1953 - I'll Bury My Dead (23 page)

Harry stiffened.

‘What do you mean?’

‘It’s obvious, isn’t it? When I hear his car arrive, I am going to shoot you both. Who’s going to prove he didn’t do it?’

Julie caught her breath sharply.

‘He’s bluffing, darling,’ Harry said. ‘He wouldn’t dare do it.’

She was looking at Sherman. The amber, expressionless eyes terrified her.

‘He’s going to do it,’ she said through dry lips.

‘Of course I am,’ Sherman said mildly. ‘You two have had your fun, and now you’re going to pay for it.’

‘You won’t be able to get away!’ Harry exclaimed. ‘You’ll be caught.’

Sherman laughed.

‘This window overlooks the river. I shall go that way. I am an exceptionally strong swimmer, and no one will notice me in a night as dark as this.’

‘You can’t do it!’ Harry said, suddenly realizing that Sherman wasn’t bluffing.

‘That you will see,’ Sherman said in a tone that made Harry’s blood run cold.

‘Let her go,’ he said huskily. ‘Don’t touch her. One murder’s enough.’

‘Sorry, I can’t oblige,’ Sherman returned. ‘You must see I can’t afford to let her live after I have shot you. She would give me away.’

‘She wouldn’t,’ Harry said. ‘She’d promise not to.’

‘Sorry,’ Sherman repeated. ‘Besides, a double killing is much more dramatic. English might get off if he just killed you, but the jury wouldn’t like him killing Julie.’ He moved back to the chair and sat down again. ‘You haven’t a great deal longer on this earth. Don’t you want to say a prayer? Don’t mind me. I won’t listen.’

Harry decided he was dealing with a lunatic. He realized it was useless to continue to beg for their lives. Somehow he had to divert Sherman’s attention, and then get close to him. If he could get the gun, there was a chance he might save both their lives.

He judged the distance between them. He was badly laced, as he was sitting on the side of the bed away from Sherman. Eight to nine feet separated them.

Julie said, ‘I’ll give you all the money I have if you’ll stop this. I can raise twenty thousand. If you give me time I can get more.’

Sherman shook his head.

‘Save your breath,’ he said. ‘I’m not interested in money.’ He glanced at his strap watch, and Harry’s hand reached behind him and gripped the pillow. Julie saw the move. She was breathing quickly, her face white and drawn. She sensed Harry was going to do something.

‘I - I think I’m going to faint,’ she gasped, closing her eyes, and she reached out as if to steady herself, and her hand pushed over the night table, which crashed to the floor.

Sherman’s eyes went from Harry to the overturned table. Harry flung the pillow, threw himself off the bed as the pillow hit Sherman in the chest, smothering the gun. Harry, white-faced, his eyes staring, sprang forward, propelling his body across the nine-foot space toward Sherman.

Sherman half started up, throwing the pillow from him. Harry saw he couldn’t reach Sherman before Sherman shot him, but he kept on, his mouth dry, his heart hammering, trying to close the space between himself and Sherman. There was a crash of gunfire that rattled the windows.

The bullet got Harry just below his knee, bringing him down. His hands caught Sherman’s mackintosh belt, gripped, dragging Sherman forward. Sherman hit Harry a glancing blow with the gun barrel on his temple and kicked him away. He was completely unruffled, and his jaws moved rhythmically as he looked quickly at Julie who crouched petrified on the bed, the sheet fallen from her, her hands covering her breasts. She looked like a figure sculptured in marble.

Harry rolled away, blood running down his leg. He began to crawl toward Sherman, his lips drawn off his teeth in a snarl.

Sherman backed away, smiling.

‘You fool!’ he said softly. ‘You heroic fool!’

Harry kept on. The pain in his shattered knee filled him with a murderous rage. He wasn’t frightened anymore. All he wanted to do now was to get his hands on Sherman.

Sherman raised the Colt, and aimed carefully. Harry was only a few feet from him. He looked up at the little black sight of the gun pointing at him, and the cold amber eyes squinting along the barrel.

Julie screamed wildly.

‘Don’t ! No - don’t !’

The crash of gunfire rattled the windows. The bullet took Harry squarely between his eyes. The force of the blow threw him backward, and he rolled over on his side, his fingers opening and closing convulsively, his muscles twitching, blood smothering his face.

‘A little premature, I’m afraid,’ Sherman said, frowning. ‘Well, it can’t be helped.’

Julie knelt on the bed, staring at Harry’s body. Every now and then a shiver ran through her. Sherman watched the way her muscles fluttered under her skin. They reminded him of the surface of a river in a flurry of wind.

He heard a car door slam, and he smiled.

‘Here he is,’ he said, and moved quickly to the window. He pulled aside the curtains, opened the window and glanced out. Below ran the river, and away in the distance he could see the lights of a passing tug, and heard the moan of its siren.

‘Go to him, Julie,’ he said softly, pointing to the door. ‘Let him in.’

Julie didn’t move. Her eyes turned from Harry’s body to Sherman. She scarcely seemed to breathe.

‘Go to him, Julie,’ Sherman said again.

There came a heavy knock on the outer door.

‘He’s there now. Go to him. He may save you.’

Still she made no move, kneeling on the bed, as if carved out of stone, her eyes blank with terror.

‘Julie!’

English’s voice came through the outer door.

‘Are you there, Julie?’

She turned her head toward the sound. A flicker of life came into her eyes. Sherman watched her, motionless, the Colt half raised, his fingers on the trigger.

‘Are you there, Julie?’

‘Yes,’ she cried suddenly. ‘Oh, Nick! Save me! Save me!’

She threw herself off the bed, ran blindly to the bedroom door and flung it open.

Sherman didn’t move. His teeth bit hard into the wad of gum he was chewing.

Julie stumbled into the dark sitting room, banged against a chair and fell full length.

‘What’s going on in there?’ English shouted and rattled the door handle.

‘Open up!’

Moving like a shadow, Sherman reached the bedroom door, and his fingers flicked down the light switch as Julie staggered to her feet. She continued across the room to the front door.

‘Nick!’ she screamed. ‘He’s going to shoot me. Save me, Nick!’

The front door creaked as English threw his weight against it.

Sherman raised the Colt as Julie’s hand closed over the key in the lock. The sight of the gun aimed at a point in the exact centre of her shoulders. Something seemed to warn her he was going to shoot, and she looked back over her shoulder.

Her terrified scream blended with the crash of gunfire. A small blue-black hole appeared between her shoulder blades. She was flung against the door and her knees sagged.

Sherman shot her again. The bullet got her above her right hip. Her body arched in agony, her hands clawed at the door, then her knees hinged and she fell face down, her arms and legs sprawling.

Unruffled, Sherman tossed the gun onto the floor near where she lay, turned and went swiftly back into the bedroom, across to the window.

He stepped up on the sill as he heard the front door crash open. Still unruffled, he paused long enough to draw the curtains, then he got out onto the sill, closed the window, straightened and dived without hesitation into the dark river flowing below him.

CHAPTER SIX

I

L
ois Marshall leaned forward and impatiently snapped off the television. She had been trying to concentrate on T. S. Eliot’s Cocktail Party, but her mind kept straying from the lighted screen until the words of the play had become a meaningless jumble.

She turned on the shaded lamp and bent to poke the fire. Rain continued to patter against the window panes. Restlessly, she glanced at the clock on the mantel. It was ten minutes after nine.

She was wearing a smart housecoat that set off her figure, and her long, slim feet were thrust into a pair of heelless slippers. Before sitting down to watch the play she had shampooed her hair, and it was now hanging about her shoulders, framing her face, and it glistened in the lamplight from the vigorous brushing she had given it.

She had been thinking regretfully of English’s suggestion that they should have dinner together on Saturday night. It was the first time he had asked her to go out with him, and she had been badly caught off balance. Her immediate reaction was to have accepted, then she realized Julie would find out, and she would tell Harry Vince, who would tell someone else, until it was all around the office that poor Lois had at last been taken out by the boss.

She was sure most of the staff, including Harry, guessed she was in love with English. Blood rose to her face as she thought of the gossip that probably went on in the office about her. Well, she was in love with English. It was something she couldn’t help, and come to that, wouldn’t change if she could. Thinking about her relations with English, she decided he was about the only person who didn’t realize she was in love with him, and for that she was grateful.

‘Oh, snap out of it!’ she said half aloud. ‘What’s the use? At least you work for him. At least you see him thirteen hours a day. What have you got to be bitter about?’

She got up and fetched her workbasket and settled down before the fire again. She was essentially domesticated, and would have preferred to run a home than work in an office, and the small pile of mending she had saved for a rainy evening had a soothing effect on her.

She paused in her work to look around the sitting room, and it pleased her. It would have pleased her more if she didn’t have to live in it alone. Again she headed herself off from brooding, and to divert her thoughts she leaned over to switch on the radio when the front doorbell rang.

She frowned, her eyes going to the clock. It was now twenty-five minutes to ten. She hesitated, wondering whether to go to the door or not.

The bell rang again! Two sharp, impatient rings.

She laid aside her mending and walked into the lobby. Quietly she slipped on the chain, then, keeping to one side, she opened the front door a few inches.

‘Who is it?’ she asked sharply.

‘Can I come in, Lois?’ English said.

She felt herself turn hot and then cold, and her heart missed a beat. Quickly she controlled herself and pushed off the chain. Then she opened the door. English stood just outside. His light-grey overcoat glistened with damp.

‘I’m sorry to call so late, Lois,’ he said quietly. ‘Am I in the way?’

‘Of course not. Come in,’ she said, a cold feeling around her heart at the sight of his white, drawn face.

He entered the sitting room and stood looking around.

‘What a nice room, Lois!’ he said. ‘I can see your hand in everything here.’

‘I - I’m glad you like it,’ she said, watching him. She had never felt so frightened before. She could tell by his expression something bad had happened, and she knew he would never have come to her apartment unless he had nowhere else to go. ‘Can I take your coat, Mr. English?’

He smiled at her.

‘Don’t let’s be formal tonight, Lois. Call me Nick, will you?’

He pulled off his coat.

‘I’ll take it into the bathroom,’ she said. ‘Go over to the fire, Nick.’

‘That’s better,’ he said, and watched her carry his hat and coat into the bathroom.

When she returned he was sitting before the fire, his hands out toward the blaze, his brows drawn down in a heavy frown. She went over to the sideboard, mixed a stiff highball and brought it to him.

He took it and smiled up at her.

‘You always know the right thing to do, don’t you?’

She saw his eyes were frozen and hard.

‘What’s happened?’ she asked sharply, standing before him. ‘Please tell me. Don’t keep me waiting.’

He gave her a sharp look, then reached out and patted her hand. It felt cold under his touch.

‘Sorry, Lois, this is going to be a shock. Julie was murdered tonight. She and Harry. It all points to me.’

Lois sat down abruptly; her face went white.

‘Oh!’ she said, then she pulled herself together. ‘What happened, Nick?’

‘I was having a drink with Beaumont,’ English said, speaking rapidly. ‘Corrine came in. She was drunk. She made a scene. The bar was crowded - everyone, including Rees and Lola Vegas, heard what she said. She told me Julie and Harry were lovers - had been lovers for months - that Julie was with Harry in his apartment. I got rid of Corrine and took a taxi to Harry’s place. The door was locked. I knocked and called out. Julie answered. She sounded terrified. She said she was going to be shot. She screamed for me to save her. It took me some moments to get the door open. I heard a shot, then another. I smashed the lock. Julie was lying on the floor. She was dying.’ He paused and took a long drink, set down the glass and rubbed his eyes. ‘She died hard, Lois. She didn’t deserve a death like that. She said it was Sherman who shot her. That he had gone out through the bedroom window. I held her in my arms until she died.’ He groped in his pocket vaguely, frowned, and began to grope in another pocket.

Lois reached out, took a cigarette from a box, lit it and gave it to him.

‘Thanks,’ he said, not looking at her. ‘I hope I made things a bit easier for her,’ he went on, half to himself. ‘She was frightened I’d be angry with her. She didn’t seem to realize she was dying. She kept asking me to forgive her.’

Lois suppressed a shudder.

‘What happened then?’ she asked sharply.

He looked up and frowned.

‘I went into the bedroom. Harry was on the floor. He was dead, too. I pulled aside the curtain, but I couldn’t see anyone in the river. It was dark and raining hard. I went to the telephone to call the police, then I saw the gun on the floor. It looked familiar. I picked it up. That was stupid of me, but I was startled and I wasn’t thinking. It was my gun. It’s been in my desk drawer for years. Sherman must have stolen it. Then I realized what a frame he had built for me. A dozen witnesses will testify that Corrine told me Julie and Harry were lovers. The taxi driver will testify he took me to Harry’s apartment. The gun that killed them is my gun. They were shot a minute or so after I had arrived. The motive, the time, the weapon - what more can the D.A. want?’