You Find Him – I'll Fix Him

  "This is the way I see it," he said "Helen met this punk soon after she arrived in Rome. It didn't take him long to seduce her. The doctor says she was eight weeks' pregnant. She arrived in Rome fourteen weeks ago, so he worked pretty fast. She probably told him what had happened, and like all the rats of his type, he started to fade out of the picture. I reckon Helen took this villa in the hope of winning him back." He turned his head to look around the lounge. "It's pretty romantic, isn't it? I guess she hoped the surroundings would soften him. From what that wop detective says, Sherrard or whatever he calls himself did came here, but he didn't soften."

  I crossed my legs. I had to do something. I couldn't just shake a frozen dummy.

  "Know what I think?" Chalmers went on, turning the full force of his big-shot personality on to me. "I think Helen's death was no accident. I think we have two alternatives: she either tried to scare him into marrying her by threatening to commit suicide, and when he told her to go ahead and jump, she jumped or else, to shut her mouth, he shoved her off the cliff."

  "You can't believe that ... ?" I began. My voice sounded as if it were coming out of a tunnel.

  "I don't think she jumped," he said, leaning forward, his face set and his eyes frightening. "I think he killed her! He knew she was my daughter. He knew sooner or later I'd hear what he had done to her. He knew if he tangled with me, he wouldn't, stand a chance. So he manoeuvred her up on to the cliff top and gave her a push."

  "But that's murder," I said.

  He showed his teeth in a mirthless smile.

  "Of course it's murder, but you don't have to worry about that. All you have to do is to find him, then I'll handle it. Let everyone think it's an accident. That suits me. I'm not going to have any publicity on this thing. No one is going to snigger behind my back because she was pregnant. If this guy is arrested and tried for murder, the whole dirty story will come out, and I don't want it to come out, but that doesn't mean I won't make him pay for what he has done. I can kill him in my own particular way, and that's what I intend to do." His eyes were glaring now. "Don't think I'm going to murder him. I'm not that crazy, but I can make his life such a hell, in the end he'll be glad to blow his rotten brains out. I've got the power and the money to do it, and that's what I'm going to do. I'll go after the basic things of his life first. I can get him turned out of his house or apartment or wherever he lives. I can prevent him putting a car on the road. I can fix it he can't go into any decent restaurant. Small stuff, you think? Imagine how you'd like it. Then I can get after his money and wipe out his securities. I can make him lose his job, and I can make sure no one else ever employs him. I can hire thugs to beat him up from time to time until he's too damned scared to show himself on the streets at night. I can even fix it that be loses his passport. Then when he begins to think life's bad, I'll really start on him," He pushed his jaw at me, his face turning a dusty red. "Every so often I run into odd, tough characters: characters who are a little screwy. I know a guy who would blind this punk for a couple of hundred dollars. He'd tear his goddam eyeballs out, and think nothing of it." He smiled suddenly, a smile that chilled me. "I'll make him pay, Dawson, make no mistake about that." He tapped my knee with a thick finger. "You find him – I'll fix him."

II

  In the cupboard of the sideboard that stood against one of the walls of the lounge, I found three bottles of whisky and two of gin. I broke open one of the bottles of whisky, found a glass in the kitchen and poured out three fingers of spirit.

  I carried the drink out on to the balcony and sat down on the bench seat. I drank the whisky slowly, staring at the magnificent view without seeing it. I was shaking, and my mind was numbed with panic.

  It wasn't until I had finished the drink that my eyes began to register again. From where I sat I looked down on the distant snake-back road that led down to Sorrento. I saw the big black Rolls that was taking Chalmers back to Naples, moving fast into the bends.

  "It's all yours, Dawson," he had said as I walked with him to the car. "Keep in touch with me. Money's no object. Don't waste time writing. Telephone me. As soon as you discover anything, call me; no matter what time it is. I'll fix it from now on my secretary knows where I am all the time. I'll be waiting. I want this punk found fast."

  It was like handing me a razor and telling me to hurry up and cut my throat.

  He had gone on to say that I might as well examine the villa in detail while I was up here, and check up on the place where Helen had died.