He was writing at his desk. He looked up and nodded to me. For the first time I had been in this room, he was sober.
'Get the bottles packed, kid,' he said, waving to the cupboard. 'I won't be a minute.'
I had brought with me two suitcases. By the time I had packed the bottles, he had finished his letter.
He took out an envelope, slid the letter into it and sealed it. He put the letter in his wallet.
'I guess that's about everything,' he said, getting to his feet. 'Okay, let's get out of here.'
As he was moving to the door, there was a knock and the door opened.
A girl stood in the doorway: she was tall and thin and as flat as a board. Her hair was scraped back and she wore horn-rimmed spectacles. She was the kind of girl who would never marry and who would finish up in a back bed-sitting room with a couple of cats for company.
She had a bunch of long-stemmed red roses, done up in a tissue-paper sheaf that she held awkwardly and which she offered to Dester.
'I - I just wanted to say I'm sorry you are going, Mr. Dester,' she said. 'There are a lot of us who will miss you. I and they wish you luck.'
Dester stared at her: under his raw, red skin, I could see he had turned white, giving him a horrible, mottled look. He took the roses and held them against his chest. He started to say something, but the words wouldn't come. For a long moment the girl and he stood looking at each other, then she put her hands to her eyes and began to cry.
He walked around her, still holding the roses and made for the door. There was a look on his face I'll never forget. I went after him. We walked down the passage, through the reception hall, where everyone stared, and down the steps to the car.
He got into the car and laid the roses on the seat beside him.
'Get me home,' he said hoarsely, 'but first put up this damned hood.'
I pulled up the hood.
By the time I reached the house, he seemed to have recovered, although his face was still blotchy. He got out of the car, carrying the roses and he gave me a stiff, tight smile.
'It's a funny thing, but the most unlikely people remember one. That girl - she had some small job at the Studio. I can't even remember her name.' He looked at the roses. 'Nice of her.' He stood staring at the flowers for a long moment, then with an effort, he snapped out of his depression. 'Get the liquor up to my bedroom. I want you to come over to the house at eight o'clock tonight. I have a job for you - probably your last job, kid.'
Wondering what it was all about, I said I'd be there.
He turned away, then stopped, his hand going to his breast pocket.
'Oh, damn it! I meant you to stop so I could mail this letter.' He took the letter from his wallet. 'Be a good kid and mail it now for me, will you? Take the car. It's important.'
'Yes, sir,' I said, taking the letter. I slid it into my pocket. Then I picked up the suitcases and hauled them upstairs while I wondered what he wanted to see me about at eight o'clock this evening.
There were thirty bottles of Scotch in the cases. I put them in three neat rows on the top shelf of his wardrobe. Then I went downstairs, and completely forgetting about the letter he had asked me to mail, I put the Rolls away. It was only when I was changing that I found it. I looked at it curiously. It was addressed to: Mr. Edwin Burnett, Holt & Burnett, Attorneys-at-Law, 28th Street, Los Angeles. The nearest post box was a quarter of a mile down the road, and I thought the hell with it. I planned to go out after I had been over to the house and I would post it then.
At five minutes to eight I went over to the house. The clock in the hall was striking the hour when I rapped on Dester's study door.
'Come in,' he called.
I opened the door and went in.
He was sitting behind his big desk, a bottle of Scotch and a glass half full of whisky in front of him.
The ashtray was crammed with cigarette-butts. He had been drinking. I could tell that by the sweat beads on his face and the curious glitter in his eyes.
'Come in and sit down,' he said. 'Take that chair over there.'
I wondered what it was all about. I went to the chair and sat down.
He nodded to a box of cigarettes on the desk.
'Help yourself. Do you want a drink?'
'No, thank you,' I said and reached for a cigarette.
'Did you post that letter?'
'Yes, sir,' I said, without batting an eyelid.
'Thank you.' He took a long drink, then splashed more whisky into his glass before saying, 'The reason why I've asked you here, kid, is because I want you to be a witness to a conversation I'm going to have with my wife. You might have to give evidence about this conversation before a court of law, so keep your wits about you and try to remember what is said.'
That jolted me. I stared at him.
'Just sit quiet and say nothing,' he went on, getting to his feet. He crossed to the door, lurching slightly, opened it and, raising his voice, he called, 'Helen! Will you come down, please?'
Then he returned to his chair and sat down.
There was a long, heavy silence, then I heard Helen coming down the stairs. A moment later, she entered. She looked at Dester, then at me and she paused.
'What is it?' she asked sharply.
'Come in and sit down,' Dester said, getting to his feet. 'I want to talk to you.'
'What's he doing here?' she demanded, not moving.
'Please, Helen, come in and sit down. I have asked him to be here as an independent witness to what I have to say to you.'
She shrugged, moved to a chair near the desk and sat down. He pushed the cigarette-box towards her.
'Please smoke if you want to,' he said.
'I don't want to,' she snapped. 'What is this?'
He sat down, studied her for a long moment, then lit a cigarette himself. She looked contemptuously at him, then looked pointedly away.
He turned to me.
'I'm sorry if I'm going to embarrass you, kid,' he said, 'but there are a few details you must hear before you will be able to follow what comes after.' He spoke rapidly, and I could see he was making an effort to keep his voice steady. 'I married my wife a year ago. When I first met her I thought she was the most wonderful woman in the world. I was crazy about her. I was even worried that something might happen to me and she'd be left without funds. I was so besotted that I insured my life for three-quarters of a million dollars and willed it to her. I told her what I had done because I wanted her to know she would be secure if anything happened to me. I can see her now when I told her. When it sank in that I was worth more to her dead than alive, she couldn't hide her real feelings for me. She turned frigid. I'm not going to elaborate on that. It sickened her to such an extent to know that I was between her and all that money that she couldn't bear me to touch her. You have only to look at her, put yourself in my place and think what it means to have a woman like her turn frigid on you, and you can guess how I felt. I was fool enough to start hitting the bottle, and once I started, I couldn't stop. I began to slip badly in my work. I couldn't concentrate. I spent money recklessly when I was drunk. Because of her, I've ruined myself.'
'You poor fool,' Helen broke in. 'Do you imagine he's interested in all this drivel? For heaven's sake, come to the point, if there is a point.'
'Yes, I'll come to the point,' he said, 'but you won't like it when I do. Never mind, you have had your run and now you must expect to take what's coming to you.' He looked over at me. 'She wanted the money so badly that she decided to get rid of me. It won't be necessary to go into details, but I have satisfied myself that she is prepared to murder me for the money. She has already made three futile attempts: one of them you witnessed on Wednesday night. She thought I was drunk enough to take out the Buick and she hoped I would get involved in a smash. She isn't a clever murderess, and her attempts haven't succeeded.'
'You're drunk,' she said contemptuously. 'You don't know what you're saying.'
'I may be drunk, but I do know what I'm saying.' He took a drink f
rom his glass and went on, 'But we won't argue about it. Nash saw what happened on Wednesday night: he is intelligent enough to judge for himself.' He turned away from me and addressed himself to Helen. 'Your attempts to get rid of me have been strangely uninspired. Didn't it ever occur to you that the safest and simplest way was to wait until I was asleep, then shoot me through the head, and leave the gun by my side? Will it surprise you to hear half the movie people here expect me to shoot myself? I have the motive to finish my life. I am a drunk. I'm unhappily married. I have no money and a lot of debts. It would come as no surprise if I did shoot myself. Why didn't you think of doing that?'
She stared at him. 'I wanted the money,' she said. 'If they thought you had shot yourself, they wouldn't pay out.'
'My dear girl, how stupid you are. You had the chance to read the policy. I gave it to you if you remember. If the assured dies by his own hand after the policy has been in force for a year, the company does pay out.'
The look of hatred she gave him sent a creepy sensation up my spine.
'But don't imagine you can get away with that now,' he went on, leaning back in his chair. 'I have fixed it that in the event of my killing myself there will be no payout. Yesterday, I flew up to San Francisco and met the man in charge of the claims department of the National Fidelity: a man named Maddux. I must say he impressed me. He has a big reputation in the insurance world. He is smart, tough and extremely efficient. It is said of him that he knows instinctively when a claim is a fake or not. He has been with the National Fidelity for fifteen years, and during that time he has sent a large number of people to jail, and eighteen people to the death cell.'
He paused while he took a drink, then he topped up the glass with more whisky.
'I went to see this man with the intention of cancelling the policy. But on the way up I had an idea. I am probably being vindictive, but after all you ruined my life and the setup that came to me is the kind that would make a good movie - you mustn't forget I've been a good movie maker in my time. Since you have tried to murder me and you have never showed me any kindness, it occurred to me that you should be punished.'
She stiffened, her hands closing into fists.
'Don't be alarmed,' he said, watching her. 'Even if I wanted to, I couldn't take police action against you. I have no proof. And I don't want to punish you myself. I've thought of a way to give you the opportunity to punish yourself.'
'I'm not going to listen to much more of this nonsense,' she said angrily.
'You should listen because you still have a chance of getting your pretty claws on all that money: not much of a chance, but still a chance.'
It was now my turn to stiffen to attention.
'Let me tell you about my interview with Maddux,' Dester went on. 'When I got this idea about you punishing yourself, I realized I couldn't tell him the truth. I was anxious to get the suicide clause altered because that would make things too easy for you if I didn't. So I told him I was an alcoholic with suicidal tendencies, and as I was most anxious that you should come in for the insurance money and that I was also anxious in my sober moments not to kill myself, I thought it would act as a curb if the clause covering payment on suicide was cancelled. I don't think he believed this explanation, but he was quick enough to cancel the clause.' He paused to take another drink, and I noticed his hand was very unsteady.
'So the position is now that if I kill myself or if you murder me and make it look like suicide the company won't pay out. Do you understand that?'
She didn't say anything. She was staring at the opposite wall, her brows creased in a frown: but she was listening.
'Some weeks ago,' he went on, 'I decided that when my contract ran out I would shoot myself.'
She reacted to this as I did. She looked quickly at him.
'I realized once my contract ran out, I would have no future,' he went on calmly. 'I should be without funds and heavily in debt. I shrank from the idea of bankruptcy. Well, my contract has run out, there is no money and I am still very much in debt, so sometime tonight I am going to end my life.'
'I don't believe you,' Helen said, her voice harsh. 'Anyway, do you think I care what you do?'
'No, I don't think you do,' he returned. 'That is not the point. Very soon now I shall shoot myself in this room. It is unlikely that anyone except you and Nash will hear the shot. Now listen to this very carefully: you will have a few hours - not more - to turn this suicide into murder. You won't be able to turn it into an accident: people don't accidentally shoot themselves through the head.'
She was staring at him now as if she had thought he had gone crazy.
'If the police say I have killed myself, the insurance company won't pay out. But if the police say I have been murdered, then the insurance company will have to pay out. Are you following all this? Can you see the trap I am setting for you? Now do you see what I mean when I told you I am giving you the opportunity of punishing yourself? The bait in the trap is worth three-quarters of a million. You have only to fake clues, tell enough lies to turn my suicide into a murder, and then - if you have been very clever and you haven't made any mistakes - you will get the money.'
Something cold dropped on to my hand. I found I was sweating. Looking across at Helen, I saw her face was white and she was as rigid as a statue.
'I don't know what happens when one dies,' Dester went on, 'but odd things can happen. It may be I shall be able to watch you after I am dead. I hope so for it will be amusing.' He lit another cigarette while he stared at Helen. 'I have an idea you won't be able to resist the bait. You will try to turn my suicide into murder. I don't think you are clever enough to pull it off, not against a man of Maddux's brains. It is only fair to warn you that he is exceptional. You could so easily make a mistake and you might then find yourself charged with my murder, which would be rather funny considering you have already tried to murder me, wouldn't it? I have made it still more complicated for you by asking Nash here to listen to all this. But he may not be impossibly difficult. You have a way with men, and it is possible you may persuade him to keep his mouth shut or even help you. After all, three-quarters of a million is a very large sum, and in return for a share in the money, he might be persuaded to help you.'
Helen jumped to her feet
'I'm not listening to any more of this!' she exclaimed. 'You drunken fool! You wouldn't have the nerve to kill yourself. Keep your rotten money! I don't want it! There are plenty of other fish in the sea besides you! Go to hell and stay there!'
She flung back the door and stormed out into the hall. I watched her run up the stairs, and a moment later, a door slammed violently.
I got up. I was sweating and shaking.
'And I guess I don't want to hear any more either,' I said, and without looking at him I walked into the hall, jerked open the front door and walked down the steps.
I was halfway to the garage when I heard the sound of a shot. The bans rattled the windows of the house and stopped me as if I had walked into a wall.
For a long moment I stood motionless, then turning, I ran back to the house and up the steps and into the hall.
At the head of the stairs, white-faced, her eyes wide, was Helen.
I looked up at her.
'Go and see,' she said in a hoarse whisper. I braced myself, then crossed the hall and opened the study door.
chapter six
Dester had fallen forward across the desk. Blood from his smashed skull made a growing pool on the blotter that was absorbing most of it. The .38 automatic I had seen him with lay on the floor near his feet.
I didn't have to touch him to know he was dead. With such a terrible head injury he had to be dead.
I stood staring at him, my mind vacant with horror. I couldn't believe he had done this thing, then jerking my eyes away, I walked to the door and out into the hall.
Helen had come down the stairs. She stood motionless, staring at me.
'Is he dead?' she asked.
'Yes.' My own voice was
as shaky as hers.
'The mad, drunken fool! I thought he hadn't the nerve to do it.'
She went past me and into his study.
I felt a trickle of cold sweat run down the side of my face, and I put my hand in my pocket for my handkerchief. My fingers touched the envelope containing the letter he had asked me to post. I pulled it out, stared at it for a long moment, then I slit the envelope and pulled out a sheet of paper. I read the letter, my mind only half aware of its meaning. Then I read it again:
From Erle Dester June 19th
256 Hill Crest Avenue
Hollywood
My Dear Burnett,
Because of your years of experience as an attorney, I don't suppose what I am about to write to you will shock you over much. I've come to the end of things, and tonight I intend to shoot myself. You know enough about my affairs to realize as I do that there is now no future for me.
You know too how badly Helen has treated me. I have no intentions of letting her profit by my death. I have seen Maddux of the National Fidelity Insurance Company and have arranged with him to cancel the clause in the policy covering self-destruction. The new clause covering this is attached to the policy which you will find in the right-hand top drawer of my desk.
So the position is that since I am shooting myself the policy will be cancelled. However, Helen is desperate for money, and three-quarters of a million is a tempting sum. It is possible she may be desperate enough to attempt to defraud the insurance company. She could do so by making my suicide appear to be murder. This sounds far-fetched to you, doesn't it? But I know Helen a lot better than you do. I have a young fellow working for me: his name is Glyn Nash, and it is possible Helen may fake my suicide to look as if I had been murdered by him or some unknown person. If she does do this, I am most anxious that you should not interfere. I have no doubt that Maddux will find her out, but if she succeeds or if she makes a mistake that will endanger her life, you will then, of course, take action and show this letter to the police.
I feel a short term in prison for attempted fraud would do her a lot of good. You think I am being vindictive? Perhaps I am, but I feel justified.
1956 - There's Always a Price Tag Page 8
