I'll Bury My Dead

by James Hadley Chase

  As they swept over the Blackstone Bridge, English said sharply, “This isn’t the way to headquarters. What’s the idea?”

  Morilli smiled.

  “I have a call to make first. Relax. You’re in no hurry to get anywhere.”

  “But he’ll get there just the same,” Nankin said, and laughed.

  English relaxed back into the corner of the seat. He should have guessed Morilli wouldn’t dare risk bringing him in alive. He knew too much for Morilli’s safety. There was the five thousand dollars he had given Morilli. Maybe there was no proof that Morilli had received the money, but an accusation like that would lead to an investigation, and Morilli’s bank manager might have a story to tell.

  Besides, Morilli wouldn’t only be covering himself, he would also be doing a service to a number of high-ups by getting rid of English. It would be a nice tidy way of closing an embarrassing case.

  English’s eyes went to Morilli’s gun. It was pointing at him, and Morilli’s finger was on the trigger. He decided it would be useless to start anything in the car. He would have to make his break when they got out of the car.

  They were driving along the river bank now. Rain drummed on the roof of the car, and the wipers labored to keep the windshield clear.

  The waterfront was deserted. A good place in which to kill anyone, English thought. A shot, and then the river.

  Morilli said sharply, “Okay, Nankin.” His voice sounded tight and metallic.

  Nankin slowed down, steered the car into the shadows of a warehouse and pulled up.

  “Get out,” Morilli said to English.

  English looked at him.

  “What’s this—an unofficial execution?”

  Morilli rammed the gun into his side.

  “Get out! I don’t want you to bleed in this car.”

  As English opened the off-side door, Nankin got out hurriedly and ran around the front of the car, pulling a gun as he did so. He covered English until Morilli got out.

  “Unwise to have a witness, Lieutenant,” English said calmly. “He’ll blackmail you if you kill me.”

  Nankin laughed.

  “Me and the lieutenant work together, pally,” he said. “Don’t bother your brains about us.”

  Morilli swung up his gun and pointed it at English.

  “This is yours, English,” he said. “I’m not taking a chance on you talking. Back up against that wall.”

  English braced himself. He was too far from the river to jump for it, too far from Morilli to close with him. He knew he was within a heartbeat of death. He was surprised that he felt no fear, only an angry frustration that he now wouldn’t be able to even things up with Sherman.

  He stepped back.

  “Shed those rods!” a voice barked from behind the car. “Quick or I’ll blast both of you to blazes!”

  Nankin hurriedly dropped his gun. Morilli half turned, his lips coming off his teeth in a furious snarl.

  A gun crashed, and he staggered, dropping his automatic and gripping his wrist, cursing.

  Chuck Eagan came out from behind the car.

  “Thought I’d better come along for the ride, boss,” he said cheerfully. “I never did trust this flatfoot.”

  English stepped forward and picked up Morilli’s gun. He kicked Nankin’s gun across the waterfront into the river.

  “Phew! You timed it a little close, Chuck,” he said with a wry smile.

  “Better late than never,” Chuck returned, grinning. “What do we do with these lice?”

  “I want them out of the way for a few hours, Chuck,” English said. “What do you suggest?”

  “Easy,” Chuck said and stepping up to Nankin he slammed him over the head with his gun butt.

  Morilli backed away as Nankin fell face down.

  English said, “Don’t move. I’m tempted to make a hole in your hide!”

  Morilli snarled at him.

  “You’ll be sorry for this.”

  Chuck hit him on the back of his skull, driving him to his knees. Then he hit him again, and Morilli spread out on the rain-soaked concrete.

  “Stick with them, Chuck. Put them somewhere out of the way. I want a couple of hours to myself.”

  “Don’t rush off alone,” Chuck said uneasily.

  “Stick with them,” English said curtly. “That’s an order.”

  He walked over to the police car and slid under the wheel.

  As he started the engine, he leaned out of the window.

  “Thanks, Chuck. I’ll remember you in my will.”

  He reversed the car and sent it shooting along the waterfront, heading uptown.

  V

  Lois opened her eyes and blinked painfully up at an amber-colored lamp that was screwed flush to the ceiling. The light sent sharp stabbing pains through her head and she shut her eyes, biting her lower lip to stop from crying out.

  She lay still for several minutes, her mind slowly coming out of the fog of unconsciousness. Where was she? she wondered. She remembered seeing Corrine flop to the floor in a faint. She remembered bending over her, and then hearing the swish of a descending sap, and that was all she could remember.

  She opened her eyes again, not looking at the light, and after a moment or so, the hot pricking in her eyes went away.

  She was in what must be a cabin of a ship. It was a luxury cabin, panelled in walnut and furnished expensively and with taste. She was lying on a bed, and she looked hastily to see if she was still dressed. Someone had taken off her mackintosh and hat and shoes, but otherwise she was still in the clothes in which she had left her apartment.

  She slowly lifted her head, grimacing as a stab of pain drove into her temples.

  “So you’re all ready to join the party,” a man’s voice said near her, making her start. She looked quickly to her left.

  A big man with a thin scar running from his right ear to his mouth and with a cast in his left eye sat in an armchair that was set against the cabin door. He nursed a heavily bandaged wrist.

  “That must have been quite a smack you walked into,” he said, his eyes running over her. “You’ve been out for over an hour.”

  Her hand went automatically to her skirt and pulled it down as far as it would go as she saw the expression in his eyes.

  “Don’t excite yourself,” the man with the scar said, taking out a packet of cigarettes. “That’s not the first pair of gams I’ve seen, and they won’t be the last.” He stuck a cigarette on his lower lip, flicked a match alight and set fire to the cigarette.

  “Where am I?” Lois asked, her voice unsteady.

  “On Sherman’s yacht,” the man with the scar told her. “He’ll be along in a little while. He wants to talk to you.”

  “Who are you?” Lois asked, half sitting up.

  “My name’s Penn,” he returned and grinned. “I take care of Sherman’s business. That’s why I’m taking care of you. Anything more you want to know?”

  “Why has he brought me here?”

  “He wants to talk to you. Between you and me and the bedpost, sister, I don’t think you’re going to live much longer,” Penn said and winked. “He’s knocking them off so fast I’ve given up counting the bodies. He knocked off Corrine tonight. A waste of a pretty woman, but he’s like that. Did you know he stretched her neck?”

  Lois’s heart skipped a beat and she felt suddenly sick.

  “Maybe if you’re nice to me,” Penn went on, staring at her with his right eye. His left eye looked across the room, away from her, giving him a sly, furtive expression, “I might talk him out of it. Think you could be nice to me?”

  “If you come near me I’ll scream!” Lois said fiercely.

  Penn nodded and flicked ash on the floor.

  “When Sherman’s off the boat you can scream your lungs out,” he said. “There’s no one within six miles of us except Sherman. Well, okay, if you want it the hard way, I don’t care. I like a little opposition.”

  Lois didn’t say anything. She looked quickl
y around the cabin for a way of escape, but the only way out was through the door against which Penn had placed his chair.

  Penn cocked his head on one side, then got to his feet.

  “He’s coming now,” he said. “Watch your step, sister. He gets mean if he’s crossed.”

  As he moved the chair from the door, the door opened and Sherman looked into the cabin. He stood in the doorway, his jaws moving, his amber-colored eyes on Lois, his hands in his pockets.

  “Get out!” he said to Penn.

  The big man went past him without a word, and closed the door after him.

  Sherman pulled up the chair and sat down.

  “Sorry I had to hit you, Miss Marshall,” he said mildly. “But you came at an inconvenient moment. Why did you come?”

  “Why have you brought me here?” Lois demanded, swinging her legs off the bed and sitting up.

  “You will answer my questions,” Sherman said, a sudden rasp in his voice. “If you’re going to be truculent I shall call Penn, and he’ll deal with you. Why did you come to Corrine English’s house?”

  Lois hesitated. The cold, expressionless eyes scared her, but she had no intention of telling Sherman that she had hoped to persuade Corrine to give evidence against him.

  “I heard about the scene she made at the Silver Tower,” she said quietly. “I wanted to find out if Mr. English had seen her home.”

  Sherman studied her, not sure if she were lying or not.

  “You don’t know where English is?”

  She shook her head.

  “Are you sure?”

  Again she shook her head.

  “You know, of course, he killed Julie Clair and her lover tonight, and the police are hunting for him?”

  “I heard they had been murdered, but I’m sure Mr. English had nothing to do with it.”

  Sherman smiled.

  “Of course. You’re in love with him. I should have thought of that before.”

  Lois didn’t say anything.

  “You are in love with him, aren’t you?”

  “Is it any of your business?”

  “It could be,” Sherman said, staring at her thoughtfully. “The police haven’t picked him up yet, and when a man like English is running around footloose he’s dangerous. I want him picked up quickly or I’ll have to do something about him myself.”

  “You’d better let me go,” Lois said firmly. “Kidnapping is a capital offence in this city.”

  Sherman smiled.

  “So is murder. But I don’t intend to kill you just yet. I shall wait until tomorrow morning. Then if English hasn’t been arrested, I must find him myself, and that’s where you come in. I don’t think it’ll be difficult if he gets to know I’m holding you. I have an idea he’ll come to terms. Then, of course, he will commit suicide like his brother. They’ll find him shot, with a gun in his hand. They’ll find you some time later conveniently drowned, and they’ll assume you died like Mary Savitt died—because you were unable to go on living without your lover. It is a convenient method, and I see no reason why I shouldn’t repeat it.”

  “I think you must be mad,” Lois said steadily. “No one sane could talk as you do. No one sane could act as you do.”

  Sherman shrugged.

  “What if I am mad? What’s wrong with being mad anyway? Why have people such a horror of being thought mad? I haven’t. I’m perfectly satisfied the way my mind works. After all, madness is just a matter of viewpoint. You say you’re sane. Well, look at you. I’m not in your position. A man in what they call his right mind would shrink from murder, and as it happens murder is my only way out. I don’t shrink from it. Therefore I must be mad according to you. It’s entirely immaterial to me if I am mad or not. As it happens my mother was supposed to be mad, but she was quite the most brilliant woman I have ever known. They put her in an asylum and she died there. If she had murdered my father as I advised her to she wouldn’t have gone to the asylum. She shrank from murder. It’s a lesson I didn’t ignore.” He crossed one leg over the other. “Murder is an odd thing. It is like a snowball rolling down a hill. One murder leads to another. I wouldn’t be in this jam if that cheap little chiseller hadn’t tried to gyp me. I was a fool to have picked on him to work for me. Before he came I had a good business. Now, if I’m not very careful, the bottom could drop out of it. It’s worth a quarter of a million a year to me, and I’m not giving that up without a fight. I killed Roy English in a moment of anger. It would have been simpler to have kicked him out and got someone else to do the work, but I was angry when I found out he was cheating me, and I shot him. Then the snowball started running down hill. Mary Savitt had to go. She knew as much about me as English did, and when she heard he was dead, she would talk. So she had to go. Then the old fool Hennessey got garrulous and he had to go. May Mitchell had to go, too, but by that time your clever Mr. English was onto me. He was unwise to threaten me. At first I thought I would kill him, but it seemed simpler and more amusing to let him ruin himself in his own way. I arranged he should hear about his mistress and Harry Vince. I couldn’t be sure he would kill them, so I did it for him. Then you had to come along and I realized Corrine English could be dangerous, so she had to go. You see, I’m being frank with you. Murder is an interesting subject—it grows and grows. Soon I shall kill you, then English. It might stop there, but there’s Leon to think about. He knows too much. I shall probably have to silence him. Then someone else will have to be silenced. One murder starts a chain of others. Interesting, isn’t it?”

  Lois didn’t say anything. She stared at Sherman, horror in her eyes.

  “English worries me,” Sherman went on, half to himself. “He’s dangerous. He’s like a bull—he’ll charge against any odds, and he might make things difficult for me unless he’s arrested very soon.”

  “He will make things difficult for you,” Lois said. “But don’t think he’ll care what happens to me—he won’t. He’s ruthless like that. I mean nothing to him, so don’t imagine you can use me to trap him, because it won’t work. He’ll come after you in his own way and in his own time, you can be sure of that.”

  Sherman laughed.

  “You don’t believe that,” he said and got to his feet. “Whatever else he is, English is the chivalrous type. You and he have worked together for some time. Even if you don’t mean anything to him, he’ll come charging along like a mad bull when he hears you are in danger. That type always does. The movies thrive on them. But it may not be necessary. I’ll wait until tomorrow morning, then if the police haven’t picked him up, I’ll set my trap. He’ll walk into it. In the meantime you’re going to stay here. You can’t get away. We’re six miles from the shore. I’ll come and talk to you again tomorrow morning.”

  He opened the door and motioned Penn back into the room.

  “Watch her,” he said curtly. “I’ll come on board again by ten o’clock tomorrow.”

  Penn smiled.

  “She’ll be right here when you get back,” he said.

  “She’d better be,” Sherman returned and went away along the narrow corridor to the companion hatch.

  Penn lolled against the doorway, his face smirking. He stood there for several minutes, not moving, his head cocked on one side. Then they both heard the roar of a motorboat engine as it started up. Still Penn remained leaning against the doorway. Lois watched him, her heart beating violently, her cold hands clenched in her lap.

  They remained staring at each other until the sound of the motor engine died away, then Penn came into the cabin and closed the door. He turned the key, took it from the lock and put it in his pocket.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  I

  E D L EON DROVE SLOWLY past Lois’s walk-up, his eyes alert for the first sign of trouble, but there was no police car outside the building nor did a light show in Lois’s windows. He pulled up at the corner of the street, got out of the car and walked back to look up at the windows.

  Had English been arrested? he wondered, or had he
given Morilli the slip? Sam Crail should know, he decided, and he returned to the car.

  If English had been arrested, then it was up to him to find Lois, Leon told himself as he slid under the steering wheel. But where to look for her? Sherman wouldn’t take her to his apartment. He probably had some other place where he could duck out of sight—but where?

  In the next street, Leon spotted an all-night drug store. He swung the car to the curb and went in, crossing to a pay booth. He shut himself in and dialled Crail’s number.

  As he waited for the connection he glanced at his strap watch. It was twenty minutes to ten. With an impatient grimace he dropped the receiver back onto the cradle when he heard the busy signal, and fumbled for a cigarette. He waited, his cigarette burning fast, his mind searching for an inspiration.

  Then he remembered Gloria Windsor. Maybe she knew if Sherman had a hideout. He decided it might pay dividends to call on her. He dialled Crail’s number again.

  Helen Crail answered.

  “This is Ed Leon,” Leon said. “Sam around?”

  “He’s just gone out,” Helen told him. “If it’s important I can catch him. He’s getting the car out of the garage. He’s going down to headquarters. You’ve heard Nick’s been arrested?”

  “Yeah. Get him, will you, Mrs. Crail? It is important.”

  “Hold on.”

  Leon leaned against the wall of the booth, frowning. It looked as if he was going to have a busy night, he thought. He knew English would want him to find Lois first, then he had to get after Sherman. He pushed his hat to the back of his head and wiped the sweat beads from his forehead. If he didn’t play his cards right, Nick could be a dead duck, he thought gloomily.

  “Hello?” Crail’s voice snapped in his ear. “That you, Leon?”

  “Yeah—so they got Nick?”

  “He phoned a couple of minutes ago. The police were at the door while he was speaking to me. I’m on my way to headquarters now. Damn it! He should have given himself up like I said. I’m going to have a hell of a fight on my hands to pull him out of this?”

  “Don’t take your clothes off,” Leon said shortly. “Lois is missing. Looks like Sherman’s got her. Corrine English has been murdered.”