I Would Rather Stay Poor Page 7

  ‘You are a devil! You have no feeling. I’m not going to do it!’

  ‘Don’t get so excited,’ Calvin said. ‘Sit down… let’s talk about it. I thought you wanted the money.’

  ‘Not if it means killing her,’ Kit said, not moving. ‘I won’t have her death on my conscience!’

  ‘There is no other way,’ Calvin said. He stretched his long, massive legs and yawned. ‘I told you: you haven’t to do anything, I’ll do it.’

  ‘No! You’re going to leave her alone. Her life isn’t much, but she’s entitled to it! I won’t let you touch her!’

  Calvin sucked at his cigarette, then released a stream of smoke down his nostrils.

  ‘I can’t do without your help,’ he said ‘Think a moment… three hundred thousand dollars! Think what it will mean to you. A poor thing like her! Who cares what happens to her?’

  ‘You can’t talk me into this!’ Kit said hysterically. ‘I’m not going to do it! I can’t sleep! I keep thinking of her studying her stupid books night after night while you are planning to murder her! I won’t do it! I’d rather stay poor!’

  Calvin pointed to a bottle of whisky standing on the chest of drawers.

  ‘Have a drink. You sound as if you need one.’

  Kit looked at the whisky, hesitated, then poured a large shot into the glass. She drank greedily in two long gulps and set down the glass with a little shudder.

  ‘I can’t do without your help,’ Calvin said. ‘Well, all right, if that’s the way you feel, then we’d better forget it. We’ll have to go on living out our miserable, drab little lives: you running a half-baked rooming-house and I the manager of a half-baked bank.’

  ‘I’d rather live as I’m living now than have her death on my conscience.’ She looked at the whisky bottle, hesitated, then poured another drink. ‘You’ve got to leave this house. You are evil. I can’t have you here.’

  ‘We’re suppose to be getting married,’ he said and smiled at her. ‘Remember?’

  ‘I wouldn’t marry you if you were the last man left on earth! You are to go! I mean that! I won’t have you in my house!’

  He thought for a moment, watching her, then he shrugged.

  ‘All right. I’ll leave at the end of the week. What are you going to tell Iris, the old people and Alice? Or would you rather I tell them that I have discovered you are an alcoholic and I now don’t fancy marrying you?’

  She turned white and put down the glass of whisky.

  ‘You’re not to tell them that! It isn’t true!’ she said in a rasping voice.

  ‘Of course it is! You’re half drunk now. It’ll be interesting to see Alice’s face. She admires you. It’ll be interesting too to hear what the major and Miss Pearson have to say when they learn you are an uncontrolled boozer. But what should be amusing is to hear what Iris has to say.’ He leaned forward and suddenly snarled at her. ‘Get out of my sight. You sicken me!’

  Kit turned and went into her room, closing the door and locking it.

  When he heard the lock turn, his fleshy face became hideous. He looked like a savage, his face convulsed with rage. Suddenly he spat on the carpet and clenching his fists, he began to pound them on his knees.

  He sat there for over an hour. When his rage finally wore itself out and his mind began to function again, he became like a trapped animal. He couldn’t see any way out of this impasse. His immediate reaction was to murder Kit, but he quickly realised killing her wouldn’t help him lay his hands on the payroll. Without her, his foolproof plan became impossible.

  Exhausted by the murderous rage that had gripped him, unable to find a solution to the problem, he stripped off his clothes and got into bed. He lay in the darkness, his mind seething, trying to decide what to do.

  Finally, around one o’clock in the morning he fell asleep. He had no idea how long he slept but he woke suddenly aware his heart was thumping. He hadn’t awakened like this since his combat days. Then he had developed an acute animal sense of self preservation that had served him well. There had been times when he had been sleeping in his fox-hole, his rifle gripped in his hands, and had come awake as he had now come awake, in time to spot a Jap crawling towards him out of the jungle.

  The faint light of the moon came through the curtains. He could just make out the outlines of the armchair and the big closet facing him. Why had he woken like this? He was about to switch on the bedside light when he heard a sound that made him stiffen.

  Someone was in the room!

  By listening intently, he was able to hear rapid, uneven breathing.

  He remained motionless. His eyes stared into the darkness. Then gradually he was able to make out a shadowy figure standing at the foot of his bed. His powerful muscles became tense, but he didn’t move.

  As he continued to stare, the figure became recognisable. Kit, in her nightdress, was looking towards where he lay.

  ‘Dave…’

  Calvin slowly lifted his head.

  ‘Dave… please…’

  She moved around the bed and sat beside him. He lay motionless, trying to see her hands, trying to see if she had a weapon or not.

  ‘Dave…’

  ‘What is it?’

  He could feel she was trembling and he could smell whisky on her breath.

  ‘I’ll go through with it,’ she said. ‘You’re right. I can’t face living here for the rest of my days. I’ve got to have money. I’ll do it with you, but please be kind to me… please be kind to me.’

  He jerked back the blanket and sheet and caught hold of her, pulling her down beside him. Her whisky-laden breath fanned his face as she twined her arms around his thick muscular shoulders.

  She was crying and very drunk.

  ‘I’ll do it. I’ll do whatever you say,’ she moaned, ‘but don’t tell them about me… please promise not to tell them. I can’t help it… I’m so ashamed of myself.’

  His expression of contempt and disgust hidden by the darkness, Calvin forced his hands to caress her.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  1

  ‘Well, that’s it,’ the sheriff said as the armoured truck drove off into the darkness. ‘You two are working late tonight, aren’t you?’

  ‘We’ll be here until seven,’ Calvin said.

  ‘You’ll be okay,’ the sheriff said. ‘If anyone knocks on the door, sound the alarm buzzer in your office. I’ll come over or I’ll send Ken. Don’t open the door when you are leaving before you turn the lights out. You know about that?’

  ‘Sure,’ Calvin said.

  ‘Then I guess I’ll be getting along.’ The sheriff tipped his hat to Alice who was standing by Calvin. ‘Good night, Miss Craig. Good night, Mr. Calvin.’

  He walked away down the path, followed by Travers and Calvin shut and locked the bank doors.

  He was aware that his big, fleshy hands were damp with sweat and his muscles ached with the fatigue of three almost sleepless nights.

  ‘Well, let’s get on with it,’ he said to Alice. ‘The sooner we start, the sooner we finish.’

  ‘Yes, Mr. Calvin.’

  He watched her walk to her stool and hoist herself onto it. The lights from her shaded desk lamp reflected on her glasses. He stood for a long moment staring at her, realising that in less than half an hour, she would be dead and he would be responsible. He took out his handkerchief, wiped his hands, then went into his office and closed the door.

  He sat down and with unsteady hands, he lit a cigarette.

  The past three days had taken a toll of him. He was still not sure if Kit could be relied on. Each night after he had returned from the bank, he had found her drunk. She had been in a weepy, sexually excited state that had nauseated him, but it was essential to keep her in this mood and he had played along with her: hating her, but realising if she was to play her part, he had to jolly her along somehow.

  As he sat smoking, he began to talk silently to himself.

  ‘This woman is neurotic and dangerous, I’ve got to use her, but o
nce I have the money, what am I going to do about her? I have to have her now to impersonate Alice. I still have to have her to provide a reasonable excuse as to why we are both leaving town and more important still, why I am resigning from the bank. Without the money from the sale of the house, the Federal agents will wonder how I could afford to resign. Now wait a minute… let me think about this. Do I really need her for that? Suppose, after she has impersonated Alice, I get rid of her? Suppose someone offered me a good job, and as I’m getting nowhere in the bank, I decide to make a change. That would be an acceptable reason for resigning, but what if they check? I can’t risk a bluff… someone will have to offer me a good job… but who?’

  He sat for some minutes, his mind busy.

  ‘Marvin Godwin… he owes me plenty. I was going to use him anyway in the original plan. His gambling joint at Las Vegas is a perfect cover for me to appear to make money. He’d fix it, but he would guess something was up… that doesn’t matter. If the Federal agents keep track of me… and they might… I could prove through Godwin that I had won a lot of money. As soon as they lost interest in me, I could leave Las Vegas and drop out of sight. Working in this way, I won’t need Kit once she has impersonated Alice. From the start of this thing, I had an idea I would have two murders on my hands. It could be the safest and easiest way out — to get rid of her. It wouldn’t be all that difficult. She takes a bath every night. I have only to go into the bathroom while she is in there and hit her over the head and then drown her. I would fix it I would be working on my car while she was taking her bath. I could slip upstairs without anyone seeing me, kill her and then return to the garage. She would be found by Flo in the morning. They’d think she was drunk, hit her head on the taps and then drowned. With her out of the way, I would have all the money and my freedom.’

  He stubbed out his cigarette, frowning. He was rushing this thing, he warned himself. First, he had to get his hands on the money which was now in the vault, only twenty yards from where he was sitting.

  He glanced at his strap watch, noticing the fair, thick hairs on his wrist were shiny with sweat. It was now eight minutes past six.

  He lifted the telephone receiver and dialled the number of the rooming-house. With the receiver screwed against his ear, he listened to the burr-burr-burr on the line, then abruptly, Kit’s voice came to him.

  ‘What is it? Who is that?’

  From the slurring note in her voice, he knew she was drunk and his eyes gleamed viciously.

  ‘Are you all right?’ he asked, keeping his voice low, mindful that Alice might hear him.

  ‘What… what did you say? Who is it?’

  His fleshy, sweating hand gripped the telephone receiver more tightly.

  ‘Are you all right?’ he said, raising his voice slightly.

  ‘All right? Of course, I’m all right. Why shouldn’t I be?’ She spoke loudly and violently.

  ‘Keep your voice down,’ he snarled. ‘I’ll be expecting you in an hour. Leave at half past six. Do you understand?’

  ‘What do you imagine I am…an idiot? You’ve said this over and over again until I’m sick of hearing it. I’ll be there.’

  ‘Lay off drinking, will you? I don’t want you down here drunk.’

  ‘You’re lucky to have me any way,’ she shrilled and hung up.

  He replaced the receiver on its cradle and then stared into space. He sat there for some moments, then he pulled open the top drawer of his desk and took from it one of his worn out socks filled tightly with sand.

  He balanced the home-made weapon in his hand, his face expressionless, then he shoved the sand-filled sock into his hip pocket. Again he looked at his watch. He had still forty minutes before he could murder Alice.

  With an effort of will, he began to work on the monthly statements. He soon found he was making mistakes, and cursing, he tore up the statement he was working on and dropped the pieces into the trash basket. He pushed back his chair and stood up. He went silently to the door. Opening it, he looked at Alice who was perched on her stool, her feet twined around the rung of the stool, her head bent as she worked swiftly and as he knew by now, accurately. He watched her. In less than half an hour she would be dead, and by his hand. He suddenly wished he could get some support from whisky as Kit seemed to be doing, but he had never been a drinking man. As he stood there, watching, Alice must have felt his presence for she suddenly turned and looked at him through the glittering lenses of her glasses.

  With an effort he managed to switch on his charm.

  ‘Going all right?’ he asked, his voice casual.

  She regarded him. He could see she was a little puzzled and perhaps startled.

  ‘Yes, Mr. Calvin.’

  ‘Good… I won’t disturb you.’ He moved back into his office. He stood just inside the door, his mind plagued by uncertainty. Would Kit come? he asked himself. He looked towards the telephone, hesitating. If she had drunk too much, it was possible she might collapse on her bed and go to sleep, then he would be stuck with Alice’s body.

  He still had time. At half past six he would ring again to make sure Kit had left for the bank.

  He forced himself to sit at his desk. His mind now concentrated on the money in the vault: three hundred thousand dollars! With Kit out of the way, every dollar would be his!

  He struggled to work. The hands of the desk clock moved on to half past six. Every statement he made out was smudged by his sweating hands, and suddenly and viciously he screwed up the papers he had been working on and threw them into the trash basket.

  He lit yet another cigarette, and as the minute hand of the desk clock moved to the half hour, he reached for the telephone receiver and called the rooming-house.

  Flo answered.

  ‘This is Mr. Calvin. Is Mrs. Loring there, Flo?’

  ‘No, sir. Mrs. Loring’s just this moment gone out.’

  ‘Thanks… it’s nothing important. Miss Craig and I will be back soon after eight.’

  He hung up. So she was on her way. There was no point wasting any more time. His hand moved to his hip pocket and his thick fingers closed around the neck of the sand-filed sock. He stood up and walked to the office door.

  ‘Oh, Alice…’

  ‘Yes, Mr. Calvin?’

  ‘Just a moment…’

  He waited, aware he was breathing heavily, aware too of that same odd feeling he had experienced during his combat days when he used to slaughter Japs who he first had had tied to trees. Those moments, as he approached the line of helpless little yellow apes, bayonet in hand, had given him a sexual excitement he was never to forget. Now as he waited for this thin, spinsterish girl in her glasses and shapeless dress to come in, he again experienced this same sexual excitement.

  Alice came to the door and peered short-sightedly at him.

  ‘Yes, Mr. Calvin?’

  His smile was a grimace as he waved towards his desk.

  ‘I’d be glad if you’d check those figures. I don’t seem to get them to balance.’

  She looked towards the pile of papers lying on his desk and then moved forward, passing him. He pulled the sand-filed sock from his hip pocket and balanced it in his hand. He watched her approach the desk, put both her hands on the desk and lean forward over the papers he had laid out for her to look at.

  He began to move slowly towards her, his eyes glittering, his breathing quick and light. As he was within striking distance of her, as he was about to swing up his arm to deal the back of her head a crashing blow, the telephone bell began to ring.

  The sound of the bell went through him like a sword thrust. He remained paralysed with shock as Alice picked up the receiver, saying, ‘Yes?’ She listened, then, ‘Why of course, Mrs. Rason. Yes, he is here. Will you hold on please?’

  Calvin stuffed the sand-filled sock back into his hip pocket as Alice turned.

  ‘Mrs. Rason is asking for you,’ she said and he saw her stiffen and stare at his white, sweating face. ‘Is — is there something wrong?’


  He moved around her without answering and taking up the receiver, he sat down at the desk.

  ‘Yes, Mrs. Rason?’ he said, his voice strangled and unsteady.

  Mrs. Rason was one of the wealthiest clients of the bank. She had taken a fancy to Calvin and he had been re-investing her money. She launched into a long conversation about a merger she had been told about. What did Calvin think? Should she buy? If she did, Calvin would have to hurry.

  Calvin watched Alice take up the papers on his desk and go out of the office. He scarcely heard what Mrs. Rason was saying. He suddenly remembered he had forgotten to unlock the back entrance to the bank. Any moment now Kit would be arriving. If she found the door still locked, what would she do? Go away? Do something stupid? A drop of sweat fell on to the blotter as the high-pitched voice yammered against his ear.

  ‘Look,’ he said, trying to keep his voice under control, ‘right now, Mrs. Rason, I can’t talk to you. I’m sorry. We’re closed. Could we discuss this tomorrow?’

  ‘Well, for heaven’s sake!’ Mrs. Rason said sharply. ‘I don’t know what I’ll be doing tomorrow. If I buy, you’ll have to do something fast first thing tomorrow morning.’

  Calvin could have strangled her. The startled expression on Alice’s face had warned him she had noticed something was wrong. What was she doing out there? He controlled himself with an effort.

  ‘Yes, I understand. Well, I think you should buy. I think…’ Gently he pressed down the cradle of the telephone, breaking the connection. He replaced the receiver, knowing in a few moments she would be calling back.

  He got to his feet, moved quickly out of the office and around to the back entrance. He was aware Alice had seen him leave his office, but this was too important to him to care if she saw him or not. He unlocked the door, pulled back the bolts as the telephone bell began to ring. He opened the door and there was Kit, standing in the shadows, peering at him.

  ‘Wait here,’ he said ‘Don’t go away…’

  Then Alice said behind him, ‘Why, hello, Mrs. Loring. What are you doing here?’