1976 - Do Me a Favour Drop Dead Read online

  He and Marshall got into a shabby looking green Plymouth parked outside the bar. They waited until I got in my car, then Mason drove off. I followed.

  Leaving Main Street, the Plymouth headed inland. After a ten-minute drive we reached what I guessed to be the best residential quarter to judge by the opulent houses and villas, set in well cared for gardens, ablaze with flowers. Another ten-minute drive brought us to forests and isolated farmhouses.

  The Plymouth’s trafficator warned me Mason was turning left. The car disappeared up a narrow dirt road just wide enough for one car. We finally reached a dead-end and there stood a big two-storey house, completely isolated and half-hidden by trees and shrubs.

  As Mason drove into the short driveway and then into a garage close to the house, I pulled up and reversed the car for the run back. I lit a cigarette and waited. After some five minutes, Tom Mason came hurrying down the drive to join me.

  As he got in the car, he said, ‘This is real nice of you, Mr. Devery. I’ve known Frank Marshall since we were at school together. He’s a nice fella when he isn’t in drink. He’s frustrated, Mr. Devery, and I can’t say I blame him.’

  ‘Oh?’ I wasn’t particularly interested. ‘What’s his trouble then?’

  ‘He’s waiting for his aunt to die.’

  I looked at him, startled.

  ‘Is that right?’

  ‘That’s it. He has expectations. He’s her heir. Once she passes on, he’ll be the richest man in Wicksteed.’

  Remembering the opulent houses I had passed on the way up, my interest sharpened.

  ‘I’m a newcomer here, Mr. Mason. I wouldn’t know how rich that would be.’ It was carefully phrased. It could produce information, yet didn’t indicate I was fishing.

  ‘Between you and me, when she goes, he’ll inherit a shade over a million dollars.’

  I stiffened. My attention became riveted to what he was saying. . .

  ‘Is that a fact? There’s an old saying about waiting for dead men’s shoes. . .’

  ‘That’s his trouble. The old lady is dying by inches. . .cancer. She could go tomorrow or she could live for some time. Two years back, she told him she was going to leave him all her money. Since then he has been counting the hours. He’s worrying so much about when she’s going to die he’s begun to hit the bottle. Before she told him, he scarcely touched hard liquor.’

  ‘Quite a situation, Mr. Mason.’

  He put his hand on my arm.

  ‘Call me Tom. What’s your first name, friend.’

  ‘Keith.’

  ‘A family name, huh? It’s unusual.’ He scratched his chin, then went on, ‘Yes, it sure is a situation, Keith. I’m sorry for him, and I’m sorry for his wife although I’ve never met her.’

  ‘What does he do for a living?’

  ‘He runs a real estate business in Frisco. He commutes every day by train.’

  ‘Does he do all right?’

  ‘Well, he did, but since he began drinking, he’s complaining about the business.’ Mason shook his head. ‘But you can’t tell Frank a thing. The times I’ve warned him about his drinking.

  Let’s hope he’ll get the money soon, then maybe, he’ll pull himself together.’

  I was now only half listening. As I drove back to Wicksteed, my mind was busy. A shade over a million! Who would believe anyone in such a one-horse town could inherit such a sum.

  I was suddenly envious. If only I were in Frank Marshall’s place! I wouldn’t take to the bottle in frustration. With my expertise, I would raise credit on my expectations. I would… My heart gave a little jump.

  Was this, I asked myself, the opportunity I had been waiting for so patiently?

  CHAPTER TWO

  After dinner, I went on to the veranda and thought about what Tom Mason had told me. He could, of course, have been exaggerating, but supposing he hadn’t been and it was a fact that Marshall was going to inherit a million dollars?

  For more than five years, I had been waiting for the opportunity to get my hands on real money. Now, suddenly, in this one horse town, the opportunity appeared to present itself.

  The average man, learning that a small time estate agent was coming into a million dollars would think: ‘good luck to him’ and then give it no further thought. Certainly the average man wouldn’t even begin to think it might be possible to grab Marshall’s inheritance, but then I am not the average man.

  During my stay in jail, I had shared a cell with a slick con man who liked to boast about his past swindles. He had had, according to him, a spectacular career until he had become too greedy.

  ‘For years, buster,’ he said to me, ‘I have traded on other people’s greed and then, goddamn it, if I didn’t get greedy myself and look where it’s landed me . . . ten years in a cell!’

  He had expanded on the subject of greed.

  ‘If a guy has two dollars, he will want four. If he has five thousand, he’ll want ten. This is human nature. I knew a guy who was worth five million and he nearly bust a gut turning it into seven. The human race is never satisfied. The more they have, the more they want, and if you can show them how to make a fast buck without working for it, they’ll be all over you.’

  From my experience when working with tycoons, I knew this to be true. Marshall’s inheritance wouldn’t be lying around in leather bags for some smart thief to steal. The money would be in stocks and bonds, guarded by bankers and brokers, but bankers and brokers didn’t awe me. I had been a broker myself.

  If I were certain that Marshall would inherit a million then with my know-how I was willing to bet I could talk him into an investment that would transfer his million to me. The fact that he was a drunk made it that much easier. I was confident I could talk him into something that would dazzle him: how to turn his million safely into three million.

  The human race is never satisfied.

  I would use this truth to get his money. It would, of course, have to be a carefully planned operation. I thought of all the files I had kept when working with Barton Sharman and which I had stored in New York. They contained facts, figures, plans and maps from which I could draw on to support any scheme I put before Marshall. That was no problem, but before I could even consider what particular bait to dangle before him, I needed to confirm that he was going to inherit this sum and to have more information about his background. Mason had mentioned that Marshall was married. I would need to know about his wife; if he had children or if he had relations: those tricky people who would help a drunk to safeguard the million when it was his.

  I would have to get friendly with Marshall. It was possible, in drink, he might give me this information, although from what I had seen of him, he could be difficult to handle.

  After I had finished my day’s work, I told myself, I should make a habit of dropping in for a drink at Joe’s bar. In this way, I could expand my social contacts and maybe meet Marshall again.

  I felt for the first time since I had been released from jail animated and excited. Even if it didn’t work out, at least, it gave me something to aim at: my second attempt to make big money!

  I got to the Driving school the following morning at ten minutes to nine. Bert was already there, opening the mail.

  After we had exchanged greetings, he said, ‘I hear you gave Tom Mason a helping hand last night.’

  News certainly travelled fast in Wicksteed! All the more reason why I must be careful in my inquiries.

  ‘Oh . . . that.’ I sat on the edge of his desk. ‘Mason seems a nice guy. He tells me he owns the hardware store here.’

  ‘He took it over from his dad who took it over from his dad. Yes, Tom’s a nice fella.’ Bert slit open an envelope. ‘I wish I could say the same for Frank Marshall. I remember the time when he was all right. . . he’d do anything for you. But now. . .’

  He shook his head.

  ‘That house of his is pretty isolated,’ I said. ‘I wouldn’t like to live so far out. It must be tough on his wife.’

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p; ‘You’re right, Keith.’ Bert sat back in his chair. ‘Marshall’s rich aunt left him the house. She used to live in it before she was moved to the hospital. He could have sold it. She wouldn’t have cared, but he reckons if he hangs on to it the land around there will be developed and then he’ll get a real fancy price for it.’

  ‘Tom said he was in real estate.’ I noted Bert didn’t rise to the ‘wife bait’ I had thrown out. I decided not to press it.

  ‘That’s right. He was doing well a couple of years back, but this drinking of his . . .’ Bert frowned. ‘No one can drink the way he does and expect to run a business.’

  Maisie came in to tell me my first pupil was waiting.

  ‘See you, Bert,’ I said and went out to meet a teenage girl with a brace on her teeth and a non-stop giggle.

  The morning and afternoon passed quickly. On three occasions, my pupils drove me along Main Street and we passed Deputy Sheriff Ross. The first time, I lifted my hand in his direction, but he ignored me. The other times I ignored him, but I was aware he was staring at me with those narrow cop’s eyes, a bleak expression on his hatchet face.

  I would have to be careful of him, I told myself. If I was going to get Marshall’s money - always providing he got it himself - the operation was going to be even more tricky with Ross looming in the background, but that didn’t faze me. It would be a challenge, and I was in the mood to accept a challenge.

  At 18.00, I said good night to Bert and Maisie, then went over to Joe’s bar.

  There were only five men in the bar, talking earnestly together. I wondered if Marshall would show.

  Joe came down the counter and shook hands.

  ‘What’ll it be, Mr. Devery?’

  ‘I think a gin and tonic.’

  He served the drink, then propped himself up against the counter and seemed ready to talk.

  ‘You weren’t too late for your supper last night?’

  ‘No, and thanks for calling Mrs. Hansen.’

  ‘That was the least I could do.’ He shook his head. ‘That Marshall . . . it’s a real shame. I expect Tom told you about him.’

  ‘He did mention something about an old aunt.’

  ‘That’s correct. She used to be a Miss Hackett, a nurse at our hospital. . . a fine lady. One day, there was an accident: a bad car smash and the driver got taken to our hospital. This was some forty years ago. I was a nipper at school at the time, but my dad told me about it. The injured man turned out to be Howard T. Fremlin of Pittsburg. He owned the Fremlin Steel Corporation. He was passing through to Frisco on a business trip when this truck hit him. To cut a long story short, Miss Hackett, after nursing him for quite a time, married him. It was only when he died, some thirty years later, that she returned to Wicksteed and bought that big house where Marshall now lives. Now she’s real bad in hospital where she once worked. Funny the way things work out, isn’t it?’

  I said it was. I sipped my drink, then said, ‘Tom said it was cancer.’

  ‘Correct. . . Leukemia. It’s a wonder they’ve kept her alive for so long, but now, I hear she could go any moment.’

  ‘Fremlin?’ I squinted at my drink. ‘Some sort of millionaire, wasn’t he?’

  ‘Correct. He left her a cool million which Marshall is going to inherit. The rest of Fremlin’s estate went to charities. I heard it was around ten million.’

  ‘That’s money.’ I now had confirmation that Tom Mason hadn’t been exaggerating and I decided to shift the conversation to Joe’s son, Sammy. As I was saying that Sammy would have to have a few more lessons, a big, bulky man came into the bar. I glanced at him, then stiffened. He was wearing the fawn shirt, the dark brown slacks and the fawn Stetson of a cop.

  He paused at my side and shook hands with Joe.

  ‘Howdy, Sam,’ Joe said. ‘What’ll it be?’

  ‘A beer.’

  The big man half turned and looked at me. He was around fifty-five with alert grey eyes, a droopy moustache, a jutting chin and a nose that looked as if someone had taken a poke at it at one time. On his shirt was a badge which read: Sheriff Sam McQueen.

  ‘Meet Mr. Devery, Sam,’ Joe said as he poured the beer. ‘Bert’s new driving instructor.’

  ‘Howdy.’ McQueen offered his hand.

  We shook hands. There was a pause, then McQueen said, ‘I’ve been hearing about you, Mr. Devery. Let’s sit down. I’ve been on my feet all day.’ Carrying his beer, he walked over to a far table.

  I hesitated, then looked at Joe.

  ‘A real nice guy,’ Joe whispered. ‘One of the best.’

  I picked up my drink and joined McQueen at the table. He offered me a cigar.

  ‘Thanks, but I don’t smoke them,’ I said and lit a cigarette.

  ‘Welcome to Wicksteed.’ He paused to drink half his beer, sighed, slapped his paunch and set down his glass. ‘This is a nice little town.’ He lit his cigar, then went on, ‘I’ll tell you something. Our crime rate is the lowest on the Pacific coast.’

  ‘That’s something to sing about,’ I said.

  ‘I guess. Apart from some kids stealing from the store, a few drunks, kids borrowing other people’s cars from time to time is all. No serious crime, Mr. Devery. Makes me a little lazy, but I don’t mind being lazy. At my age, it’s nice not to have to race and chase.’

  I nodded.

  There was a long pause, then McQueen said quietly, ‘I hear you had a run-in with my young deputy.’

  Here it comes, I thought and braced myself. Keeping my expression wooden, I said, ‘He thought I was stealing Mr. Ryder’s car.’

  McQueen took another drink.

  ‘He’s a very ambitious boy. A mite too ambitious. I’m hoping to get him transferred to Frisco where the action is. Without my say-so he checked on you and gave me a report.’

  I looked through the open doorway at the home going traffic crawling along in the hot sun. I felt a little chill run through me.

  ‘Having read the report, Mr. Devery, I thought I’d better check for myself.’ McQueen paused to blow smoke. ‘That’s my job. I talked to Ryder, Pinner and Mason. I also talked to Mrs. Hansen. I told them I wanted to know what they thought of you, you being a stranger here and as they know, strangers are my business. They all gave you a remarkably good report. From what they tell me you could become a useful citizen here. I hear you helped Mason get Marshall home. I hear you handled young Hank Sobers well, and I’ve had trouble with him in the past. I know he needs handling.’

  I didn’t say anything. I waited.

  He finished his beer.

  ‘I’ve got to move along. The wife’s got roast chicken for supper and I don’t want to be late. You’re welcome here. Pay no attention to Ross. I’ve told him not to bother you.’ He looked straight at me, his eyes twinkling. ‘The fact is, Mr. Devery, I believe in letting sleeping dogs lie. No one in this town is going to make trouble for you if you don’t make trouble for yourself. Fair enough?’

  ‘Fair enough, Sheriff,’ I said, my mouth a little dry.

  He got to his feet, shook hands, waved to Joe and walked out on to the street.

  As Joe had said: a real nice guy: one of the best, but I knew enough about cops to be sure, in spite of the welcome speech, he would keep an eye on me. He would be a fool if he didn’t, and one thing I was sure of: Sheriff McQueen was nobody’s fool.

  Joe came over to pick up the empty beer glass.

  ‘The thing I like about Sam is his friendliness,’ he said as he wiped the table with a swab. ‘He’s been Sheriff here for close on twenty years. He makes a point of knowing everyone and getting on with them. Not like Deputy Ross who is looking for trouble all the time. I hear Ross is going to be transferred when there is a vacancy in Frisco. . . the sooner the better.’

  ‘Mr. Marshall not in tonight?’ I asked casually.

  ‘He doesn’t come here much and then only with Tom because he expects Tom to drive him home. No, Marshall does his drinking at home. He’s no fool. The last thing he wants is to lose
his driving licence. He’d really be in a fix without a car, living where he does.’

  Here was my chance.

  ‘Doesn’t his wife drive?’

  Joe shrugged.

  ‘I wouldn’t know, Mr. Devery. I’ve never set eyes on her. She never comes into town.’

  ‘Is that right? Must be lonely for her out there.’

  ‘It’s a funny thing but some women like being on their own,’ Joe said. ‘You take my wife. She spends all her time either gardening or staring at the tube. She’s not sociable like me.’

  Two men came in and Joe hurried to serve them. I finished my drink, then waving to him, I went out into the hot sun and to my car.

  That evening, after dinner, I sat on the veranda and mulled over the information I had gained. It did look as if Marshall was to inherit a million dollars. The fact that his aunt had been left a million by her husband gave substance to both Mason’s and Joe’s gossip. But how was I to be absolutely certain that she was going to leave all this money to Marshall? I would have to get more solid information before I began to think seriously about the operation.

  I thought too about the Sheriff. He now knew my record.

  This, I told myself, after thinking about it, was inevitable.

  Sooner or later, he would have found out and it seemed to me it was better sooner than later. If Marshall’s money suddenly disappeared and McQueen only then discovered there was an ex-jailbird in this town, his suspicions would naturally centre on me, but knowing my record long before I began my operation, his suspicions might not be so concentrated.

  I was interested in the scrap of information Joe had given me about Marshall’s wife. So she was a loner. I would need to know more about her before I could make a plan.

  I went to bed that night, satisfied I had begun well. As I settled to sleep, I told myself I had to be patient. A million dollars was worth waiting for.

  I learned nothing new about Marshall during the next three days. I avoided asking questions when talking to Bert and Joe, Marshall’s name didn’t come up and although I was tempted, I didn’t bring it up myself.