1971 - Want to Stay Alive by James Hadley Chase Read Free Book Online Page B

find out if anyone had a real grudge against him . . . maybe one of his employees. If you have any ideas, Lawson, now’s the time to trot them out.”
    Hedley crushed out his cigar in the ash tray and stood up.
    “No . . . I understand the position. All right, keep trying, Frank. I’ll get back to my office and start pouring oil . . . that’s the least I can do.”
    When he had gone, Terrell finished his coffee, lit his pipe and looked at Beigler.
    “Let’s get moving, Joe . . . the works. Get them all at it. I don’t think they’ll come up with anything, but we’ve got to do something.”
    “Yeah.” Beigler got to his feet. “You think there’ll be another, Chief?”
    “I hope not.”
    “I think there will. We have a nut on our hands.” Beigler shook his head.
    “Lucky Fred. I wouldn’t mind being in hospital with a broken leg right now.”
    “He’ll make a mistake . . . they always do,” Terrell said without much conviction in his voice.
    “But when?”
    “That’s right . . . when.”
    They looked at each other, men Beigler went into the Detectives’ room to get his men working.
     
    ***
     
    Aware at this time in the evening his neighbours would be out in their gardens attacking aphis with their D.D.T. guns or cutting their lawns, Lepski decided to stage an entrance drat would set them up on their ears.
    He roared down the avenue in his car at fifty miles an hour, then stood on his brake pedal as he reached his garden gate, bringing the car to a screeching halt and nearly throwing himself through the windshield. If anything, Lepski was a show off, but maybe, he thought as he flung himself out of the car, that sudden stop had been a little too spectacular for safety.
    Slamming the car door, aware his neighbours had suspended all activity and were staring at him with round eyes, he pounded up the garden path to his front door. Stabbing the key into the lock, he decided the scene was going well. Everyone living down the street had by now been told by Lepski’s wife about his promotion. Now was the time to show all these squares a 1st Grade Detective in action.
    Unfortunately he was trying to unlock his front door with his car key. If he could have swept into the house, slamming the door, the impression he had made would have been long discussed, but this frustrated fiddling at the lock until he realised he was using the wrong key spoilt the scene.
    As he groped, swearing, for the right key, the front door jerked open.
    “Do you have to drive like that?” Carroll Lepski asked severely. “Don’t you realise you’re setting a bad example?”
    Lepski barged past her, kicked the door shut and headed for the bathroom.
    “I’m breaking my neck for a pee,” he announced, then slammed the door.
    Carroll sighed. Aged twenty-seven, tall, dark and pretty she had a will of her own. Before marrying Lepski, she had been a clerk in the American Express Company in Miami dealing with the rich, arranging their affairs and advising them. The work had given her a lot of self-confidence and made her somewhat bossy.
    She regarded her husband as the best and smartest detective at headquarters. She planned, in probably six or possibly seven years’ time to see him as Chief of Police. This again she didn’t tell him, but she nagged him from promotion to promotion. He was now 1st Grade: the next move was to be Sergeant.
    Lepski came out of the bathroom, dramatically wiping nonexistent sweat from his face.
    “Let’s have a drink,” he said, throwing himself into a chair. “I’ve only got five minutes . . . just time to change my shirt.”
    “If you’re on duty again, Lepski, you don’t drink! I’ll get you a Coke.”
    “I want a goddamn drink, a big whisky with lots of ice!” She went into the kitchen and brought him a large Coke with lots of ice.
    “What are you so worked up about?” she asked, sitting on the arm of a chair.
    “Me? I’m not worked up! What makes you think I’m worked up?” He drank