1957 - The Guilty Are Afraid (27 page)

“It’s fantastic, Lew.”

“Not all that fantastic. Drug operating is a tough racket, Margot. The Narcotic Squad knows nearly all the answers. A successful peddler has to be one jump ahead all the time, and Cordez and Hahn were one jump ahead with this idea until now. Hahn’s place is ideally situated to receive supplies of drugs. A boat can come in at night and no one would be any the wiser. Well, there it is. I’ll bet my last buck that’s the mystery of the match-folder.”

I reached in my hip pocket and took the folder out. “Each customer probably has a different set of ciphers so he or she can be identified. If the folder is lost, no one else can use it. It is like a season ticket to hell. Sheppey got hold of one of these folders. That’s why he was killed and that’s why his room and mine were searched.”

“Then Jacques took drugs?” Margot asked, staring at me.

“It’s possible. Anyway, he knew about the folder. When I set fire to a match he nearly gave himself away. He knew I was throwing away so many ounces of drugs.”

I put the folder back into my hip pocket. “Well, tomorrow finishes it. I’m turning the folder over to the Los Angeles Narcotic Squad, and they’ll handle it.”

“And then you’ll go away?” she said, her hand closing over mine. “I don’t want you to go, Lew.”

I smiled at her.

“I can’t stay here. I have my work to do in Frisco. That’s where my roots are. What’s to stop you coming to Frisco?”

“Daddy, of course. He wouldn’t let me.”

I stood up.

“You know what the trouble with you is, don’t you? You want your fun and your dollars. Think about it. It might be an idea for you to forget your old man and see what it’s like to earn your own living.”

She lay back, her eyes suddenly bright and inviting.

“I might try, darling, but what about that shower you said you wanted to take?”

“I’ll be right with you.”

I stripped off my coat, slid out of my trousers and shirt and dropped them on a chair, then, clad only in my shorts, I went into the bathroom. I closed the door, turned on the shower and stood by the door, my heart beginning to thump.

I waited for perhaps ten seconds, then I took hold of the door handle and turned it very gently. I inched the door open so I could see into the bedroom.

Margot was out of bed, standing by the chair on which I had thrown my clothes. Her hand was in the hip pocket of my trousers and, as I watched her, she took out the folder of matches. There was an expression of terror and relief on her face that made me feel pretty bad.

I reached out, cut the shower, opened the door wide and moved into the bedroom.

Margot spun around, her eyes widening, and she caught her breath in a tight little scream.

I didn’t even look at her. I walked across to the bed and caught hold of the pillow that still held the impression of her head. I jerked it on to the floor.

Lying on the sheet where the pillow had hidden it was a yellow-handled icepick.

II

I
n a silence I could almost feel, I looked over at Margot, who stood as if turned to stone, the folder of matches in her hand, her eyes enormous.

“Did you really imagine you could get away with it, Margot?” I said. “Did you really imagine it would be third time lucky?”

Her lips moved, but no words came.

I picked up the icepick and turned it over in my fingers. The point of the blade had been filed and it looked as sharp as a needle. A little chill snaked up my spine as I realized what a close escape I had had.

“You were good, but not quite good enough,” I said, watching her. “As an actress you were superb, but you were only a second-rate liar. You were doing fine until you tried to sell me the idea that Thrisby owned the match-folder. That dinner you described never took place. Thrisby was fooling around with a new girlfriend on that particular night and Bridgette was up at his house. That was a clumsy lie, Margot, and it led me right to you.”

She sat down abruptly and hid her face in her hands.

“I was puzzled why you should have lent me this bungalow,” I went on. “It was so out of character, but now I can see you were taking precautions. If I got to be a nuisance you might have to get rid of me. This is a conveniently lonely place to kill a man in, isn’t it?”

She looked up then, her face white and her eyes glittering. She still looked beautiful, but it was a hard, dangerous beauty.

“And you had this under your pillow,” I said, holding up the icepick. “It explains why Sheppey’s killing appeared to be so expert and Thelma Cousins’ death so clumsy. When you have a man in your arms, Margot, it is easy to reach under your pillow, take out the pick and drive it into the back of his neck. That’s what you planned to do to me, wasn’t it? Thelma, of course, would have been standing when you struck her, and in that position it would be much more difficult to kill cleanly.” I looked at her. “Well, say something. You killed Sheppey, didn’t you?”

She shook her head.

“You don’t understand,” she said, the words spilling out of her mouth. “He was blackmailing me. He found the folder and he stole it from me. He said he wouldn’t give it back to me unless I submitted to him. He forced himself on me. I killed him in self-defence.”

“You’ll have to lie better than that, Margot. Sheppey wasn’t a blackmailer. He had lots of faults, but he wouldn’t go as low as that. It’s much more complicated than that. Let me tell you what I think happened,” I said, and sat on the edge of the bed. “Thrisby and you were short of money. You were in love with him and he appeared to be in love with you. He got money out of Bridgette, and you two spent it. But Bridgette was no fool. She began to suspect what was going on. She probably got someone like Hammerschult to hire Sheppey to watch you. It must have been fun for Sheppey to follow you around. I bet he fell for you a lot faster than I did. You persuaded him to double-cross Bridgette and not tell her you were Thrisby’s mistress. I am quite sure you rewarded him. Unfortunately for him, he stumbled on the match-folder racket. He got hold of your folder. You had to get it back. You can’t live without your regular shot, can you? So you decided to kill him.”

“No!” she exclaimed, beating her fists together. “It didn’t happen like that! He attacked me. . . .”

“And you had an icepick handy? You planned it, Margot.”

“I didn’t! You’ve got to believe me. . .”

“Then why did you go to his hotel in an elaborate disguise? The black wig, the sunglasses and the get-up made you feel safe when you lured Sheppey to that bathing cabin. You had to be sure no one at the hotel could identify you. The hotel dick was smart enough to see through your disguise, but I was mug enough not to listen to him. Because Sheppey was double-crossing Bridgette, he accepted your disguise. You had only to point out to him that Bridgette mustn’t see you two together for him to accept the wig and the dark glasses. Anyway, you probably gave him that look of invitation you gave me. He wouldn’t care what colour your hair was so long as you made good on that invitation. You got him to the beach cabin and you killed him. When you found he hadn’t the match-folder on him, you took the key of his room, went to the hotel and hunted for the folder there, but you didn’t find it.”

She crossed her arms over her breasts and shivered.

“I don’t want to hear any more of this,” she said. “It’s not true.”

“Of course it’s true. And I’ll tell you something else. You discovered Thrisby was making a play for Thelma Cousins. He was getting bored with you and an innocent girl like Thelma would amuse him. You knew the police would hunt for the girl who had been seen with Sheppey. You saw your chance of confusing the investigation, and at the same time of getting rid of a rival. You went regularly to Hahn’s place for your drugs so you must have known Thelma. It wouldn’t have been difficult for you to persuade her to go for a swim with you. Probably you said you wanted to talk to her about Thrisby. You took her to the bathing station where you had killed Sheppey. The police had closed the place so you two were alone there. You stabbed her and left her for dead. You only just had time to get back to your apartment and change before I called on you. You hid your panic pretty well, Margot, but when I had gone you began to wonder just how much I knew. So you called me to tell me that Sheppey hadn’t been to the Musketeer Club and like a mug, I told you I had the match-folder. You went around to my hotel and found it, and you were smart enough to substitute one of the ordinary folders in the hope I wouldn’t know the difference.”

She shook her head wildly.

“No, Lew . . . you’re wrong! I swear I didn’t . . .”

“Thrisby knew you were a drug taker,” I went on. “He knew you had the motive for getting rid of Thelma. You realized he might give you away. When I told you Bridgette had threatened to kill him, you saw your chance to silence him and get rid of Bridgette. I’ll say this for you, Margot: you’re certainly a great opportunist. It was easy enough for you to get hold of Bridgette’s gun. You went out to Thrisby’s place and you shot him. His servant was still in the house so you had to silence him too. I don’t know how you felt when you discovered you had left your bag here and I had your match-folder again, but you must have been pretty desperate. That was when you decided to get rid of me, too, wasn’t it?”

She lifted her head and stared at me, her eyes dark with hate.

“You can’t prove any of this,” she said hoarsely. “I’m not afraid of you.”

“Yes, you are, Margot. The guilty are always afraid.”

She stood up.

“There’s nothing you can do to me! There’s nothing you dare do!”

“I’m sorry, Margot, but you can’t be allowed to get away with this thing. Four people died because of you.”

“My father won’t let you do anything to me,” she said breathlessly.

“There’s nothing your father can do now,” I said. “I’m going to tell Rankin. Even this corrupt administration can’t hush up four murders.”

While I talked, she slowly backed away until she reached the chest of drawers, then she spun around, pulled open a drawer, dipped her hand into it as I started across the room towards her. I stopped abruptly as she turned, a .25 in her hand.

“Now . . .” she said, her eyes glittering. “I’ll show you I’m not afraid.”

A soft, effeminate voice said from the doorway, “Don’t act like a fool, Margot.”

She gave a faint scream as she spun around. I looked quickly over my shoulder.

Lee Creedy stood in the doorway. He was wearing a tuxedo: a white camellia in his buttonhole. His horn glasses rested on his forehead: a cigar burned evenly between his thin lips.

“Give me that gun,” he said, holding out his hand.

Without hesitation, she went to him and gave him the gun. Her face was chalk white and she was shaking.

“Put some clothes on,” he said. “You look like a whore in that thing.”

She went quickly to one of the closets, jerked open the door, snatched out a dress and then ran into the bathroom and slammed the door after her.

Creedy’s expressionless eyes moved to me.

“You get dressed too,” he said. “I’ll wait in the lounge,” and he walked out of the bedroom.

I slid into my clothes. As I was putting on my jacket, Margot came out of the bathroom, smoothing the dress over her hips.

“He won’t let you do anything to me,” she said breathlessly.

“I know he won’t.”

She ran past me into the lounge and I followed her.

Creedy was pacing up and down. He still held the gun in his hand. His face was completely expressionless.

“Sit down,” he said to Margot, waving to a chair. Then, looking at me, he went on, “And you sit down too.”

We sat down.

He continued to pace up and down for several seconds, then he said, without pausing in his prowling, “Bridgette told me you had a man here. I thought I’d come down to see who it was. You are a disappointment to me, Margot, but most children are disappointments to their parents.

I dare say I haven’t been much of a father to you and your mother was a thoroughly rotten woman, but that doesn’t entirely excuse you.” He stopped as he came close to her. “I heard what Brandon was saying to you. Is it true?”

She couldn’t meet his cold, steady gaze.

“No, of course it isn’t,” she said, clenching and unclenching her fists. “He’s lying!”

“Then tell me why that icepick was under your pillow.”

She started to say something and then stopped. She suddenly lost her beauty. She looked older, defeated and completely lost.

“There is no answer to that, is there?” he said. “Now listen to me, Margot. I control this town. The police do what I tell them. Brandon has no power here. You have nothing to fear from him. All I want from you is the truth, then I will be able to cope with the situation. Did you kill this man Sheppey?”

She looked up at him; her eyes suddenly trusting.

“I had to, Daddy—there was no other way.”

His mouth tightened, but otherwise his expression didn’t change.

“What do you mean—there was no other way?”

“He was going to tell the police about Cordez,” she said. “I couldn’t let him do that.”

“Why not?”

She made a helpless little movement.

“You wouldn’t understand . . .”

“You are trying to tell me you are a drug addict: that’s it, isn’t it?”

“I suppose so.”

He took his glasses off, stared at them, put them back on and pushed them up on to his forehead.

“This woman Thelma Cousins.” He began to move around the room again. “Did you stab her as he says you did?”

“I had to, Daddy.”

“And Thrisby?”

She shut her eyes, her hands pressing her breasts.

“Yes.”

“You seem to have made a pretty squalid mess of your life, Margot,” he said, without looking at her.

She sat motionless, her hands clenched.

“Well, all right,” he went on. “Everyone is entitled to lead the life they choose.” He suddenly crossed over to a chair and sat down. “You know it is hard to believe you’ve done this, Margot. It is not going to be easy to get you out of it either.”

She leaned forward, her hands now so tightly clenched the knuckles showed white.