1975 - Believe This You'll Believe Anything

by James Hadley Chase

  He finished his drink. ‘I thought I’d tell you what’s in the wind. I’ve always had a feeling my job was too good to last.’ He grinned ruefully. ‘I’ve managed to put a little money by for the rainy day, but not much.’

  I was only half listening to what he was saying. A sudden idea was growing in my mind.

  ‘Well, I guess I’ll go up. I have some thinking to do.’ Dyer moved to the door. ‘We should be all right tonight . . . touch wood. If you hear anything alarming come arunning. See you,’ and he left me.

  I stood for some minutes, listening to the storm raging outside, then picking up the bottle of whisky and taking my glass I walked quietly up the stairs and into my office. As I put the bottle and glass on my desk, the lights in the room flickered and went out.

  The torch Dyer had left was right by my hand. I groped for it, found it and switched it on. I went quickly into the corridor. Vidal came bouncing up the stairs, torch in hand.

  ‘All right Burden,’ he said. ‘I’ll take care of Mrs. Vidal. You take care of yourself.’

  Dyer’s door opened and he came to the doorway, holding a hurricane lamp.

  ‘I’ll take that,’ Vidal said, taking the lamp from Dyer. ‘Go down and light my lamps, will you?’ He went on to Val’s door, unlocked it and entered, leaving the door ajar.

  ‘It’s a wonder the lights haven’t gone before this,’ Dyer said and using his torch, he hurried down the stairs to Vidal’s office.

  I stood looking down the corridor at Val’s door, feeling a surge of bitter frustration that Vidal had gone to her and not I.

  ‘There is nothing to be alarmed about, Valerie,’ I heard Vidal say curtly. ‘Here’s a light. Perhaps you had better go to bed instead of sitting there and please no more dramatics.’

  I heard Val stifle a sob. The sound was like a knife thrust to me.

  ‘Please stop snivelling,’ Vidal said impatiently. ‘Do you want something to eat?’

  ‘Leave me alone.’ Her voice was low and muffled.

  ‘Please yourself.’ He backed out of the room. I hurriedly stepped into my office and stood out of sight until I heard him go down the stairs. Then I moved out into the corridor as Dyer came up.

  ‘I’ll turn in,’ he said, ‘not that anyone can sleep in this infernal racket.’

  ‘Have you looked at Gesetti?’ I asked.

  ‘No. I’ve forgotten about him. Maybe I’d better take a look.’

  ‘I’ll go. Where is he?’

  ‘Fourth door on the lower corridor. See you,’ and he went into his bedroom.

  I stood listening, but only the sound of the screaming wind and the rain came to me. I braced myself and went silently down the stairs, past Vidal’s door, along the corridor until I reached Gesetti’s door. I listened. Gesetti was snoring: a massive, grunting noise a pig would make. I looked up and down the corridor, turned the handle and peered into the darkness. Then screening the bulb with my fingers, I directed the beam of the torch on to the bed.

  Gesetti lay on his back, the sheet up to his chin, a big piece of plaster on his forehead. He slept, his mouth open, his snores reverberating around the room.

  Satisfied I had nothing to fear from him, I closed the door and returned to my office. I lit the hurricane lamp and sat at my desk.

  The foolproof plan to kill Vidal which had up to now completely eluded me was now clear in my mind. Both Val and Dyer had unwittingly presented it to me.

  Without their information the idea would never have occurred to me. How simple it was!

  The facts were that Vidal was ruined, a warrant for his arrest was imminent, he had lost his millions and he was faced with exile in Lima.

  Those were incontestable facts that would stand up under police scrutiny.

  To these facts add the noise of the hurricane, his hopeless future and the fear of prison and you had the motive that had driven him in a fit of depression to shoot himself.

  Surely this combination of facts would convince the police to accept his death as suicide?

  I paused to think about this carefully.

  Dyer would be the perfect witness. He would tell the police about Vidal’s financial position. He would express no surprise that Vidal had taken the easy way out. I wouldn’t even come into the investigation. As a new member of the staff I wouldn’t be expected to know anything about Vidal’s affairs.

  It seemed to me that this part of the plan must be foolproof.

  I poured whisky into the glass and drank in two gulps. My heart was hammering and there was sweat on my face. Now the air conditioning was no longer functioning the room was beginning to get oppressively stuffy. The sound of the raging storm gave me a frightening sensation of being trapped in an enormous drum on which some lunatic was beating.

  The one man I feared was soundly asleep. Had Gesetti been prowling around the house instead of being in bed in a drugged sleep, I knew I wouldn’t have had the courage to move on to the next step of the plan.

  Vidal was in his office, alone.

  When Val had begged me to shoot her she had said, No one will hear the shot in the storm! You will be safe, darling. No one would suspect you.

  Yes! No one would suspect me!

  I would go down silently to his office and walk in. The room would be in semi-darkness. I would have the gun in my hand by my side, out of his sight. I would say I wanted to talk to him about Val. He would irritably dismiss me. While I was trying to persuade him to listen to me I would move close to him, then jerking up the gun, I would shoot him through the head.

  I could do it! I had to do it! No one would suspect me! It would appear he had killed himself rather than go to prison.

  Why wait?

  Dyer was in bed. Gesetti was sleeping. There could be no better moment. The screaming wind and the noise of falling trees would blot out the sound of the shot.

  I thought of Val, sobbing and alone.

  It would be over in a few minutes and she would be free.

  When the police investigation was over, we would be together. She and I! After six years of waiting!

  I got to my feet and started to the door, then stopped.

  The gun!

  I walked unsteadily to the desk, pulled open the drawer and took out my brief case. Its flabby emptiness turned me cold. Throwing the brief case aside with my heart hammering.

  I peered into the drawer.

  A tremendous clap of thunder shook the house.

  The drawer was empty!

  The gun was gone!

  Nine

  The gun had been in my brief case in the drawer. Now it had gone!

  Who had taken it?

  Vidal? Gesetti?

  But neither of them knew I had the gun!

  The shock of finding it gone, now that I was resolved to kill Vidal, was so great I felt as if I had been hit on the head.

  I dropped into my chair, resting my face in my shaking hands.

  The sound of the storm was continuous. The screaming noise of the wind pounded on inside my skull.

  Then who had taken the gun?

  The only one who knew I had it was Val.

  Val!

  She had begged me to shoot her! Had she, in a mad moment gone to my office while Dyer and I were checking the doors and windows, found and taken the gun?

  I stumbled to my feet.

  God! Had she killed herself?

  In this infernal noise I wouldn’t have heard the shot. I stood for a long moment in the grip of panic. It was at this moment when I thought I might have lost her for good that I fully realised how much I loved her, how much I depended on her to wipe out the memory of those six empty years when I had her only in my dreams.

  I went out into the corridor.

  Was she already dead?

  Moving slowly, my heart hammering, I walked down to her door. I put my head close to the door panel and tried to listen but the noise of the raging hurricane blotted out every sound.

  Bracing myself, I opened the door.

 
Would I find her lying on her bed, lost to me forever?

  Would she be bleeding from a dreadful wound in the head?

  ‘Who is it?’

  Her voice! She was alive!

  I moved quickly into the room and closed the door I stood there, looking at her as she sat in a chair near the hurricane lamp, her hands in her lap, the lamp lighting the rise and fall of her lovely breasts and casting her tense white face into sculptured shadows.

  ‘Oh, Val!’

  I stumbled to her and fell on my knees, my head on her thighs, my hands around her waist.

  Gently her fingers moved into my hair.

  ‘Tell me.’ Her voice was unsteady. ‘Don’t be frightened. Tell me I am free.’

  I remained motionless. What had she said?

  A tremendous clap of thunder shook the windows.

  ‘Clay, darling. . .’

  Tell me I am free.

  I was still so shaken to find her alive, my brain refused to function.

  ‘Clay!’ Her voice sharpened. Her hands moved to my shoulders. She pushed me upright so we looked at each other. ‘What has happened?’

  Why was it her face seemed to me to be chiselled out of marble? A trick of the flickering light?

  ‘Give me the gun,’ I said.

  ‘Gun? What do you mean?’

  I got unsteadily to my feet.

  ‘Don’t fool with me, Val! Give me the gun!’

  ‘Gun? Clay! Pull yourself together. You told me you had the gun!’ Her voice turned shrill.

  ‘It’s gone! For God’s sake, Val, don’t torture me like this! You took it, didn’t you?’

  ‘I?’ She leaned forward, her fists clenched, her face the colour of old parchment, her eyes wild and wide. ‘No! What are you saying? Isn’t he dead?’

  ‘No, I was going to kill him.’ I turned away from her. I couldn’t face her wild, despairing eyes. ‘I had it all planned. It was to look like suicide. It seemed so simple. The motive was there. They always look for a motive. He was being threatened by prison or exile. He had lost all his money. All I had to do was walk in there and shoot him through the head.’ I moved further away from her. ‘The gun has gone!’

  There was a long pause, then she said in a voice I could scarcely hear: ‘Who took it?’

  ‘I was sure it was you.’

  ‘No. . .’

  I lifted my hands helplessly.

  ‘What can I do now? I have no weapon. I can’t fight with him. He is far too strong.’

  She drew in a long, slow breath.

  ‘I told you. . .’ She stared down at her clenched fists. ‘There is nothing to do. He is protected. Devils always are protected. Please go. If he found you here. . .’

  ‘I promised to help you. I am going to help you!’

  ‘Please go away!’ She dropped her head in her hands and began to sob.

  ‘I will free you, Val!’ I said frantically. ‘By tomorrow you will be rid of him!’

  ‘Oh, go away! Spare me your empty promises. I told you! There is no solution. For God’s sake, go away!’

  I left her and returned to my office. I put the torch on the desk and stood listening to the creaking boards guarding the windows as the wind slammed against them.

  Your empty promises.

  That really hurt.

  I went around my desk and sat down. The flickering lamp cast ghostly shadows.

  If Val hadn’t taken the gun, who had?

  I tried to remember when last I had seen it. Then I recalled opening my desk drawer and looking at the gun early this morning. I hadn’t looked at it since. So either Vidal, Dyer or Gesetti could have found and taken it.

  I discounted Vidal immediately. I was sure, had he found it, he would have demanded an explanation: why had I a gun in my desk? If Dyer had found it, I felt almost sure he would have left it alone. I couldn’t imagine Dyer touching any gun.

  Then it must be Gesetti!

  I reached for the whisky, poured a stiff shot and drank it.

  The spirit bolstered my jumping nerves. Snatching up my torch, I went to the door and peered up the dark corridor and then down the dark stairs. Moving swiftly, I descended the stairs and finally reached Gesetti’s room. I paused to listen.

  He was still snoring.

  For a long moment I hesitated, then turning the door handle, I moved into the room, leaving the door ajar.

  There was a smell of stale sweat, sickly hair oil and cigarette smoke hanging in the darkness.

  My heart was slamming against my ribs and my mouth was dry. If it hadn’t been for the whisky I would have backed out of the room.

  Gesetti gave a sudden violent snort that lifted the hairs on the back of my neck, then he stopped snoring.

  Had he come awake?

  I remained motionless, sweat trickling down my face. I heard him heave himself over, grunt and then the snoring began again.

  Still I waited. Then satisfied he was truly asleep, I screened the bulb of my torch with my fingers and turned it on.

  Keeping the shielded light away from the bed, I looked around the small room. Against the wall, close to me, was a chest of drawers. This would be the most likely place for him to have put the gun. Gently, I eased open the top drawer. It was full of fancy shirts, but no gun.

  Closing the drawer, I pulled open the second drawer. As it came open it gave a sharp squeaking sound that chilled my blood. I snapped off the torch.

  The snoring stopped.

  Inch by inch I began to close the drawer.

  Then out of the darkness, Gesetti growled, ‘Who the hell’s there?’

  I had the drawer shut now and I stepped quickly away from the chest.

  ‘It’s all right.’ I turned on my torch. My voice was a strangled whisper.

  Gesetti was sitting up in bed. His snake’s eyes glittered in the light of the torch. He looked as if he were about to spring at me.

  ‘What do you want?’ he snarled.

  ‘I - I just looked in to see how you were.’ I backed towards the door.

  ‘Yeah?’ His big fists rested on his knees. He was wearing his black open neck shirt. His heavy fat jowls were covered with stubble. ‘I’ll tell you. I’ve got a goddamn headache and I want to sleep. That’s how I feel! Now piss off and don’t come sneaking in here again or I’ll kick the hell out of you!’

  I stepped into the dark corridor and closed the door. I was so shaken I felt I was about to throw up.

  As I started down the corridor, I saw a light coming from the stairs and the sounds of someone descending. I paused, leaning against the wall.

  Dyer came into view. He had on a dark blue dressing gown. The beam of his torch lit up the stairs.

  I watched him. He went straight to Vidal’s door, tapped, opened it and paused in the doorway.

  ‘Didn’t I tell you I was not to be disturbed?’ I heard Vidal bark.

  ‘I’m sorry, sir, but Mrs. Vidal. . .’ Dyer’s voice trailed away.

  ‘Well, What about Mrs. Vidal?’

  ‘She seems upset, sir. I heard her crying and sort of moaning. I thought you should know.’

  ‘Very considerate of you Dyer’ Vidal’s voice was angrily sarcastic. ‘You are getting as bad as Burden with this concern about Mrs. Vidal.’

  ‘I think you should see her, sir. She really sounds very bad,’ Dyer said and moved back into the corridor.

  ‘Goddamn it’’ Vidal exploded. I heard him push his chair back violently and he came bouncing out into the corridor, slamming his office door shut behind him. ‘I’m getting good and tired of Mrs. Vidal’s damned hysterics!’

  Pushing Dyer aside, he ran quickly up the stairs. Dyer hesitated, then followed him up.

  I moved forward and paused at the foot of the stairs, seeing Dyer standing at the head of the stairs.

  Then above the noise of the storm, I could just hear Vidal’s angry shouting voice, but not what he was saying.

  Then I heard a wild scream that made Dyer move forward.

  I darted up th
e stairs as Dyer threw the beam of his torch down the corridor.

  Val came bursting out of her room, her eyes wild, her hands groping forward.

  I heard Vidal bellow, ‘Come back here! Do you hear me? Come back here!’

  She paused for only a brief moment to look back into the room, then she darted up the narrow stairs that led to the attics.

  Vidal appeared in the doorway. His face was livid with ugly rage.

  ‘Valerie! Come back!’

  Then a great rush of wind came down the stairs, sending him staggering. I shoved Dyer aside and ran down the corridor. The violence of the wind caught me and threw me against the wall.

  ‘The goddamn lunatic!’ Vidal bawled. ‘She’s gone on the roof!’

  He began to fight his way up the stairs. Clinging to the banister rail, hammered by the wind, I followed him to a broad landing.

  Facing us was a doorway through which poured the wind and the rain. The door was slammed back against the wall.

  ‘She’s as good as dead!’ Vidal bawled. ‘No one could live out there!’

  He struggled to the open doorway. Gripping the sides of the doorway, he peered out into the darkness while the wind and the rain lashed him. A vivid, blinding streak of lightning lit up the sky. The crash of thunder was deafening.

  I tried to join him, but the wind slammed me to my knees.

  Vidal held on, his great strength defeating the pull of the wind.

  Then I saw Dyer.

  He came scrambling up the stairs on hands and knees, his eyes bolting out of his head, his mouth half open. He passed me and then he drove forward in a flying tackle, his hands slamming against Vidal’s broad back.

  Caught off balance, Vidal pitched forward into the wind and the rain.

  I had one brief horrible glimpse of him as the wind swept him from sight, then the torch I was holding slipped out of my fingers and began to roll down the stairs.

  Darkness closed in as I heard Dyer, his breath sobbing through his clenched teeth, drag the door shut and slam home the bolt.

  Val and Vidal were out there on the exposed roof, swept by the ferocious, deadly wind!

  Had Dyer gone out of his mind?

  He had bolted them out to certain death!

  * * *

  The sudden beam of Dyer’s torch half blinded me. I could see he had set his back against the door. His face was as white as tallow and his lips kept twitching.