Just Another Sucker

Suppose he had brought O’Reilly along with him and when they saw my light, O’Reilly, a tough ex-cop, jumped out of the car and went for me?

I tried to assure myself Malroux wouldn’t risk his daughter’s life, but suppose he had guessed this was a faked kidnapping? Suppose…?

Then I saw distant headlights and I hurriedly stubbed out my cigarette.

This was it, I thought, in another few seconds I’d know if I had walked into a trap.

In the moonlight, I could see the car. It was the Rolls. I let it come closer, then pushing my torch through the shrub, I began pressing the button on and off, sending a flicking beam into the road.

The Rolls was moving at about twenty miles an hour. I could see there was only the driver in sight.

But that didn’t mean anything. If O’Reilly was with him, he would be hidden at the back.

The car was level now. It slowed slightly. I saw Malroux make a movement, then with an effort, he tossed a bulky briefcase out of the window. It landed with a thud in the road within ten feet of me.

The Rolls gathered speed and swept on, heading for Lone Bay.

I remained squatting behind the bush, staring at the briefcase lying on the road for several seconds, scarcely believing the money was there, and within my grasp.

I looked down the road. The red tail lights of the Rolls were fast disappearing in the distance. I stood up, grabbed the briefcase and ran back to the Packard. I threw the briefcase on the back seat, slid under the driving wheel and drove fast towards the beach cabin.

I was elated. It had turned out to be the easiest job in the world, and now I was worth fifty thousand dollars!

I reached the cabin as the hands of the clock on the car’s dashboard showed twenty-five minutes to three. I parked the car and got out, reaching into the back for the briefcase. Then I paused to look around. There was no other car in the park, and that surprised me.

Rhea should have been here by now. She couldn’t have walked. Then where was her car?

Maybe, I told myself, she had had trouble getting away. Maybe O’Reilly had been on the alert, and she would be late. That wasn’t my funeral. I wasn’t going to wait for her. I would take my cut, give the rest to Odette and get home.

I hurried across the sand to the cabin which was in darkness. That wasn’t unexpected. Odette would be sitting on the veranda waiting for me. She wouldn’t have put on the lights in case someone, passing, might wonder what was in the cabin at this late hour.

But when I walked up the veranda steps there was no sign of her. I paused, suddenly uneasy.

‘Odette!’

No sound came to me. The air conditioner was on. Cold air came out of the cabin and dried the sweat on my face.

I entered the cabin, shut the door, put the briefcase on the table and groped for the light switch. I turned on the light.

The room was just as I had left it a few hours ago.

I listened, puzzled and very uneasy.

‘Odette!’ I raised my voice. ‘Hey! Are you there?’

The silence in the cabin was now frightening me. Had she lost her nerve and bolted? Or maybe she had fallen asleep while waiting for me.

I crossed the room and opened the bedroom door. My hand ran down the wall until my fingers found the light switch. I flicked it on.

Just for a brief moment I relaxed when I saw her lying on the bed. Her face was turned away from me. Her black hair was spread out on the pillow. The red wig lay on the floor at the foot of the bed.

‘Hey! Wake up! I’ve got the money!’ I said, then a cold chill began to crawl up my spine.

Twisted tightly around her throat, cutting into her flesh, was something that looked like a nylon stocking.

I took two, slow hesitant steps forward and I peered at her. I caught a glimpse of the blue skin, the protruding tongue and the flecks of white foam around her lips. Shuddering, I stepped hurriedly back.

I just stood there, my heart scarcely beating, while I tried to accept the fact that she had been brutally and horribly strangled.

II

This was murder!

With my mind paralysed with shock, I walked unsteadily into the lounge and across to the bar. I poured myself a shot of Scotch. It helped steady me.

Where was Rhea? I looked at my watch. It was now three minutes to three. Why hadn’t she come? I had to know if she was coming.

After hesitating for some moments, I reached for the telephone and called her house.

I recognised the butler’s voice as he said, ‘Mr. Malroux’s residence. Who is this, please?’

He didn’t sound as if he had been dragged out of bed. Probably, he was sitting up, waiting for Malroux to return.

‘Mrs. Malroux,’ I said. ‘She is expecting me to call. Tell her it is Mr. Hammond calling.’

‘I am sorry, sir, but Mrs. Malroux is asleep. I can’t disturb her.’

‘I must talk to her. She’s expecting me.’

‘I’m very sorry, sir.’ He almost sounded sorry. ‘Mrs. Malroux isn’t well. The doctor has given her a sedative. She is not to be disturbed.’

‘I didn’t know. Well, thanks,’ and I hung up.