Do Me a Favour Drop Dead

Chapter Seven

A little after 21.00, I went into the garage. I again tested the swing up garage door. Held by the outside wedge, it was rock firm. Then I got into the Caddy and started the motor, also switching on the heater at quarter power. Getting out of the car, I shut and locked all the car doors. Marshall was to have no chance to turn off the engine.

There was a small pilot light above the door leading into the passage which automatically lit up when you opened the door leading into the passage or when you swung up the garage door. Moving into the passage, I shut the door, then went back to the living room.

Beth was sitting as I had left her, motionless, her hands in her lap. She looked at me, her eyes remote.

‘It’s all set,’ I said. I looked at my watch. ‘I’m going up now. You stay here for an hour, then come up. Take a bath. If he is awake I want him to know you’re going to bed. Stay in your room. From now on, I’ll handle it.’

She nodded.

‘This is it, Beth. Do you still want to go ahead? With any luck you and I will be worth a million by tomorrow.’

‘Yes.’

She was the ice woman again. A screwball, I thought, watching her, but without her, I couldn’t get the money and that was all I was now thinking about.

‘If he walks into the trap, Beth,’ I said at the door, ‘I’ll tell you. Don’t go to sleep. It could be a long wait.’

Again she nodded.

Leaving her, I went up the stairs. Soundlessly, I eased open Marshall’s door an inch or so. I could hear his heavy breathing and now and then a strangled snore. I went into my bedroom, turned down the bed, then changed my shoes for a pair of sneakers. Turning off the overhead light, I turned on the bedside lamp and sat in an armchair. Faintly, I could hear Marshall snoring. I wondered if he would sleep right through the night. If he did my plan was sunk.

I spent the next hour thinking about Beth and thinking about the money. I realized if Marshall were found dead tomorrow, I would have to leave the house. I couldn’t remain here with Beth alone. There must be no head wagging or gossip about us in Wicksteed. I would go back to Mrs. Hansen, then when Beth knew she had control of the money, I would go to Frisco and wait for her to join me. The thought of being separated from her for at least a month bothered me, but I knew we had to play it safe.

Around 22.30, I heard her come up the stairs. Moving silently, I half opened my door and watched her go into her bedroom. I waited, hearing her moving around. She closed the closet door with a loud click, then she came out in a dressing gown and went into the bathroom, leaving the door ajar. She began to run the bath. If Marshall was awake fie must hear these preparations for going to bed.

I turned off the bedside light, then switching on a small pocket flashlight, I reversed the key in the lock, stepped into the corridor and locked the door, removing the key.

The bath water had stopped running. The house was silent. I couldn’t hear Marshall snoring. Had he woken? I went downstairs and into the living room. I didn’t turn on the lights, but using my flashlight, I went over to the window recess. I had already picked this as my hiding place. The recess was covered by heavy ceiling-to-floor curtains. There was room enough behind the curtains to take a chair. Pulling back the curtains, I carried a small armchair into the recess, then closed the curtains and sat down.

I was aware my hands were clammy and there were sweat beads on my face. All I now could hear was the rustle of leaves as the wind increased. I looked out of the window. The big moon was half hidden by drifting black clouds. The window was sprinkled with rain. I hoped there wouldn’t be a storm. I wanted to hear every sound that went on in the house.

Parting the curtains, I sat forward and listened. I could hear Beth’s bath water running away. Then I heard her bedroom door close. Then there was silence.

The wind began to whine around the house and the rain increased. Leaving the recess, I went into the hall. I had to hear if he got out of bed. I sat on the bottom stair and tried to relax.

I sat there for three tense, nerve wracking hours, continually looking at my strap watch. Apart from the sound of the wind and the rain, I heard nothing.

From time to time, I stood up and stretched, but I didn’t move around as the wooden floor of the hall was old and creaked.

At 02.00, I began to worry. Maybe that last double whisky had fixed him and he would sleep until daylight. I wondered if Beth was awake. She was cold and indifferent enough to be sleeping. I listened to hear any snoring from Marshall, but could hear nothing, but the rain beating down. I longed to smoke, but resisted the temptation.

The clock in the living room struck the half hour and I cursed to myself. The gamble wasn’t going to work! Getting to my feet, and flicking on my flashlight, I returned to the window recess and sank into the armchair. I drew the curtains. The tension of waiting, the previous night’s loss of sleep were taking their toll. I felt suddenly exhausted and desperately tired. My eyelids kept drooping. He hadn’t fallen for the bait! I shouldn’t have given him that whisky! Now, I would have to think of another scheme to get rid of him. My eyes closed. I was now too tired to care. I nodded off.

I woke with a start as the clock struck three.

The light was on in the living room! Immediately alert, my heart pounding, I parted the curtains so I could see.

Marshall, in his pyjamas, was standing in the doorway, his hair mussed, his face inflamed, his eyes furtively searching the room. He moved unsteadily to the liquor cabinet, paused to listen, then opened the double doors. He peered in, then uttered a four-letter word. For a long moment he stared into the empty cabinet, then shut the doors. Again he looked around the room, then staggered out and towards the kitchen.

With my heart pounding, I went silently to the door. I watched him turn on the kitchen light. I could see his broad back as he went to the refrigerator, opened the door, peered in and again muttered the four-letter word. He shut the refrigerator door and stood motionless for several seconds, then he moved out of sight.

He was remembering the bottle of whisky in the Caddy’s glove compartment. He had taken the bait!

Moving silently, I paused at the kitchen door, my hand in my pocket, my fingers around the wooden wedge. He had gone down the passage that led to the garage!

I moved into the kitchen. Sweat was bothering me, and with the back of my hand, I wiped it from dripping into my eyes.

My heart was now pounding so violently I had trouble with my breathing. I could hear him stumbling down the passage to the garage door. I moved forward. I could see him as he opened the door leading into the garage. The pilot light came on and he started forward, then stopped.

‘What the hell!’ I heard him mutter. ‘The motor’s running!’

He stood staring into the garage, his back to me. I realized he was sober enough to smell the buildup of fumes. Even from where I stood, I could smell them.

If he turned around, I was sunk. In a blind panic, I rushed forward, my hands outstretched. They slammed against his back, pitching him into the garage. Sweat blinding me, my breath rasping through my clenched teeth, I slammed the door shut, bent and shoved the wedge home.

I had scarcely time to kick the wedge into place when he thudded against the door.

‘Get me out of here!’ he bawled. ‘Beth! Hear me! Get me out of here.’

Panting, I leaned hard against the door. Again he thudded his body against the door which creaked alarmingly, but held.

‘Keith!’ His voice sounded fainter.

I was cold and shaking. It couldn’t last more than another minute or so, I told myself. Drop dead... drop dead!

Again he thumped on the door, but they were feeble little thumps now, then there was a slithering sound, as clawing at the door, he sank down.

I moved away from the door, took out my handkerchief and blotted my face. My legs were trembling. I became aware that Beth was standing at the end of the passage, watching.

‘Go away!’ I said huskily, hating her to see the state I was in. ‘Go away!’

She pulled her dressing gown around her, nodded and moved out of sight. I stood listening. All I could now hear was the steady beat of the car engine. I gave the wedge another kick, then moved back into the kitchen.

Beth was there, a glass of neat whisky in her hand. She thrust it at me. I drank, the glass rattling against my teeth.

We looked at each other.

‘It’s done,’ I said, only when the whisky began to bite. ‘Go to bed.’

‘Is he dead?’ The flat, cold indifferent voice could have been querying if the cat I had drowned was dead.

‘He will be. Not yet... he is unconscious, but in a few more minutes.’ I wanted another drink. Seeing the whisky bottle on the sink, I picked it up, but my hand was shaking so badly, I slopped whisky on to the draining board and not in the glass.

Beth took the bottle from me and poured the drink. Her hand was rock steady.

‘Careful of that,’ she said. ‘I’ll go back to bed now. We call Dr. Saunders at eight o’clock?’

I stared at her. Her utter indifference horrified and angered me.

‘He’s dying in there,’ I said, my voice cracking and out of control. ‘Doesn’t it mean anything to you?’

Her remote eyes examined my sweating face.

‘It was your idea,’ she said. ‘It wasn’t mine. Go easy with the whisky,’ and turning, she went silently out of the kitchen as a sudden crash of thunder shook the house.

The clock downstairs struck seven.

For the past hours, I had been lying on my bed, my mind in a turmoil.

I had committed murder!

Planning a murder was one thing. While I had planned it, my mind was obsessed with Beth and money. Now I had done it, fear of the consequences swamped me. I told myself that Marshall would have died from drink anyway, but that didn’t help. I thought of Beth. While we were making love, she was the most important thing in my life, but when I thought of her standing in the kitchen, cold, ruthless and utterly indifferent knowing Marshall was suffocating to death, my lust for her faltered.

I had brought the bottle of whisky up with me and I now reached for it, but as my hand hovered over it, I restrained myself. I was not going to become a lush like Marshall because of her.

I got off the bed, stripped off my shirt and went into the bathroom. I shaved and sloshed water over myself. Then putting on a clean shirt and my shoes, I opened the bedroom door. As I did so, Beth’s door opened.

She had on the shapeless sweater and slacks and her hair was anyhow. Her face was pale, and there were dark rings under her eyes, but her expression was controlled and deadpan.

We looked at each other.

‘I’ll go down and open the garage door,’ I said. ‘The concentration of gas in there will be dangerous. We’ll have to give it time to clear.’

She nodded.

I went down, left the house and walked around to the garage. I pulled out the wedge and dropped it into my pocket. Then with my heart thumping, I swung up the garage door and stepped back. Peering into the garage, all I could see was the Caddy. He must be lying out of sight at the back of the car.

I returned to the house, went through the kitchen to the garage door and removed the second wedge. I went into the boiler room and dropped the two wedges into the oil furnace. As I started up the stairs, I saw her in the living room, staring out of the window. She had removed the armchair from the recess and had put it back where it usually stood.

I took the bottle of whisky from my bedside table, emptied the contents down my toilet basin, then took the empty bottle into the kitchen and dropped it in the trash bin.

‘Okay,’ I said. ‘Come on. It’ll be safe enough now.’

‘You can do it,’ she said without turning.

‘I can’t handle him alone.’

She didn’t turn. Going to her, I gripped her arm.

‘We’re in this together!’ I shouted at her. ‘Come on!’

She hunched her shoulders, then without looking at me, went into the kitchen. Moving ahead of her, I went down the passage and opened the garage door.

He was lying face down, his head close to the exhaust pipe. He looked as if someone had deliberately put him there.

Was he dead?

With a shaking hand, I took the car keys from my pocket, unlocked and opened the car door. The heat in the car hit me like a blow in the face. I slid in and turned off the motor, then reaching across, I opened the glove compartment and took out the half bottle of whisky, holding it by its neck. I had thought about this. Both Marshall and I had handled the bottle. I wasn’t worried about my prints, but I wanted them to find his on the bottle.

Unscrewing the cap, I laid the bottle on the floor of the car. The whisky ran out making a stain on the lamb’s wool carpet.

While I was doing this, Beth stood motionless in the doorway, her arms crossed while she stared fixedly at Marshall’s body.

I got out of the car. Bracing myself, I went to him, knelt and dragged him over on his back. One look at him told me he was dead. His eyes were wide open and fixed. There were tiny flecks of foam around his mouth.

‘We’ve got to get him into the car.’ My voice was a croak.

‘Is he dead?’

‘Look at him! Of course he’s dead!’

I saw her shudder, then she came to me. Between us, we dragged him to the car door. While she held him, I went around and opened the passenger’s door. Kneeling on the bench seat, I hauled him in while she pushed.

‘Okay. Now call Saunders,’ I said. ‘Tell him we found him in here and you’re sure he is dead. Tell him the motor was running and ask him what we should do.’

She went away.

I let his body fall forward across the driving wheel. The car stank of whisky. Shutting the passenger’s door, but leaving the driving door open, I walked into the fresh air. Lowering the garage door, I examined it to see if the wedge had left a mark. It hadn’t. I went back into the garage and examined the door leading to the kitchen. There was a slight mark, but so slight as to be almost invisible. I was sure no one would notice it.

I then checked the whole set-up, knowing this was the last chance I would have before the Sheriff arrived.

It looked good with Marshall slumped over the driving wheel, the empty whisky bottle at his feet, the heater control on. It seemed to me the picture told its own story.

I went into the living room. Beth was standing by the window, her back to me.

‘What did he say?’

‘To leave him how we found him. He’s coming, and he is calling the Sheriff.’

I went to her and swung her around.

‘Now listen to me! Neither the Sheriff nor Bernstein have ever seen you. For God’s sake, take that deadpan expression off your face! You have just lost your husband! Okay, you were sick of his drinking, but that doesn’t mean you don’t give a damn that he is dead! Try to show some emotion!’

She jerked free.

‘And you get a hold of yourself,’ she said in a low, hissing voice. ‘You looked frightened.’

I was frightened! With an effort I pulled myself together.

‘I’ll call Bernstein.’ I went to the telephone and dialled his home number. When he came on the line, I told him that Marshall was dead and how it had happened.

Apart from a grunt or two, he listened and didn’t ask questions.

‘The doctor and the Sheriff are on the way,’ I said. ‘Could you get over here, Mr. Bernstein?’

‘You’re sure he is dead?’

‘I’m sure.’

‘I’m coming,’ and he hung up.

Beth had gone into the kitchen. She came out with two cups of coffee.

‘Be very careful how you handle Bernstein,’ I said. ‘He’s coming. Remember he’s the dangerous man.’

‘Don’t keep on! I’ll handle him!’ Her voice was sharp.

We sipped the coffee.

‘I won’t be able to stay on here, Beth,’ I said. I’ll have to go back to Wicksteed. We can keep in touch by telephone. I’ll call you every evening at half past eight from a call box. If there is an emergency, call Mrs. Hansen and say there’s something wrong with the Caddy and you want me to come up.’

She nodded.

‘As soon as you know you’re going to get the money, Beth, I’ll move to Frisco. You stay on for a week or so, then put the house up for sale and then join me. Right?’

Again she nodded.

‘I hate being away from you for so long, but there’s no other safe way. No one must suspect what we mean to each other.’

‘Yes.’

The flat, remote voice made me want to shake her.

At this moment Dr. Saunders arrived.

‘I’ll handle him,’ I said. ‘Don’t forget you’re shocked. Go upstairs and lie down. Keep out of the way until the Sheriff comes. You’ll have to see him.’

Her expression still deadpan, she went out of the room and up the stairs as I went to the front door.

Dr. Saunders regarded me. I explained who I was, said Mrs. Marshall was upset and wanted to be alone, then I took him to the garage and left him there.

I stood around, aware my hands were sweaty and my heart was beating unevenly. After ten minutes or so, he came out of the garage.

‘We’ll leave him as he is until the Sheriff arrives,’ he said.

Seeing an approaching cloud of dust on the dirt road I said, ‘He’s coming now.’

We waited. The Sheriff, with Ross at his side, pulled up outside the house.

I stood back while McQueen talked to Saunders, then he and Saunders, with Ross tagging behind, went into the garage.

I went into the living room and sat down. I was pretty sure I could handle McQueen, but I was uneasy of Ross. He was one of those smart bastards who would look for trouble.

I smoked four cigarettes before I saw, through the window, Dr. Saunders drive off. I smoked another three before I saw McQueen and Ross coming to the house. Ross carried the whisky bottle in a plastic sack.

I got to my feet and moved to the living room door as they came into the hall.

‘Where’s Mrs. Marshall?’ McQueen asked as I moved back and they came into the living room.

‘She’s upstairs,’ I said. ‘This has been a shock. I’ll get her if you want to talk to her.’

‘I’ll talk to you first.’ McQueen pulled at his droopy moustache and selecting a chair, sat down. Ross put the bottle on the table, then sat down and took out a notebook. ‘Sit down, son,’ McQueen went on. ‘Suppose you tell us about it?’

I told him the story: how Marshall had employed me to drive his car, how we had gone to Frisco, of his continuous drinking, of his meeting with Bernstein, how Bernstein had asked me to keep liquor away from him, how he had got so drunk in Frisco I had to call a doctor, how Bernstein and the doctor decided he should go home, how I had driven him back, how he had demanded whisky and how I had told him Bernstein had made me responsible for keeping liquor out of his way. How, when I had got him to bed, I had thrown away the only full bottle of whisky in the house but that I had forgotten there was a half-bottle in the car’s glove compartment. I went on to explain I had been up the previous night looking after him and I was bushed. I had gone to bed and slept through until the morning.

‘Mrs. Marshall went to bed later. She looked in on Frank. He was sleeping. She went to bed,’ I said, looking straight at McQueen. ‘I guess during the night he woke up and remembered the whisky in the car, came down, found it chilly in the garage, turned on the engine and the heater... when I found him the heater was on and the car suffocatingly hot... then he started drinking. I guess the fumes fixed him.’

McQueen nodded.

I went on to tell him that we were both up around seven. I went to see how Marshall was, found the bed empty. We had searched the house and finally had found him in the garage. I had opened the garage doors, turned off the motor, made sure he was dead while Mrs. Marshall had called Dr. Saunders. I paused, then lifted my hands. ‘That’s it, Sheriff.’

McQueen digested this, stroking his moustache, then he looked at Ross.

‘The facts add up, Abel,’ he said. ‘Suppose we now talk to Mrs. Marshall, huh?’

Ross stared steadily at him as he said, ‘Looks to me like an open and shut case, Chief.’ He closed his notebook. As you say, the facts add up. If you want to disturb Mrs. Marshall at this time, that’s your privilege.’

I could scarcely believe my ears. I was expecting Ross to start all kinds of trouble, but instead, here he was, slamming the lid down.

McQueen squinted at him.

‘You don’t think we should disturb her right now?’ he asked.

‘Mrs. Marshall inherits,’ Ross said quietly.

McQueen got the message. Ross was telling him in so many words that Wicksteed’s amusement park now hung on Mrs. Marshall’s goodwill. If she was bothered with questions right now, she might not be inclined to part with the necessary funds.

McQueen cleared his throat, took off his Stetson and wiped his forehead. He looked like a man who has just avoided stepping on a rattlesnake.

‘Well, yes, I wouldn’t want to disturb her at this time. The coroner will ask all the necessary questions. Yeah...’ He got to his feet. ‘I’ll send an ambulance up, Devery. You tell Mrs. Marshall to take it easy. Give her my condolences. The inquest will be in a couple of days. I’ll let you know just when.’

‘Thank you, Sheriff.’ I got to my feet. ‘I’ll tell Mrs. Marshall how considerate you have been.’

He beamed.

‘You do that, and tell her if there is anything worrying her to let me know. Let her know Wicksteed is behind her in her loss.’

Ross left the room, carrying the bottle. When he had gone, McQueen offered his hand.

‘Remember, Devery, Mrs. Marshall is now important. Put m a good word for us.’

Shaking his hand, I said I would.

I watched them drive away, then went up the stairs to Beth’s room.

She was standing in the doorway, waiting for me. I scarcely recognized her. She had changed into a dark grey frock with a white scarf at her throat. She had altered her hairstyle so it now came forward, covering the sides of her face. Her features seemed to have softened and her eyes were a little swollen. She looked like a woman who had suddenly lost her husband. How she had done it I had no idea, but she had done it.

I felt my fear drain away. First Ross, now this transformation. There was only one more hurdle... Bernstein, and she had said she could handle him. Looking at her, I was now sure she could.

‘They’ve gone?’

‘Yes. You’re a millionairess now, Beth. The Sheriff didn’t want to disturb you. He was scared stupid you might resent being disturbed and you wouldn’t then finance their amusement park. We’re nearly home. Everything now depends on Bernstein.’

She stared thoughtfully at me. Again the remote look came into her eyes.

‘No, it doesn’t. Everything now depends on me.’

The sound of a car pulling up made us stiffen.

‘Here he is,’ I said.

She braced herself. The sad, lost look came into her eyes.

‘Keep out of this,’ she said, and as the front door bell rang, she went down the stairs, crossed the hall and opened the front door.

Beth and Bernstein were still shut up together in the living room when the ambulance arrived.

I went down and showed the two Interns where to find Marshall. They carried a stretcher into the garage and I took a walk around the garden. I was now almost certain that both of us were going to get away with murder. A lot still depended on how the coroner reacted, but I had an idea that Olson, Pinner and McQueen would cue him in. Beth was now important people to them.

But what really fazed me was the way Ross had acted. Maybe Pinner had got at him. There must be some good reason for him to have alerted McQueen to lay off, although, of course, the set-up, as Ross had said, was clear enough and the facts added up, but all the same his unexpected attitude when I was prepared for him to make trouble, baffled me.

I sat on the grass with my back to the house and thought again about Beth. I was more than uneasy about her, but, I kept telling myself, we were both in this together. Maybe, I thought, we could do a deal without me having to marry her, but I would have to handle this with kid gloves.

I heard the ambulance drive away, so I got to my feet and wandered back to the house. As I entered, I saw the living room door was open and I could see Bernstein sitting alone, smoking a cigar. When he saw me, he beckoned.

I went in.

‘Sit down.’ His face was stony. ‘You didn’t do so well, did you?’

I sat down and looked directly at him.

‘What was that again?’

‘If you hadn’t forgotten that whisky in the car, Frank would now be alive.’

‘You think so? I’ll tell you something, Mr. Bernstein, you can’t keep drink from a drunk. If not now, it would have been later.’

He stared at me for a long moment, then shrugged.

‘I’m taking care of Mrs. Marshall’s affairs,’ he said. ‘What did Frank pay you?’

‘Seven hundred.’

He took out his wallet and thumbed out seven one hundred dollar bills which he put on the table.

‘I want you to stick around here, Devery. I want you to look after the place, keep the garden right and take care of the sightseers. There are bound to be ghouls who will come out here looking for souvenirs. Keep them out. I’m taking Mrs. Marshall to Frisco. My wife will take care of her until I can fix her affairs. You stick around until the house is sold. Is that okay?’

‘Is she selling the house?’ I asked staring at him.

‘Yeah. She doesn’t want to live here anymore and that’s understandable. Yeah, she is selling the house.’

‘Well, okay, Mr. Bernstein. I’ll take care of it.’

He nodded.

‘Right.’

Beth appeared in the doorway. She was carrying a holdall. Bernstein shot out of his chair and took the holdall from her.

‘Devery has agreed to stay on, Mrs. Marshall,’ he said, oil in his voice. ‘You go to my car. I won’t be a minute.’

I was staring at Beth. She looked broken. There was no other word for it. She held a sodden handkerchief with which she kept dabbing her eyes. She had probably dipped it in water before she had come down the stairs. She looked a shocked and sorrowing widow. As a performance she outclassed Hepburn.

She gave me a small, wan smile.

‘Thank you for all you have done,’ she said, her voice quavering. ‘Mr. Bernstein is so kind and understanding.’

Bernstein and I watched her walk slowly to the front door. He picked up Marshall’s locked briefcase.

‘See you at the inquest,’ he said curtly, then nodding, he picked up the holdall and went out to his car.

I stood in the doorway of the front door. Beth was huddling up in the passenger’s seat, the sodden handkerchief held to her eyes. Bernstein gunned the engine and drove away.

That left me on my own.

From that moment, I had an instinctive feeling I was being edged out. It was a feeling I wouldn’t accept, but it was there.

Beth had said she could handle Bernstein and she certainly had. I supposed our next meeting would be at the inquest. I would have to ask her where I could contact her. It would be dangerous for me to leave Wicksteed immediately after the inquest. I would have to stay around until the house was sold before moving to Frisco.

I spent a dreary, lonely day in the big, lonely house, trying to kill time. No one telephoned. No one came near. Finally, around 18.00, I got so sick of my own company, I drove into Wicksteed.

Parking, I went into Joe’s saloon.

They were all there in a huddle: Pinner, Olson, Mason and a tall, lean bird I hadn’t seen before. As soon as they saw me, they waved, and Pinner heaved himself out of his chair to cross the saloon to shake hands.

He signalled to Joe who brought a beer which he set on the table, nodding and smiling at me.

‘Well, Keith, this is something, isn’t it?’ Pinner said. ‘Meet Luke Brewer.’ He waved to the tall, lean bird. ‘He’s our coroner.’

Brewer gave me a thin smile as he shook hands.

‘What’s been going on, Keith?’ Pinner asked, leaning forward. ‘You’ve been right in the middle of it.’

I sipped the beer, then sitting back, I gave them the photo. With the coroner listening, it was a perfect opportunity.

I told them what I had told McQueen. Sure McQueen had already given Brewer the facts, I was careful, but my story had more colour than the story I had given McQueen. I finished by saying Bernstein had taken Mrs. Marshall to Frisco and he was representing her.

This item of news brought Pinner, Olson and Mason stiff in their chairs.

‘She’s gone to Frisco?’

‘That’s it. The house is going to be sold.’ I paused. ‘My guess is Bernstein is tricky. He has a way about him. He was very close to Frank.’ I sat back and looked slowly at the four of them, then went on, ‘I did have a chance to talk to Mrs. Marshall about the amusement park idea before Frank died and she seemed interested. I think she could be persuaded now she has Frank’s money, but this is my guess.’

Pinner thought about this, then looked at Brewer.

‘We wouldn’t want to submit Mrs. Marshall to an ordeal at the inquest, would we, Luke?’

Brewer chewed his thumbnail as he got the message.

‘There’s no question of that. Mr. Devery’s evidence will do. I don’t think I’ll even have to call Mrs. Marshall. It’s a straightforward verdict: accidental death.’

We all nodded.

And that was how it was.

The inquest went smoothly and fast. I was the principal witness: in fact the only witness. Brewer said it wasn’t necessary to call Mrs. Marshall who sat at the back of the courtroom with Bernstein. He expressed sympathy of the court and sympathy of the citizens of Wicksteed. It was all over in thirty minutes.

Pinner shoved his way through the crowd to shake Beth’s hand and murmur condolences. Bernstein whisked her away. I didn’t have a chance to get near her. I didn’t even catch her eye. She was pale, weepy and she looked nowhere... a great performance.

I watched Bernstein drive her away.

Pinner came up to me.

‘What do you think, Keith?’ he asked anxiously.

‘If she doesn’t play now, you can’t blame yourself.’

‘But do you think she will?’

I had enough of him and Wicksteed’s greed.

‘How the hell should I know?’ I said and leaving him, I got in the Caddy and drove back to the big, lonely house.

The funeral was two days later. Practically all the citizens of Wicksteed turned up, but Beth didn’t. Bernstein was there to represent her. He explained to Pinner who was leading the Wicksteed mob that Mrs. Marshall had collapsed. She had desperately wanted to be there, but her doctor had refused to let her attend.

Marshall’s body, in an expensive coffin, was tucked away in the Wicksteed’s burial ground next to his aunt’s grave. I stood with the hypocritical mourners. Pinner stood by my side. Olson, Mason and the rest of them, all wearing black ties and looking mournful, flanked Bernstein who looked bored. The press took photographs.

After the burial, Pinner tried to talk to Bernstein, but he got nowhere. Bernstein bulldozed his way through the crowd to me.

‘You’ll be hearing from me, Devery,’ he said. ‘Look after the house.’ Then he shoved his way to his car and drove off.

That seemed to be that.

Two days later, the local real estate agent came with a fat man and his fatter wife. They tramped over the house and decided to buy it as it stood. The price was right, and they were a couple who liked being on their own.

The following day while I was cooking a steak for lunch, the telephone bell rang.

It was Bernstein.

‘I’m depositing seven hundred dollars in your bank, Devery,’ he said curtly. I could tell from the tone of his voice he had no time for me. ‘The house is sold. From now on, you’re not needed. One other thing I’ll get you to do: sell the Caddy. Get the best for it and send the cheque to me.’

‘Okay, Mr. Bernstein.’ I paused, then said, ‘I would like to speak to Mrs. Marshall. Could you tell me where I can contact her?’

‘She’s right here. Hold on.’

A long pause, then Beth said, ‘Hello, Keith?’ Her voice sounded wooden and I could imagine the deadpan expression on her face.

‘When can we meet?’ I said, gripping the telephone receiver so tightly my knuckles turned white.

‘Thank you for all you did for Frank.’ There was a slight shake in her voice. ‘I am very grateful. I hope you will be successful in finding another job,’ and she hung up.

Holding the receiver in my hand, I stared at it, feeling the cold dead finger creep up my spine, then I replaced the receiver.

Getting to my feet, I moved around the big room, feeling distrust and suspicion nibbling at my mind. After a minute or so, I told myself that she was playing the cards right. With Bernstein listening, she couldn’t make a date with me — the hired hand. She was now a millionairess and important people. But how to contact her?

Bernstein had said she would be staying at his house. I had his home number. Sometime during the day, I would call and ask for her, then she would tell me her plans.

While waiting, I decided to do what Bernstein had told me to do: sell the Caddy. I had around a thousand dollars: three hundred which I had saved and the seven hundred Bernstein had given me. I was going to get another seven hundred from him in a day or so, so I wasn’t short of cash.

I drove the Caddy to the Cadillac showroom, and after a lot of talk, got them to buy it back. I bought a VW secondhand at a knock down price. At least I was mobile. I had the cheque for the Caddy made out to Bernstein and mailed the cheque to him.

All this took time and I arrived back at the house around 17.00. Bernstein would still be at his office. Sweating a little, I called his home number.

A woman answered: ‘This is Mr. Bernstein’s residence.’

I drew in a long, slow breath.

‘I would like to speak to Mrs. Frank Marshall.’

‘Will you hold on?’

A long, long pause, then another woman’s voice said, ‘Who is it?’ Certainly not Beth.

‘I want to speak to Mrs. Marshall. This is Keith Devery.’

‘She is not here.’

‘It is important that I contact her.’ I tried to keep my voice steady. ‘Would you please give me her telephone number?’

‘You should ask Mr. Bernstein,’ and the line went dead.

For some moments, I sat hesitating. Should I wait? Beth could telephone me at any moment, but I had a feeling she wouldn’t. From the moment when she had left the house with Bernstein, I had had this vague suspicion she was walking out on me, and now the suspicion turned into frightening reality.

Snatching up the telephone receiver, I called Bernstein’s office. After a delay, he came on the line.

‘What is it, Devery?’ There was a hard, impatient snap in his voice.

‘I want to speak to Mrs. Marshall,’ I said. ‘Where can I contact her?’

‘Have you sold the car?’

‘Yes. The cheque is in the mail. Where can I contact Mrs. Marshall?’

‘Now listen to me, Devery. You have been paid off. Mrs. Marshall isn’t well. She told me she doesn’t want to be bothered by you nor anyone else in Wicksteed. If there is anything you want to say, say it, and if it is important enough, I’ll tell her. What is it?’

Feeling cold and sick, and now realizing that I had been taken for a sucker, I replaced the receiver.

I sat for some minutes, staring out of the window, then blood rushed to my head.

‘Okay, Beth,’ I said aloud, spitting out the words. ‘Don’t imagine you’ll get away with this! I’ll find you! You owe me half a million and I’m collecting it!’

I got to my feet and slammed my fists together.

‘Make no mistake about that, you two-faced bitch! I’ll find you!’