Believed Violent

by James Hadley Chase

  “A lot,” Lindsey said, “but I want to read your suggestions first.”

  “Yes, do that,” Radnitz said. “You will find them on my desk. This is probably one of my most important operations. If you run into any major difficulties, you may consult me. I am relying on you,” and with a wave of his hand, he dismissed Lindsey, then sank lower in his chair and stared out at the beach and the blue sea, glittering in the sunshine.

  CHAPTER TWO

  As the hands of the wall clock pointed to 5.00, Nona Jacey hastily cleared her desk, slapped the cover over her typewriter and got hurriedly to her feet.

  The two other typists watched her with mischievous grins.

  “Don’t break your neck, honey,” the plump one said. “No man’s worth that.”

  Nona winked.

  “This one is,” she said and hurried out of the office, down the corridor to the staff changing-room. As she washed her hands, she hummed happily under her breath. She paused to run a comb through her hair, put a touch of powder on her nose, regarded herself for a brief moment in the mirror, then leaving the building she hurried over to the car park.

  At the age of twenty-five, Nona Jacey was attractive without being beautiful, tall, well built with auburn hair, sea green eyes and a retrousse nose. It was now nearly two years since she had worked for Paul Forrester. His memory had faded, although from time to time she thought of him. Her present job, secretary to an Assistant Scientist was dull, and she often thought of the excitement and interest she had experienced while working for Forrester. But all that was so much water under the bridge. She was in love. Three months ago she had met at a cocktail party a tall Gregory Peck type of young man who was the star reporter on the Paradise Herald, the leading City daily. His name was Alec Sherman. They had taken one look at each other, human chemicals had begun to work and they had known immediately they were meant for each other. This day was Alec’s birthday, and Nona had invited him to dinner. This would be the first time he had been to her two room apartment, and the first time he was to sample her cooking of which she was justly proud. It would be a rush as she had to get back to the City, ten miles from the Research Station, buy the ingredients for the meal, get back to her apartment, cook the meal, change and be ready when he arrived at half past seven.

  She slid into her Austin-Cooper, started the engine and drove to the barrier.

  Seeing her coming, the guard lifted the steel pole and gave her a dashing salute. Nona was popular at the Station. She waved back, smiling, then headed down the highway towards the City’s centre.

  At this time the traffic was heavy and Nona impatiently jumped the lanes, trying to get ahead of two cars which seemed to be in no hurry. She succeeded, then moving into the fast lane, she put her foot down hard on the gas pedal.

  She didn’t notice the black Thunderbird parked in a layby, but the driver of the car had noticed her.

  “There she goes,” Keegan said, started the engine and slid the big car into the line of traffic causing one driver to brake violently and curse at the top of his voice. With a show of expert driving, Keegan moved from one lane to the other until the Thunderbird caught up with the Cooper.

  “She’s going like a bat out of hell,” Silk said, his hat resting on the back of his head. “These kid drivers are crazy.”

  “She doesn’t drive so badly,” Keegan returned. “She’s got the knack. I can tell. I’d like to see how she would handle this job.”

  Silk grunted. He had no patience with the young.

  In a very short while Nona reached the outskirts of the City and promptly reduced speed. She had already had several lectures from traffic cops who seemed to take a delight in leaning into her tiny car, gazing at her indignant face and holding her up while they expounded on the safe limits of speed. It would be disastrous, she told herself, if she were held up now, so she drove down the main street at a sedate thirty miles an hour with the Thunderbird a few yards behind her.

  Signalling, she turned right into the parking lot of the Paradise Self-Service store. Leaving her car, she hurried into the store.

  The menu for the evening was to be fried oysters, wrapped In bacon, followed by sweet pepper stew, a Hungarian dish of lamb, paprika, potatoes, tomatoes, stock, wine, caraway seeds, onions, salt and pepper: a dish that Nona considered to be her masterpiece.

  It was while she was selecting a boned shoulder of lamb that a blond man with a small thin mouth and close set green eyes lurched into her. She staggered and turned indignantly.

  “Excuse me,” the man said, tipping his hat. “I guess I slipped,” and he moved on, disappearing into the crowd.

  Nona looked at the assistant who was serving her.

  “Well! Did you see? He nearly knocked me over!”

  The assistant, young and admiring, grinned at her.

  “What are you grumbling about, miss? You always knock me over every time I see you.”

  Nona laughed.

  “Oh, well . . . I’ll have that one. Please be quick . . . I’m in a hurry.”

  On the other side of the store, Tom Friendly, the store detective, sat on a packing case, resting his throbbing corns. He knew he should be on the floor. His job was to be constantly circling, keeping his eyes open for light fingered customers, but the noise, the heat and the fact he had been on his feet now for four hours persuaded him he should take a little rest.

  He was dozing happily when a hard finger tapped his fat shoulder. He started up guiltily and stared at the tall man bending over him. This man had a glass eye and a scar running down the side of his face.

  “You the dick here?” the tall man asked. That’s me . . . what’s up?” Friendly asked, trying to gather his wits together.

  There’s a girl out there who’s helping herself,” the tall man said. “I thought you’d be interested. She’s just visited the costume jewellery counter. She has a nice, smooth action.”

  The hell she has!” Friendly exclaimed. “Where is she?”

  “At the bacon counter,” the tall man said. “You can’t miss her. A red-head wearing a white dust coat over a blue dress.”

  “You come along and point her out,” Friendly said. “You’ll be needed as a witness. You saw her take the stuff.”

  The tall man smiled.

  “And what were you doing? No . . . you saw her take the stuff. That way you get the credit,” and turning, he walked away, quickly mingling with the crowd.

  Friendly hesitated, then made his way as fast as his flat feet could take him to the bacon counter.

  Nona had completed her shopping. She went through the turnstile, paying for what she had bought, then carrying her purchases in two big paper sacks, she half walked, half ran to her car.

  As she was putting the sacks on the back seat, she felt a tap on her shoulder. She looked around, startled.

  She found herself looking at Tom Friendly’s red, beery face. His little eyes were cop hard. Her startled expression gave him the impression of guilty fear.

  “Let’s go back to the store, miss,” he said and put a hot, sweaty hand on her arm.

  Indignant, Nona tried to shake off his grip, but he tightened it.

  “Let go of me!” she exclaimed. “Let go at once!”

  “I’m the store detective, miss,” Friendly said. “Do you come quietly or do I call a cop?”

  Patrolman Tom O’Brien had walked into the car park for his usual look around. There was an automatic Coke machine just inside the parking lot which he patronized around this time. O’Brien, a hefty, elderly Irishman, found sidewalk-pounding a thirsty job. He reckoned to consume fifteen Cokes on his beat, and this stop would be his tenth. He saw Friendly talking to a red-head, his hand on her arm and he decided to see what it was all about. He and Friendly got along well together. It looked as if Friendly had picked up yet another shop-lifter.

  What’s going on?” he boomed as he came to a halt before Nona.

  “Tell this man to let go of me!” Nona exclaimed. In spite of her anger, she
was beginning to feel a little scared.

  “The old business, Tim,” Friendly said. “She’s been helping herself. Let’s get her inside.”

  “Come on, baby,” O’Brien said, “and we’ll get it all sorted out.”

  “I’m in a hurry . . . I can’t . . . I . . .” Nona stammered. “You’ve no right . . .”

  “I said come on,” O’Brien growled. “Let’s go.”

  Her face flushed, her eyes flashing, Nona hesitated, then walked with the patrolman and Friendly back to the store. She saw people were staring at her and she became flustered and embarrassed. She would sue them! she told herself. She would make them sorry for this! She would sue and sue and sue!

  The manager of the store was a thin, sour faced man who regarded her with bored indifference.

  “Seen taking goods from the costume jewellery counter,” Friendly announced.

  The manager regarded Friendly with a jaundiced eye. He was far from satisfied with Friendly’s work and was considering getting rid of him.

  “You saw her?” he asked acidly.

  Friendly hesitated for a brief moment, then nodded.

  “Yeah . . . I saw her.”

  “That’s not true!” Nona exclaimed. “I’ve been nowhere near the jewellery counter!”

  “Would you mind turning out your pockets, miss?” the manager asked.

  “I’ve nothing in my pockets . . . this is absurd,” and Nona plunged her hands into the two pouch pockets of her dust coat, then felt a cold chill run up her spine. Her fingers encountered what could only be bracelets and rings. She felt them, feeling the blood drain out of her face. “There’s a mistake . . . I ― I never put them there . . . I . . .”

  The manager’s bored, sour face became even more bored.

  “Let’s see what you’ve taken,” he said. “Come on now. Don’t look so surprised, miss. It doesn’t cut any ice with me.”

  Slowly, Nona took from her pockets five cheap bracelets, three rings fitted with cutglass stones to look like diamonds and an imitation amber bead necklace. She dropped the articles on the manager’s desk, shuddering.

  “I didn’t take them! Someone put them in my pocket! I swear I didn’t take them!”

  The manager turned to Patrolman O’Brien.

  “We’ll be making a charge, officer. You’ll need this stuff as evidence. Can I leave it to you?”

  “Sure,” O’Brien said. He scooped up the cheap jewellery and dropped it into his pocket. “That’s okay, Mr. Manawitz. Headquarters will be in touch with you.” He dropped a heavy hand on Nona’s arm. “Come on, baby. Let’s go.”

  “I want to telephone,” Nona said, trying to steady her voice.

  “You can do all the telephoning you want when we get to the Station House,” O’Brien said. “Come on. Move with the feet.”

  The reason why all Lindsey’s operations were crowned with success lay in the fact that he acquired every scrap of necessary information before planning his campaign. He was painstakingly thorough, and when he briefed the men who worked under him, he supplied them with a mass of details that made their work comparatively simple.

  To obtain this information, he employed a Detective Agency staffed by ex-detectives, mainly men who had been kicked off the Force because of corruption and malpractice, but who were trained in their job and were experts in digging up any required information.

  Four days before Nona’s arrest, Lindsey had turned three snoopers from the Agency on to the task of digging up every scrap of information they could find regarding Nona’s background and her way of life.

  By tapping her telephone and shadowing her during these four days, they turned in a comprehensive report. Lindsey learned about Alec Sherman, that Nona was planning a birthday party, that Sherman was expected at her apartment at seven-thirty and she always did her shopping at the Paradise Self-Service store. He then turned two other snoopers to dig into Alec Sherman’s background and their report made him thoughtful.

  To Silk, he said, This guy Sherman could be a troublemaker. Newspaper men are dangerous. He is crazy about the girl and he could gum up the works. Let’s get him out of the way for a couple of weeks. By that time, he won’t be able to make trouble.”

  Silk nodded.

  “I’ve got the photo. Leave him to me.”

  On the evening of the planned birthday party, the black Thunderbird was parked some forty yards away on the opposite side of the street from Nona’s apartment block. It had arrived at 7.15 p.m., and in the car both Silk and Keegan were smoking, sitting silent and relaxed.

  At 7.28, a steel grey Pontiac Le Mans Sports coupe pulled up outside the apartment block.

  Keegan tossed away his cigarette.

  “Here he is,” he said softly.

  They watched a tall, powerfully built man get out of the car, slam the door shut and then run up the steps of the building.

  Alec Sherman was telling himself that this was going to be a night that would mark a milestone in his life. He eased open the door and walked into the dimly lit lobby that smelt faintly of cabbage water and floor polish. He carried in his pocket an engagement ring with a glittering diamond that he could ill afford, set in a blue velvet lined, leather covered box. He had shopped around, and with the help of a friend, had finally come down on this diamond, being assured it was a bargain at the price, and a diamond no girl could resist.

  He started up the stairs to the third floor, and he wondered, with male interest, what he was going to eat. Nona had told him she could cook, but Sherman had been around. Before meeting and falling in love with her, he had had plenty of girl-friends who had always told him the same story. When the proof was on the table, he invariably wished he had taken the girl out to a restaurant. But he had a lot of confidence in Nona. Even if she did dish up a burnt offering, he would still want to marry her. There was that thing about her that set his blood on fire, his heart thumping, and he now couldn’t imagine life without her.

  He rapped on the door on the third floor. While waiting, he fingered his tie and readjusted the set of his jacket. Then puzzled, he rapped again. Still the door remained unopened.

  He discovered a bell push and jabbed it with his thumb. He heard the bell ringing. He stepped back and again waited. He repeated this action for the next three minutes, then it dawned on him there was no one in the apartment.

  He consulted his strap watch. The time was now 7.40. Maybe she had been held up at the Research Station. She couldn’t have met with an accident? Alarm jogged his mind. He went down the stairs, two at a time, to the ground floor. A sign with an arrow pointing to a door read:

  Mrs. Ethel Watson. Proprietor.

  He hesitated, then walked to the door and rang the bell. The door was opened by a small, bird-like woman with cold, unfriendly eyes, a tight mouth and her thinning hair done up in a bun on the top. of her head. She wore a black, shapeless dress that had seen a lot of wear, and in spite of the heat, a grubby white shawl over her shoulders. She regarded Sherman without interest. In a waspish voice, she asked, “Well, young man . . . what do you want?”

  “I’ve just been up to Miss Jacey’s apartment,” Sherman said. “We had a date for seven-thirty. She isn’t in.”

  “I can’t help that, can I?” Mrs. Watson said. “If she isn’t in, she isn’t in.”

  “I was wondering if you had heard if she had been delayed.”

  Mrs. Watson screwed up her bitter mouth.

  “No one tells me anything.”

  Sherman realized he was wasting time. The next move would be to telephone the Research Station. It was more than possible Nona had had to work late.

  “Thanks . . . sorry to have troubled you,” he said and walked across the lobby, opened the front door and ran down the steps. He slid under the driving wheel of the Pontiac. As he was about to press down on the starter, Keegan, hiding on the floor of the back of the car, rose up and hit him behind his right ear with a sand-filled cosh.

  Sherman fell forward, unconscious. Keegan knew jus
t how hard it was necessary to hit a man to render him unconscious and just how hard to kill him. He rolled Sherman’s inert body away from the driving seat so that his body slumped half on the passenger’s seat, half on the car’s floor. Then he climbed over the seat, slid under the driving wheel and set the car in motion.

  Silk started the Thunderbird, following the Pontiac that moved at a leisurely speed to the main street. It turned right, the Thunderbird following. It drove down a narrow street and slowed as it came to a vacant building site, high with weeds and coarse grass. The two cars stopped. Silk looked up and down the deserted street, then got out of the Thunderbird to help Keegan drag Sherman’s unconscious body out of the Pontiac. Swiftly, they half carried, half dragged him into the thick, high growing weeds.

  “Watch it . . . don’t kill him,” Silk said. “Just bust him up for a nice two week stay in hospital.”

  “Sure, I know,” Keegan said, and as Silk returned to the Thunderbird, he swung his foot back and kicked Sherman viciously in the face.

  Silk got into the car. He glanced at his watch, saw the time was a few minutes to eight o’clock. He tilted his hat over his nose and closed his eye.