I'll Bury My Dead. James Hadley Chase
stumbled to the door and threw it open. “Get out and stay out! And don’t try to offer me any of your dirty money, because I won’t take it! Now, get out!”
English lifted his heavy shoulders in a despairing shrug. He wanted to take this little doll and shake some sense into her, but he knew that shock and the realization that her own extravagance had been partly the cause of Roy’s death had turned her into this shrill fury, venting her conscience-stricken grief on him. He guessed that as soon as he had gone, she would collapse, and he was reluctant to leave her alone.
“Haven’t you someone…” he began, but she broke in, screaming, “Get out! Get out! I don’t want your filthy help or your sympathy! You’re worse than a murderer. Get out!”
He saw it was hopeless to do anything for her, and he went past her into the lobby. As he opened the front door, he heard her sobbing, and he glanced back. She had thrown herself face down on the settee, her head in her arms.
He shook his head, hesitated, then opened the door and walked down the path to the car.
IV
Lieutenant Morilli stood up as English came into his small office. A plain-clothes detective who was with him left the room, and Morilli swung a chair around and pushed it forward.
“Glad you looked in, Mr. English,” he said. “Sit down, won’t you?”
“Can I use your phone, Lieutenant?”
“Sure, go ahead. I’ll be back in five minutes. I want to get the ballistics report on the gun for you.”
English said, “Did your men clean up the office?”
“It’s all okay,” Morilli said as he made for the door.
“Thanks.”
When Morilli had closed the door after him, English called his own office.
Lois Marshall answered the phone.
“I want you to go to my brother’s office and look the place over,” English said. “Take Harry with you. Is it too late for you to go right away?” He glanced at his wristwatch. The time was a quarter after midnight. “It shouldn’t take you long. Get Harry to drive you home.”
“That’s all right, Mr. English,” Lois said. “What do you want me to do?”
“Take a look at the files. See if he kept any books, if he did, bring them to the office tomorrow morning. Get the atmosphere of the place. The atmosphere is more important than anything else. The business was supposed to be long established with a good connection when I bought it for him. He’s had it less than a year. I want to find out what went wrong.”
“I’ll take care of it, Mr. English.”
“Good girl. Sorry to ask you to work so late, but it’s urgent.”
“That’s all right, Mr. English.”
“Take Harry with you. I don’t want you to be there alone.”
Morilli came in.
“Hold on a moment,” English said, turned and asked Morilli, “Did you lock up when you left?”
Morilli shook his head.
“I left a patrolman on duty. The keys are in the top left-hand drawer of his desk.”
English relayed this information to Lois.
“The address is 1356 7th Street. The office is on the sixth floor. It’s called the Alert Agency.”
She said she would go over there right away, and hung up.
English put down the receiver, took out his cigar case and offered it to Morilli. When the two men had lit cigars, English said, “Is it his gun?”
Morilli nodded.
“I’ve had a word with the doc. He says the wound was self-inflicted. Your brother’s prints are on the gun. There are powder burns on the side of his face.”
English nodded, his eyes thoughtful.
“I’m satisfied if you are, Mr. English,” Morilli said, after a short silence.
English nodded again.
“Sounds all right. There’ll be an inquest?”
“Eleven-thirty tomorrow morning. Did he have a secretary?”
English shrugged.
“I don’t know. He may have had. His wife will be able to tell you, but don’t bother her now. She’s upset.”
Morilli fidgeted with the desk blotter, pushing it straight.
“The coroner will want evidence that he was short of money. Unless the commissioner insists, I don’t want to give evidence myself, Mr. English. There’s no need to tell the coroner what your brother was up to.”
English nodded, his mouth hard.
“The commissioner won’t insist. I’ll have a word with him tomorrow morning. I think I’d better get Sam Crail to talk to Mrs. English. There’s no point in telling the world he was short of money. He could have been worried by overwork.”
Morilli didn’t say anything.
English leaned forward and picked up the telephone. He dialled a number and waited, frowning.
Sam Crail, his attorney, answered the phone after some delay.
“Sam? This is Nick,” English said. “I have a job for you.”
“Not tonight, I hope,” Crail said, alarm in his voice. “I’m just going to bed.”
“Yes, tonight. You act for Roy, don’t you?”
“I’m supposed to,” Crail said without enthusiasm, “but he hasn’t consulted me now for months. What’s he been up to?”
“He shot himself about a couple of hours ago,” English said soberly.
“Good God! Why?”
“He seems to have been short of money and was blackmailing some old clients. He was going to lose his licence so he took the quick way out,” English said. “That’s the story, anyway. I’ve told Corrine he’s dead, but not why. She’s upset. I don’t want her left alone tonight. Can you get your wife to go over and stay with her?”
Crail suppressed a grunt of irritation.
“I’ll ask her. She’s a good soul. Maybe she’ll go, but damn it! She’s in bed.”
“If she won’t go, you’ll have to go yourself,” English said curtly. “I don’t want Corrine to be left alone. Maybe you had better go yourself, Sam. Corrine blames me for Roy’s death. Of course, she’s hysterical, but she may make things difficult. She says I should have given him more money. You’d better talk her out of that attitude. If we have to tell the coroner anything, we’ll tell him Roy was overworking. Get that into her head, will you?”
“Okay,” Crail said wearily. “I wonder why the hell I work for you, Nick. I’ll take Helen with me.”
“Keep the press away from her, Sam. I don’t want too much of a stink. Better come and see me around ten-thirty at my office, and we’ll straighten it out.”
“Okay,” Crail said.
“And get over there fast,” English said and hung up.
While he had been talking, Morilli had attempted to efface himself by going over to the window and staring down into the dark street.
He turned when English hung up.
“If Crail could find out where I can find your brother’s secretary, if he had one, we might get the information we want without bothering Mrs. English.”
“What information do you want?” English asked evenly.