1957 - The Guilty Are Afraid (20 page)

“I don’t always answer the telephone, Bridgette, darling. It’s so easy for some bore to trap me on the telephone. I heard the bell and I didn’t answer it.”

Her nostrils flared out.

“Am I a bore then?”

He smiled.

“You mustn’t jump to conclusions. You know as well as I do how easy it is for some bore to call up and trap you.”

“That doesn’t answer the question.”

He studied her, his smile remaining fixed, a meaningless thing.

“You are being a bore right now, darling,” he said at last. “I have told you what happened last night. I was here watching the fights. I heard the telephone bell ring I ignored it, and when the fights were over, I went to bed. I just forgot our date, and I’m very, very, very sorry.”

She sat up abruptly in her chair: her eyes smouldering.

“You’re lying! You weren’t here! I came out here and found the place in darkness and your car wasn’t in the garage. How dare you lie to me! What were you doing?”

His fixed smile suddenly went away and his face hardened. He was no longer the handsome playboy. The smooth veneer of his polish suddenly slid off him, showing the hard, unscrupulous man that lay below the surface.

“So you came out here, did you? Just how cheap are you going to make yourself, my pet? First, you hire a private dick to watch me, then when he gets murdered, you do your own spying. I’ve had enough of this. Let’s cut it out, shall we? I’m fed to the teeth if I may say so with all of it.”

She placed her silver-tipped fingers on her bare knees and squeezed. Her long thin fingers looked like claws.

“Who was the woman?”

He finished his drink and stubbed out his cigarette.

“I guess that will be all for today,” he said. “I’ve things to do even if you haven’t. So let’s break it up, shall we?”

“Was it Margot?” The hate in her voice was ugly to hear. “Have you started with her again?”

“Just because Margot is better looking than you and at least ten years younger, it doesn’t follow she means anything to me,” he said. “Between you and me, I find the Creedy women a drug on the market right now.” His smile widened. “If the truth must be told they are both oversexed, too possessive and utter bores. Now, would you mind very much running along, my pet? I have a lunch date.”

“It was Margot, wasn’t it? She’s still in love with you, isn’t she? She’s determined to take you away from me,”

Bridgette said, her voice shaking.

“Look, don’t let’s have a scene,” Thrisby said, and he moved out of my view. I heard the sound of a cork being twisted from a bottle. “Will you please go away now Bridgette?”

“I’m not going until I know who the woman is you were with last night!”

“All right. If you must know she was a little blonde, very cute and young and fresh, I found on the promenade who happened to be lonely. You should know by now, Bridgette, that lonely women are utterly irresistible to me.”

He came back into view with another highball in his hand, his smooth veneer back in place. “So out of the kindness of my heart I had to console her, and I was agreeably surprised by her enthusiastic response.”

“You rotten swine!” Bridgette said, her voice harsh. Her face had suddenly become pinched-looking and her glittering eyes seemed to have sunk into their sockets.

“You’re lying! It was Margot!”

“Well, if you won’t go, then I must,” Thrisby said, and smiled. “Never let it be said I throw my ex-mistresses out of my house. Make yourself at home, my pet. Don’t drink too much of my liquor. I hope I find you gone when I come back.”

“So we’re through for good, is that it?” Bridgette asked.

“My dear, that is really brilliant of you. I’ve been saying that for the past ten minutes, and now you tell me. Yes, Bridgette, we’re through for good. We’ve both had a lot of fun, and now it is better for us to go our ways.”

She leaned back in her chair: her expression wasn’t pleasant to see. She seemed to have grown older during the past minutes: her near nakedness now was an embarrassment.

“All right, if we’re going to part for good, Jacques, you’d better settle up your debts,” she said in a cold, flat voice. “You haven’t forgotten you owe me some money, have you? Thirteen thousand dollars to be exact.”

His smile widened.

“Is it as much as that?” He picked up his glass, looked into it with lifted eyebrows and drank a little of the whisky. “I suppose you have it all written down in a leather-bound book?”

“I have kept an account. I want the money.”

“I dare say you do. Your elderly husband isn’t over generous, is he? I’m afraid you will have to wait for it. I haven’t got thirteen thousand dollars: nothing like it. It has cost quite a lot to take you around and amuse you. I’ll let you have it when I can, but you must make up your mind to the dismal fact that it will be a long, long wait.”

“I want it now,” she said tonelessly.

“So sorry. Well, I must be running along. Shall I see you to your car?”

“I said I want the money now,” she said, raising her voice.

“Well, of course, if you insist, then you will have to sue me.” His smile broadened. “I’m quite sure your husband will advise you how best to set about it. Of course, he’ll probably divorce you when he hears that you have given me so much money. After all, he is a man of the world and he will realize that a man like me wouldn’t get money out of you unless I gave something in return. But never mind, you are possibly as tired of him, my beautiful pet, as I am of you.”

She studied him for a long moment. There was an expression in her eyes that would have worried me, but it didn’t seem to worry him.

“I don’t think you are fit to live,” she said finally. “I must have been out of my mind to have ever had anything to do with you.”

“I wouldn’t put it as strongly as that,” he returned. “You were an unsatisfied woman and I supplied your need. It’s something you must expect to pay for. We have had fun, now it’s time for us to part. Be sensible, Bridgette; don’t let’s part on an unpleasant note. There are plenty of other guys as good-looking as I am, and as big and as strong. You won’t have any trouble in finding someone to replace me. Think of the fun you will have breaking in a new lover as you tried to break me in. I never did quite toe the line as you wanted, did I? But, never mind, you might find someone who will. In a few weeks you will have forgotten all about me.”

She stared at him for a long moment, then she reached down by her side and lifted into view a big beach bag that was a little like the one Margot carried around with her. She opened it and began to hunt around in it, reminding me of the way Margot had hunted around in her bag.

Thrisby watched her, his eyebrows lifted, his fixed smile in place.

She looked up, her hand still out of sight in the bag and said, “You really mean this, Jacques? We really are through?”

He ran his fingers through his hair in a movement of exasperation.

“Yes,” he said, his voice suddenly harsh, “how many more times do I have to tell you?”

“We don’t ever meet again?” she said, still watching him, her eyes glittering.

“All right, if you want it the hard way, you can have it,” he said, leaning forward to glare at her. “Get the hell out of here. I’m sick to death of the sight of you! Now get out or I’ll damn well throw you out!”

She smiled at him: a tight, spine-chilling grimace.

Then she said, “I’m going to kill you, Jacques. If I’m not having you, no one else is.”

From the bag she pulled out a 38 automatic and pointed it at him.

Chapter 11

I

I
t was suddenly very quiet on the verandah and the sun felt over hot. Somewhere in the distance I could hear the sound of the sea breaking on the shore: a whisper of sound that seemed loud in the silence around me. There was also a sudden silence in the big lounge. I looked at Thrisby, who was standing motionless, staring at the gun, his eyes startled, his smile sliding from his face.

Bridgette slowly stood up. With the gun in her hand, she looked incongruous in the skimpy bikini swimsuit. Her face was the colour of marble under her tan and her skin had a mottled look. Her silver-tipped finger was curled around the trigger of the gun.

“Yes, Jacques,” she said softly, “I’m going to kill you. I’ve suffered enough from you: now it’s your turn to share a little of the hell you’ve given me.”

“Don’t be a mad fool,” Thrisby said, speaking each word slowly and breathlessly. “Put that gun down. It won’t get you anywhere. The police will arrest you. Everyone knows I’m your lover. The first person they will think of is you.”

“Do you think I care? Do you think I’ll want to go on living after I’ve killed you, Jacques? Oh, no. When I have shot you, I’m going to shoot myself. That’s how I feel about it. I’m not afraid to die as you are.”

He passed his tongue over his lips.

“Put the gun down, Bridgette, and let’s talk about this. Maybe I’ve been a little hasty. We could pick up the threads. I was only fooling when I said . . .”

“You miserable, rotten coward,” she said contemptuously. “I thought that’s how you would talk once I had you cornered. It’s too late now. I have as much mercy for you as you’ve had for me.”

Very slowly he began to back away, his eyes starting out of his head, his face beginning to sweat. Equally slowly, she moved forward, stalking him across the big lounge. Softly I stepped through the french doors into the lounge.

Thrisby, who was facing her, saw me at once. She had her back to me. He lifted his hands and half-turned away. I could see he was terrified that I might startle her into shooting him. I jumped forward, my hand slamming down on her wrist, forcing the gun to point to the floor.

The gun went off with a bang that rattled the windows and the slug made a neat hole in the fitted carpet. I twisted the gun out of her hand as she spun around, her green eyes opening wide. For a long moment she stared at me, her face old, drawn and frightened. Then she moved to one side, walked past me, snatched up her beach bag and ran out on to the terrace.

Thrisby sat down abruptly on the settee. He hid his face in his hands.

I laid the gun on one of the cocktail tables, took out my handkerchief and wiped off my face and wrists.

The sound of a car starting up made a loud noise in the silence of the lounge.

For a long moment I didn’t say anything. I just stood looking at Thrisby.

“I doubt if she was going to kill you,” I said mildly. “She was probably only going to put a bullet in your leg.”

He made a tremendous effort to get hold of himself and he stood up abruptly, his mouth working, his eyes still dark with fright.

“These damned neurotics,” he said. “How the hell did she get hold of that gun?”

“Very often it’s the only way a woman can level the score,” I said. “Men are getting themselves shot everyday all over the world by women who haven’t any other way of coping with certain situations. You should have thought of that before you planned to ditch her.”

He stared at me.

“Who are you and where did you spring from?” he demanded.

I dug out one of my business cards and offered it to him. He peered at it, not taking it. I was pretty sure he didn’t want me to see how badly his hands were shaking.

“Well, I’ll be damned!” he said, after he had read what was on the card. “The Star Agency . . . that’s the agency the fellow who . . .” He stopped abruptly, moved away from me, an alarmed, puzzled expression in his eyes.

“That’s right,” I said. “Sheppey was my partner.”

“Is she employing you to watch me?” he asked, not looking at me.

“No. I just happened along. I wanted to talk to you.”

He took out a handkerchief, mopped his face, then carried his glass over to the bar.

“Have a drink?”

“Thanks, I think I will.”

He gulped down the drink left in his glass, then made two very strong highballs, carried them over to a table, set them down and dropped into a lounging chair. He took a cigarette from an ebony box, set fire to it and dragged smoke down into his lungs.

“She had me rattled for a moment. Did you see the expression in her eyes? She meant to kill me,” he said, picked up his drink and took a long pull. “If you hadn’t walked in when you did . . .” He let it hang, while he grimaced.

“Oh, I don’t know. She probably only intended to scare you,” I said, knowing she meant to kill him. “You must lead quite an eventful life.”

He smiled crookedly.

“That’s taught me a lesson: no more middle-aged neurotics for me. I’m going to stick to the young ones in future. They don’t take it so hard.” He leaned forward to stare at the .38 lying on the table where I had put it. “Now where do you imagine she got this from?”

“Anyone can get a gun these days.” I scooped up the gun and shoved it into my hip pocket. “Is that right she hired Sheppey to watch you?”

His face suddenly became expressionless.

“Did she? I wouldn’t know. I wouldn’t put it past her to hire a flock of dicks to watch me. She looked on me as her special possession.”

“Quite an expensive one if you owe her thirteen thousand bucks.”

He shrugged his broad shoulders.

“She’s crazy. I didn’t borrow anything like that amount from her. I dare say during the six months we’ve been around together it cost her something, but I was spending it on her, and that’s not quite the same thing as owing it to her, is it?”

“You said to her she had hired a private dick to watch you. That was Sheppey, wasn’t it?”

“Did I say that? I tell you I don’t know who it was.”

“If you’re bothered about getting mixed up with the police you can relax,” I said. “I’m carrying out my own investigation. You tell me what I want to know and I’ll keep it away from the police.”

He thought for a long moment, then asked, “Just what do you want to know?”

“Did Mrs. Creedy hire Sheppey to watch you?”

He hesitated.

“This isn’t going to get me a cop in my lap?”

“No.”

“Well, okay. Yes, she did.”

“Why?”

“Because she imagined I was running around with her stepdaughter.”