Lay Her Among The Lilies

by James Hadley Chase

  "Up you get, baby."

  I wriggled my legs from under the sheet, swung them to the floor and stood up. The moment I put my weight on my legs I knew it would be hopeless to start anything.

  My legs were too shaky and too weak. I couldn't have run away from a charging bull.

  I took a staggering step forward and promptly sat on the floor. I didn't have to sit on the floor, but it occurred to me it wouldn't be a bad idea to let Bland think I was a lot weaker in the legs than I actually was.

  I crawled up on hands and knees and regained my feet. Bland hadn't moved. He was suspicious, and wasn't going to be caught in any trap.

  "Give me a hand, can't you?" I snarled at him. "Or let me get back to bed."

  "Look, baby, I'm warning you," he said softly. "If you start anything it'll be the last thing you start for a very long time."

  "Cut out the yap. What's the matter with you? Scared of me?"

  That seemed the kind of language he understood, for he grabbed hold of my arm.

  "Not of you, baby, or of anyone else."

  He helped me on with the dressing-gown, opened the door and together we stepped out into a long broad corridor. I took a couple more steps, and paused as if I still wasn't feeling too sure of myself. The pause gave me time to look to right and left. One end of the corridor terminated in a massive-looking door, the other end was sealed off by a high window, covered with a close mess-grill.

  "Okay, baby," Bland said, grinning. "Now you have had a look, let's get moving. I told you how it was. Well, now you've seen for yourself."

  Yes, I had seen for myself.

  I went along the corridor with Bland, my mind busy. Somehow I had to get the key of that door and the key of the handcuff. Either that or stay here until they got tired of keeping me or until I rotted.

  A sudden commotion brought us to a halt: a startled cry, a heavy thud as if someone or something heavy had fallen.

  Bland caught hold of my arm.

  A nearby door suddenly jerked open and a girl shot into the corridor. The first and obvious thing about her was her complete nakedness. She seemed to have jumped right out of a bath, for water glistened on her white skin and a fine film of soap made patterns on her slender arms. She was fair, and her hair grew in a curly halo around her head. She wasn't pretty, nor was she plain. She was interesting; definitely and emphatically interesting, and I had a suspicion she wouldn't be quite so interesting with her clothes on as she was without them. At a guess she was about twenty-five. She had a beautiful body, long legged, high breasted, and her skin was the colour of whipped cream.

  I heard Bland suck in his breath sharply.

  "Hot damn!" he said under his breath, jumped forward, his thick fingers reaching out for the girl, his eyes alight with brutish excitement. He grabbed hold of the girl's arm. Her scream hit the ceiling and bounced along the walls. His hand slid off her soapy arm and she spun round and raced down the corridor. She ran with unexpected grace, and as swiftly as the wind.

  Bland took a step forward, and then changed his mind. She couldn't get away. Already she had reached the massive door and was beating on it with clenched fists.

  All this happened in so many seconds, then a nurse appeared from the bathroom: a tall, powerfully-built woman whose hatchet face was white with alarm and fury. She looked down the corridor at the girl's naked back. She looked at Bland.

  "Get your patient away," she said. "And get out yourself, you—you ape!"

  "Take it easy," Bland said, his eyes still on the girl. "You let her out, you silly old mare."

  "Get your patient away or I'll report you," the nurse said furiously.

  "And you would, too," Bland returned, sneering.

  He grabbed hold of my arm.

  "Come on, baby, the fun's over. You can't say this ain't the place to live in. The best of attention and the Follies Bergère thrown in for free. What more do you want?"

  He hustled me into a bathroom opposite the one the girl had escaped from as the nurse went down the corridor. The girl saw her coming, turned to face her; her screams went through my head and set my nerves jangling. I was glad when the bathroom door closed on the sound, shutting it out.

  Bland was excited. His hard little eyes gleamed, and he kept running his tongue along his lips.

  "Some bim!" he said, half to himself. "I wouldn't have missed that for a week's pay. Here you, get your things off and get into the bath. My luck having to sit around and look at you when that dish out there's on show."

  "Stop acting like a kid," I said, stripping off the dressing-gown and pyjamas. "Who is she, anyway?"

  "The bim? No one you'd know. She used to be a nurse here; went suddenly crackers when her boy walked out on her. That's the story, anyway. She was here before I came. Why she should go nuts because she lost her boy, beats me. I would have given her a twirl any time she wanted one."

  I lay still in the bath, my face expressionless. A nurse! Was this the missing nurse Mifflin had told me about? It sounded like her.

  "Her name's Anona Freedlander—right?" I shot out.

  Bland showed his surprise.

  "How did you know?"

  "I'm a detective," I said solemnly.

  Bland grinned. He sat on a stool near the bath and lit a cigarette.

  "Get going, baby. Never mind the detection now. I gotta lot to do." Absent-mindedly he dropped the match into the water.

  "What's wrong with Hopper?" I asked, changing the subject. "Why's he here?"

  "Hoppie's quite a case," Bland said, and shook his head. "There're certain times in the month when even I don't go near him. You wouldn't think that to look at him, would you? A very deceptive guy. If it wasn't for his old man's money he would be in a criminal asylum. He killed a girl: tore her throat out with his teeth. He'll be here for the rest of his days. You never know with him. When he's in the wrong mood he's a killer. One day he's okay, the next he's as dangerous as a tiger on hunger strike."

  I began wondering about Bland, asking myself if he could be bought.

  "How about a cigarette?" I asked, lying back in the water. "I could do with one."

  "Sure, baby. So long as you behave yourself, I'll treat you like my brother." He produced a package of Lucky Strike, gave me one and lit it for me. "When you first come here all you guys try to be smart and start trouble. Take my tip and don't. We've got an answer for most things. Just remember that."

  I dragged down smoke. It didn't taste quite as good as I was expecting.

  "How long do you think you're going to keep me here?"

  He took an old envelope out of his pocket and tapped ash into it, put it on the side of the bath for my use.

  "From the look of your record, baby, you're in here for good."

  I decided I would try it.

  "How would you like to earn a hundred dollars?"

  "Doing what?" The small eyes alerted.

  "Simple enough. Telephone a friend of mine."

  "And what would I say?"

  But it was a little too quick and a little too glib. I studied him. It wasn't going to work. The mocking smile gave him away. He was playing with me.

  "Never mind," I said, drowned the cigarette and put the soggy butt into the envelope. "Forget it. Let's have a towel."

  He handed me a towel.

  "Don't get that way, baby. I might play. I could use a hundred bucks. What's the telephone number?"

  "Forget it," I said.

  He sat watching me, a grin on his face, the butt of his cigarette resting on his lower lip.

  "Maybe you'd like to raise the ante," he suggested. "Now, for five hundred . . ."

  "Just get it out of the thing you call your mind," I said, and put on my pyjamas. "One of these days we'll meet on more equal terms. It's something I'm looking forward to."

  "That's okay, baby. Have your pipe-dreams. They don't hurt me," he said, opened the door and looked out. "Come on. I've got to get Hoppie up."

  There was no commotion from the opposite bathroom
as I walked down the corridor. The bath had done me good. If there had been a chance to get past that door I would have taken it. But I was already making up my mind I would have to be very patient. I purposely walked slowly, leaning on Bland's arm. The weaker he thought me, the more I would surprise him when it came to a showdown.

  I got into bed and meekly allowed him to lock the handcuff.

  Hopper said he didn't want a bath.

  "Now, baby, that's no way to act," Bland said reprovingly. "You gotta look smart this morning. There's an official visit at eleven o'clock. Coroner Lessways is coming to talk to you." He glanced at me and grinned. "And he'll talk to you, too. Every month the city councilmen come around to see the nuts. Not that they pay a lot of attention to what the nuts tell them, but they come, and sometimes they even listen. But don't give them that stuff about murder, baby. They've heard it all. To them you're just another nut along with a lotta nuts, and it won't do you any good."

  He persuaded Hopper to get out of bed, and they went off together to the bathroom. That left me alone. I lay in the bed, staring at the six sharp-etched lines on the opposite walls and used my head. So Coroner Lessways was coming. Well, that was something. As Bland had said there wasn't much point in my telling Lessways that Salzer was responsible for Eudora Drew's killing. It was too far-fetched; too unbelievable, but if I had the chance I might give him something to chew on. For the first time since I had been in this trap I felt a little more hopeful.

  I looked up suddenly to see the door slowly open. There was no one in sight. The door swung right open and remained open. I leaned forward to look into the empty corridor, thinking at first the wind had opened the door, but remembered the latch had clicked shut when Bland and Hopper had left the room.

  I waited, staring at the open door, and listened. Nothing happened. I heard nothing, and because I knew someone had opened the door I felt suddenly spooked.

  After what seemed an age I heard a rustle of paper. In the acute silence it sounded like a thunder clap. Then I saw a movement, and a woman came into sight.

  She stood in the doorway, a paper sack in one hand, a vacant, unintelligent expression in her washed-out eyes. She regarded me steadily with no more interest than if I was a piece of furniture, and her hand groped blindly in the sack. Yes, it was her all right: the plum-eating woman, and what was more, she was still eating plums.

  We looked at each other for a long moment of time. Her jaw moved slowly and rhythmetically as her teeth chewed up a plum. She looked as bright and happy as a cow chewing the cud.

  "Hello," I said, and it irritated me that my voice had gone husky.

  Her fat fingers chased after a plum, found one and hoisted it into sight.

  "It's Mr. Malloy, isn't it?" she said, as polite as a minister's wife meeting a new member of the congregation.

  "That's right," I said. "The last time we met we didn't have the time to get matey. Who are you?"

  She chewed for a moment, turned the stone out into her cupped hand and transferred it to the paper sack.

  "Why, I'm Mrs. Salzer," she said.

  I should have guessed that. She really couldn't have been anyone else.

  "I don't want to seem personal," I said, "but do you like your husband, Mrs. Salzer?"

  The vague look was chased away by surprise which in turn gave way to a look of weak pride.

  "Dr. Salzer is a very fine man. There is no one in the world like him," she said, and pointed her soft, round chin at me.

  "That's a pity. You'll miss him. Even in our enlightened jails they still separate husbands and wives."

  The vague look came back again.

  "I don't know what you mean."

  "Well, you should do. If they don't sit your husband in the gas chamber, they'll give him twenty years. Kidnapping and murder earn a sentence like that."

  "What murder?"

  "A woman named Eudora Drew was murdered on your husband's instructions. I have been kidnapped, and there's a girl across the way who I think has been kidnapped, too: Anona Freedlander. And then there's Nurse Gurney."

  A sly little smile lit up the woman's fat face.

  "He has nothing to do with any of that. He thinks Miss Freedlander is a friend of mine who has lost her memory."

  "And I suppose he thinks I'm a friend of yours, too?" I said sarcasticallv.

  "Not exactly a friend, but a friend of a friend of mine."

  "And how about Eudora Drew?"

  Mrs. Salzer shrugged her shoulders.

  "That was unfortunate. She wanted money. I sent Benny to reason with her. He got too rough."

  I scratched my jaw with my thumb-nail and stared at her. I sensed more than believed she was telling the truth.

  "Where's Nurse Gurney?" I asked.

  "Oh, she met with an accident," Mrs. Salzer said, and peered into the sack again. She brought out a plum, offered it to me. "Will you have one? They are good for you when you are in bed."

  "No. Never mind the plums. What happened to her?"

  The face went vague again.

  "Oh, she was going down the fire-escape when she slipped. I put her in the car, but I think she must have broken her neck. I don't know why, but she seemed very frightened of me."

  I said in a tight voice: "What did you do with her?"

  "I left her in some bushes out in the sand." She bit into the plum, waved vaguely towards the window. "Out there in the desert. There wasn't anything else I could do with her."

  I ran my fingers through my hair. Maybe she was crazy, I thought, or else I was.

  "Was it you who arranged for me to come here?"

  "Oh. yes," she said, leaning against the doorway. "You see, Dr. Salzer has no knowledge of medicine or of mental illness. But I have. I used to have a very big practice, but something happened. I don't remember what it was. Dr. Salzer bought this place for me. He pretends to run it, but I do all the work really. He is just a figure head."

  "No, he's not," I said. "He signed Macdonald Crosby's death certificate. He had no right to. He's not qualified."

  "You are quire wrong," she said calmly. "I signed it. We happen to have the same initials."

  "But he was treating Janet Crosby for malignant endocarditis," I said. "Dr. Bewley told me so."

  "Dr. Bewley was mistaken. Dr. Salzer happened to be at the Crosby house on business for me when the girl died. He told Dr. Bewley I had been treating her. Dr. Bewley is an old man and a little deaf. He misunderstood."

  "Why was he called in at all?" I demanded. "Why didn't you sign the certificate if you were treating her?"

  "I was away at the time. My husband did the correct thing to call Dr. Bewley. He always does the correct thing."

  "That's fine," I said. "Then he better let me out of here."

  "He thinks you are dangerous," Mrs. Salzer said, and peered into the sack again. "And you are, Mr. Malloy. You know too much. I'm sorry for you, but you really shouldn't have interfered." She looked up to smile in a goofy sort of way. "I'm afraid you will have to stay here, and before very long your mind will begin to deteriorate. You see, people who are continually drugged often become feeble-minded. Have you noticed that?"

  "Is that what's going to happen to me?"

  She nodded.

  "I'm afraid so, but I didn't want you to think unkindly of Dr. Salzer. He is such a fine man. That's why I have told you so much. More than I should, really, but it won't matter. You won't get away."

  She began to drift away as quietly as she had come.

  "Hey! Don't go away," I said, sitting forward. "How much is Maureen Crosby paying you to keep me here?"

  Her vague eyes popped a little.

  "But she doesn't know," she said. "It's nothing to do with her. I thought you knew," and she went away rather like a tired ghost after a long and exhausting spell of haunting.

  IV

  Hopper was better tempered after his bath, and while we were having breakfast I asked him if he had ever tried to escape.

  "I haven't anywhere to
go," he said, shrugging. "Besides, I have a handcuff on my ankle and it's locked to the bed. If the bed wasn't fastened to the floor I might have tried it."

  "What's the bed got to do with it?" I asked, spreading marmalade on thin toast. It wasn't easy with one hand.

  "The spare key of the handcuff is kept in that top drawer," he explained, pointing to a chest of drawers against the opposite wall. "They keep it there in case of fire. If I could move the bed I could get to it."