1956 - There's Always a Price Tag (21 page)

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The evening newspapers carried the story of Dester's disappearance under a banner headline.

There was a photograph of me talking to the reporters on the front page of the Hollywood Monitor. The caption under the photograph read: Glyn Nash, Erle Dester's secretary, holds off reporters in their attempt to learn the truth of Dester's disappearance.

There was no mention of Dester's debts. The Chief of Police, in an interview with the Press, said that it looked as if Dester had been kidnapped although no ransom note had as yet been received. He said that he was organizing an intensive search for the missing couple.

And yet even with all this publicity, there was still no news of Helen.

Around seven o'clock, Burnett telephoned.

'We're coming out to the house at eleven o'clock tomorrow morning, Nash,' he told me. 'It looks as if they have been kidnapped, and we'll want to talk to you and Miss Temple. I shall want to go through Mr. Dester's papers. You might have everything ready for me. If you have a list of what he owes.'

I said I would have everything ready for him.

'There's no news then?' I asked.

'Nothing. It's extraordinary. Stay by the telephone, Nash. You may get a ransom call. Notify the police and myself if you do.'

I said I would and hung up. But I knew there would be no ransom call. I had to go out to the forestry station, but first I had to get rid of Marian.

We sat in the lounge listening to the radio and talking in a desultory fashion until just after ten. How I contained myself I'll never know, but at half past ten I suggested she should go to bed.

'I'm out of cigarettes,' I said. 'I'll take the car and get a pack at the end of the road. I won't be long.'

'I don't want to be a nuisance, Glyn,' she said, 'but I do hate being alone here. Suppose the kidnappers ring up?'

'Okay, I won't go then,' I said. 'I've got enough to last me until tomorrow morning. I'll see you over to the garage apartment. Then I'll turn in myself. I'm pretty well whacked after no sleep last night. I expect you can do with some sleep yourself.'

We went over to the garage apartment.

'I shall leave tomorrow, Glyn,' Marian said as we entered the sitting room. 'I can't stay here any longer. I'll get a job somewhere and find a room.'

'Burnett will be coming tomorrow morning. We'll talk to him. I don't want to stay myself,' I said.

'You'll be all right here for tonight. Don't run out on me, Marian.'

She smiled. 'No, but I hate it here. There's such a horrible atmosphere. '

'Let's talk about it tomorrow.'

I kissed her and then went down the stairs, through the garage and out on to the driveway. Fortunately I hadn't put the Buick away. The drive from the garage was steeply sloped. I opened the car door, slid under the driving wheel and released the parking brake. The car rolled down the drive. It kept going to the gates, then, knowing Marian wouldn't now be able to hear the engine start up, I switched on the ignition.

I knew what I was doing was dangerous. I could be walking right into a trap. If Helen had been arrested, it was possible the police were waiting for me at the forestry station. If they caught me there, they wouldn't need any other evidence to tie me in with Helen. But I had to take the risk.

Suppose she had skipped? I asked myself. What was I going to do? Skip myself? The only other alternative would be to give the police the whole story, show them where Dester was and put as much blame on to Helen as I could.

I pushed that thought hastily out of my mind. That must be the last alternative. I wished now I hadn't been so damned smart. I wished I had never thought up this crazy plan. I cursed myself for going back with Dester to his house on the night we first met.

As I drove along Highway 101 I kept my eyes open for the sight of any State trooper, but I didn't see one.

I slowed down when I was a quarter of a mile from the dirt road that led to the forestry station. Ahead of me was a lay-by. I pulled into it, turned off the car's lights and cut the engine. I didn't intend to drive up that dirt road in case the police were waiting for me. I would sneak up there on foot, giving them no warning of my approach. With any luck I might spot them if they were there and duck out of sight before they saw me.

I reached the opening to the road after six or seven minutes. There was no moon; only stars, and it wasn't easy to see where I was going. I moved as silently as I could, not hurrying. I kept to the centre of the road, my ears and eyes alert.

It took me a little over a quarter of an hour to reach the barbed-wire gate. I could just make out the outlines of the gate in the semi-darkness. It stood open, the way I had left it when I had driven away the previous night.

I stood still, staring at the gate. Did that mean anything? Did it mean no one had been here since last night? Or was this a smart move of the police to lull me into walking into their trap?

My heart was beating violently as I stood listening, staring beyond the gate at the dim outlines of the three huts. There was no sign of life, no light showed, and the only sound I could hear was the thumping of my heart.

I moved forward cautiously, and finally reached the hut where I had left Helen. I paused outside the door, listening, then very gently I put my hand on the door and pushed. It moved and swung open.

Why hadn't the lock been repaired? It was just as I had left it. Could this mean no one had been to the hut or was this again a smart move of the police who were waiting for me somewhere in the darkness beyond?

I had to see. I couldn't run away now, although I wanted to. I took out my flashlight and thumbed down the switch. The bright beam lit up the passage. The doors on either side of the passage were shut. I moved forward, making no sound, listening, my heart pounding. Slowly, I crept down the passage to the door leading into the room where I had left Helen. The door stood ajar.

I couldn't remember if I had left it like that or if I had closed it.

Were the police in there, waiting for me?

I couldn't nerve myself to push open the door. I stood, staring at it, the beam of my flashlight lighting up the panels.

In a croaking whisper I said, 'Is anyone there?'

The silence that came out of the room was like a physical thing: worse even than the sound of a voice.

I took another step forward, reached out a shaking hand, and touched the door panel. The door swung open with a little squeak that set my teeth on edge.

I sent the beam of the flashlight into the room, along the floor to where I had left Helen.

The beam picked up the pale green of her skirt and her long, slender legs in their torn nylon stockings.

I stood staring at her, scarcely believing my eyes. I could see the cord still around her ankles. I moved forward, cold and shaking. The light moved up her body to her face. The silk scarf was still tightly bound around her mouth. Her eyes were half open, and they looked sightlessly into the beam of the light.

She looked shrunken and like a doll. The dreadful grey, waxy texture of her skin told me she was dead.

chapter eleven

H
ow long I stood staring down at her, I shall never know. It was only when I heard a car coming up the dirt road and saw the reflection of its headlights through the window that I was galvanized into action.

I lurched to the window and looked out.

The car was coming through the gateway. The red glow on the hood told me it was a police car.

For perhaps three or four seconds I stood rooted, staring out of the window, staring at the approaching car, and when finally it sank into my paralysed mind that in a moment they would be in here and would catch me red-handed, it was too late to escape by the front entrance.

Feverishly I tried to raise the window, but it had jammed and my efforts made no impression on it. I heard the entrance door open. I was now trapped in this room. In seconds they would come in and find me.

I looked wildly around for a hiding place. Right by me were the four big, wooden crates. Dropping down on hands and knees I eased one of them from the wall. I was lucky. This one was empty and without a lid. I turned it on its side with the open end towards the wall and I slid into it. There was just room for me to squat down. It wasn't much of a hiding place, but there was just the chance they wouldn't expect anyone to be hiding here and wouldn't search the room.

I heard a man's voice say, 'Stay with the car, Jackson. Come on, let's have a look at this joint.'

My heart contracted as I recognized Bromwich's voice.

I heard him walk into the passage, turn a door handle and walk into the office I had entered when I had first come here.

Lewis's voice said sharply, 'See that, the window's broken.'

'Doesn't mean anything,' Bromwich said curtly. 'This place has been up for sale now for a month. The news gets around. Probably some bum broke in to see what he could pick up.'

'There was someone out here last night,' Lewis said. 'Car lights were seen from the highway. This could be where they were brought after they were snatched, Lieutenant. They were heading this way when MacTavish passed them.'

Bromwich grunted. 'Nothing in here.'

I heard them come out and cross the passage into the room on the right. I was suspended in a cold, terrified vacuum. If they found me here, they would think I had killed her and they'd send me to the gas chamber.

'I guess we're wasting our time,' Bromwich said from the other room. 'I still think they've skipped. Ditching the car could be his idea of throwing us off his trail. While we're working on this kidnapping idea, he's probably on a ship for Europe.'

'The Chief doesn't think so,' Lewis said.

'He looks for trouble,' Bromwich said sourly, 'but he doesn't have to run himself ragged like I do. I'd think it was a snatch myself if all I had to do was to sit behind a desk and hand out cockeyed orders.’

'We may as well check this last room,' Lewis said.

I held my breath as I heard the door push open. The beam of a powerful flashlight swung into the room. I closed my eyes, squeezing myself against the wall of the crate.

'For sweet Pete's sake!' Bromwich exclaimed.

I heard him move forward.

'It's the Dester woman!' Lewis said. His voice sounded excited. 'The description fits her. Is she cold?'

'Been dead thirty hours at least,' Bromwich said. 'My stars! This is going to start something.'

'So they were snatched,' Lewis said. 'Think Dester's body is anywhere around?'

'How the hell should I know?' Bromwich snapped. 'I've got to get the boys up here. Let's see if the telephone in the other room's still connected. You stay here.'

I heard him run down the passage while Lewis lit a cigarette and began to prowl around the room. He paused beside the wooden crates and gave one of them a tentative kick. I remained motionless, sweating, my breath held, my heart hammering.

I could hear Bromwich bawling on the telephone. I couldn't hear what he was saying. In about an hour, probably less, the whole forestry station would be crawling with police. If I were going to get away I had to do it before they arrived.

Lewis must have tried the light switch for the room suddenly sprang alight.

'Well, at least the light's not disconnected, Lieutenant,' he called.

About five minutes later, Bromwich came back into the room.

'They're on their way. Tell Jackson to take a look at the other two huts. Dester may be in one of them.'

Lewis went away. I could hear Bromwich moving about the room. He hummed under his breath. I couldn't see what he was doing, but every time he passed close to the crates, I held my breath.

'He's taking a look,' Lewis said, coming back into the room. I heard him move over to where Helen lay. 'She's certainly been knocked about. Think she was suffocated by that gag?'

'I dunno. The M.O. will tell us.' Bromwich sat on the crate in which I was hiding. 'It beats me why she was left tied up like that. She must have been alive. They wouldn't tie up a dead woman, would they? But why did they leave her here? This isn't like a snatch job to leave her here. There's something wrong in this setup, Lewis.'

'Yeah,' Lewis said. 'It looks to me it's the work of an amateur. You know that guy Nash bothers me. There's something too smooth about him. Think he's hooked up in this?'

'I don't know, but I'll find out. You're right; there is something about him. One time he worked for Jack Solly. We had Solly in a couple of times and we couldn't pin anything on him: remember? Birds of a feather …'

'That's what I was thinking. He was too glib about how sick Dester was. It's my bet Dester never was sick.'

I was listening to all this and I was pretty scared.

'She may have had something to do with it too,' Bromwich went on. 'That cord around her wrists and ankles doesn't fit. It looks like a plant to me.'

'All the same, you don't fake that bruise she's got there.'

'That's right.'

Footsteps sounded in the passage, then a new voice said, 'I've checked the other two huts. No one's in there and no one's been in there for some time, Lieutenant.'

'Okay, Jackson. Stick around outside and let me know when the others come.'

There was a long silence, then Bromwich said, 'I've got another idea: one I like a lot. Suppose Dester killed her and tied her this way to make it look like a kidnapping? He could have skipped, hoping we would think he's in the hands of kidnappers. How do you like that?'

'Why should he kill her?' Lewis asked doubtfully.

'They didn't hit it off. From what I hear she treated him like a dog. They may have quarrelled on the way to the sanatorium. It was her idea he should go there. Maybe he felt she was railroading him into the joint and he wouldn't be able to get out once he was in. Maybe he got her to stop the car and then slugged her, brought her out here, found he had killed her and rigged it to look like she had been kidnapped. That could be it, Lewis.'

'Then he drove back to Hollywood, ditched the car and took a train or a bus somewhere,' Lewis said.