Do Me a Favour Drop Dead

Chapter Six

I was in the kitchen, watching Beth frying eggs and bacon when we heard his heavy footfalls as he came down the stairs. We looked at each other, then I moved quickly into the living room as he opened the door and came in.

There was a surly expression on his fat face and his eyes were bloodshot, but considering the state he had been in the previous night, he didn’t look all that bad.

‘Hi, Mr. Marshall,’ I said, keeping my voice low. I guessed he would have a hell of a hangover.

He grunted, then moved into the kitchen.

‘Just coffee,’ he said.

Then he returned to the living room.

‘I’ve got a date in Frisco. I want to catch the early train.’

That left less than forty minutes to get to the station: so goodbye breakfast.

Beth heard and turned off the stove. The eggs and bacon I had been looking forward to came to a spluttering halt. She served coffee. Scowling, Marshall stood with his back to the room and stared out of the window while he sipped the coffee.

‘Get the car,’ he said without looking round.

Leaving my coffee half finished, I got the car from the garage. I had to wait some minutes before he appeared. Carrying a heavy briefcase, he slumped into the passenger’s seat and I drove off.

After a while, he seemed to relax.

‘This is a goddamn fine car!’ he said. ‘I’ll tell you something. A car like this is better than any woman. I’m sweating my guts out to drive her!’

‘It won’t be long now, Mr. Marshall.’

He twisted around to stare at me.

‘Skip the mister routine, Keith. I was in a mean mood yesterday. Call me Frank.’

‘Why sure, Frank,’ I said, thinking: You’ll soon be dead, you drunken sonofabitch.

‘Just remember one thing,’ he went on. ‘Don’t shoot off your mouth to me about money. I know more about money than you’ll ever learn.’

Somehow I kept my face expressionless.

‘Anything you say, Frank, but you did say I could be helpful.’

‘I know what I said, but I was drunk.’ He leaned forward and turned on the stereo radio.

End of the conversation.

There were a number of commuters getting out of their cars in the station parking lot as I drove up. They all paused to stare enviously at the Caddy and then they waved to Marshall. He ignored them.

Joe Pinner appeared from the station, carrying a heavy package. He dumped the package and came up fast as Marshall got out of the car.

‘Hey, Frank! I’ve been wanting to have a word with you.’

Ignoring him, Marshall said to me, ‘I’ll be back on the six o’clock. Be here,’ then sidestepping Pinner as if he was the invisible man, he walked into the station.

Pinner stared after him, his expression shocked and hurt.

‘Don’t let it bother you, Joe,’ I said. ‘He has a hell of a hangover.’

Tugging at his moustache, aware the other commuters were watching, Pinner moved up to me.

‘Well, that was kind of rude.’

Lowering my voice, I said, ‘Strictly between you and me, Joe, he was so drunk last night, Mrs. Marshall got scared and called in Dr. Saunders.’ I knew it would be news all over the town by midday, if not before.

His eyes popped wide open.

‘Is that right?’

‘But say nothing to nobody, Joe.’

‘Yeah. Well...’

I nodded to him, then drove from the station. In the driving mirror, I saw he was already talking to a couple of commuters and more of them were converging on him. The word would spread like a forest fire, and that’s what I wanted.

Beth was making the beds when I got back. She came to the head of the stairs when she heard me enter the hall.

‘Do you want breakfast, Keith?’

‘Not now. I’ll heat up some coffee.’

‘I’ll be down in a minute.’

I was drinking the coffee when she came into the kitchen. She was wearing shapeless slacks and an old, well-worn sweater, but there was still that thing about her that hooked me. Staring at her, I was sure if I got her dressed right, got her a new hair style, put her in the hands of people who knew how to make any woman look glamorous, she would be custom made for the wife of a millionaire: me!

‘What are you staring at?’ she asked uneasily.

I smiled at her.

‘You... imagining you in three months’ time. There’ll be a big change.’

She shrugged.

There was a pause, then I said, ‘Show me his will.’

She went to the bureau, opened a drawer and took out a bundle of papers. She searched through them and finally handed me a single sheet of paper.

The will couldn’t have been more simple. He left everything to her: the house, his business, his money. There were no bequests. She had it all. His sprawling signature was witnessed by Yule Olson and Maria Lukes, probably Olson’s secretary.

I looked at Beth.

‘He has no relations? No one who would contest this?’

‘No.’

The will was dated three years ago.

‘It was my wedding present,’ she told me.

I re-read the will. It looked watertight. Marshall had begun to drink a year after he had married: that was common knowledge. If he had changed his will secretly since he had begun to drink, she could contest it was drunken irresponsibility and as there was no one to make a claim, she had to win. It looked fine to me. I handed the sheet of paper back to her.

‘As soon as his aunt’s will has been proved, Beth, we’ll fix him.’

She regarded me, her black eyes remote.

‘It could take months.’

‘It won’t take long to prove the will. Once the will has been proved, he inherits. There will be taxes and duties to take care of, but once the will is proved he becomes the heir and that means he can get any amount of credit while waiting for the estate to be settled. He is already buying the car on credit. Once he has been recognized as the legal heir to a million dollars, we can fix him because you, as his widow, will automatically inherit should he die.’

She continued to stare at me.

‘Are you sure?’

‘I’m telling you.’

She nodded, then put the will among the papers and the papers back in the bureau drawer.

‘Once the will is proved, Beth, we kill him.’ I was determined she must realize just what I was planning to do.

Again the dead pan stare and the remote eyes as she nodded.

‘You understand?’ I said.

She turned away and moved to the door.

‘Beth! You understand?’

She looked over her shoulder, nodded again, then leaving the room, she went up the stairs. After a second or so, I heard her bedroom door close.

Because Marshall meant nothing to me except money, I was being cold blooded about this, but surely, I thought, he must mean something to her. After all, she was his wife... she had slept with him.

But to her, it would seem we were planning nothing more important than drowning a cat. For all I knew, she might have had more feeling for the cat.

Again the cold dead finger moved up my spine.

Leaving the house, I wandered uneasily into the garden. I told myself that this was my second chance to achieve my ambition. I had to take this chance. I could never get a third one.

Away from the house, I sat on the grass, feeling the rays of the sun seep into me and I began to think what I would do once the money was mine. I was confident, once I got my hands on it, nothing and nobody could stop me from going to the top.

I lit a cigarette, then lying back on the hot grass, I let my mind drift into what could be an exciting future. I was still dreaming when Beth called that lunch was ready.

While we ate, I began to talk about our future together, but she cut me short. She seemed far away and her black eyes had that remote, cold expression.

‘Later,’ she said curtly. ‘I don’t want to talk about it now.’

So we finished the meal in silence. As she began stacking the dishes, she said she was going to make jam, and if I had nothing to do, the lawn wanted cutting: her way of telling me she wanted to be alone.

The power mower was in the garage. I had left the Caddy out under the trees. I went to the garage by the kitchen door that led down a short passage to the garage. I paused to look at the lock on the garage door. The screws were rusty: a good solid kick would bust the lock.

The set-up was that you drove into the garage, pulled down the swing door and locked it. Then you unlocked the door leading to the kitchen and locked it from the other side. My first thought was to buy a bolt so the door into the kitchen was secure, but I quickly realized a new bolt would raise suspicions. The door itself was sound and solid. Then I walked into the garage and looked at the lock on the swing down door. This looked fragile.

I dragged the power mower out on to the lawn and after a struggle, got it going. As I tramped up and down the big lawn, my mind was busy. Finally, I decided two wooden wedges would be the answer.

I finished cutting the lawn by 16.00 and then went up to my room. I showered and put on a clean shirt. The smell of raspberries cooking filled the house. I could hear Beth’s transistor playing classical music. Going down to the kitchen, I found her fixing caps on a dozen or so jars.

‘You’ve made enough jam to stock a store,’ I said.

‘I like doing it.’ She didn’t look at me. She began cleaning the big copper pan in which she had made the jam.

Her remoteness began to worry me.

‘Is something wrong, Beth?’

She shook her head.

‘No... it’s just that I’m used to being on my own.’

‘But you are not on your own... you have me.’

She went on scrubbing the pan.

‘Are you telling me I’m in the way?’ I said sharply.

‘It’ll be different when I get away from this house.’

‘You bet it will be different.’

I moved up to her and kissed the back of her neck. She shivered and jerked away from me.

‘Do find something to do,’ she said, an edge to her voice. ‘I’m busy.’

I struggled to keep my hands off her. After a long moment while I stared at her long, beautiful back, I went out, feeling thoroughly frustrated, got in the Caddy and drove down to Wicksteed. I was half an hour too early for the 18.00 Frisco express so I bought a newspaper, sat in the car and tried to interest myself in the news, but I kept thinking of her.

As a woman in bed, she was the best ever, but I began to wonder about marrying her. I was sure she was a screwball, and she was also a loner, but if I didn’t marry her, I wouldn’t get the money. I began to realize I could have a problem on my hands.

I was so preoccupied with my thoughts I didn’t hear the train arrive, but the noise made by the commuters as they got in their cars alerted me.

Marshall, carrying his briefcase, was coming down the slope towards me. I started the motor and drove up to him.

He looked sober and pleased with himself as he got in beside me.

‘Did you have a good day, Frank?’ I asked as I drove out of the parking lot.

‘Yeah. And you... what did you do?’

‘I cut the lawn.’

He gave his bellowing laugh.

‘That’s Beth’s favourite job. What did she do?’

‘Made raspberry jam.’

‘That’s her. Who the hell wants jam?’ He shoved his hat to the back of his head. ‘Stop off at Olson’s office. I want a word with him.’

I parked outside Olson’s office block and Marshall, carrying his briefcase, went in. I lit a cigarette and waited.

It was a good half hour before Marshall joined me. As he dropped into the passenger’s seat, he gave a chortling laugh.

‘That’s fixed the old jerk,’ he said. ‘I’ve taken my business, including my aunt’s will, out of his hands. My man in Frisco will handle everything from now on. He’s a real live wire. Olson doesn’t know what action means.’

Alert, I said, ‘He’s a horse and buggy lawyer.’

‘You’re damn right. Harry Bernstein is the best.’

I registered the name.

‘Tomorrow, Keith, I want you to drive me to Frisco. I’ve got a lot cooking. We could be there three or four days and I’ll want you to drive me around.’

‘Anything you say, Frank.’

He patted my knee.

‘We could have a little night fun, huh? Have you any liquor on board?’

I opened the glove compartment and handed him the bottle of Scotch. He was still sucking at the bottle when I drove up to the house.

He screwed on the bottle cap and handed the bottle to me.

‘You know my trouble, Keith?’ He grinned owlishly. ‘I drink too much.’

I put the half empty bottle back into the glove compartment. I wasn’t going to tell him I hoped he would drink himself to death.

‘But you can take it, Frank.’

That seemed to please him. He laughed.

‘You’re right. I can drink any guy under any table.’

He heaved himself out of the car and went into the house. I put the Caddy away, then went up to my room.

I remained up there, lying on the bed, until Beth called up that dinner was ready.

The following morning, we left for Frisco. Marshall sat in the back of the car. He said he had reading to do. So we did the trip in silence. When we approached the city, he put his papers away and directed me to the Raven motel which was a couple of blocks from the Civic Centre. He booked in while I stood around, then we walked to the two cabins and he told me to take it easy as he had telephone calls to make, so I sat in the cabin, watching a Soap Opera on TV.

Around midday, he came into my cabin and dropped heavily into a chair. He had brought with him a bottle of whisky which he waved at me. I went to the refrigerator, got ice, found glasses and made him a heavy shot. I went light myself.

‘Keith... you said you once worked with Barton Sharman,’ he said, relaxing after a long pull at his glass. ‘Can you steer me to someone high up who can talk credit?’

I slopped my drink. If he talked to anyone at Barton Sharman and if he mentioned my name, he would be told fast enough that I had served a jail sentence and Barton Sharman regarded me as all kinds of a leper.

‘That was more than six years ago, Frank,’ I said. ‘Anyway, I’d choose Merrill Lynch rather than Barton Sharman.’

‘You would?’ He finished his drink, blew out his cheeks, then shoved the glass at me for a refill. ‘I want credit, Keith. I thought you having worked with Barton Sharman, could swing something for me.’

‘Credit for what?’

‘This Charrington steel deal. I want to start buying right now. Do you think Merrill Lynch would give me credit?’

‘I don’t know, Frank, but I’ll tell you right away Barton Sharman never give credit. So you still want to go ahead with this steel deal?’

He accepted the refill, eyed me, drank, emptied his glass and got to his feet.

‘Let’s go. I’ve got a busy day ahead.’

‘Frank... this Charrington steel deal...’

He brushed by me and walked out into the sunshine and got in the Caddy.

All right, you stupid, drunken sonofabitch, I thought as I slid under the driving wheel, I’ll fix you before you can lose your money.

We stopped off at Ghirardelli square for lunch. The waiters beamed on Marshall as he swaggered in and they had a corner table for him. We had Cioppino, a cross between a soup and a stew, made of all kinds of seafood. I neither liked nor disliked it, but Marshall had a second helping, washing it down with whisky.

‘I’ve got to talk to Harry Bernstein,’ he said as he kept shovelling food into his mouth. ‘You stick around. I’ve got a lot to do. I’m selling out my real estate business.’

After coffee, he got the check, paid and we went out to the Caddy. He directed me and I was lucky to find parking.

‘Stick around. Maybe I’ll be an hour.’

I watched him, carrying his briefcase walk into a big complex. I turned on the radio and waited, my mind busy.

Worked right, he just might get credit with Merrill Lynch and if he did, he would buy Charrington steel. The sooner he was dead, the better for Beth and myself.

While I sat in the Caddy, half listening to the radio, I wondered what Beth was doing.

If we have to kill him, then we’ll kill him.

But time was now running out. If he bought those shares...!

Then I saw him with a short, fat man in a blue suit, a panama hat on the back of his head, a flowered tie and a cigar stuck in his mouth. They walked together down the sidewalk and approached the Caddy. I slid out and had the passenger’s door open as they arrived...

‘This is Keith Devery, Harry,’ Marshall said. ‘Keith, this is Harry Bernstein.’

A cold, dry hand gripped mine.

We looked at each other.

‘I’ve heard about you, Devery,’ he said. His voice was soft and husky.

A fat, flat face with eyes like glass beads, a small thin mouth, a sparrow hawk of a nose. A red light flashed up in my mind: this was a man to be handled with care.

‘Let’s go,’ Marshall said. ‘End of the street, second on the right, third on the left.’

They got in the back and I set the car moving. Following his directions we arrived outside a big complex.

‘Stick around Keith,’ Marshall said and the two men got out and entered the complex.

I lit a cigarette, turned on the radio and thought about Harry Bernstein. Just under the hour they came out and got in the car.

‘Take me back to the motel,’ Marshall said, ‘Then take Harry back to his office.’

‘Sure, Frank,’ I said, the perfect chauffeur.

I decanted Marshall at the motel. He shook hands with Bernstein, then went to his cabin. Bernstein slid into the passenger’s seat by my side and lit a cigar.

As I started the car, he said, ‘Frank was telling me about you, Devery. So you were with Barton Sharman?’

‘That’s right... some five years ago.’ The red light began to flash.

‘You have to be a smart cookie to work for that outfit.’

‘I guess that’s right.’

‘Tell me something, Devery.’ He blew rich smelling smoke. ‘I’ve never met Mrs. Marshall... you have. What kind of woman is she?’

If this fat Jew thought I was going to discuss Beth with him, he had another think coming.

‘Ask Mr. Marshall,’ I said.

‘Yeah, but you know Frank’s a smart drunk and he doesn’t talk. She interests me.’

‘I may not be smart, Mr. Bernstein and I’m no drunk,’ I said woodenly. ‘Your interest in Mrs. Marshall is no business of mine and that’s the way I like to keep it.’

‘That makes you smart,’ Bernstein said and laughed.

I didn’t say anything. We drove down the street leading to his office and I parked outside his office block. He seemed in no hurry to get out of the car. He twisted around in his seat and regarded me.

‘I like Frank,’ he said, rolling his cigar around in his mouth. ‘He drinks a hell of a lot too much, but he has financial flair. Do me a favour, will you?’

Surprised, I stared at him.

‘What favour?’

‘He has taken to you. I get the idea he isn’t happy with his wife. You’re living with them. You can see the photo. I also have an idea she would be glad to be rid of him... I could be wrong, but watch him, Devery. If something that looks like trouble starts, let me know... huh?’

I felt a cold creepy feeling run up my spine.

‘Trouble? What do you mean?’

He stared thoughtfully at me.

‘If he could keep sober, he could turn his million into three million and more. He has a flair. Suppose you try to stop him from drinking? Suppose you keep his wife out of his hair? He told me he wants you to grow with him. If you want to grow, and you could grow with him, look after him. He needs looking after.’

Giving me a curt nod, he got out of the car and walked across the sidewalk to his office block.

Did he suspect something? He had never seen Beth. So why had he said he had an idea she would be glad to be rid of Marshall? Something Marshall had said? Did Marshall suspect something?

With a growing feeling of uneasiness, I drove back to the motel.

‘What did you think of Bernstein?’ Marshall asked as I looked into his cabin. He was working at a table, papers spread out, the inevitable bottle of whisky at hand.

‘Smart,’ I said, lingering in the doorway.

‘You’re right... dead smart. He’s going to swing this credit deal for me with Merrill Lynch.’ He grinned. ‘I start buying tomorrow.’

Although my heart skipped a beat, I kept my face expressionless.

‘What does Mr. Bernstein think of this deal, Frank?’

He laughed.

‘Harry knows as much about making money as you do. I don’t need his advice.’

‘Well, it’s your money. Don’t say I didn’t warn you, Frank.’

‘Take time off.’ He waved me away. ‘See you around eight o’clock.’ He winked. ‘We might have some night fun. Let’s look at the whores, huh?’

‘Fine,’ I said and left him.

Shutting myself in my cabin, I telephoned Merrill Lynch’s branch office and asked to speak to a broker.

‘Sanderstead,’ a voice said. ‘Can I help you?’

‘My name is Tom Jackson,’ I said. ‘I’m thinking of investing thirty thousand dollars. I had a tip to buy Charrington steel for a big rise. There’s talk of a merger with Pittsburgh. What do you think?’

A pause, then he said, ‘We have no information about a merger, Mr. Jackson, and we regard Charrington steel as highly speculative. In fact, we wouldn’t recommend this stock. Can I interest you...’

I had heard all I wanted to hear. If Merrill Lynch considered Charrington steel as highly speculative and didn’t know of any merger, my own opinion was confirmed. I replaced the receiver.

I sat still, asking myself how I was going to stop this drunken fool from throwing away the money that was to come to Beth and to me.

The idea of spending a night with him and whores sickened me. I decided I would beg off, tell him I had a stomach upset. If he didn’t like it, he could go to hell.

I lay on the bed, my mind seething. I began to wonder if I could kill him right now before he bought the stock, but no safe ideas came to me. Finally, around 18.00, I went into his cabin ready to tell him I was sick, but as I entered the cabin, I saw there was no need.

He lay on the bed, the whisky bottle empty by his side and he was dead to the world: so dead looking I wondered, with a surge of hope, if he had died.

Going over to him, I shook him. He muttered something, groaned, then became unconscious again. I dragged open his collar, then stood back, staring at him. He looked bad. I had him at my mercy, but this wasn’t the time. Crossing to the telephone, I asked the booking clerk to get a doctor.

‘Mr. Marshall isn’t well.’

The word had reached Frisco that Marshall was now worth a million dollars so I got service. After a while a doctor arrived: lean, alert, youngish.

‘There’s nothing I can do for him,’ he said after a careful examination. ‘Get him undressed. He will sleep it off. Would you like me to send a nurse?’

‘I can manage,’ I said. ‘I look after him.’

He produced some pills.

‘Give him these tomorrow.’ A pause, then he went on, ‘If he continues to drink like this, he will kill himself.’

‘I’ll tell him,’ I said woodenly.

When he had gone, I decided it would be smart to call Harry Bernstein. When I got him on the line, I told him what had happened and what the doctor had said.

‘Do you want me to come over, Devery?’ he asked. He sounded worried.

‘No, there’s no need. He usually pulls out of it,’ I said. ‘He could be as bright as a goddamn cricket by tomorrow morning. I’ll watch him.’

‘I hope he is. We have two important business meetings to handle tomorrow. Telephone my home around eight tomorrow morning will you?’ and he gave me a number.

I said I would and hung up. I took another look at Marshall. He was still dead to the world. I looked around the cabin, saw his big briefcase and crossed over to it, but it had a substantial lock. Nothing short of busting the lock would open it without a key and I didn’t feel like going through his pockets.

I spent the rest of the evening watching TV with the sound turned down and with half an eye on the unconscious man. Around nine o’clock his breathing settled to a heavy snore and I reckoned he would be all right if I left him.

I went along to the restaurant, had a prawn salad, then after looking at him and finding him still sleeping, I went to bed.

I had been asleep for three or four hours when the sound of my door opening brought me awake. I flicked on the light.

Marshall was standing in the doorway. He looked like hell, his hair mussed, his face enflamed, his eyes watering.

‘Get me a drink,’ he snarled. ‘Don’t lie there, staring. I want a shot.’

I remembered Bernstein’s words. Suppose you try to stop him drinking. If you want to grow with him, and you could grow with him, look after him.

But I knew I could grow much, much faster without him.

‘Sure,’ I said. ‘I’ve got a bottle in the car. I’ll get it.’

‘Get it and get it fast,’ he growled, then staggered away back to his cabin.

I put on my shoes and in pyjamas, went to the car park and got the Scotch from the glove compartment. It was a hot, still night, and the only light showing came from Marshall’s cabin.

He was standing in the doorway as I reached him. He grabbed the bottle, then slammed the door in my face.

Go ahead, you sonofabitch, I thought, drink yourself to death.

At 07.45 the following morning, I went to his cabin, knocked and walked in.

I was half expecting to find him up and dressed, but he was still in bed and he looked bad. The bottle of whisky, half empty, stood on the bedside table.

‘Are you okay, Frank?’ I asked, pausing in the doorway.

‘I feel like hell.’ There was a whine in his voice. ‘I don’t know what’s the matter with me. I tried to get up but I can’t stand. You’d better call a quack.’

‘Right. Just take it easy.’

I went back to my cabin and called Bernstein at his home number. When I had explained the situation, not mentioning that I had given Marshall whisky at three o’clock this morning, Bernstein cursed softly, said he would come and for me to get the doctor.

He and the doctor arrived at the same time. They seemed to know each other. They went into Marshall’s cabin. I decided to keep out of it so I stood around in the hot sunshine and waited.

After half an hour, they came out and the doctor shook hands with Bernstein, nodded to me, got in his car and drove away.

Bernstein joined me.

‘Frank wants to go home,’ he said. ‘Dr. Kersley thinks it’s the best thing. Now listen, Devery, if there is any liquor in the house, get rid of it. Kersley says it is essential Frank doesn’t have a drink for at least two days. I’m leaving it up to you. If he has another drinking jag, he’ll be dangerously ill. Understand?’

‘Is he fit to travel?’ I asked, thinking at least Marshall wouldn’t buy Charrington steel this day, and a day gained was a day won.

‘Kersley has given him some pills. Don’t drive fast. He’ll be all right. When you get him home, call me at the office. Get him to bed. Let him have warm milk, no solids and no, repeat no, liquor.’ He looked at his strap watch. ‘Goddamn it! I’m already late. Look after him, Devery,’ and he hurried off to his car and drove away.

I went to my cabin, packed my bag, then went to the reception clerk and paid the check. I found Marshall sitting on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands. The bottle of whisky had vanished. I guessed he had been crafty enough to have put it out of sight so the doctor couldn’t take it from him. I got him dressed with difficulty. He seemed dopey, probably the pills were working. He didn’t say anything until I had finished packing his bag, then he said, ‘I’ll be okay once I get home.’

‘Sure, Frank. Let’s go.’

He reached under the bed and produced the half bottle of Scotch.

‘Put it in the glove compartment, Keith.’

I had to help him walk to the car. He dropped into the passenger’s seat and watched me while I put the whisky in the glove compartment.

‘This is a hell of a time to get ill,’ he muttered as I started the motor. ‘I’ve so much to do.’

‘Take it easy.’ I drove out on to the highway. He fell asleep after I had driven a couple of miles and he was sleeping when I pulled up outside the big, lonely house.

A police car stood in the driveway. The sight of it gave me a shock. I got out of the Caddy and walked up the steps and pushed open the front door.

Standing in the hall was Deputy Sheriff Ross. Standing in the living room doorway was Beth.

I stared first at Beth, then at Ross. He was holding his Stetson by his side. There was a pause, then he moved forward, slapped the hat on his head, walked around me and down the steps towards the police car. I turned and watched him. He paused by the Caddy and looked at Marshall who was snoring, then he got into the police car, backed down the drive, then went shooting of down the dirt road.

‘What’s he doing here?’ I asked Beth, my voice husky.

She grimaced, then shrugged.

‘Checking on the Plymouth. He wanted to know if Frank had had it repaired. What are you doing back here? Frank said he would be away for four days.’

The fact that Ross had been here somehow scared me.

‘Didn’t Ross know the Plymouth was sold?’

‘Obviously not. Why else should he have come? Is Frank with you?’

‘He’s ill. He’s sleeping in the car.’

‘Ill?’ She regarded me with her black remote eyes. ‘What’s the matter?’

‘He drank too much last night. I’ll get him in.’

‘Is he bad?’

We stared at each other.

‘Not bad enough.’

Again she grimaced, then went into the living room and shut the door.

I had a struggle getting Marshall out of the car and up the stairs to his room. He flopped on the bed. I got his clothes off and got him into his pyjamas. He rolled under the sheet and as I stood over him, he stared up at me.

‘Get me a drink, Keith.’

‘No drink, Frank. The doctor said...’

‘Get me a drink!’ A mean expression came over his face.

‘Not now, maybe later, Frank.’

‘Hear me?’ He half sat up. ‘I don’t give a goddamn what any quack says. I want a drink!’

‘Okay.’

Leaving him, I went down the stairs and into the living room. Beth was standing by the window. The clock in the hall struck six.

‘How is he?’ she asked without turning.

‘He wants a drink.’ I went to the liquor cabinet and took out a bottle of whisky, half full, a glass and charge water. I went into the kitchen and added a little tap water to the bottle, then I went upstairs and put the bottle, charge water and glass on the bedside table. As he grabbed the bottle, I went out and down to the living room. Beth still remained, her back turned, looking out of the window. I called Bernstein’s office number.

‘I got him home all right, Mr. Bernstein,’ I said. ‘He’s resting right now.’

‘Fine. Keep him away from liquor, Devery. Call me tomorrow if there’s any change. Have you a doctor handy?’

‘No problem, Mr. Bernstein. I think he’ll be okay tomorrow.’

‘Look after him,’ and Bernstein hung up.

Beth had come away from the window and was watching me, her dark eyes remote.

‘We do it tonight, Beth,’ I said. ‘If he hadn’t drunk so much last night he would have bought Charrington steel this morning. We can’t afford to let him live any longer.’

I waited for some reaction, but her expression remained deadpan.

‘How will you do it?’ Her voice was low.

There’s something I have to fix first before we talk,’ I said, and going through the kitchen I went into the garage. I found a thick strip of wood and after hunting through the toolbox I found a wood axe. I made two wedges. I tried one of them under the door leading into the garage. The wedge was too thick. After chipping off more wood, it fitted. I did the same with the second wedge so it fitted under the swing up door. Leaving the garage, I went through the kitchen, through the hall and out into the garden. Going to the closed swing up door, I pushed in the wedge and kicked it home. Then I returned to the garage via the kitchen and shoved against the swing up door. It held firm against the wedge. I drew back and slammed my shoulder against the door. The wedge still held it firm. Satisfied, I went into the kitchen.

‘Beth!’

She came quickly.

‘I’m going into the garage and I’m shutting the door,’ I said. ‘I want you to put this wedge under the door when it is closed and kick it home.’

She stared briefly at me, then took the wedge. I went into the garage and shut the door. She did exactly what I had told her to do. When I heard her kick the wedge home, I turned the door handle and slammed my shoulder against the door. It held.

‘Okay. Get the wedge out,’ I said.

She had trouble getting it out, but she got it out. I opened the door and joined her in the kitchen. I took the wedge from her and dropped it in my pocket.

‘Let’s go in the garden.’

By now it was 19.20 and it was getting dusk. The air was still and hot with a hint of an approaching storm. We went together away from the house and we sat on the grass bank.

‘What are you planning?’ she asked, her voice tense.

‘This may not work,’ I said. ‘If it works, it is safe. If it doesn’t work, we must think of something else, but if it doesn’t work we are still clear of trouble.’

‘Don’t talk in riddles!’ There was an edge to her voice. ‘Tell me!’

‘Last night, he had me up at three o’clock demanding whisky. He told me to get the bottle from the glove compartment of the car. I’m gambling on the same thing happening tonight. If it does, then we’ve fixed him. If it doesn’t, then as I said, we must try something else, but I’m pretty certain he’ll need a drink sometime tonight when we are both supposed to be in bed. The idea is, sometime before we go to bed, I’m starting the car engine and I’m putting on the car heater. If he goes down to the garage to get the bottle, I’ll be waiting and I’ll wedge the door so he can’t get out. There will be enough buildup of carbon monoxide in the garage to kill him. We’ll find him missing in the morning, hunt, find him in the garage. The picture will be obvious. He came down in his pyjamas, got in the car, found the bottle, felt chilly, turned on the engine and the heater and decided to stay until he had finished the bottle. Before he could do so the fumes fixed him. That’s the plan, Beth. What do you think?’

She sat motionless. I didn’t hurry her. After several minutes, she said, ‘Yes, but will he come down?’

‘That’s the gamble, but if he doesn’t we are still in the clear. We will have to think of some other way, but this is the safest.’

‘Then let’s try.’

Again as if we were planning to drown a cat. No emotion, no nothing. Once more the cold dead finger went up my spine.

‘The Sheriff will be up here, Beth, and Ross who is a troublemaker although it was lucky he was out here when we came back. He saw how drunk Frank was. Now listen, we must both say the same thing. We tell the Sheriff we heard nothing during the night. I went to bed soon after nine-thirty. I was tired after sitting up with him the previous night. You read until ten-thirty and then you went up. You looked in to see how he was. He was asleep and snoring. I intended to look in during the night, but I was so bushed I didn’t wake until seven. When I found he wasn’t in his bed, I woke you and we looked around and found him in the garage. We try to revive him. We call Dr. Saunders and the Sheriff, but Saunders first. I want him on the scene before the Sheriff arrives, then I call Bernstein.’

She nodded, then said, ‘But he hasn’t got probate yet.’

‘We can’t wait. It’ll be all right. You have his will. You inherit everything from him. Bernstein is tricky. He could be the danger man unless you handle him right. Your line is to play helpless. You need his advice. He’ll like that. Show him the will and ask him if he will represent you. You’re going to be a millionairess. You’ll be important people to him and once he knows he is going to act for you, he’s not going to be tricky. Get all that?’

‘Yes.’

‘Okay, let’s go over the details.’

We spent the next hour working on the plan. I threw the kind of questions the Sheriff might throw at her and she came back word perfect. I could see I didn’t have to worry about her performance. She was as cold and as calm as the original ice woman. Finally, I was satisfied and found I was hungry.

‘Let’s eat,’ I said. ‘While you cook up something, I’ll take a look at him.’

I quietly opened his bedroom door. The bedside lamp was on and he was awake. The whisky bottle was empty.

‘How do you feel, Frank?’

‘I’m okay.’ His voice was a surly growl.

‘Feel like something to eat?’

‘No.’ He waved to the empty bottle. ‘Get rid of this and bring me a fresh one.’

‘Sorry, Frank, no more drinking tonight. I’ve had strict instructions. Mr. Bernstein is holding me responsible. The doctor says you’ll be dangerously ill if you have even one more drink for two days.’

His eyes turned mean.

‘You’re employed by me, not Bernstein!’

‘I’m still sorry, Frank.’

He regarded me, then a crafty expression came into his eyes.

‘I’ll settle for a double and no bottle. How’s about it?’

I pretended to hesitate, then I nodded.

‘Well, okay, but that’s the last you get.’

‘Stop gabbing. Go get it!’

I went downstairs, took out a full bottle of whisky, made a double, then as Beth came to the door I handed her the bottle.

‘Any more in the house?’

‘That’s the last one.’

‘Hide it and hide it good... in the garden.’

I took the drink up to his room, added a shot of charge water and gave it to him. He gulped it down and relaxed.

‘I’ll sleep now,’ he said. ‘Turn the light off.’

I took the glass, turned off the light and went to the door.

‘You’ll be fine tomorrow, Frank.’

He grunted and I closed the door.

I stood for a moment at the head of the stairs. With any luck he would be dead by tomorrow. I felt a tingle of excitement run up my spine. In a month or two, Beth and I would be worth a million!

I drew in a long deep breath, then went down to the kitchen.