1980 - You Can Say That Again

by James Hadley Chase

  ‘Pleasantly.’ I gave her my wide, movie smile of charm.

  ‘Yes.’ She moved to a chair and sat down. ‘I’ve been hearing all kinds of good things about you, Jerry. Mr. Durant is very satisfied.’

  I relaxed a little, moved to a chair and sat down.

  ‘That’s what I’m being paid for,’ I said.

  ‘It won’t be long now.’ She regarded me, still smiling. ‘There will be a few more papers for you to sign, a few more appearances at the office, then you will be free to return to Hollywood and resume your talented career.’

  I decided this was the moment to drop a spanner in the works.

  ‘Mrs. Harriet,’ I said, giving her my best smile. ‘I am sorry to tell you but I am not happy with the situation as it stands.’

  Her little dark eyes hardened.

  ‘Not happy?’ There was a rasp in her voice.

  ‘No, and being so sympathetic to me, so generous in your praise for my small talent, I feel you wouldn’t want me to be unhappy.’

  She raised her eyebrows, her back stiffening.

  ‘Why aren’t you happy, Jerry?’

  ‘Mr. Durant promised to pay me one thousand dollars a day to impersonate your son.’

  She inclined her head, her eyes now like wet stones.

  ‘That was the arrangement, Jerry. It is a generous amount, and you agreed.’ She peered at me. ‘Are you asking for more money?’

  ‘No.’ I gave her my wide smile again. ‘You are an intelligent lady, Mrs. Harriet. Put yourself in my place. I am being constantly watched. I am, in fact, a prisoner. Frankly, I have no confidence in Mr. Durant.’

  ‘A prisoner?’ She gave a trilly laugh. ‘It is necessary to keep you secluded, Jerry. You must see that. Aren’t you happy with Mazzo? I have told him to give you good meals, to amuse you.’

  ‘To restore my confidence, I want to be sure that I am being paid one thousand dollars a day, Mrs. Harriet,’ I said, still smiling at her.

  ‘Dear Jerry! You have the daily credit notes. Mr. Durant has arranged this. Of course the money is being credited to you.’

  ‘Anyone can walk into the Chase National Bank and pick up a bunch of credit receipt slips. Anyone can put one thousand dollars on these slips in the favor of Jerry Stevens. Anyone can scrawl initials.’ I wiped off my smile. ‘Although I am just a two-bit actor, I’m not entirely a sucker. To be happy, I want to telephone the Chase National Bank and ask them if they have a credit account in my name.’ I waved to the telephones on the desk. ‘These have been cut off. I want to use a telephone that is not cut off. When I hear for myself that this money, promised to me and earned by me, is credited to an account in my name, then I will be happy again.’

  She regarded me for a long moment, her face like stone.

  ‘Mr. Durant wouldn’t want you to use a telephone, Jerry,’ she said finally. ‘You must be reasonable.’

  ‘So, Mrs. Harriet, you are telling me I will not be allowed to use the telephone. I am not going to ask you why. I want you to listen to my side. So far, I have successfully impersonated your son. I have cooperated as required. Now it is your turn to cooperate with me. If I am not allowed to telephone the bank by tomorrow morning at ten o’clock, I will no longer cooperate.’

  She looked down at the poodle and fondled its ears.

  Then she looked up, smiled at me and nodded.

  ‘For an actor, Jerry, you have unexpected shrewdness,’ she said and got to her feet. ‘I will arrange that you can call the bank at ten o’clock tomorrow.’ She moved to the door.

  I was ahead of her and had the door open.

  She paused and laid her hand on my arm.

  ‘What a sensible young man not to trust anyone,’ she said.

  I stared straight into those old, bleak eyes.

  ‘Do you trust anyone, Mrs. Harriet?’

  Her lips moved into the faintest of smiles.

  ‘Then I’m not young, Jerry, dear,’ she said and left me.

  chapter six

  I didn’t want Loretta to creep into my bed while I was asleep so I sat up and waited for her.

  Mazzo had served dinner in my room. He told me Mrs. Harriet was tired and had gone to bed early. He kept looking at me, his expression worried. I was sure he wanted to know what the old lady had said to me, but he remained silent.

  After dinner, I tried to interest myself in a paperback, but my thoughts were far away. I had won my first battle with the old lady. I was confident, when I was allowed to call the bank, I would be told the money due to me had arrived. I had played a trump card with my threat to stop cooperating.

  I sensed this sinister affair was moving to its conclusion.

  Durant would return from Washington with this deal finalized, except for my forged signature. Then was the time to play hard to get.

  There were two antagonists: Mrs. Harriet and Loretta. It seemed to me that both were planning to grab the Ferguson empire.

  Then there was Durant: on whose side was he? The fact that as soon as he had left for Washington, Mrs. Harriet had appeared, seemed to me he was on her side.

  On whose side was Mazzo? From his worried expression, I thought he could be on Loretta s side.

  Who had ordered the murders of Larry Edwards and Charles Duvine? Mrs. Harriet? Loretta? Thinking about this, I decided Mrs. Harriet was the one, working with Durant. With their money, it would be easy to hire killers to fake accidents. Maybe Mazzo wasn’t the killer I had thought he was.

  I had a hopeful feeling that Mazzo wasn’t hostile to me. Animal that he was, with careful handling, I might win him over to my side.

  Then there was John Merrill Ferguson. Was he a mental vegetable or a locked-away prisoner? I thought of the iron bars at the windows. My rooms were on the right wing of the house. It would be quite a journey from my suite to his. I felt an urge to reach his prison. I might even see him. I wasn’t locked in when I went to bed, but there were the guards. Could I leave my room, make a trip to the left wing of the house without being spotted?

  I was thinking about this when, as silent as a ghost, Loretta came in.

  As she closed the door, she paused, staring at me.

  ‘Why aren’t you in bed?’ She was wearing a wrap and her feet were bare. Her face was pale and dark rings circled her eyes.

  The time was a little after 01.00.

  ‘I have been waiting for you,’ I said, not moving.

  She came to a chair opposite mine and sat down.

  ‘What did that old bitch have to say to you?’ she demanded.

  I studied her. I could see she was only just controlling a fermenting rage.

  ‘Nothing of importance. She just said she was pleased with the way I was impersonating her son.’

  ‘Nothing else? Nothing about me?’

  ‘Nothing else.’

  She drew in a deep breath, and her fists relaxed into hands.

  ‘That bastard Durant!’ She kept her voice low, but her rage made it tremble. ‘He told her to come! He wanted me watched while he was away! I have had to call off the priest. He was coming tomorrow. He can’t come while that old bitch is here!’

  I didn’t say anything.

  ‘I don’t know when I’ll have the same opportunity,’ she went on, half talking to herself. ‘When Durant gets back, he is always around. What am I going to do?’

  Still I said nothing.

  She glared at me.

  ‘Don’t sit there like a goddamn dummy! You said you would help me! I must have proof that I married John!’

  ‘I’m here to do what I’m told,’ I said. ‘You tell me.’

  ‘If you want to earn two million dollars, you’ll have to do better than that!’ she exclaimed, her voice rising.

  ‘Can you rely on Mazzo?’

  She looked startled.

  ‘Of course. What’s he to do with this?’

  ‘Are you sure? Are you sure he won’t give you away to Mrs. Harriet?’

  She gave a sly little smile.

  �
��One time, perhaps, but not now.’

  I didn’t have to have that spelt out. I guessed this sensual woman had seduced Mazzo. She had hooked him as she imagined she had hooked me.

  The sight of her suddenly sickened me.

  ‘Let me think about it,’ I said, keeping my expression deadpan. ‘Maybe with Mazzo, we could find a solution.’

  She regarded me suspiciously.

  ‘He’s useless. He hasn’t a brain in his head.’

  That I knew, but I needed time, so I said, ‘He may not be so useless. I’ll think about it.’

  ‘You’d better do more than that! Anyway, there’s the will. That you will sign! I have contacted the priest. He is sending the will, witnessed by the two who witnessed the marriage certificate. It will arrive tomorrow. I’ll bring it to you tomorrow night to sign.’

  ‘Without the marriage certificate, the will will be useless,’ I said. If there was one thing I was not going to do was to forge John Merrill Ferguson’s signature to a will that would give this evil woman the right to claim his fortune.

  I was suddenly aware that she was regarding me with an evil smile.

  ‘Of course! The solution! Now I understand why you said we could find the solution with Mazzo.’

  I stiffened.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘It’s a brilliant idea, Jerry! Of course! Mazzo! You weren’t sure if I would be shocked.’

  I gaped at her, but a cold feeling crept up my spine.

  ‘Shocked?’ She laughed softly. ‘No, I’m not shocked Jerry. I have often wished that old bitch would drop dead. Of course! Mazzo! I felt sure you would find a solution.’

  Jesus! I thought. What the hell is she babbling about?

  ‘Solution? I’m not with you.’ My voice was husky.

  Again the evil little smile.

  ‘Mazzo will do anything for me. He will creep into that old bitch’s room when she’s asleep and put a pillow over her goddam face. I’ll be rid of her! I would then only have Durant to handle, and I know I can handle him.’ She got to her feet. ‘Thank you, Jerry. You won’t regret this. You’ll get your two million dollars. You’ve earned them.’

  I was so horrified, words wouldn’t come. I watched her leave the room, watched the door close behind her.

  Man! Was I in a state!

  For several minutes, I sat still, panic stamping all possible thought. Then after a while, I forced myself to stand up, walk to the bathroom and throw cold water over my head.

  Drying my face, I returned to the living room to pace up and down. My panic began to recede.

  This woman was a dangerous lunatic! Suppose she did persuade Mazzo to murder the old lady? He was moronic. Sex and money might persuade him. Then suppose something went wrong? Suppose the doctor wasn’t satisfied? Suppose the police were called?

  Loretta was so evil, if she were implicated, she could implicate me! She could tell the police it had been my idea! She would tell them I was her lover! Would they believe I had been kidnapped and held prisoner?

  I had to escape from this evil house! I suddenly didn’t give a damn about the money I knew would now be waiting for me at the bank. I didn’t give a damn whether the old lady was murdered. I had to escape!

  But how?

  I went to the window and looked down into the grounds. Sure enough, two guards were patrolling. From the bedroom window, two more guards were standing in the shadows.

  This was a set-up right out of a movie. It presented a challenge. With luck and care, I could reach the gates, then I would be away. I had the comforting thought that the guards wouldn’t shoot at me. They would chase me if they saw me, but they wouldn’t attempt to kill me. Until I had signed the final documents, my life, at least, was safe.

  I made up my mind. I would try right now, and to hell with the consequences!

  I went to the clothes closets. After searching, I found a track suit in dark blue and a pair of sneakers. It took me only a few moments to change into the track suit and put on the sneakers. I needed a weapon of some kind. I was determined to fight my way out if I had to.

  I looked around, then went to the desk. I found a heavy, narrow silver paperweight that fitted perfectly across my knuckles. Going to the bathroom, I found a roll of elastic bandage. I bound the paperweight across my knuckles. A blow with that would stun any man.

  Which way out?

  I turned off the only light in the room, groped my way to the window and opened it. I looked down: a sheer drop of some fifty feet to flagstones. There was no way to climb down. I went into the bedroom and opened the window. Again there was no way to climb down.

  Moving silently, I opened the living room door and peered into the long, dark corridor. There was a faint light coming up from the lobby. I crept to the head of the stairs and looked down.

  A shadowy figure of a man sat in a chair by the front door. As I watched him, he gave off a faint snore. I didn’t hesitate. Moving fast, and as silently as a shadow, I went down the stairs, and moved into the main living room. The guard snored on. The room was in pitch darkness. I began to inch my way, like a blind man, my left hand advanced, making sure not to upset a lamp or an occasional table. It took me five, sweaty minutes to reach the french windows. I slid between the drapes and I could see the immaculate lawn, brightly lit by the moon. As I put my hand on the latch to open the french windows, I paused.

  Was this house wired against burglars?

  I spent another minute, running my fingers around the frame of the doors. I encountered a wire that told me that if I opened the door, I would set off an alarm. I should have known! It made sense that all the ground floor windows and the terrace doors would be wired.

  Still determined to escape, I decide to try the first floor. Moving silently, I opened the living room door a crack and peered into the big hall. I waited and listened. I could see the shadowy form of the guard, sitting by the front door, but he no longer seemed to be asleep: at least, he wasn’t snoring. I waited. Watching the guard through the crack of the door, I saw him stand up. Then the full glare of the overhead lights came on, lighting up the hall. I could see a short, stockily built man standing, alert, looking towards the living room door, a gun in his hand. The gun didn’t bother me. I was sure he wouldn’t shoot. As I stood watching, I wondered if the front door was also wired.

  Then I saw Mazzo coming down the stairs. He was wearing a green cotton dressing gown, over orange pajamas.

  ‘Okay, Marco,’ he said as he reached the hall. ‘I’ll handle it.’

  The guard jerked his thumb to the living room door.

  ‘Sure,’ Mazzo said. ‘Relax.’

  I put my hand out and found the light switch and turned it down. The big living room became alight and I walked away from the door and to the middle of the room.

  By touching the wire around the french windows, I had set off the alarm! Hastily, I stripped away the paperweight bound to my knuckles and as I stuffed the bandage and the paperweight into my pocket, the door swung open.

  Mazzo looked inquiringly at me.

  ‘You want something, Mr. Ferguson?’ he asked, his eyes probing.

  ‘I couldn’t sleep, Mazzo,’ I said. ‘I was just taking a look around.’

  He grinned.

  ‘Looks like you were planning to take some exercise, Mr. Ferguson,’ he said, eyeing my track suit. ‘Not right now. Tomorrow, huh?’

  ‘Okay, Mazzo,’ I said. ‘Then tomorrow.’

  He nodded and stood aside.

  ‘Bed now, huh? If you can’t sleep, I can fix you with a pill. I can fix you with most things, Mr. Ferguson.’

  I gave up. With the guard in the hall, with Mazzo, feeling sure the front door was wired, there was no point in making a desperate attempt to escape. At least, I had learned something. I was not going to escape from this house the easy way.

  ‘I’ll sleep now,’ I said, and walked by him and up the stairs, ignoring the guard who was staring at me, and to my rooms.

  Mazzo joined me in
the living room.

  ‘What’s the matter with you?’ he demanded when he had closed the door. ‘You think you can get out of here? Every goddamn exit is fixed! Even I can’t get out of here at night!’

  I gave him a rueful grin.

  ‘It was worth a try.’

  ‘What’s the matter with you?’ he demanded. ‘You’re being well paid. Why do you want to get out of here?’

  I stared at him.

  Was he that moronic?

  ‘Okay, Mazzo, go to bed. Sorry I got you up,’ and I walked into the bedroom.

  I heard the living room door shut. I waited a long moment, then went to the door and gently turned the handle.

  The door was locked from the outside.

  * * *

  Mazzo brought in the breakfast trolley around 09.15.

  I had slept a couple of hours, but before dozing off, I had done a lot of thinking. Time was running out. It was more than possible I would not be able to escape. If the security was this tight, I couldn’t see how I could.

  Suppose Loretta persuaded Mazzo to murder Mrs. Harriet? With a woman like her, anything was possible: I had to warn Mrs. Harriet! I had to tell her Loretta was not married to her son, that she was trying to persuade me to forge a marriage certificate and a will. I had to warn the old lady against Mazzo.

  So what would happen to me when I told Mrs. Harriet about Loretta? I still had a trump card: I could refuse to sign any further documents. Then, tossing and turning in the darkness, I thought of Durant. He was ruthless. Could he force me to sign these final papers? Force me? I remembered my father who had served in the second world war, telling me how agents had been tortured, and even some of the bravest of them had been broken. Thinking of Durant, I felt he would do anything, except kill me, to get me to forge the final documents. Was my trump card such a trump card? Finally I slept and woke when Mazzo wheeled in the trolley.

  ‘Feeling low, Mr. Ferguson?’ he said. ‘Nothing like a tomato juice laced with Vodka to cheer you up.’

  ‘Just coffee, Mazzo,’ I said.

  ‘You want a run around the estate, Mr. Ferguson?’ he was grinning.

  ‘No. Tell Mrs. Harriet I want to talk to her.’