This was it.
She intended to drive him down to the gates, put his hands on the steering wheel and launch him on to the avenue. At the end of the avenue, down the steep hill, was the main highway, crammed with fast-moving traffic.
At first glance it looked foolproof. If one of those fast-moving cars on the highway caught the Buick as it came out of the avenue the chances of Dester surviving were slight. Most of the people in Hollywood knew he was an alcoholic. They knew he drove when he was drunk. There was nothing in the setup to make the insurance company suspicious.
Or was there?
I remembered he had gone to San Francisco that morning. Had he fixed something with the insurance company? It flashed into my mind that there were loose ends, and you can’t afford to have a single loose end when dealing with an insurance company.
Suppose he wasn’t killed outright? The Buick was big and solid. It would take a lot of smashing. If he wasn’t dead when the cops reached him, he might talk. If he told them his wife had helped him into the car, and later, they found out — as they were certain to find out — that he was insured for three-quarters of a million dollars, that would be that.
It wouldn’t take the police long to find out Helen and I had been to the Foothills Club. What would they think when they discovered that she and I — her husband’s chauffeur — had been dancing together? That would put me on the spot. The kid would tell them I had been left high and dry without a car and I had been anxious enough to get back to the house to give him ten bucks for the trip. The police would want to know why; they would want to know why Helen had sneaked away. If I didn’t come clean, they might think I was also in the plot. Even if they didn’t grab Helen on an attempted murder rap, even if they didn’t try to tie me into the rap too, the insurance company would be tipped off and she would never dare try again; and if she didn’t try again, I wouldn’t get my share of the money.
I was suddenly certain that this wasn’t the way to do it. If Dester had to die, something much more certain and foolproof had to be thought up. There was too much hanging on his death to take any risk: too much risk to take any chances.
As Helen walked around to the driving seat, I came out of the shadows and stepped into the light.
She must have had nerves like steel. She didn’t start nor cry out. The hard glare of the light fell fully on her face; except for a slight tightening of her mouth, there was no change of expression.
She moved slowly towards me.
‘Oh, Nash, Mr. Dester insists on being driven to the Crescent Club,’ she said quietly. ‘I was going to take him, but now you are here, you had better.’
The lie was as smooth as silk. If I hadn’t known better I would have fallen for it.
‘Yes, madam,’ I said, and I wished I had as good control over my face as she had over hers. My voice sounded husky, and I must have shown how rattled I was.
I stepped past her to the Buick, got into the car and started the engine. She turned and walked away, disappearing into the darkness.
Dester suddenly straightened up.
‘Don’t drive out,’ he said sharply. He spoke in his normal voice and that shook me. I turned to stare at him.
‘She wanted to get you out of the way, of course,’ he said. ‘How did you get back?’
I continued to stare at him, aware that cold sweat was beading my face.
He smiled crookedly at me. ‘Don’t look as if you’ve seen a ghost,’ he said. ‘How did you get back?’
‘A guy gave me a lift,’ I said, and my voice sounded like the croak of a frog.
‘I had an idea she wanted to get rid of me,’ he said. ‘She’s after the insurance money, of course.’ He laughed. ‘You wouldn’t think a woman as lovely as she is could be so ruthless, would you?’ He produced a cigarette and lit it. ‘Well, now I know where I stand.’ He opened the car door and got out. ‘I think after all that excitement I’ll go to bed. I want you to sleep in my dressing room tonight, kid. You never know: now she has started, she might try to finish it. I don’t want her to be tempted to suffocate me while I’m asleep.’
I knew I had to try to behave as any normal man would have behaved when he heard a thing like this.
‘But aren’t you going to call the police?’ I said.
‘The police?’ He laughed. ‘Of course not. She’s only after the insurance money. I’m taking good care she doesn’t get it, and once she realizes that she’ll leave me alone.’
I’m taking good care she doesn’t get it.
I very nearly gave myself away.
What did he mean?
‘Let’s go back to the house,’ he went on and moved off across the tarmac.
I turned off the garage light, ran upstairs, snatched up my pyjamas and shaving kit, then went after him.
Together, we entered the still, silent house.
As we came up the stairs, Helen appeared in the doorway of her bedroom.
The sight of Dester with me behind him jolted her. Her face lost colour and her hand went up to her throat.
‘Nash’s sleeping in my dressing room,’ Dester said. ‘He’s keeping an eye on me. You might like to know in case you felt you should see how I am during the night.’
He moved past her into his bedroom.
I paused at the head of the stairs to look at her.
We stared at each other for a long moment. I could see the naked hatred in her eyes. Then she turned and shut the bedroom door in my face.
I didn’t sleep much that night. I kept thinking of what he had said about making sure Helen wouldn’t get the insurance money. That had me worried for he had spoken with conviction. Was it possible that the premium was already overdue? It would be a joke on me if the policy wasn’t worth anything now: and a joke on her too.
There seemed no way I could find out what he had done. I wondered if I should go to Helen and put my cards on the table. She might know more than I did, but I finally decided this wasn’t the time to show her what my game was going to be.
Although I spent most of the night worrying my brain crooked, it didn’t get me anywhere, and I was glad when I could get up and stop thinking.
I drove Dester down to the studios as usual. He didn’t say much on the way down, and he didn’t refer to what had happened the previous night, but as he got out of the car, he said, ‘I want you to move into the house, kid. Use my dressing room from now on. Get your things over. I want you to keep close to me all the time I’m in the house. Do you understand?’
‘Yes, sir,’ I said.
I kept clear of the house all that day, and at four I went back to the studios to pick him up.
I could see he had been drinking heavily, and he seemed in a depressed mood. He got into the car without a word and I took him back to the house.
He told me he was going out for dinner, and I was to be ready at eight o’clock.
The house felt empty. There was no sign of Helen. As I lay on my bed, smoking and waiting for eight o’clock to come around, the only sound I could hear was Dester lurching about in his bedroom while he changed.
When I brought the car to the front door, he came down the steps, heavy footed and slow. He was in evening dress, and in spite of his puffy, raw face and his bloodshot eyes, he still looked an imposing figure.
‘The Crescent Club,’ he said, ‘and stick around, kid. I’ll have to be carried to bed tonight. I’m going to celebrate.’
I didn’t ask him what he was going to celebrate, and he didn’t tell me. I had a book with me and I sat in the car in the club’s parking lot and read.
Around one o’clock one of the swank doormen came out of the shadows.
‘Come and pick up your drunk,’ he said. ‘We’ve got him propped up against the wall, but he’s not going to stay like that for long.’