1971 - An Ace Up My Sleeve

by James Hadley Chase

  He's mad, she was thinking and she was tempted to replace the receiver, but before she could make up her mind, he went on. "Mrs. Rolfe, you are in deadly danger. Don't talk ... listen. I've just got out of jail. I've been locked up for a week. I've been pretty busy but this afternoon I've been going through the newspapers for the past week to check on the political scene."

  "I really can't see what this has to do with me," Helga said sharply. "What do you mean ... deadly danger?"

  "Stop yacking! I'm wasting good money on this phone talking to you! In six German newspapers, published the day after I went to jail, there are photographs of Larry!" "Why tell me? I know he's an Army deserter. I . . ."

  "Can't you stop yacking and listen? He's not an A deserter! He's an escapee from a Military prison where lie was being held, waiting to be flown back to the States and to be put away for life in an asylum for the criminal insane!" A wave of ice water seemed to run down Helga's spin. "I – I don't believe it!"

  "Why should I care? Don't believe it!" The voice was now a snarl of impatience. "I'm telling you! The papers call him the Hamburg Strangler. He'd strangled five tarts before the cops caught up with him. He was tried and found guilty. It's all here in the papers. He escaped while waiting transport back to the States."

  She lay back on the pillow. Her heart was now beating sluggishly and she felt dreadfully cold. "Oh, God!" she whispered.

  "They say no one should go near him," the voice went on. "He's dangerous." She took hold of herself.

  "But it was you who told him where to get the passport."

  "Sure ... he seemed a nice kid to me. I've only just read this goddamn thing! When he phoned me and told me about blackmail stunt I used my influence to help you ... and I don't want your goddamn thanks. But when I read this in the papers, although I think you're worse than nothing, I had to warn you." Helga shivered. "I'm alone here ... he's in the next room!"

  "Here's what you do. Lock yourself in ... call the police and hope they get to you fast. So long, Mrs. Rolfe. I'm not sorry for you. Rich women with hot pants bore me and if Larry wrings your neck I won't cry. Call the police!" The line went dead. With a shaking hand, Helga replaced the receiver.

  chapter eight

  The Hamburg Strangler!

  Helga's mind flashed back to three uneasy nights she had spent in New York when another strangler had bet large: a young man with a beguiling appearance who had picked up rich, lonely women in hotel lobbies, had persuaded them to take him to their rooms and who had left them strangled and mutilated. She remembered reading the horrifying details in the tabloid press. She had been there on business and had been yearning for a man, but when she had read the news that this killer was at large, she had become so nervous she had shunned every man who looked at her. And now this! She lay still. A homicidal killer in her home!

  Then she realized there was a complete silence in the villa. For a moment she couldn't understand why, then she realized that Larry had turned off the television set!

  Her heart hammering painfully, she looked towards the door. The key was in the lock. Terror held her in a paralysing grip. She must lock the door! her mind screamed at her. She must call the police! But she found she was incapable of moving. She lay in the bed, cold, shaking and her breath coining in quick, short gasps.

  Then she heard slow footfalls, muffled by the carpet in the corridor, but unmistakable. She had told him to come to her room!

  She stared at the key in the door and yet she still couldn't move. He was probably one of those awful sex maniacs who killed only when his lust was satisfied! She would be raped and then strangled!

  She saw the door handle turn and she knew she had left it too late. A scream inside her began to build up but died as the door opened.

  Larry stood in the doorway. She stared up at him from her bed in horror. Terror misted her eyes. She could only make out his menacing bulk: his face was out of focus.

  "Ma'am ... don't be frightened of me. Please, ma'am. I can explain. Please listen to me."

  She made the effort and fought down her terror. His face swam into focus. Fear, misery and despair made him look helplessly immature and childishly harmless.

  She lay there, staring at him, unable to form any words.

  "When the phone went," he said, "I picked up the receiver. I did it automatically, ma'am. I wasn't spying. I heard what Ron said. It's all lies. I swear everything he told you are lies! Please believe me." "Go away," Helga said huskily. "Go away."

  Instead, he moved into the room, keeping away from the bed and he went over to an armchair by the window and sat in it. Then he put his hands to his face and began to cry. His soft blubbering lessened her terror. She wondered if she could get to the door, take out the key, get out and lock him in, but she decided that wouldn't be possible. She knew how quickly he could move. "Stop it!" She tried to harden her voice. "Please leave my room!"

  "I don't know what I'll do if you won't believe me, ma'am," he mumbled. "You've been so kind to me. I'm so unhappy. You don't know how unhappy I am!"

  The Hamburg Strangler! she thought. Five prostitutes! Yet, seeing him crouched in the chair, his hands covering his face, he looked so defenceless she began to gain confidence. He had said he was grateful to her, she reminded herself. Why should he harm her if she didn't show fear or irritate him. She would have to be very careful how she behaved to him and she must somehow get him out of the room so she could lock the door.

  "I didn't know you were so unhappy, Larry," she said gently. "Will you tell me why?"

  He took his hands from his face. Tears had made his face puffy and his misery touched her.

  "I've been snowing you, ma'am . . . all this time. After what you've done for me, I wanted to keep your respect." He hesitated, then lowered his head so he didn't look at her. "You'd better know the truth now ... I don't go for girls..." He paused and mumbled something that Helga couldn't hear. "What did you say?"

  He gripped his knees with his huge hands.

  "Larry ... what did you say?"

  "I go for men."

  Helga regarded him unbelievingly.

  "For men?"

  He nodded miserably, not looking at her.

  "But you said a girl took your money," she said after a long pause. "Archer told me when he first met you you were trying to pick up a tart."

  He looked up then and she saw the shame and misery in his eyes.

  "It wasn't a girl who took my money ... it was a man." He spoke so quietly she could scarcely hear him. "That other girl ... I was trying to get her boyfriend from her."

  Helga suddenly understood. This was, of course the answer to his indifference to her. In a perverse way what he was telling her pleased her. It meant that she hadn't lost her sex appeal, but she instantly dismissed this trivial thought. It would also explain why he had murdered five prostitutes. Certain homosexuals loathed prostitutes.

  "You see, ma'am, Ron and I were close." Larry looked away from her. "He's like me. He wanted me and I wanted him, but I guess I'm restless. I don't like anything permanent ... I don't want to be tied down. A week with Ron was enough. I did desert from the Army, but what he told you were spiteful lies. I've never killed anyone." He thumped his knees with his big fists. "I guess I'm stupid. When you said you would pay my fare to New York and give me five thousand bucks, I just had to tell Ron. He had sworn I would come crawling back to Hamburg because I wouldn't be able to live without him. I wanted him to know I wasn't coming back and why. I told him how kind you had been to me and is going back to the States and about the money." He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. "That was stupid of me, ma'am. Ron flipped his lid. You see, ma'am, he just hated the idea you were helping me and he couldn't. He got in this terrible rage and he called me names. He was yelling and swearing at me. He said he would fix me. I couldn't stand listening to what he said so I hung up on him." "When did you call him?" Helga asked.

  "When you went to the village. I just had to tell him ... I was stupid." He star
ed miserably at her. "But I didn't think he would do anything. He often got wild, but he never did anything. I never thought he would call you and tell you all those lies. I heard him tell you to call the cops. That's what he wants. If they come here, they'll find out I'm AWOL. Ron knows if they pick me up, I'll be sent back to Hamburg and after I come out of the Stockade, he will be waiting for me. The fact is, ma'am, Ron likes me more than I like him. He can't live without me ... I know he can't. That stuff about me being in the papers was all jealous lies ... lies to make you call the cops."

  Helga drew in a long, deep breath. She had had many dealings with homosexuals. Her hairdresser in Paradise City was one. The Captain of Waiters at her favourite New York nightclub was another. Her Couturier in Paris and the simpering little artist who had decorated this bedroom ... dozens of them in every walk of life who she loathed and despised and who she knew could be viciously jealous, envious and unpredictably spiteful to each other and yet, at times, so marvellously gentle and kind.

  "Yes, she could believe this story. She relaxed back on her pillow. God! How terrified she had been! The Hamburg Strangler! How stupid to have believed such a malicious story, let alone allow it to have frightened her so!

  "You do believe me, ma'am? You won't call the police?"

  So he was one of those! It was hard to believe as she looked at him, but where had she heard some all-in wrestler, wearing a cloak and a top hat, had been a pansy?

  She suddenly hated the sight of this big, hulking boy. She wanted to scream at him to leave the villa this very moment, but then she remembered those awful moments when Archer had escaped. Larry had to remain here to control Archer until the photos arrived. With a sinking heart, she thought of the long day and the long night ahead of her before the photos did arrive. "Yes, Larry, I believe you," she said. "I didn't understand ... I do now."

  "You don't know what hell it is in the Army when you're like me," he said, half to himself. "I couldn't stand any more of it."

  She didn't want to hear: he was a neuter thing to her now and he bored her. All right, Larry ... now go to bed."

  He got reluctantly to his feet. "I'm sorry, ma'am. I didn't want you to know. You've been so good to me."

  Yes . . . go to bed!" She could scarcely conceal her impatience to get rid of him.

  "Yes, ma'am."

  He walked to the door, hesitated, looked hopefully at her, then went out, closing the door gently behind him.

  She lay still listening to his receding footfalls, then she put her hands to her face and began silently to laugh. What a joke against her!

  She had picked up this lump of maleness, longing to take him into her bed. She had spent money on him, fed him, dangled her charms before him, risked her reputation, risked sixty million dollars, had been blackmailed because of him and had had to listen to glib lies from another of his beastly breed who had terrified her as she had never been so terrified ... and for what? For trying to inveigle a loutish, immature, brainless queer into her bed! What a goddamn joke!

  Finally, her bitter laughter ceased. She got out of bed and locked the door. Going into the bathroom, she swallowed three sleeping tablets, then she got back into bed. She thought of Nassau and its miles of golden beach.

  There would be lots of men there ... real men. She would have to be careful, of course, but during the day, Herman would be fully occupied.

  There would be opportunities ... there were always opportunity

  She reached up and turned off the light. She lay still in the darkness, willing herself not to think while she waited for the tablets to send her to sleep.

  It wasn't until 10.25 the following morning when Helga emerged from her bedroom. She had slept heavily, but dreamlessly. She had a slight headache and she was in an irritable mood.

  While she had bathed and dressed, she had thought of Larry and the desire grew in her to get rid of him as quickly as was safe. "Coffee, ma'am?"

  Larry was standing in the kitchen door. His expression was downcast and he avoided meeting her eyes.

  "Thank you: that would be nice," she said briskly and impersonally as if talking to a servant. She went to the front door and checked the mail box. There were several letters and she returned to the sitting-room, flicking through them. There were two letters for her from women friends back home and the rest were for Herman.

  She was reading her letters when Larry brought in a tray with toast, marmalade and coffee.

  "Nothing to eat," she said without pausing in her reading. "Thank you. Just put it down."

  He hung around like a child in disgrace, for some moments watching her reading, then as she paid no attention to him, he returned to the kitchen. She drank her coffee, completed reading the letters which were full of the latest 'Who–is–now–sleeping–with–whom' scandals and other gossipy items. After she had readdressed her husband's letters to Nassau, she went into the kitchen.

  Larry was sitting on a kitchen chair, his big fists resting on his knees while he stared at the floor.

  "I'm going now to the American Express to get your ticket," she said. "Also to the bank to get your money. I have other things to do in Lugano. I may be late back."

  She had no intention of spending the day with him. The time would go much faster watching a movie.

  He looked up. "Okay, ma'am."

  "How is he this morning?"

  He rubbed the side of his jaw. "He's okay."

  She was now utterly sick of Archer and utterly sick of Larry. "Don't answer the telephone nor the front door."

  "No ma'am."

  She went into the hall and put on her coat. As she was struggling into her snow boots, he came to the kitchen door.

  "You – you won't tell the cops, ma'am?"

  She looked around impatiently.

  "Oh step fretting! You will be flying to New York tomorrow afternoon." "Thank you, ma'am."

  "You have plenty of food. I may have dinner out ... if I do I won't be back until ten-thirty tonight. You have the television to amuse you." She opened the front door. "And don't do anything stupid down there ... like last time." "No, ma'am." His hangdog expression bored her. "Just be careful." She went down the steps into the cold sunshine.

  What a relief to get out of the villa and away from this poor creature, she thought as she opened the garage doors. One more night and the nightmare would be over. She backed the car out of the garage and drove down to the main road.

  She had trouble finding parking in Lugano, but eventually, after circling patiently for twenty minutes, she saw a car pull out from a parking meter. By fast driving, she managed to foil an Alfa whose driver had also been circling for some time. He scowled at her as he drove on. She put a twenty centime piece into the meter, then walked to the American Express office. There, she booked a Tourist class ticket for Larry on the following day at 14.00 and for herself first class on the same day but at 22.05 for New York. She had no intention of flying to New York with Larry. She would drive him to Milan airport and make sure he left, then she would leave the car with a garage with instructions it was to be returned to Castagnola and left in the garage at the villa. She would spend the time until the flight at the Hotel Principe Di Savoia where she was known and where she would be pampered.

  She used her American Express Credit card to take care of the two fares, then she walked across the Reforma Square to the Credit Suisse Banque. Here, she asked for $5,000 in unsigned Travellers' Cheques. While she was waiting, the manager of the bank came from his office to shake hands with her and to inquire after her husband. This kindness and deference she was receiving from the bank manager pleased and flattered her, but she wondered, a little cynically, if, without money, she would have received the same treatment.

  She then walked through the old shopping centre, shop window gazing. She wasn't in the mood to buy, but the goods displayed interested her and helped to pass the time.

  She returned to the Mercedes and drove along the lake side to the Eden hotel. Leaving the car in the hotel garag
e, she went to the Grill room. A table was quickly found for her and the Maître d’hôtel came to shake hands. She broke the news to him that Herman would not be coming to Lugano this year and his face fell. She ordered devilled scampi with wild rice and lingered over the meal, being in no hurry. After coffee and paying her check, she walked slowly along the lake side to the Casino cinema. They were showing Katie Hepburn in The Lion In Winter. She adored this actress and she felt an anticipation of excitement as she bought her ticket. She sat in the darkness and the warmth of the cinema and concentrated on the film. Hepburn didn't disappoint her: a wonderful, professional performance, she thought as she came out into the cold. She wandered back in the gathering gloom to the Eden hotel, analysing and remembering certain scenes of the film and renjoying it.

  Not once since she had left the villa did she think of Larry or Archer. She settled in the comfortable hotel bar with a copy of the Herald Tribune and a vodka martini. Having spent some time checking the Stock Market quotation read the news, had another cocktail and then decided it was time for dinner. Leaving the hotel, she drove back to the Reforma and was lucky to find a free parking meter. Then she walked to her favourite restaurant, Bianchi in via Pessina. Here she was given a warm welcome by Dino, one of the head waiters and who always looked after her. He was a good looking Italian with beautiful manners. As he conducted her to a table, he inquired after Mr. Rolfe and sighed when he learned he wasn't coming this year.

  Seated, she asked him what she should eat. The partridges were very good, he told her, but she shook her head. Then venison. A little Puccini toast and a coeur de chevreuil. She agreed and he went away to place the order. It was early and the restaurant hadn't begun to get busy so Dino returned to gossip. Then the Patron came over to have a word. Helga relaxed in this friendly, cosseted atmosphere. The Puccini toast was served and an excellent Merlot wine poured.

  She enjoyed the impeccable meal and finished regretfully at 21.40. She paid the check, shook hands with the Patron, had a word with Dino and returned to her car. It was only when she was starting the engine that she began to think of Larry.