'Been dead thirty hours at least,' Bromwich said. 'My stars! This is going to start something.'
'So they were snatched,' Lewis said. 'Think Dester's body is anywhere around?'
'How the hell should I know?' Bromwich snapped. 'I've got to get the boys up here. Let's see if the telephone in the other room's still connected. You stay here.'
I heard him run down the passage while Lewis lit a cigarette and began to prowl around the room. He paused beside the wooden crates and gave one of them a tentative kick. I remained motionless, sweating, my breath held, my heart hammering.
I could hear Bromwich bawling on the telephone. I couldn't hear what he was saying. In about an hour, probably less, the whole forestry station would be crawling with police. If I were going to get away I had to do it before they arrived.
Lewis must have tried the light switch for the room suddenly sprang alight.
'Well, at least the light's not disconnected, Lieutenant,' he called.
About five minutes later, Bromwich came back into the room.
'They're on their way. Tell Jackson to take a look at the other two huts. Dester may be in one of them.'
Lewis went away. I could hear Bromwich moving about the room. He hummed under his breath. I couldn't see what he was doing, but every time he passed close to the crates, I held my breath.
'He's taking a look,' Lewis said, coming back into the room. I heard him move over to where Helen lay. 'She's certainly been knocked about. Think she was suffocated by that gag?'
'I dunno. The M.O. will tell us.' Bromwich sat on the crate in which I was hiding. 'It beats me why she was left tied up like that. She must have been alive. They wouldn't tie up a dead woman, would they? But why did they leave her here? This isn't like a snatch job to leave her here. There's something wrong in this setup, Lewis.'
'Yeah,' Lewis said. 'It looks to me it's the work of an amateur. You know that guy Nash bothers me. There's something too smooth about him. Think he's hooked up in this?'
'I don't know, but I'll find out. You're right; there is something about him. One time he worked for Jack Solly. We had Solly in a couple of times and we couldn't pin anything on him: remember? Birds of a feather …'
'That's what I was thinking. He was too glib about how sick Dester was. It's my bet Dester never was sick.'
I was listening to all this and I was pretty scared.
'She may have had something to do with it too,' Bromwich went on. 'That cord around her wrists and ankles doesn't fit. It looks like a plant to me.'
'All the same, you don't fake that bruise she's got there.'
'That's right.'
Footsteps sounded in the passage, then a new voice said, 'I've checked the other two huts. No one's in there and no one's been in there for some time, Lieutenant.'
'Okay, Jackson. Stick around outside and let me know when the others come.'
There was a long silence, then Bromwich said, 'I've got another idea: one I like a lot. Suppose Dester killed her and tied her this way to make it look like a kidnapping? He could have skipped, hoping we would think he's in the hands of kidnappers. How do you like that?'
'Why should he kill her?' Lewis asked doubtfully.
'They didn't hit it off. From what I hear she treated him like a dog. They may have quarrelled on the way to the sanatorium. It was her idea he should go there. Maybe he felt she was railroading him into the joint and he wouldn't be able to get out once he was in. Maybe he got her to stop the car and then slugged her, brought her out here, found he had killed her and rigged it to look like she had been kidnapped. That could be it, Lewis.'
'Then he drove back to Hollywood, ditched the car and took a train or a bus somewhere,' Lewis said.
'I think you've got something there, Lieutenant.'
'I'm damned sure I have.' Bromwich slid off the crate. 'I'll have a word with the Chief now. You might take a look at those other two huts in case Jackson has missed anything. He's not as bright as he could be.'
I heard the two men walk down the passage. A moment later I heard the telephone bell tinkle as Bromwich started to dial.
It was now or never. I crawled out of the crate, stepped silently to the half-open door and peered into the passage.
The office door from which Bromwich was telephoning stood half open. I should have to pass it to get to the front entrance. Was the policeman outside or had he gone with Lewis? I heard Bromwich say, 'We've found Mrs. Dester, Chief. Yeah: she's out at Newmark's forestry station. She's dead. Yeah, it looks like murder.'
I crept down the passage, my heart pounding. If Lewis came back now he would walk right into me. I paused outside the office door, holding my breath.
Bromwich was saying, 'The boys are on their way here. I'll know more after the M.O.'s seen her. Yeah, she's been dead at least thirty hours.'
I inched forward and peered into the office. Bromwich was leaning across the desk, his hat back half turned to me. I didn't hesitate. Two quick steps took me past the door to the front entrance. Again I paused while I looked out into the dark night. I could see the police car; its headlights cutting a path in the darkness, but I couldn't see Jackson or Lewis. I heard the telephone bell tinkle as Bromwich hung up. I hadn't a moment. Drawing in a deep breath, I slid out into the darkness. Pressing my back against the wall of the hut I began to move cautiously away from the police car.
I heard a sound, and looking to my right, I saw Bromwich come to the door and stare across the open space in front of the hut, down towards the highway.
I kept moving until I reached the end of the wall. Looking around it, I could see nothing except darkness. I felt the cool breeze on my face. I could hear Lewis talking somewhere away from me.
I left the shelter of the hut and, crouching low, I began to move in a wide circle towards the barbed-wire gate. I couldn't see where I was going and I had to test each step as I made it to be sure I shouldn't blunder into a tree or step on a dry stick or make some sound that would give me away. But as I got further away from the hut, I took more chances and moved faster. Even at that it took me ten minutes to reach the gate.
I paused to look back.
There was no sign of either Bromwich or Lewis, but I caught sight of Jackson as he lolled against the doorway leading into the hut.
I turned and started down the dirt road, moving cautiously at first, then as I got further away, I broke into a run. I was reaching the end of the road when I heard the approaching sirens. Without hesitation I plunged into a clump of bushes and spread out flat on my face.
Two or three minutes later, three police cars swung on to the dirt road and went tearing up the hill towards the forestry station. I let them get on well ahead, then, scrambling to my feet, I ran as hard as I could back to the Buick.
* * *
It wasn't until I was back in Dester's big, silent house and in the room that Marian had used before moving over to my apartment that the full impact of what Helen's death meant hit me.
Too much had happened immediately after finding her to give my mind a chance to do more than accept the stunning fact that she was dead, but now, as I sat in a lounging chair, dry-mouthed, my heart still pounding, I realized that in some way I had caused her death.
I remembered in my panic I had hit her far harder than I intended to, but surely a blow on the jaw couldn't have killed her? It worried me that there had been no congestion of her face to point that she had been suffocated. The police couldn't charge me with murder if I had left her alive and she had died later because of the gag. The best they could do would be to try to pin a manslaughter rap on me, but if I had killed her with my fist, then they could charge me with murder.
I cursed myself for ever starting this thing. There was now no question of ever getting hold of the three-quarters of a million. I was in a hell of a jam. Below, in the kitchen, was Dester's body. Very soon the house and its contents would be valued to meet the creditors' demands, and then the deep-freeze cabinet was certain to be inspected. I had to mov
e his body somewhere before that happened.
If I could plant his body somewhere without being seen, was I safe? I asked myself. From what I had heard, Bromwich was already suspicious of me, but could he prove anything? Had I left any clue in the hut that would give me away? The greatest thing in my favour was that I had no motive for killing Dester or Helen.
What would happen if the police found Dester's body if I were lucky enough to be able to dump it somewhere? Would they think the kidnappers had lost their nerve, and after accidentally killing Helen, had shot Dester?
Bromwich had seemed to think that Dester had murdered Helen. Suddenly I saw how I could save myself, providing I had a little luck.
If I could get Dester out of the deep-freeze cabinet and take his body somewhere, get his gun that I had lodged in the safe deposit and put it in his hand, wouldn't it be possible that Bromwich would think that after killing Helen, Dester had had a fit of remorse and had killed himself?
After all Dester had actually shot himself. I had only to put the gun in his hand to turn the clock back. I got to my feet and began to pace up and down while I thought about this idea. The police couldn't prove that Dester had died more than a week ago. They would think he died when I got him out of the freezer.
That part of the original scheme still stood.
The advantage of this new scheme was that I need not take Dester's body out of the grounds. I could carry his body into a quiet part of the garden and dump him there with his gun in his hand. When he was found the police would think he had returned to the house to get the gun. I could tell them that I knew he kept a gun in his desk drawer. I could even leave a half-finished confession note in the typewriter.
The more I thought about this idea the more I was convinced that it would let me out. Marian wasn't in the house any longer. I would be free to get him out of the cabinet whenever I was ready.
But she would have to hear the sound of the shot when he was supposed to kill himself. That was essential. I wanted the police to find him quickly. If he had any spare cartridges the hearing of the shot would present no difficulties. When I had set the stage, all I had to do was to fire a shot into the air, take out the shell case, put a new cartridge into the gun and the gun into his hand, then run back to the house.
By the time Marian called me up to know what the shot meant I should be back.
I went at once to Dester's room to hunt for a box of cartridges. After a five-minute feverish search, I found the box tucked under a pile of shirts. I took a cartridge from the box and put it in my pocket.
There was nothing I could do this night. First I had to get the gun from the safe deposit. I would get it in the morning, then I would stage the suicide the same night. That meant I would have to turn off the motor of the deep-freeze cabinet some time during the morning. By midnight, Dester's body would be almost back to normal and I would be able to handle him. The thought of taking him out and carrying him into the garden scared me, but I had to do it. I couldn't risk letting the police investigate me. I had to lead them away from myself and fix their attention on Dester.
It was getting on for two o'clock by the time I went to bed. My mind was a lot easier. If I could only pull this off I was out in the open again, and I could get away from this house and put the whole nightmare business behind me.
It had taught me a lesson, I told myself. No more quick-rich schemes. I'd get back to my advertising work. I didn't have to work for Solly. I could get a job with some other firm. I'd work at it this time. Then when Marian came back from Rome we'd get married.
I was so sold on the feeling that I was going to get myself out of this jam that I drifted off into a dreamless sleep, and it wasn't until Marian disturbed me by moving about downstairs that I woke up around nine o'clock.
When I had shaved, showered and dressed I came downstairs. She had put a tray of coffee, soft-boiled eggs and toast on the terrace and we had breakfast together.
'At eleven o'clock Burnett's coming over,' I said. 'I'd be glad if you would help me. I've got to list Dester's debts and put his papers in order.'
Up to now she hadn't said anything about leaving. If I was to stage this scheme of mine tonight, it was essential that she should be here. I had to have a reliable and independent witness to the hearing of the shot.
After we had washed up the dishes, we went into Dester's study and Marian and I started in to work.
We ransacked all the desk drawers and piled the papers we found there on the desk. Then we went through them, Marian calling out the amounts of the bills while I noted them down. We had been doing this for over a half an hour when suddenly she stopped. I looked up to see she was staring at a long envelope with a heavy seal on the back of it.
'What have you got there?' I asked sharply.
'It was among all these bills.'
She passed it to me.
I looked at it and read the inscription.
For the attention of Mr. Edwin Burnett. Erle Dester's Last Will and Testament. June 6th 1955.
I stared at it for a long moment. For no reason at all that I could think of this slim envelope made me uneasy. I wanted to open it, but with Marian watching me, I knew I couldn't do that.
I laid it down. 'I'll give it to him. From the look of things, Dester hadn't much to leave.'
My voice sounded odd in my ears. It must have sounded odd to Marian for she looked quickly at me.
'Let's get on. These guys will be here in half an hour.'
We were still at it when Burnett's car arrived. I had by then some idea of what Dester owed. As far as I could judge it was around twenty-seven thousand. His assets were two thousand in the bank, the house, the two cars and the contents of the house. With any luck and with a good auctioneer, it should be possible to raise the money to pay off his creditors.
As Burnett was getting out of his car, another car came up the drive: this time a police car.
Marian and I stood in the open doorway while Burnett turned to meet the occupants of the other car.
From it got a big, beefy man with a purple complexion and close-set, hard eyes, Lieutenant Bromwich and Sergeant Lewis and another man who immediately held my attention.
This man had the shoulders of a prize fighter and the legs of a midget. He wasn't more than five feet six in height. His thinning grey hair was unruly, and his face, that reminded me of one of those rubber dolls you can squeeze into all shapes and sizes, was as bleak and as hard as a Siberian winter. He wore his well-cut clothes carelessly. His shirt collar was rumpled, his tie hung askew, but I could see he was the important member of the party. Even the big, purple-faced man, who I guessed was Chief of Police Madvig, stood back to allow him to be the first to be greeted by Burnett.
The five men stood talking for a brief moment, then they came up the steps.
I watched them, aware that my heart was thumping and my hands were cold and clammy.
Burnett said to the short-legged man, 'I don't think you have met Glyn Nash. He is Dester's secretary.'
I found myself looking into a pair of slate grey eyes. I felt my right hand squeezed in a grip that cracked my bones.
'Nash, I want you to meet Mr. Maddux of the National Fidelity Insurance Company,' Burnett said.
As I looked into those slate grey, wintery eyes I remembered what Dester had said about this man: He has a big reputation in the insurance world. He is smart, tough and extremely efficient. It is said of him that he knows instinctively when a claim is a fake or not. He has been with the National Fidelity for fifteen years, and during that time he has sent a large number of people to jail, and eighteen people to the death cell.
And that was what he looked like: a force to be reckoned with.
Madvig, Burnett and Bromwich drifted into the hall at the heels of Maddux. As usual Lewis stayed behind. They seemed uncertain what was going to happen whereas Maddux gave the impression that he knew exactly what he was about to do.
'I haven't a lot of time,' he said. His voice matched his fa
ce. 'Let's get around a table and talk.'
I took them into the lounge. There wasn't a table, but that didn't seem to worry Maddux. He took up a position before the empty fireplace: a position that dominated the room while Burnett, Madvig, and Bromwich almost apologetically took lounging chairs that faced Maddux.
Marian and I stood in the doorway.
'Come in, you two,' Maddux said and waved us to two chairs slightly away from where the other three were sitting. 'We'll need your help.'
As soon as we had sat down, Maddux turned to Madvig.
'I don't know any facts except what I've read in the newspapers,' he said. 'Dester, as you know, is one of my clients. He is insured with us for seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars, and that's quite a piece of money. As far as my company is concerned, he is a highly valuable liability. I'd like to get the facts straight. Will one of you put me in the picture?'
Madvig nodded over to Bromwich who cleared his throat and sat forward on the edge of his chair.
'We were notified by Mr. Nash on the night of June 25th that both Dester and his wife were missing. She was taking him to the Belle View sanatorium out at Santa Barbara. They didn't arrive there. They were seen around half past eleven on Highway 101 by a State trooper, then they vanished.'
'Why was he going to the sanatorium?' Maddux asked.
'He was a sick man: an alcoholic,' Burnett said. 'I talked with Mrs. Dester. She told me he was having hallucinations and was being violent. She persuaded him to go into the sanatorium. Mr. Nash here looked after him. They got on well together and he could handle him.'
Maddux looked at me. His eyes seemed to bore right through to the back of my head.
'Was Dester violent?'
I hadn't spent most of the night pacing the floor for nothing. If they were to be made to think Dester had killed Helen, I had to supply the motive.
'No, he wasn't violent,' I said. 'He seemed pretty ill to me: almost as if he were drugged.'
That got a reaction from Bromwich.
'You didn't tell me that,' he said aggressively.
'I told you he slept most of the time.'
1956 - There's Always a Price Tag Page 17