Nothing More Than Murder

by Jim Thompson

  If it hadn’t been for Carol, for what had happened between us— And, yes, I guess Carol had been doing a little thinking, too, which was why things turned out as they did.

  Carol could so some pretty straight thinking even if she didn’t always come up with the straight answers. Word for word, I can still remember what she said that first night we talked about the murder.

  “Why do you want to do it?” she said, staring hard at Elizabeth. “That’s the part I don’t get.”

  Elizabeth shrugged. “It seems that some move is indicated.”

  “By Joe and me, maybe. You don’t need to stick your neck out.”

  “Well—shall we say I’m trying to be co-operative?”

  “Don’t make me laugh!”

  “I wish I could,” Elizabeth said. “Almost anything would be an improvement over your normal expression. However! I need a minimum of twenty-five thousand dollars to leave, and—”

  “You’ve got a lot more than twenty-five thousand without leaving.”

  Elizabeth sighed and shrugged, as much as to say Carol was making a damned fool of herself. “There’s not much more for me to say, is there? Think whatever you like.”

  “I am,” said Carol, real slow. “And I—I don’t understand—”

  19

  I felt sick driving home from the city after leaving Al, kind of like I was catching the flu. The outside of my body was warm enough, maybe a little too warm, but inside I was cold. Shivering.

  But sick or just scared sick, however you want to put it, I couldn’t help but admire the way Sol Panzer had laid his plans. They added up to a knot behind my ear, but I still had to admire them. By God, they were perfect.

  Or do you get it?

  A stunt like Sol was pulling takes a lot of preparation and a lot of dough. He had to have his stocks rigged for the jump; he had to be able to show that he wasn’t bluffing. Just an announcement to the newspapers of what he intended doing wouldn’t be enough. The papers wouldn’t go for it and neither would the suckers. The architect’s plans would have to be drawn and the construction contracts signed, and money earmarked for the building. And, of course, the film exchanges would have to be lined up.

  Up to that point, there was almost no chance of a leak, of someone’s taking the edge off his surprise. Sol was dealing with people he controlled. He could make it worth their while to stay mum, and make ’em wish they’d never been born if they didn’t. The outsiders might think he was up to something, but they wouldn’t know what it was. Their one chance of finding out would be when he bought a location. So?

  So, he hadn’t bought any. He hadn’t risked having an option or a lease or a sale traced back to him. He didn’t need to. I had the location he wanted, and when he got ready he’d step in and take it off my hands. I’d have about ten minutes to make up my mind. I could take a few grand and get out, or take nothing or next to it later on. I might cause him a little trouble, but it wouldn’t make me anything. I’d take what he offered, whatever it was. I’d have to.

  If I was still around…

  I got into Stoneville a little after dark and drove around the square a few times, trying to make up my mind what to do. I was afraid to go home; I didn’t know what I was going to say to Carol. I was afraid to go to the show; I didn’t know what I could say to Hap. Finally, I parked across from the house, in front of Bower’s old place, to give myself a little time to think; and I hadn’t much more than shut my motor off before Andy Taylor was there, poking his head in the window.

  “Been looking for you, Joe,” he said. “Figured it was about time you an’ me had a little talk.”

  “What about?” I said.

  “I reckon you know.”

  “What do you think you’ve got on me, Andy?”

  “I don’t know, Joe. I ain’t got the slightest idea. But I know I got somethin’.”

  “All right,” I said. “I’ll see you in a day or two. I’m sick and worn out right now. I think I’m coming down with the flu.”

  “Don’t wait too long, Joe.” He cackled. “I might talk to someone else.”

  He showed signs of needling me some more, so I mumbled something about business and walked across the street to the show.

  Mrs. Artie Fletcher was in the box office, filing and buffing her fingernails and looking like she’d stab anyone that bothered her. You know, efficient and attractive like a cashier ought to look. Harry Clink-scales, my half-witted doorman, was doing his best, too, to run people off. He kept tossing grains of popcorn into the air and catching them in his mouth, stumbling around the lobby with his head thrown back and his mouth open about a foot. I wished to God a light bug would drop down it.

  When he saw me he stopped and wiped his greasy hands on his uniform. My uniform.

  “That’s a good act, Harry,” I said. “What’ll you take to put it on inside?”

  He grinned like an ape. “There was a guy here to see you a little while ago, Mr. Wilmot.”

  “A gentleman, Harry?”

  “Yessir.”

  “What was his name?”

  “Dunno. He didn’t tell me.”

  “Well, that was pretty dumb of him, wasn’t it?” I said. “What did he say when you asked him?”

  Harry got kind of red in the face. “I think I know who he was, Mr. Wilmot. I think it was that guy—that gentleman from the insurance company.”

  “Oh,” I said.

  “He said he’d stop back later on in the evening.”

  “Good,” I said; and I went on in and up to the projection booth.

  Hap had just put on a new reel and was leaning back against the rewind table, watching the picture through the port. The booth speaker was roaring; the sound was too loud. It gets that way early in the evening when there aren’t enough people in the house to provide the right kind of acoustics.

  Hap turned down the control a little, and wiped the sweat from his face and arms with a dirty towel.

  “This is a veritable blast furnace, laddie. Why is it you didn’t air-condition the booth when you did the rest of the house?”

  “Why should I?” I said. “I don’t sell any seats up here.”

  “Uh-hah,” he said, narrowing his eyes at me. “Right to the mark, as usual, eh? Well, what luck in the city?”

  “Nothing,” I said. “None. I didn’t get to see Panzer.”

  “Ah? You had your eyes closed?”

  “No. He was out of town.”

  He took a step toward me, and I moved out of the way. He pulled a reel out of the film cabinet, slipped it into the off-projector, and flipped the switch on the arc.

  “You’re a bloody liar, old man. You’re a blasted, stinking, filthy liar.”

  “For Christ’s sake, Hap,” I said. “Give me a little time! This thing hit me out of a clear sky. What the hell, anyway? I’ve got the insurance money coming.”

  “Have you, now? I wonder.”

  “I will if you—if—”

  “Maybe it won’t be left to me.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Your now-vacationing projectionist and I have been having some nice long talks. Got quite pally, young Nedry and I have.”

  “If you don’t stop trying to pump him,” I said, “he will suspect something. Leave him alone, Hap. He doesn’t know anything.”

  “I wish I were confident of that. He’s dropped several sinister hints. He’s intimated that he isn’t going to be around very long, that he’s got certain information which, transmitted to Blair—who’s been after your scalp a long time, I understand—will get him a transfer to one of the city houses.”

  I laughed. I’d been wondering why Jimmie and Blair were running around together.

  “Blair’s letting his wishbone get in the way of his brain,” I said, “and Jimmie is just hungry enough to string him along. He’ll be right here as long as I want him.”

  “Oh? Are you—”

  “I don’t blame Jimmie for trying. Those city locals only have their charters o
pen about an hour out of the year, and only the insiders know when that is. If some floater does get the word, all they have to do is give him an examination no one could pass or put the initiation fee out of his reach.”

  “I know all that, laddie.”

  “Well, Blair isn’t going to go to all the expense and trouble of fixing things up unless Jimmie gives him some real dirt, and Jimmie can’t because he doesn’t have any. He’s demanding the transfer before he talks.”

  “I don’t know. It looks like Jimmie would have to know something. Suppose Blair gives him the transfer? What’s his story going to be?”

  “He won’t need any. He can tell Blair to go laugh up a rope. He’d be in then, and out of Blair’s jurisdiction.”

  “Well, I hope you’re right, laddie. I sincerely hope so. For my sake.”

  “I’m right,” I said. “By the way, don’t you want me to give you a relief?”

  “Oh, no. Nedry’ll be along in a few minutes. He gives me a relief twice a day.”

  “Oh,” I said. “Well, that’s pretty nice of him.”

  “Isn’t it, though?”

  “Well, good night,” I said.

  “Cheerio! And remember—on your toes. I’m not waiting around here forever.”

  He started the off-projector, slid the port on the other one, and began unthreading the run-reel of film. I took a good long look at the back of his head and went downstairs again.

  It wasn’t much different from three thousand other nights. People strolling by, walking up to the box office or stopping to look at the lobby cards, asking how I was and being asked how they were. Now and then a car would pass by slow, and there’d be a light tap on the horn; and I’d turn around and wave and be waved at. A couple of bobby soxers stood up near the popcorn machine, giggling and talking to Harry, and watching me out of the corner of their eyes. Overhead, up above the marquee, the thirty-foot sign went on and off, spelled and flashed, painting the street and the cars green and red. Without looking, without even noticing, I knew when it went

  B-A-R-C-L-A-Y, then BARCLAY, then BARCLAY.

  I remembered all the arguments Elizabeth and I had had about that sign. How I’d hated it at first, yeah, how I’d hated her, not because I wanted my own name up there but because she didn’t; because she wasn’t as proud of Wilmot as she was of Barclay. And what did it matter? What did it really matter, anyway? Everyone knew who’d built the house. People always know those things. And Elizabeth was the last of the Barclays, and it was the oldest family in the county.

  When people haven’t got anything but a name you can’t blame them for leaning on it. And maybe—just maybe—that wasn’t her reason. Maybe it was her way, as she’d put it, of being responsible. Of backing me up before the whole damned world.

  Oh, hell…

  I’d got hot up in the booth, and now I was beginning to chill. I passed a word or two with Mrs. Fletcher, and crossed the street to my car.

  I got in and rolled up the windows, and lighted a cigarette. I let my head lie back against the seat and tried to rest. Maybe I dozed a little, but I don’t think so. I think I was just so wrapped up in worrying about Carol and Elizabeth and Hap Chance and Andy and Sol Panzer and wondering what I was going to do that I was deaf and blind to everyone else.

  I don’t know how long Appleton stood outside the car looking in at me. But finally I rolled my head and there he was.

  I kind of jumped, and then I opened the door and let him in.

  20

  Gloating over the scene of your victory?” he said.

  I didn’t get what he meant.

  “The show here,” he said. “I understand you put your competitor out of business.”

  “Oh, yeah,” I said. “No. I was just sitting here. Figuring on whether I wanted to eat a bite before I went home.”

  “By the way, I went to your show yesterday.”

  “I meant to give you some passes,” I said. “I don’t think I have any with me, but—”

  “Forget it, Joe. It all goes on the expense account. But I wanted to ask you about those loges. Do you think they’re safe?”

  “I pay extra coverage for them,” I said.

  “Well.” He laughed. “That makes everything all right, then. As long as you’re covered.”

  I knew I’d made a dumb remark and that he was digging me, but I didn’t particularly give a damn. My nerves were on edge. I was too sick and worried to think.

  “I took a look at your exits, too, Joe. You know our state fire laws require two rear exits in a picture show.”

  “I’ve got two,” I said.

  “You’ve got a double door closing on the same jamb.”

  “It’s good enough for the fire commissioner.”

  “Oh? Well, if it’s good enough for him, who are we to quibble?”

  He laughed again and nudged me, and I wanted to sock him. A guy can’t be on his toes all the time.

  “How are you getting along with your investigation?” I said. “About wound up?”

  “Well—hardly,” he said. “Those things take a lot of time, you know.”

  “I guess I don’t know,” I said. “The thing seems simple enough to me. The legal authorities are satisfied. I’ve been paying in premiums for ten years; and you’ve had plenty of time to find out if there was anything wrong. It looks to me like I’m entitled to a settlement or a damned good explanation.”

  He didn’t get a bit sore. At least, he didn’t show it.

  “Well, that’s the way it looks to you,” he said. “Now I’ll tell you how it looks to us. We don’t have anything more to gain from you. You won’t be carrying insurance on your wife, naturally, and the chances are that you’ll drop your own. We don’t want to pay you. We won’t if we can get out of it.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “I’m glad to know what kind of an outfit I’m dealing with.”

  “Don’t quote me, Joe—don’t mind my calling you Joe, do you? I’d hate to have to call you a liar.”

  “You may have a chance,” I said. “I don’t want anything I’m not entitled to, but—”

  “Oh, sure you do. We all do. That’s like saying you don’t want anything more out of a thing than what you put into it. Where’s the percentage in a deal like that? But you were threatening to sue us?”

  “No, I wasn’t threatening,” I said. “I wouldn’t want to sue unless—”

  “And I don’t think you will, Joe. You’re too smart. There isn’t a court in the land that wouldn’t allow us from three months to a year to make our investigation. The chances are I’ll have my report ready long before that. We haven’t refused to pay the claim. We won’t unless we have reason to.”

  I began to get hold of myself.

  “Skip it,” I said. “There’s no hurry. I guess I was just sore because you knocked the house. I know those loges and exits aren’t right, but I can’t do everything at once. I haven’t had a lot to work with.”

  “Sure. That’s all right, Joe.”

  “But I’m kind of curious. Would you mind telling me something?”

  “My life story if you want it.”

  “Maybe I’m stepping out of line and if I am, just say so. But—well, just what is there to investigate? I mean, it all looks pretty much cut and dried to me. The fire wiped out everything and—”

  “Not everything, Joe.”

  “Well. You know what I mean.”

  “But you don’t know what I mean. The most important clue to any disaster is the man who profits by it. Don’t take that the wrong way. I’m not implying anything.”

  “How do you work on a clue like me?”

  “Well, I don’t slip around, dropping sly hints and giving people the wink. Nothing so crude as that, Joe. It’s more a matter of moving around, observing and listening, gathering impressions, figuring out whether you’re the kind of guy that would—”

  “I suppose you try to put yourself in the—the other fellow’s place, too.”

  “No. No, I don’t, Joe.
” Rolling down the window, he threw out the butt of his cigarette and lighted another one. “In the first place that requires a preconceived notion of what the other fellow is; I’m making up my mind about him before I ever go to work on him. What kind of an investigation is that?”

  “I’ve never thought about it that way,” I said. “You hear the expression used so often, putting yourself in the other fellow’s place—”

  “It’s bad business all the way around, Joe. If you put yourself in the other man’s place often enough you’re very likely to get stuck there. Some of your worst criminals began their careers as officers of the law. There’s probably a higher incidence of insanity among psychiatrists than any other group. I remember a case I worked on several years ago—”

  He paused and gave me a glance as much as to ask if he was boring me. I told him to go on. He was an easy guy to listen to, and I didn’t want to go home.

  “It was a murder, Joe. Just about the messiest job I’ve ever seen. A woman was literally clawed, clawed and chewed to death. Obviously, the murderer was a degenerate or a lunatic; we needed an expert on morbid psychology to get to the bottom of the crime. One of the best men in the country lived right there in the neighborhood, so, with the permission of the authorities, we called him in.

  “Well, the police threw out the well-known dragnet, pulled in all the twist-brains they could lay hands on, and this guy went to work. And, Joe, by God, it was enough to make your flesh crawl to watch him. He’d sit there in a cell with some bird that you and I wouldn’t touch with a ten-foot pole—the sort of bird that does things a lot of newspapers won’t print—and he’d pal right up to him. He’d talk to him like a long lost brother. He’d find out what special sort of craziness this guy went in for, and for the time being he’d be the same way. If you closed your eyes and listened, you wouldn’t know which one was doing the talking. And, yet, he was one of the most likable guys I’ve ever known. He talked my language, too. We seemed to click.