not sure if I had heard right.

  "I've done you a great wrong, Ann."

  "Don't talk about it. I'm frightened, Harry. Be careful what you say. I'll pray for you."

  I pulled her to me and kissed her. Her lips felt as cold as ice.

  "It'll be all right. There's no one in the world but you, Ann. I love you and will always love you."

  She clung to me.

  "It'll be all right." I said, kissed her again, then pushed her gently away. "I'll be back."

  I went quickly downstairs.

  "All ready, sergeant."

  We climbed into the police car parked outside the garage. It took us only a few minutes to reach the police station.

  "This way, Mr. Collins," Hollis said, getting out of the car.

  He hurried me into the big grey stone building, up a flight of stone stairs, along a passage to a door on which was printed a notice which read: Chief Superintendent J. V. Rawson. He rapped on the door and pushed it open.

  "Mr. Collins, sir."

  I walked into a small office. Facing me was a big desk, covered with files and papers. A Windsor chair stood by the side of the desk. Another chair stood by the window. One side of the room was taken up by filing cabinets.