1957 - The Guilty Are Afraid

by James Hadley Chase

  “Cordez?”

  Hepple nodded.

  “That’s right: Cordez of the Musketeer Club. How do you like that?”

  “Does the F.B.I. know he’s here?”

  “Oh, sure, but there’s nothing they can do about that. He’s served his sentence and on the face of it, he’s running a successful club. They drop in every now and then and take a look around, but they are satisfied he isn’t up to his old tricks.”

  “Do they wonder where the money came from to start the club?”

  “They’ve gone into that. Cordez told them a group of financiers backed him.”

  “And Hahn?”

  “The same story.”

  “Any idea who the financiers are?”

  “Creedy, of course.”

  “Doesn’t the F.B.I. think it fishy that these two jailbirds should have set up business in the same town?”

  “They put a tail on them for some time. Cordez never goes to the School nor does Hahn go to the club. They haven’t met since they moved into St. Raphael.”

  I thought for a moment, then said, “I hear Judge Harrison has quit politics.”

  Hepple grimaced.

  “The old snake. Creedy bought him out.”

  “Are you printing that?”

  “Not on your life. We have no proof, but that’s what has happened. It’s going to take some time to find anyone to take his place. In the meantime there’ll be no opposition and the present bunch will romp home. Looks as if we’re in for another term of rackets.”

  “Maybe: maybe not. You heard about the shooting out at the White Chateau?”

  Hepple nodded.

  “But that hasn’t any connection with Cordez and Hahn, has it?”

  “I don’t know yet. I’m working on it now. Have you a good safe in your office?”

  “Sure.” Hepple’s face showed his surprise.

  “I have something I want you to take care of,” I said, and took Bridgette’s gun from my holster. “Will you put this in your safe and keep it until I ask for it?”

  “Sure.”

  He took the gun, looked at it, lifted the barrel to his nose and sniffed at it. Then he looked sharply at me.

  “This couldn’t be the gun that killed Thrisby?”

  “It could be. That’s something I’ve got to find out. I don’t want to lose it and I think your safe is the place for it.”

  “Shouldn’t the police have it?”

  I shook my head.

  “No. They might lose it.”

  He tossed the gun from hand to hand as he asked, “Would you know the owner?”

  “I have an idea, but that doesn’t mean the owner shot Thrisby.”

  He dropped the gun into his pocket.

  “Well, okay. I hope you know what you’re doing.”

  “You don’t have to worry about that. If I have any luck I’ll have a story for you by tomorrow. That gun may be the star turn of the story.”

  “Is there anything else you want me to do?”

  “Stay in the office all day tomorrow. I may want you in a hurry, and I want to know where I can find you.”

  He looked earnestly at me, a worried expression on his face.

  “I have an idea you know more about this set-up than you’re telling me. You could be on thin ice, Brandon. How would it be if you told me what you know now so we could both work on it?”

  I shook my head.

  “I’m not ready yet. I have a fistful of theories, but no real facts.”

  “Why not give me the theories? Suppose before you’re ready to talk, you run into trouble? There are plenty of ways in this city for anyone with an inquiring mind to get into trouble. Suppose you were silenced before you can talk? That’s not going to help us, is it?”

  I was tempted to tell him what was going on in my mind, but I knew I wasn’t ready. If I were going to pull the rug from under Creedy’s feet, I had to be absolutely sure of my facts.

  “I’ll call you tomorrow,” I said. “That’s the best I can do.”

  “Well, look, don’t stay out here on your own tonight. You’re a good mile from anyone and anywhere. Anything could happen to you out here and no one would be the wiser. Why don’t you come back to my place for tonight? You can doss down on my settee.”

  I shook my head.

  “Don’t worry about me,” I said. “I’m all right here. Nothing’s going to happen to me until tomorrow. By then I hope it’ll be too late for anything to happen.”

  He shrugged his shoulders.

  “Well, okay. But it seems to me you’re taking an awful chance.” He produced his wallet and found a card and gave it to me. “That’s my home telephone number. If you want me I’ll be there until eight o’clock tomorrow morning, and from then on I’ll be at the office.”

  “Take care of that gun.”

  “I’ll go to the office now and park it. Be seeing you.”

  “Some time tomorrow.”

  “And watch out.”

  “Oh, sure.”

  I watched him walk down the steps, across the sand to his car. He turned and waved his hand, then he got in the car and drove away. I stood on the verandah watching his red taillights until I lost sight of them.

  Chapter 14

  I

  The moon rode high over the palm trees casting long black shadows. The sea was like a silver mirror. There were only the distant sounds of the traffic passing along the promenade and the gentle movement of the sea.

  Standing there on the verandah, looking at the lights of St. Raphael, I had a sense of complete isolation, and I wondered if I shouldn’t have gone with Hepple. If anyone was planning to wipe me out, this lonely bungalow was the place in which to do it.

  I put my hands on the verandah rail and hunched my shoulders. I was feeling tired, and it was an effort to drive my mind. I could see the lighted windows of the School of Ceramics away to my right, and I wondered what Hahn or, to give him his real name, Jack Bradshaw, was doing at this moment.

  I now knew the mystery behind the match-folder, but knowing that still didn’t make me absolutely sure of Sheppey’s killer. I had a feeling I was right on the brink of knowing who killed him, but there was one piece in the jigsaw puzzle to fall into place before the picture was complete.

  There was no point standing out there in the dark. I told myself I might just as well go to bed. There was nothing further I could do until tomorrow.

  I turned around and went into the lounge. I shut the french doors and locked them, took the two glasses Hepple and I had used over to the bar and put them down. I looked around to make sure no cigarettes were burning in the ashtrays, then I walked over to the light switch by the door. As my hand reached for the switch, I heard a very faint sound that told me instantly that I was no longer alone in the bungalow.

  For a full second I remained motionless, aware that I was frightened and that my mouth had suddenly turned dry. I remembered that I had no gun: Rankin had taken mine, and I had given Bridgette’s gun to Hepple. I recalled what Hepple had said: You’re a good mile from anyone and anywhere. Anything could happen to you here and no one would be the wiser.

  The sound had been of someone in the bedroom: the distinct sound of someone’s foot on a loose board: someone moving stealthily.

  I snapped off the light and the room turned to darkness.

  Through the big window I could see the moon: its light made a big puddle of whiteness on the carpet at the far end of the room, but where I stood was shrouded in darkness.

  I stood tense, listening, my heart thumping.

  I heard the movement again, still in the bedroom, and then I heard the door creak slightly as it began to open.

  “Stay right where you are,” I said, a snarl in my voice, “or you’ll get a slug in your guts!”

  As soon as I had spoken, I dropped down on one knee, expecting a blast of gunfire, but instead I heard a quick, scared gasp.

  “Lew?”

  Margot’s voice.

  “For crying o
ut loud!” I exclaimed.

  I straightened up and snapped on the light.

  Margot stood in the doorway, her eyes wide and scared, her face tense. She had on a nylon nightdress that was as transparent as a sheet of glass. She looked more than lovely: she looked out of this world.

  “Oh, Lew! You frightened the life out of me!”

  “Out of you? What do you think you did to me? I nearly had a heart attack. Margot: what are you doing here?”

  “I came back. I was so worried about you, darling. I didn’t know what to do. I drove the car to the promenade and walked back. I waited out there in the darkness. The police came, then they went away. I got cold out there so I came in to wait for you. I’ve only just woken up.”

  I took out my handkerchief and wiped my face.

  “I’m sorry I scared you,” I said. “You certainly made me hit the ceiling. I thought my last hour had come.”

  “I’m so sorry. I’ve been asleep. I woke up just in time to see the light go off. I thought it might be you, but I was afraid to call out just in case it wasn’t. So I crept to the door to listen. When you called out in that awful voice, you terrified me.”

  “That makes two of us.”

  She came swiftly to me and slid her arms around my neck. The feel of her soft, yielding body against mine set my heart hammering. My hands moved down the length of her long back, over the curve of her hips and I pulled her close to me.

  “Kiss me, Lew. . .”

  My mouth found hers and she moaned softly, pressing herself against me.

  “Oh, darling. . .”

  It needed a lot of will power to push her away, but I did it.

  “Get into bed, Margot,” I said. “You’ll catch cold. . .”

  She put her head on one side as she looked at me. Her face was slightly flushed, her lips were parted and there was that look in her eyes I had seen before. She looked the most devastatingly desirable woman in the world.

  “I won’t catch cold, but I’ll go back to bed. And you?”

  “What do you think? Let me have a shower first. Then I’ll be right with you.”

  “Oh, Lew, you haven’t told me . . . what happened? Why did the police . . .?”

  I lifted her and carried her across the lounge and into the bedroom. There was an impression where her head had lain on the pillow and the sheet had been thrown back as she had slid out of bed. I laid her on the bed, covered her with the sheet and looked down at her. I thought how beautiful she looked.

  “The police? I have orders to get out of town right away,” I said. “They think I’m getting too close to Sheppey’s killer, Margot.”

  Her dark eyes opened wide and she reached out and touched my face.

  “You’re going away, Lew?”

  “I guess so. It won’t be healthy to stay, but before I go I’m going to close up at least one racket here. I’ve found out what that match-folder means.”

  “You have? What does it mean then?”

  I sat on the side of the bed and took her hands in mine.

  “The matches are drug vouchers.”

  “Drug vouchers? What do you mean?”

  She stared up at me: her eyes puzzled.

  “It’s simple enough. Cordez and Hahn are dope peddlers. They are well known to the Narcotic Squad and they are being constantly watched. They’ve already served a sentence for drug smuggling, and they know their next sentence will be for life. They entered into partnership and worked out what seemed to them to be a safe scheme. This is what they did: they moved into one of the richest cities in the country. They got financial backing to open a club and to open a ceramic shop: both legitimate businesses. The Narcotic Squad investigated and found nothing suspicious. Hahn and Cordez were watched, but they didn’t meet nor did they appear to have any association of any kind together. But, of course, they were still in the drug trade together and this is how they worked it: Hahn got the drugs and Cordez supplied the customers. A lot of rich people used Cordez’s club; some of them wanted to buy drugs. Cordez sold them a folder of matches. They then went over to Hahn’s place—safe enough because there’s always a steady flow of people going in and out—and in exchange for a match, the customer received so many ounces of drug. Hahn returned the matches to Cordez who then paid him his share of the take. In this way everyone is happy and safe. Cordez gets the money, the customer his regular supply of drugs and Hahn gets paid for supplying the drugs.”

  “It’s fantastic, Lew.”

  “Not all that fantastic. Drug operating is a tough racket, Margot. The Narcotic Squad knows nearly all the answers. A successful peddler has to be one jump ahead all the time, and Cordez and Hahn were one jump ahead with this idea until now. Hahn’s place is ideally situated to receive supplies of drugs. A boat can come in at night and no one would be any the wiser. Well, there it is. I’ll bet my last buck that’s the mystery of the match-folder.”

  I reached in my hip pocket and took the folder out. “Each customer probably has a different set of ciphers so he or she can be identified. If the folder is lost, no one else can use it. It is like a season ticket to hell. Sheppey got hold of one of these folders. That’s why he was killed and that’s why his room and mine were searched.”

  “Then Jacques took drugs?” Margot asked, staring at me.

  “It’s possible. Anyway, he knew about the folder. When I set fire to a match he nearly gave himself away. He knew I was throwing away so many ounces of drugs.”

  I put the folder back into my hip pocket. “Well, tomorrow finishes it. I’m turning the folder over to the Los Angeles Narcotic Squad, and they’ll handle it.”

  “And then you’ll go away?” she said, her hand closing over mine. “I don’t want you to go, Lew.”

  I smiled at her.

  “I can’t stay here. I have my work to do in Frisco. That’s where my roots are. What’s to stop you coming to Frisco?”

  “Daddy, of course. He wouldn’t let me.”

  I stood up.

  “You know what the trouble with you is, don’t you? You want your fun and your dollars. Think about it. It might be an idea for you to forget your old man and see what it’s like to earn your own living.”

  She lay back, her eyes suddenly bright and inviting.

  “I might try, darling, but what about that shower you said you wanted to take?”

  “I’ll be right with you.”

  I stripped off my coat, slid out of my trousers and shirt and dropped them on a chair, then, clad only in my shorts, I went into the bathroom. I closed the door, turned on the shower and stood by the door, my heart beginning to thump.

  I waited for perhaps ten seconds, then I took hold of the door handle and turned it very gently. I inched the door open so I could see into the bedroom.

  Margot was out of bed, standing by the chair on which I had thrown my clothes. Her hand was in the hip pocket of my trousers and, as I watched her, she took out the folder of matches. There was an expression of terror and relief on her face that made me feel pretty bad.

  I reached out, cut the shower, opened the door wide and moved into the bedroom.

  Margot spun around, her eyes widening, and she caught her breath in a tight little scream.

  I didn’t even look at her. I walked across to the bed and caught hold of the pillow that still held the impression of her head. I jerked it on to the floor.

  Lying on the sheet where the pillow had hidden it was a yellow-handled icepick.

  II

  In a silence I could almost feel, I looked over at Margot, who stood as if turned to stone, the folder of matches in her hand, her eyes enormous.

  “Did you really imagine you could get away with it, Margot?” I said. “Did you really imagine it would be third time lucky?”

  Her lips moved, but no words came.

  I picked up the icepick and turned it over in my fingers. The point of the blade had been filed and it looked as sharp as a needle. A little chill snaked up my spine as I realized what a close escape
I had had.

  “You were good, but not quite good enough,” I said, watching her. “As an actress you were superb, but you were only a second-rate liar. You were doing fine until you tried to sell me the idea that Thrisby owned the match-folder. That dinner you described never took place. Thrisby was fooling around with a new girlfriend on that particular night and Bridgette was up at his house. That was a clumsy lie, Margot, and it led me right to you.”

  She sat down abruptly and hid her face in her hands.

  “I was puzzled why you should have lent me this bungalow,” I went on. “It was so out of character, but now I can see you were taking precautions. If I got to be a nuisance you might have to get rid of me. This is a conveniently lonely place to kill a man in, isn’t it?”

  She looked up then, her face white and her eyes glittering. She still looked beautiful, but it was a hard, dangerous beauty.

  “And you had this under your pillow,” I said, holding up the icepick. “It explains why Sheppey’s killing appeared to be so expert and Thelma Cousins’ death so clumsy. When you have a man in your arms, Margot, it is easy to reach under your pillow, take out the pick and drive it into the back of his neck. That’s what you planned to do to me, wasn’t it? Thelma, of course, would have been standing when you struck her, and in that position it would be much more difficult to kill cleanly.” I looked at her. “Well, say something. You killed Sheppey, didn’t you?”