Goldfish Have No Hiding Place

2

Often enough, and sadly enough, there comes a moment of truth when a husband or a wife looks at his/her partner and realises he/she is no longer in love. That the months and even years they have lived together have turned suddenly into grey ash, and love — which is a precious thing — no longer exists between them.

This was my moment of truth as I watched Linda’s hand hover over the telephone as she looked at the bottle of Chanel No. 5. I watched her hand slowly withdraw and I watched the wary, sly expression come into her beautiful grey eyes. I watched her mouth set in a thin tight line, and for the first time since I had met her, I realised she wasn’t as beautiful as I had thought she was.

When two people fall in love they have this thing that can never be replaced between them. It is a fragile thing: a wonderful thing, but it is fragile. Looking at Linda across my desk, this thing within me for her sparked out: the way an electric light bulb goes: one moment a bright light; the next moment darkness.

I waited, watching her. The tip of her tongue moved over her lips. She stiffened, then looked at me.

‘What are you doing with my perfume?’

‘Sit down, Linda. You’ve got us in a mess. Let’s see if, between us, we can get out of it.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ She had got over the shock and her voice was quite steady. There was now that bored look on her face she put on when she thought I was being tiresome. ‘Call Frank and tell him we’re coming.’

‘Does Jesse Gordy mean anything to you?’

She frowned.

‘No. What’s the matter with you tonight? Look, if you don’t want to go, I’m going. I...’

‘Gordy is the manager of the Welcome Self-service store. He came to me this afternoon and I took our conversation down on tape. Sit down. I want you to hear it.’

She hesitated, then sat down.

‘Why should I hear it?’ But now her voice lacked her usual hard confidence. She eyed the recorder and I saw her hands turn into fists.

I pressed the playback button and we both sat motionless while Gordy’s voice told its sordid tale. When he mentioned the photograph, I took it from my desk drawer and put it in front of her.

She took a quick look at it and her face became haggard. She suddenly looked five years older and when he said: your nice, beautiful wife, Mr. Manson, could even go to prison, she flinched as if flicked by a whip.

We listened to his voice to the end. I suggest $20,000 and you get the film. It is not a lot of money considering your success. Tomorrow night, Mr. Manson... Cash please.

I pressed the stop button and we looked at each other. There was a long, long pause, then she said, ‘What a goddamn fuss about a bottle of perfume. Well, I suppose you had better give him the money.’ She got to her feet. ‘It was stupid of me, but all the girls do it: why shouldn’t I? As he said, considering your success, it is not a lot of money.’

She started for the door. I don’t think I have ever been so angry. I jumped to my feet, came around the desk and caught hold of her wrist as she was reaching for the door handle. I slapped her across her face so violently that if I hadn’t been holding her wrist she would have fallen. As it was, she cannoned against the wall and went down on her knees. I jerked her upright and with a savage shove, sent her spinning into her chair. She landed breathless, her hand against her red, burning cheek and she looked hatred at me.

‘You bastard!’

‘And I could say... you thief!’

‘I’ll divorce you for this! You hit me!’ She was screaming at me now. ‘You’ve bruised me, you brute! God! How I hate you! I can’t go out tonight! What will they say when they see me? Swine! To hit a woman! I’ll make you pay for this! I’ll make you sorry!’

I sat in my chair and watched her. She banged her fists on her knees. Her eye was beginning to swell. She looked silly and stupid: a spoilt, hysterical child showing off. Then suddenly she began to cry. She slid off the chair and came to me, falling on her knees, her arms around my waist, burying her face against my chest.

‘Don’t let them arrest me, Steve! Don’t let them send me to prison!’

I had pity for her, but nothing else. Her clutching fingers could have aroused me to make love to her yesterday, but now they meant nothing to me.

‘Linda! Get hold of yourself!’ I could hear the hard note in my voice. ‘We have to work together on this. Come on! Get up! Sit down!’

She lifted her bruised, tear stained face, her hands moving away from me.

‘You hate me, don’t you, Steve? I suppose I deserve to be hated.’ She choked on her sobs. ‘But, Steve, get me out of this mess and I’ll be a good wife to you. I’ll...’

‘Shut up! Don’t say things you’ll regret later. Sit down. I’ll get you a drink.’

She got unsteadily to her feet.

‘God! You’re hard. I never thought...’

She flopped in her chair.

I went to the liquor cabinet and poured two stiff whiskies. As I carried them to the desk, the telephone bell rang. I set down the glasses and picked up the receiver.

‘Is Linda there?’ A woman’s voice.

‘Linda is in bed with the flu. Who is it?’

‘Lucilla. Flu? I’m so sorry. Anything I can do? You have only to ask. I could come over. I’m marvellous at making soup.’

Lucilla Bower lived in a bungalow at the far end of our road. She was a tall, rather ugly, middle-aged lesbian who, I suspected, was far too interested in some of the wives on the estate.

‘Thanks, Lucilla. No... we can manage.’

‘The poor dear. I could come over and hold her hand.’

‘Three Aspros are holding her hand at the moment. Anyway... thanks.’

‘Well... I mustn’t keep you. I know how busy you always are. I do love your magazine, Steve.’

‘Fine. Well, goodbye for now,’ and I hung up.

Linda had finished her drink. I could see she was shivering and her eye was puffy. I poured more whisky into her glass.

‘What are we going to do?’ she asked. ‘God! You’ve hurt me! What are we going to do? Can you pay this bastard the money?’

I sat down and lit a cigarette.

‘It’s blackmail. Do you think we should?’

‘Should?’ Her voice went shrill. ‘He could send me to prison!’

‘Would that scare you so much?’ I regarded her. ‘After all there is proof that you are a thief and thieves expect to go to prison if they are caught.’

‘You’re trying to frighten me! I won’t listen to you! You hate me, don’t you? You’re mad about that two-faced secretary of yours. I know you have it off with her in the office. I know!’

I leaned forward and stared at her.

‘Do you want me to hit you again? If you continue to talk like that, I will.’

‘Don’t you dare touch me! I’ll scream! I’ll call the police! Don’t you dare!’

I was sick of her and I was sick of everything.

‘Go away, Linda. Let me think about this. Just leave me.’

‘I couldn’t bear to go to prison! The disgrace of it!’ She was crying again. ‘Help me! I didn’t mean that about Jean! I’m so frightened! I don’t know why I did it. they all do it!’

I couldn’t bear this any longer. I had to think. I had to be alone. I got up and left the room.

‘Steve! Where are you going? Don’t leave me!’

Her cry of despair only made me move faster. I left the house, got in my car and drove off the estate. I passed the luxury houses, seeing groups of people gathered around their barbecues. I felt I wanted to drive off the rim of the world and drop into oblivion.

The City Hall clock was striking seven as I drove into my parking bay outside my office block.

I had to buzz for the nightman, Joey Small, who let me in.

‘Working late, Mr. Manson?’

‘That’s it.’

My office was my only refuge: a place where I could sit and think and try to come up with a solution. I travelled up in the elevator, walked down the corridor and unlocked my office door. As I entered, I heard the clack of a typewriter, coming from Jean’s room.

I was surprised she was still working although I knew from past experience she always left a clear desk before going home. I had come to regard her with tremendous respect and I knew that without her behind me The Voice of the People wouldn’t have been the success it was.

I switched on my office lights, then crossed over to her door, opened it and looked in.

She was at her desk, her expert fingers flying over the keyboard and she looked up, her eyes widening; her typing stopped.

‘I didn’t mean to startle you,’ I said. ‘Aren’t you nearly through?’

‘What are you doing back here, Steve?’

‘I have things to think about.’

‘Wally has left me with a load, but I’m nearly through.’

I looked at her, and for the first time I looked at her as a woman and not as an efficient secretary and what I saw pleased me.

She was tall, dark and her eyes were serious and intelligent. For the first time I realised she had well-formed breasts and nice hands. Her hair reached to her shoulders and was silky. She had a lovely throat.

‘Is there anything wrong?’ she asked. ‘You look ill.’

I suddenly felt I could share this burden with her. I moved into her room, closed the door and wandered over to a chair by her desk.

‘Linda has just told me that you and I are having it off in the office,’ I said as I sat down. I didn’t look at her, but stared down at my hands.

‘Why did she say that?’ Jean’s voice was quiet and gentle.

‘I guess we’ve fallen out. She was thrashing around for an excuse to hurt.’

‘I’m sorry. Is there anything I can do?’

I looked at her. She was staring at me, her eyes worried and I could see she really wanted to be helpful.

‘There’s a lot more to it than that, Jean. I’m in a jam. I can’t tell you about it. It’s not my secret. Look, let Wally wait for his report. Get off. I want to be alone to think without the sound of a typewriter. Will you do that?’

‘Have you eaten?’

‘God, no! I couldn’t eat a thing! I just want to do some thinking.’

She stood up.

‘Let’s eat. I’m hungry. Then you can come back here and think as long as you like.’

I realised this made sense. I was so goddamn tense I knew, unless I unwound, my thinking would be useless. And another thing: this would be the first time, since I had married, that I had taken a woman, except Linda, out to dinner.

‘Wise girl. Let’s go then... where?’

‘Luigi.’ She snapped off her desk light. ‘Give me three minutes?’

I went back to my office, lit a cigarette and waited. My mind was empty. I was just thankful to have company and I refused to think of Linda with her black eye, alone in our expensive house.

Jean came in, putting on a light dustcoat.

‘We’ll use my car,’ she said. ‘Let’s go.’

She drove me in her Porsche which had been a present from Chandler when she had left him to come to me. The traffic was heavy and parking was tricky. I realised it would have been a burden to me to have driven in my big Mercedes and she had taken this burden off my shoulders. Within ten minutes, she had found parking and we were entering Luigi’s small, comfortable restaurant: a restaurant I never used for some reason or other, but I could tell at once that Jean used it a lot. At this hour, there were only three other couples: people I didn’t know. Luigi, fat and beaming, brushed Jean’s fingers with his lips, bowed to me and took us to a corner table.

‘May I order?’ Jean asked as we settled.

‘I’m not hungry.’ I felt so low the idea of food revolted me.

Luigi stood over her, his little black eyes like oily olives.

‘Oysters, Luigi, please: the big ones and Chablis.’

She was right. Oysters were the only food I could have swallowed.

He went away.

‘It’s about Gordy, isn’t it?’ she said, looking directly at me.

I hesitated, surprised, then nodded.

‘Blackmail?’

‘How did you guess?’

‘It’s not so difficult. Wally has been researching. I’ve been typing his notes. When Gordy asked to see you, it became obvious.’

‘Wally’s been researching?’ I stiffened. ‘Does he know about Linda?’

‘No. If he had he would have come to you. Wally admires you, Steve. He has a few names and he is still digging. Mostly maids: Cissy, your maid, is on his list.’

I took out my handkerchief and wiped off my damp hands.

‘Do you remember any names... not maids?’

‘Sally Latimer. Mabel Creeden. Lucilla Bower.’

The oysters arrived, bedded in crushed ice. The Chablis was poured. Luigi, officiating, beamed, then he and the waiter went away.

‘How did Wally find out? How did he get those names?’

‘I don’t know. I typed up his report. There were other names, but I don’t remember them.’

‘You’re sure Linda wasn’t on his list?’

‘Of course.’

‘He said something about doing an exposure on the store. How is it he didn’t tell me he had started?’

Jean speared an oyster and conveyed it to her mouth. ‘You know Wally: he loves to spring a surprise. I guess he wanted to have it all tied up to present to you.’

That I could accept. Wally was a loner. He had come up with facts and figures about Captain Schultz, all neatly tied up and I had had no idea he had been researching Schultz.

I found I could eat an oyster, so I ate three of them.

‘Linda stole a bottle of perfume. Gordy has her on film. He wants twenty thousand dollars.’

Jean drew in a quick, sharp breath.

‘Which you haven’t got.’ She was in the position to know as she handled my personal cheques.

‘Which I haven’t got. This could be my end and the end of the magazine. I’ve already told Webber to dig into Gordy’s background. He could come up with something. It’s my only hope. With luck, I could blackmail Gordy to stop blackmailing me.’

‘You’ll have to be careful about Webber. He is Mr. Chandler’s man.’

‘Yes. I must talk to Wally tonight.’

‘Why?’

‘I have to find out where he got those names from. This is important.’

‘But, Steve, you know Wally. He never divulges his sources of information. You won’t get anything from him.’

‘I’ve got to try.’

She nodded.

‘Finish your oysters. I’ll call his home. He could be in.’

She slid off her chair and walked over to a telephone booth. I looked at the oysters and decided I had had enough. I watched her slim back as she telephoned. Three minutes later, she joined me.

‘He’s just left. Shirley says he’ll be back in an hour or so. He’s gone over to Max’s place.’

‘You don’t think he’s told Max about this?’

‘I’m sure he hasn’t.’ She looked worried. ‘You know, Steve, I’m breaking a confidence by telling you about what Wally is doing. He told me to type up his notes in confidence.’

‘This is too important to me to worry about that,’ I said.

‘Well, don’t be surprised if Wally won’t talk.’

‘He’ll talk! He’s got to!’

‘You’re not eating.’

‘I guess I’ve had enough.’

‘Steve! Eat up! This isn’t the end of the world.’

I thought of Linda with her black eye alone and without food in the house. I shouldn’t have left her.

‘I want to make a call.’

I went into the booth and called my home number. There was a long delay, then a woman’s voice said, ‘Mrs. Manson is indisposed and Mr. Manson is out. Who is this?’

I recognised Lucilla Bower’s drawling voice. Without answering, I hung up. So Linda had quickly found comfort. I hoped she hadn’t been so stupid as to tell this woman what she had done, then I remembered that Wally had Lucilla’s name on his list as a thief. Well, thieves together!

I returned to the table.

‘Let’s have some more oysters,’ I said. ‘Nothing like oysters for sick people.’

‘Oh, shut up, Steve!’ Jean said sharply. ‘Don’t start pitying yourself. That’s something I just won’t take!’

I stared at her.

‘You’re quite a woman. Sorry: it’s been a tough evening. All the same I’d like some more oysters.’

She looked across at Luigi and raised her hand. The oysters arrived as if they had been waiting.

Forty minutes later, we left the restaurant and Jean drove mc back to the office block. I had decided I should talk to Wally on my own. Jean said why not leave it until tomorrow, but if I could catch Wally tonight I had to go.

‘Thanks for everything, Jean,’ I said. ‘You’re a life saver.’

She stared at me for a brief moment, smiled, got in her car and drove away.

I drove fast across the city to where Wally lived: a modest, nice bungalow, but in the smog belt and nothing very de luxe. All the same, I was pretty sure Wally had a bigger bank balance than I had.

I pulled up outside the bungalow and was surprised to find it in darkness. I looked at my watch. It was just after 21.00. I got out of the car, opened the gate and walked up the drive. I rang the bell and waited. Nothing happened. I rang again, then a voice said, ‘They’re not in.’

I turned around. There was an elderly man with a dog by the gate.

‘There’s been trouble,’ the man went on. ‘Are you a friend of Mr. Mitford? I’m his neighbour.’

I came down the path.

‘I’m Steve Manson. Trouble?’

‘I’ve read about you, Mr. Manson. Your magazine is just fine. Yes... trouble... poor Wally has been mugged. They’ve rushed him to hospital.’

I felt a chill run up my spine.

‘Is he bad?’

‘I guess so. The police took him with Mrs. Mitford in an ambulance.’

‘Which hospital?’

‘The Northern.’

‘Could I use your phone?’

‘Of course, Mr. Manson. I’m right next door.’ He whistled to his dog and then led me up a path to a bungalow just like Wally’s.

In two minutes, I was speaking to Jean.

‘Wally’s hurt, Jean. He’s at the Northern. Will you come over? Shirley will want help.’

‘I’ll be right over,’ she said and hung up.

We both reached the Northern hospital at the same time. Jean had a little more distance to cover and she must have come fast. We looked at each other as she got out of the Porsche.

‘Is he bad?’

‘I don’t know: let’s find out.’

I was lucky that Dr. Henry Stanstead was the doctor handling emergencies that night. Stanstead and I played golf together and we were friends.

‘What’s the verdict, Henry?’ I asked as he came into the waiting room.

‘Bad. The bastards really set about him. He has a broken jaw, four ribs fractured and concussion: at least three kicks in the head.’

‘Shirley?’

He jerked his head to a door.

‘In there. Look, Steve, I’ve got a busy night. Can you take her off our hands?’

‘That’s what we’re here for.’ I turned. ‘Jean... will you?’

She nodded and went into the other room.

‘He’ll survive?’

‘Yes, but he’ll be bad for some days. He could lose an eye.’

‘The police?’

‘I’ve told them there’s no point hoping for a statement yet. Poor Wally won’t be talking for at least four or five days.’

Jean brought Shirley out and I went to her. She was crying and shaking.

‘Shirley dear, I’m so sorry...’

She mopped her swollen eyes and glared at me.

‘You and your filthy magazine! I warned Wally... he wouldn’t listen to me!’ She clung to Jean who looked at me, shaking her head.

I stood back and the two women went away.

‘Okay, Steve, inquire as often as you like. He won’t die.’ Stanstead patted my shoulder and hurried away.

Four or five days! I thought of Gordy. My one hope now was Webber. If he couldn’t come up with something, I was sunk.

Slowly, I walked down the long corridor to the reception room.

‘Manson...’

I paused, turned as a big, heavily built man, wearing a slouch hat and a shabby raincoat came over to me. I recognised him as Sergeant Lu Brenner of the city police.

Brenner was pushing thirty-eight. He had a hard face, a flat nose, small restless blue eyes and he always looked in need of a shave: a powerfully built man who I had heard had a reputation for cruelty. I had heard, but had no proof, that his method of interrogation was to hit first in vital spots and then ask questions. Webber had once told me that the only man in the world who meant anything to Brenner was Captain of Police, Schultz. Interested, I had asked why.

‘You may not believe this, but this sonofabitch has a sweet wife. It so happened Mrs. Brenner was coming home when a junkie attacked her. He was high. Schultz — he was lieutenant then — saw the attack. He was too far down the street to be helpful. The junkie had a knife. So Schultz shot him. It was said it was the finest piece of marksmanship ever — an exaggeration, of course, but the slug passed under Mrs. Brenner’s arm and spread the junkie’s brains. She got a scratch from the knife. Brenner has never forgotten. He’s been Schultz’s man now for years and he stays that way.’

I looked at Brenner.

‘You want me?’ I said, pausing.

‘Yeah.’ He glowered at me. ‘This guy Mitford. We’re interested. What’s he been working on?’

‘What’s that to you?’

‘Witnesses say Mitford got out of his car and two punks set on him. They beat him up and went off with a bulging briefcase. What we want to know is if this is a mugging or if someone is trying to stop him shooting his mouth off.’

My mind worked swiftly. Wally had been working on the High school contract. He would certainly have the papers that could fix Hammond, but also he could have had his researching about the Welcome store which could involve a number of Eastlake’s wealthy wives. This was something I wasn’t going to tell Brenner.

‘He was working on the High School contracts,’ I said. ‘The estimates are some fifty thousand dollars over the schedule.’

He stared thoughtfully at me.

‘That’s City Hall business. Was there anything else?’

‘Not as far as I know.’

‘I’d better talk to his wife. Has she gone back home?’

‘I think so. Don’t be too sure that because this is City Hall business, someone wouldn’t want it hushed up.’

He pushed his hat to the back of his head.

‘Yeah. Well, if you snoopers stick your snouts out, you must expect to run into trouble.’

‘Can I quote you, Sergeant? Mr. Chandler could be interested to hear your views.’

‘Think so?’ His eyes shifted. ‘Be careful you don’t stick your snout out too far,’ and he walked away.

I wondered uneasily how he would react when he read the next issue of the magazine. Shirley would know of the planned attack on Schultz. If Brenner got to her, in her present hysterical mood, she could talk. I hesitated, then went to a telephone booth in the reception hall and called her number. There was no answer. I decided Jean could have taken her to her place and I dialled. Jean answered at once.

‘Have you got Shirley there?’ I asked.

‘I’ve just got her to bed. I’ve given her two pills. She should sleep until tomorrow.’

‘The police want to talk to her, Jean. Keep her under the wraps. What was that about the filthy magazine?’

‘She thinks Wally was attacked because of Hammond.’

‘Does she know about the Welcome?’

‘I don’t think so. She kept babbling about Hammond.’

‘Don’t come in tomorrow until you have quieted her down. I don’t want her talking to the police about the Welcome, Jean.’

‘I’ll handle it. Suppose you call me around eight tomorrow morning?’

‘I’ll do that and thanks again.’

I hung up and went down to my car. There didn’t seem anything else I could do this night. Tomorrow, I would see Ernie Mayhew and try to raise some money. I’d go to the office and read Webber’s report on Gordy. Everything now depended on him. If he failed me I would have to raise the money somehow.

I got back home around 22.15. No lights showed. Had Linda gone to bed? I hoped so. I was in no mood to cope with her right now. Unlocking the door, I went into the living room, turned on the lights and looked around.

There was a sheet of notepaper lying on the table. I picked it up.

The letter said:

I crumpled the letter and tossed it into the trash basket. Then I made myself a drink and sat down.

It would seem I had a long, lonely night with panic edging my mind, ahead of me.

At 08.00 I telephoned Jean.

‘How is Shirley?’

‘She’s fine. She’s right here and wants to speak to you.’

A pause, then Shirley came on the line.

‘Steve! I’m sorry I blew my tiny mind last night: please forgive me.’

I drew in a long deep breath.

‘There’s nothing to forgive.’

‘I’ll say there is! If Wally ever heard! He would kick me humpbacked! I just went crazy after seeing the darling. God! They’ve hurt him!’ Her voice broke. A pause, then she said, ‘The magazine is marvellous, Steve! Wally knew the risks and so did I, but when it came, I couldn’t believe these animals could be so awful.’

‘I’m telling Chandler. He’ll do something for Wally. He’s going to be all right. It’ll take a little time. I talked with Stanstead. You’re not to worry.’ I didn’t tell her Stanstead thought Wally might lose the sight of an eye.

‘Shirley... the police want to talk to you. Be careful what you say to them. No mention of Schultz. That bomb has to go off but not yet. Tell them Wally was working on the High school contract and nothing else... understand?’

‘Yes, of course. Jean’s been a darling. We’re going over to the hospital right now.’

‘I’ll be in touch.’

‘You do understand, Steve?’

‘You’re my girl. Would you give me Jean?’

Jean came on the line.

‘I’m calling Chandler, then I’m going to the bank,’ I said. ‘I’ll stick around the office until you come.’

‘Okay, Steve.’

I called Chandler’s home and just caught him as he was leaving for his office. I told him what had happened and that I suspected it was because of the High school contract that Wally had been beaten up.

Chandler rose to the occasion as I knew he would.

‘Where is he?’

‘The Northern.’

‘All right, Steve, I’ll take care of it. I’ll get a report on his condition. Tell his wife I’ll take care of everything and I mean everything. His salary is to be doubled from yesterday. If these punks think they can intimidate me they have another think coming! Go after Hammond with no holds barred... understand?’

Yes, I understood, but Chandler wasn’t in the firing line. My turn could come. I, too, could be in the Northern with broken ribs and concussion.

‘Okay, Mr. Chandler. If you could have a personal word with Shirley?’

‘Personal word? I’m going to the hospital right away and I’ll see her.’ A pause, then he said, ‘This mag of ours is certainly stirring them up, isn’t it?’

‘I guess it is.’ I thought of Schultz.

‘Keep it up, Steve,’ and he hung up.

I made myself coffee, then drove over to Lucilla’s bungalow. She answered my ring: a tall, gaunt woman with a mannish haircut, green, cold eyes and pinched nostrils. She had on shirt and slacks and she looked what she was: a bull dyke.

‘Hello, Steve, come in. Our poor invalid is still sleeping.’

I followed her into the big lounge, carelessly furnished with no pieces that matched, but comfortable and cluttered with books. She made a living writing articles for art magazines and reviewing books for the California Times.

Chandler seemed to think a lot of her.

‘How is she?’

‘A black eye.’

‘She told you why?’

Lucilla nodded.

‘Some women do stupid things.’

‘Twenty thousand dollars makes stupidity expensive.’

‘It depends. It could be cheap. Both of you would have to leave here and you would lose your thirty thousand a year job.’

‘You could also have to leave here. Chandler wouldn’t go along with a thief.’

She gave a soft chuckling laugh.

‘I have my tiny bit of film. It cost me two thousand. I beat the creep down. He wanted five, but we settled for two.’

‘How do you know he hasn’t kept some frames back?’

‘Why should he? It’s easy money.’ She laughed again. ‘I rather admire him. So many of us on the estate do it. Why shouldn’t he horn in?’

‘Two thousand is a little different from twenty thousand.’

‘Gordy’s bright. He judges his customers. After all, Linda looks rich. I don’t.’ She regarded me, her green eyes mocking. ‘You are rich, aren’t you, darling?’

I moved to the door, asked, ‘Are any of the other husbands paying?’

She shrugged.

‘How would I know? I do know no other husband has hit his wife.’

‘Maybe that is a pity,’ I said and left her.

At least I now had a little information. This woman had said she had bargained with Gordy: could I do that? This would have to be fixed with Gordy before the Schultz article appeared. Once Gordy knew about that, he could up his price.

I drove to the bank.

‘Sit down, Steve,’ Mayhew said. ‘You’re busy. I’m busy, so let’s get down to it. I’ve looked into the situation. The best I can do is to fix a five thousand overdraft. Would that be any good to you?’

‘Can’t you make it ten, Ernie? This is an emergency.’

‘Sorry. I’m bending over backwards, advancing you five. I don’t run this bank. I have three directors breathing down my neck.’

‘Could I raise money on the house?’

‘You have an up-to-the-hilt mortgage already... not a hope.’

I forced a grin.

‘Well, thanks, Ernie, I’ll accept the five.’

‘I wish I could do more. Is Linda’s mother bad?’

‘I guess so.’

Looking at him, as he gave me a sympathetic smile, I wondered if his wife, Martha shopped at the Welcome store and if she was also a thief.

I reached my office, said hi to Judy who worked the switchboard. She told me Jean hadn’t come in yet. I said I knew about it and went into my office.

My last hope now was Webber. If he failed me, I would have to go to Lu Meir and borrow at sixty percent.

I went through my mail, then Webber called.

‘One hell of a thing has happened,’ he said in his hard, cop voice. ‘My office was broken into last night and ten of my files were stolen. The Gordy file was among them.’

My fingers gripped the receiver until my knuckles turned white.

‘Can you remember what was in his file?’

‘Look, we have fifteen thousand confidential files here. Jack Walsh put Gordy’s file together eight months ago. He left us last month. I only read files when I have to.’

Was there something in the tone of his voice that hinted that he was lying?

‘Where’s Walsh?’

‘I wouldn’t know. He was a drip and I got rid of him. Anyway, what’s the interest in Gordy? Is he something important to you?’

‘What do the police say about the breakin?’

He gave a rumbling laugh.

‘I haven’t reported it. They love me like cancer. What’s the use, anyway? It was a professional job and the missing files aren’t important.’

‘Then why were they stolen?’

A long pause, then he said, ‘I’ve told Mr. Chandler. He says let it go and leave the cops out of it.’

‘That doesn’t answer my question. You’ve lost ten files. At least one of them must be important.’

‘Some nut. Look, I’m up to my eyeballs with work. Suppose you take it up with Mr. Chandler if you feel that curious,’ and he hung up.

I replaced my receiver, thought for, some minutes, then I dialled Webber’s number again.

The girl said, ‘The Alert Detective Agency.’

‘This is Truman and Lacey, solicitors. I understand Mr. Jack Walsh worked for you. He is a beneficiary of a will. Could you give me his address?’

She didn’t hesitate.

‘I’m afraid you are mistaken. No one of that name has ever worked here.’

I replaced the receiver. I knew now for certain that Webber had been lying to me.