1953 - I'll Bury My Dead Page 15

  ‘You don’t think you can scare me, do you?’ Sherman said. ‘I make a point always to call a bluff.’

  ‘There comes a time when you can call a bluff once too often,’ English returned. ‘I admit if I handed you over to the police it wouldn’t be possible to keep the shabby news that my brother is a blackmailer out of the papers. I admit I would cook my own goose in this city by having you arrested, but rather than submit to blackmail or let Miss Clair submit to blackmail, I shan’t hesitate to go after you, and once I do go after you, no power on earth can save you from the electric chair.’ He got up abruptly and began to pace up and down, his hands clasped behind his back, his face thoughtful. ‘I can’t allow you to remain in the city, nor can I allow you to continue to levy blackmail. I am going to make you a proposal. It doesn’t suit me at the moment to hand you over to the police. Instead, you are to leave town by the end of the week. You are not to return. You are to give up your blackmailing activities. If you don’t leave, and if you attempt to levy blackmail in this town again, then I shall hand you over to the police. If you think I am bluffing, go ahead and stay in this apartment and see what happens to you. If it’s the last thing I do I’ll have you in the electric chair within six months. That is all I have to say to you. If this apartment isn’t empty by Saturday night, you will be arrested on Sunday morning. I shall not warn you again. Get out of town by Saturday night or take the consequences. And if you think the police will believe that Miss Clair shot my brother, go to them and tell them. They won’t react favourably. They know she is under my protection, and they won’t be anxious to make difficulties for me.’ He walked to the door, opened it and paused to say, ‘As I don’t expect to see you again, I won’t say good night, I’ll say goodbye.’

  Sherman had gone pale, and his yellow eyes showed his suppressed fury.

  ‘A war is never won until the last battle, Mr. English,’ he said, his voice unsteadily.

  English looked at him and made a grimace of disgust.

  ‘This happens to be the last battle,’ he said, opened the front door and walked slowly down the passage to his own apartment.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  I

  Corrine English carried the coffeepot into the lounge and set it on the table. As she sat down, she yawned and ran her fingers through her blond hair. The time was twenty minutes past eleven in the morning, and the bright sunshine made her feel jaded. Never at her best in the mornings, Corrine only came alive after six o’clock when she had been fortified by the first cocktail of the day. She poured the coffee into a cup, and then, after only a momentary hesitation, she got up and went over to the cellarette for a bottle of brandy.

  Since Roy’s death she had been drinking heavily. The lonely house, her brooding thoughts about Roy and Mary Savitt, and her hatred of Nick English so preyed on her mind that she turned automatically to brandy to ‘deaden her suffering’ as she put it to herself. She began by drinking steadily in the evening, then she went to the bottle during the afternoon, and now she was beginning to take brandy in her morning coffee.

  She brought the bottle to the table and poured a liberal shot into the coffee and sat down again. She found she couldn’t face the toast she had made, and she pushed the plate aside with a grimace of disgust. She drank more brandy, then she carried the cup over to the electric fire and sat down on the settee.

  She wore her rose-pink silk wrap over black lounging pyjamas, and as she settled herself among the cushions, she remembered she had been wearing this outfit when Nick English had broken the news to her of Roy’s death.

  Her eyes hardened as she thought of English. She hated him as she didn’t think it possible to hate anyone. She blamed him for Roy’s death. His threat to hand over Roy’s letters to the press filled her with vindictive fury. To make matters worse she knew she was helpless to hurt him. She knew if she tried to pit herself against him it would be as futile as opposing a tank with an air pistol. She finished her coffee, got up and took a glass from the cellarette and half filled it with brandy.

  ‘May as well get soused as sit here and think about that bastard,’ she said aloud. ‘I’ve nothing to do until lunchtime, and when lunchtime comes, I shan’t want any lunch. So what the hell?’

  Since Roy’s death, she had got into the habit of talking to herself. She would walk about the lonely house, talking and talking. Sometimes she talked to Roy just as if he were sitting in the lounge, listening. Sometimes she would talk to Sam or Helen Crail or one of her girlfriends, half imagining they were actually listening to her, and she kept up a monologue, occasionally asking questions and answering them herself, pretending it was Roy or Sam or Helen who was giving her the answer. She lit a cigarette, drained the glass and refilled it.

  ‘We’ve got to do something, Roy, about that sonofabitch,’ she said as she wandered back to the settee. ‘He’s not going to get away with it. All I want is a good idea. Give me a good idea, darling, and I’ll carry it out. I promise I will. I’ll do anything. I’ll even shoot him if you say so.’

  As she was about to sit down, the musical chimes at the front door sounded.

  ‘Oh, damn!’ she said crossly. ‘That’ll be Hetty.’

  She went across the lounge into the lobby and opened the front door. A youngish man stood on the step. He raised his brown slouch hat, showing thick flaxen hair that looked like burnished silver in the sunlight. He smiled at Corrine, his jaws moving rhythmically as he chewed, his amber-coloured eyes sliding over her plump little figure like a caress.

  ‘Mrs. English?’

  Corrine’s fingers went hastily to her hair. She knew she looked awful as she hadn’t bothered to put on any makeup, and she knew the rose-pink wrap was grubby.

  ‘Yes, but I - I don’t receive callers at this hour. Who are you?’

  ‘My name is Roger Sherman, Mrs. English. Forgive me for calling so early, but I was anxious to see you. I am an old friend of Roy’s.’

  ‘Oh!’ Corrine stepped back. ‘Perhaps you had better come in. The place is in a ghastly mess. My maid hasn’t come yet. I was just having breakfast.’

  Sherman stepped into the lobby and closed the door.

  ‘Please don’t be embarrassed,’ he said, and gave her a charming smile. ‘I should have called you on the telephone first. I do hope you will forgive me.’

  Corrine was in a flutter. Roy had never mentioned Roger Sherman to her, but it was obvious this man was wealthy. She had caught a glimpse of a big shiny Cadillac at the door, and his clothes and manner impressed her.

  ‘Please go into the lounge. I won’t be a moment,’ she said, and retreated hurriedly into her bedroom, shutting the door.

  Sherman walked into the lounge and looked around with a slight wrinkling of his nose. He saw the bottle of brandy and the glass, and nodded to himself. He went over and stood before the electric fire, his hands in his pockets, his jaws moving slowly. He remained like that for over a quarter of an hour, his blank expression masking his impatience.

  Corrine came in, still flustered. She had put on makeup, and had changed into a lilac-coloured wrap which she kept for the best occasions. If it hadn’t been for the shadowy puffiness under her eyes, and the fact that she was just a shade too plump, she would have looked extremely attractive.

  ‘I’m sorry to have kept you waiting,’ she said, closing the door. ‘But I had to make myself look a little presentable.’

  ‘Why, you look charming,’ Sherman said, smiling at her. ‘So you are Roy’s wife. He often talked about you, saying how pretty you are, and now I’ve seen you for myself I can endorse that.’

  It seemed a long time to Corrine since anyone had paid her a compliment, and for a moment she forgot how Roy had betrayed her, and the memory of their past happiness brought sudden tears to her eyes.

  ‘Roy never mentioned you,’ she said, touching her eyes with her handkerchief. ‘You say you were a friend of his?’

  ‘We were very old friends. I was shocked to hear of his sad end. I would have come
to see you sooner only I have been out of town. I can’t say how sorry I am.’

  ‘Please don’t talk about it,’ Corrine said and sat down. ‘I don’t think I’ll ever get over the disgrace.’

  ‘You mustn’t say things like that,’ Sherman said gently. ‘After all, it wasn’t Roy’s fault. I suppose you know his brother was at the bottom of the whole thing?’

  Corrine stiffened.

  ‘He was? How do you know?’

  Sherman’s eyes went to the bottle of brandy.

  ‘Would it be rude of me to ask if I might have a drink? I like a drink at this time in the morning, but perhaps you wouldn’t approve.’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ Corrine said. ‘Please help yourself. I don’t mind in the least.’

  Sherman went over to the cellarette for a brandy glass. He poured brandy into it, then appeared to notice Corrine’s empty glass for the first time. ‘May I give you a drink, too, Mrs. English?’

  Corrine hesitated. She didn’t want this presentable young man to think she was in the habit of drinking brandy in the morning, but she wanted a drink badly. ‘Well, perhaps a small one. I’m not feeling very bright this morning.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ Sherman returned, poured brandy generously into her glass and gave it to her. ‘I hope this won’t be the last time we meet,’ he went on and saluted her with his glass.

  Corrine drank half the brandy while Sherman scarcely touched his.

  ‘You were talking about Nick English,’ Corrine said. ‘How do you know he was at the bottom of Roy’s death?’

  ‘Roy told me,’ Sherman said and sat down beside Corrine. His hand brushed against her silk-clad thigh. ‘I beg your pardon. I seem to be clumsy this morning.’

  ‘What did he tell you?’ Corrine demanded, scarcely noticing he had touched her.

  ‘He told me about the money,’ Sherman said. ‘You know about that, of course?’

  ‘What money?’

  ‘Why, the twenty thousand dollars Roy meant you to have,’ Sherman returned, lifting his eyebrows. ‘Surely your attorney has given it to you?’

  Corrine’s big blue eyes opened wide.

  ‘Twenty thousand dollars?’ she repeated. ‘I don’t know anything about it.’

  ‘But surely you’ve been left something? Forgive me for appearing curious, but after all, I was Roy’s best friend, and I feel I should see his wife has been properly provided for.’

  ‘Oh, thank you,’ Corrine said, nearly dissolving into tears. ‘You don’t know how lonely I’ve been. Of course Sam Crail has been kind, but he is very busy. After all, it’s not as if he was a friend. He was only Roy’s attorney.’

  ‘He is Nick English’s attorney, too,’ Sherman said.

  Corrine stiffened.

  ‘He is? I didn’t know that. But it doesn’t matter, does it? He wouldn’t tell that man anything, would he?’

  ‘He is on English’s payroll,’ Sherman said. ‘It’s no secret. He does exactly what English tells him.’

  ‘Oh!’ Corrine’s face flushed. ‘What am I going to do? I wouldn’t have had him in the house if I had known.’

  ‘May I ask what you have got to live on?’ Sherman said, leaning forward and looking at her intently.

  ‘Roy left an annuity. I’m to have two hundred dollars a week for life,’ Corrine said.

  ‘And nothing has been said about the twenty thousand?’

  ‘No, this is the first time I have heard of it. What twenty thousand?’

  ‘You know about Mary Savitt, I suppose?’

  Corrine looked away.

  ‘Yes, I know about her. How Roy could have done such a thing.’

  ‘Some men get carried away by unscrupulous women,’ Sherman said, shaking his head. ‘And she was unscrupulous, Mrs. English. It wouldn’t have lasted. He would have very soon realized his mistake.’

  Corrine put her hand on his.

  ‘Thank you for saying that. That’s what I’ve been telling myself. Roy couldn’t have gone off and left me. I know he would have come back.’

  ‘He didn’t forget you. He provided for you. He told me so. He brought off a deal which netted him twenty thousand. He intended to give you the money when he went away with Mary Savitt.’

  ‘Roy made twenty thousand!’ Corrine said, startled. ‘Why, I can’t believe it. Roy never made any money ever.’

  ‘Strictly speaking it was rather sharp practice,’ Sherman said. ‘Apparently Nick English was handling the deal. Roy happened to call on the same client on another matter, and the client confused Roy with Nick. Roy didn’t enlighten him and pulled off the deal. Nick English was so angry he called in the police. They were on their way when Roy got into a panic and shot himself.’

  ‘Oh!’ Corrine said, and leaned back, closing her eyes. ‘You mean that man was going to have his own brother arrested?’

  ‘I’m afraid so. Roy had put the money in a safe deposit and had given Sam Crail the key. Crail was to give you the money. As you haven’t had it, it would seem pretty obvious that English had instructed Crail to hand the money to him.’

  Corrine sat bolt upright, her eyes furious.

  ‘Do you mean he’s stolen the money from me?’

  Sherman lifted his shoulders.

  ‘It looks like it, but neither you nor I has any proof the money even exists.’

  Corrine took a long pull at her glass. The brandy she had already drunk before Sherman arrived was beginning to have an effect on her, and she felt a little dizzy and very reckless.

  ‘Well, he’s not going to get away with it. I’ll fix that louse!’ She jumped to her feet. ‘I’ll make him suffer for this!’

  ‘I can understand your feelings,’ Sherman said, watching narrowly, ‘but how do you propose to do it? He is an extremely powerful and influential individual.’

  ‘I’ll think of some way,’ Corrine said, and moving a little unsteadily across the room, she refilled her glass, slopping the brandy on the carpet as she did so.

  ‘Perhaps I could help you,’ Sherman said, getting to his feet.

  She turned and leaned against the cellarette, staring at him.

  ‘Can you?’ she asked. ‘How?’

  ‘It wouldn’t be possible to get the money out of him, but if you want to make him suffer.’

  ‘That’s what I do want! Do you know how I can do it?’

  ‘Yes, but it’ll depend on you whether you succeed or not. You know Julie Clair?’

  ‘I don’t know her,’ Corrine said, ‘but I know of her. She’s his mistress, isn’t she?’

  ‘And English is crazy about her. I happen to know she is having an affair with his general manager, a fellow named Harry Vince.’

  Corrine stood very still, looking at Sherman, her eyes gleaming.

  ‘Are you sure?’ she said. ‘Are you absolutely sure?’

  ‘Yes. She goes to Vince’s apartment whenever English has a business date. I’ve seen her go there.’

  ‘This is what I’ve been waiting for,’ Corrine said, and moved unsteadily back to the settee. ‘Oh! Now I’ll make him suffer. If only he could find them together! If only I could rub his nose in it!’

  ‘That could be arranged,’ Sherman said. ‘He happens to be dining tonight with Senator Beaumont at the Silver Tower. She’s bound to go to her lover. Why don’t you go along and tell him?’

  ‘Will you come with me?’ Corrine asked, her face lighting up with a cruel little smile.

  Sherman shook his head.

  ‘That's not possible. I have an engagement for tonight, but I will book a table for you. English will show up about eight-thirty. If you get there by nine, it will be time enough.’

  ‘I’ll be there,’ she said, clenching her fists. ‘I’ll make a scene he and his swank friends won’t forget in a hurry. To think he dared to threaten to send Roy’s letters to the press when his own mistress is carrying on with another man! This is what I’ve been praying for.’

  Sherman smiled.

  ‘I thought you would ma
ke good use of the information.’

  ‘Why did you tell me? Have you something to settle with him as well?’

  ‘If I had,’ Sherman said smoothly, ‘I would do my own dirty work. I happen to be exceedingly angry about the way he has treated you. I felt I had to give you a weapon, and I’ve given it to you.’

  Corrine smiled at him.

  ‘I’m grateful.’ She crossed her legs, letting the wrap fall away a little, showing her knees. I can’t say how grateful I am.’