Goldfish Have No Hiding Place

6

Herman Webber was a big, heavily built man who looked every inch a cop. His face could have been carved out of granite. His small blue eyes probed. His thin lips remained in a hard, unsmiling line.

‘Hello, Steve,’ he said, not getting up from behind his desk. ‘Sit down. What’s cooking?’

As soon as I had gone through the morning mail and had dictated to Jean, I had dropped everything and had driven over to Webber’s office.

‘Wally’s notebooks,’ I said, sitting down. ‘Shirley tells me you have them.’

‘Yeah.’

I stared at him.

‘What’s the idea?’

‘Playing it smart.’ Webber pulled at his cigar, clenched between his teeth and released a cloud of smoke in my direction. ‘That’s what I’m here for... to play it smart.’

‘So?’

‘That punk Goldstein has been questioning Wally. He wants to know who gave Wally the tip-off that Hammond has been padding the accounts. Wally always protects his informants. I know Wally keeps names in his notebooks so before Goldstein could get around to Shirley, I got around and I have the books.’

It sounded good, but too smooth to me.

‘So Shirley tells Goldstein — as she told me — that you have the books. So Goldstein comes to you and what do you do?’

Webber blew smoke at me.

‘Shirley is a cooperative girl. She won’t tell Goldstein. Like I said: I’ve played it smart.’

‘Fine.’ I stared at him. ‘Wally works for me. I want those books.’

He nodded.

‘If you want them, you can have them.’ He flicked down a switch on his intercom. ‘Mavis? Get me Mitford’s notebooks. Put them in a sack. Mr. Manson wants them.’ He looked at me. ‘Okay? Well, I guess you have work to do... me too.’

‘The Gordy file,’ I said. ‘I want it.’

His eyes turned a little sleepy.

‘I told you... some nut stole it with other files.’

‘Come on! Don’t feed me that crap! I have reason to believe you didn’t have a breakin. I want that file!’

‘Yeah?’ He was too much of a cop to betray any feelings. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘I want that file. I believe you have it and I want it.’

‘I told you, pal, it was stolen. I haven’t got it.’

‘Gordy’s been murdered. Do you want me to tell Goldstein you had a breakin and Gordy’s file was stolen? I either get the file or that’s what I’ll tell him.’

‘Go ahead.’ Webber tapped ash off his cigar. He looked very sure of himself. ‘Why should I care?’

‘I’ll tell you why. Goldstein will want to know why you didn’t report the breakin and knowing Gordy has been murdered why you haven’t reported the theft of his file. He must love you. He could stick it in and turn it.’

‘You think so?’ He leaned forward, his little eyes suddenly glaring. ‘And you could land yourself in much more trouble if you start shooting your mouth off to Goldstein!’ His cop voice was like a punch in the face. ‘Keep your snout out of this. I’m telling you!’ He waved to the door. ‘Piss off! I’ve work to do!’

I got to my feet.

‘I’ll talk to Mr. Chandler. It’s time he knew what’s going on.’

‘Yeah?’ He sat back and his thin lips twisted into a sneering grin. ‘Take another think. Can’t you get it into your skull that I am protecting you? You drag the boss into this and you’re really in the crap. Now piss off and let me get on with my work!’

I then realised he had the ace against my queen. I’m protecting you. That must mean he knew about Linda and her thieving.

As I went into the outer office, Mavis Sherman, thin, dark and worried looking, handed me a plastic sack stuffed with Wally’s notebooks.

Back in my office, I laid the books on my desk. There were fourteen of them. Each book was numbered from one onwards. I found No. 13 was missing. I didn’t bother to examine the books. I was sure No. 13 covered the stealing at the Welcome store. Like the Gordy file, it had gone missing.

I sat back and thought about the situation. Webber’s warning told me I couldn’t go to Chandler. If I got tough with Webber, he could get tougher with me. I was sure someone (Webber?) had thrown a scare into Wally. Maybe this was wrong thinking. The beating Wally had had could have scared him, but I didn’t think so. I felt almost sure that Wally had been warned as I had been warned. Keep your mouth shut or else...

I decided I would have to see Wally tonight. Maybe if I confided in him, handling him gently, telling him about the mess Linda had landed me in, I could persuade him to talk.

The telephone bell rang and from then until lunchtime I was caught up in the business of producing a magazine.

After lunch, Jean came in to tell me my personal things had been packed and had been taken to the Eastern Avenue apartment.

‘You can move in whenever you like,’ she said. ‘It’s all ready. I’ve ordered a stock of groceries: coffee, milk and canned food.’

‘You’re really wonderful, Jean,’ I said, looking at her with an ache in my heart. ‘I’d like to buy you a very expensive dinner... may I?’

‘Thanks, but no.’

‘This invitation also includes your boyfriend. I would like to meet him.’

She regarded me, her eyes serious.

‘Look, Steve, please leave me my private life. It’s my job to look after you in the office and at home if I can. May we leave it like that?’ She gave me a ghost of a smile, then returned to her room.

Well, I thought, that was final enough.

I was kept busy until after 18.00, then I left Jean to lock up and drove to the hospital. I went to the reception desk and asked if I could see Mr. Wally Mitford.

‘You’ve missed him,’ the girl told me.

I gaped at her.

‘Missed him? What do you mean?’

‘He left with his wife in an ambulance half an hour ago.’

Again I felt that chilly sensation.

‘Where has he gone?’

‘I don’t really know.’

‘Is Dr. Stanstead still here?’

‘He’s in his office.’

I found Stanstead preparing to go home.

‘What’s all this about Wally? I’m told he’s gone.’

He shrugged. He looked weary and harassed.

‘I don’t approve, but there it is. They’ve taken him by ambulance to the airport and are flying him to Miami. He wanted to go and he was fit enough to travel... so he’s gone.’

‘Was this something Mr. Chandler arranged?’

‘I guess so. Mr. Borg handled it.’

‘Shirley went with him?’

‘Yes. He’s to go to some clinic either in Miami or Palm Beach.’

‘You don’t know the clinic?’

‘No. Look, Steve, I’ve got more work than I can cope with,’ he said impatiently. ‘I’m sure Wally will be in good hands and the sun will do him good.’

‘Yes. Well, see you, Henry,’ and I left the hospital, got in my car and sat thinking.

Was there a conspiracy going on? First Gordy’s file, the film and the blow-ups had vanished, then the reel of tape, recording Gordy’s blackmail threat to me, had been stolen, then Wally’s notebook had gone missing and now Wally had been whisked out of reach. I had an uneasy feeling that someone was breathing down my neck.

What to do?

The door now seemed shut. Trying to control a rising panic, I told myself the only thing I could do was to sit it out and hope nothing would develop. Maybe nothing would, but I felt sure, at the back of my mind, I was kidding myself.

I started to drive home. This was a reflex action. Halfway, I remembered there would be no food in the house so I pulled into the forecourt of the Imperial hotel. There I had a steak. As I was paying the check, the front man came over to me.

‘Mr. Manson?’

‘That’s right.’

‘There’s a telephone call for you... booth 5.’

Surprised, I took the call. It was Sergeant Brenner.

‘Saw your car,’ he said curtly. ‘I want to talk to you. Do you know the Half Moon bar?’

‘I don’t.’

‘It’s on 15th Street, next to the drug store. You can’t miss it. Take a cab: you can’t park anyway. Ask for Jake. See you in half an hour,’ and he hung up.

I picked up a cab outside the hotel, leaving my car in the hotel’s forecourt.

The Half Moon bar was sleazy and half empty. There were three painted hookers propping up the bar. A couple of coloured men were drinking beer at one of the tables. A dirty-looking youth with hair to his shoulders was sitting at another table, aimlessly picking his nose.

As I walked up to the bar, a beefy man in shirtsleeves flopped a dirty rag in front of me and began polishing.

‘You Jake?’ I asked.

He eyed me over, nodded, then jerked his thumb towards a door. Watched by the three hookers, I pushed open the door, climbed a short flight of stairs and pushed open another door.

Brenner was nursing a beer. The room was small: a bed, a table and two chairs. A torn blind screened the window. I closed the door.

‘This looks like a set for a B movie,’ I said, joining him at the table.

‘Yeah, but it’s safe. Jake owes me a lot. I could have put him away for five years. Sit down.’

I pulled up a chair and sat down.

‘Freda Hawes,’ Brenner said. ‘I’ve checked her out and so has Goldstein. She says nothing, even under pressure. She says she slept with Gordy from time to time, but she knows nothing about him. She’s scared and she’s lying. She’s not opening her mouth to the Law, but she just could talk to you. I could be wrong, but it’s worth a try.’

‘She could be a blackmailer. She could have the film and the blow-ups. I don’t want to tangle with her.’

‘I’ll be surprised if she is. She’s not the type and I know blackmailers. Go take a look at her. She hangs out at the Blue Room on 22nd. You’ll find her there any time from now to dawn. She’s a drinker. If you think you can handle her, talk to her. When a guy sleeps with a woman, sooner or later, he lets his hair down. I’m pretty sure Gordy has stashed away that film somewhere. He might have told her. That’s our only hope, Manson. We’ve got to get to that film before Goldstein does.’

I didn’t like this, but at least, I could take a look at this woman.

‘How do I know her?’

‘Short, dark, around twenty-five, well built,’ Brenner said. ‘You can’t miss her. Her thing is to wear brass bracelets that crawl half way up her arms.’

‘Okay, I’ll take a look.’ I then told him I was moving into the apartment on Eastern Avenue. He wrote down my telephone number.

‘Goldstein has talked to Creeden, to Latimer and the rest of them,’ Brenner went on. ‘Kid glove stuff. Very smooth, gentle, just probing, but he’s probing. He’ll come to you next, so watch it. He is asking have you any idea that there was stealing at the Welcome store? Of course everyone has been open-eyed and saying no, but Goldstein is a damn smart cookie. He digs in the question fast and there is always a blink of the eyes and that is what he is watching for. He’s got nowhere so far, but once he gets his teeth into a murder case, he is hard to shake loose.’

‘I’ll watch it.’ I wondered if I should tell him about the reel of tape and about Wally’s notebook. I decided not. I had a feeling that I would be better off if I kept my mouth shut from now on and tried to work this out on my own.

‘I’ll go along to the Blue Room right away. Suppose you call me tomorrow morning at the office? We could meet here again if I have anything.’

‘Yeah, but I don’t want to call you. Let’s meet this time tomorrow.’

‘Okay.’

I left him, made my way down the stairs, nodded to Jake who nodded back, then went out onto the busy street to find a cab.

The Blue Room was a cellar club on the corner of 22nd and East which placed it near Freda Hawes’ pad.

The cabbie who drove me there looked searchingly at me as I paid him.

‘It’s not my business, buddy,’ he said when he saw the size of my tip, ‘but that joint is strictly not for you. If you’re yearning to get mugged you’re heading in the right direction.’

‘Thanks.’

I stepped back. He stared at me again, lifted his heavy shoulders and drove away.

Looking up and down the street, I saw what he meant and I hesitated. I was wearing a business suit and when I saw the kind of flotsam drifting up and down the street I felt as conspicuous as a bishop in a brothel.

While I had served in the army, I had taken a combat course. Not like Wally Mitford, I kept in shape. I was confident I could take care of myself. It would have been better to have gone home and changed into less conspicuous clothes, but now I was here, I was damned if I was going home, to change and come all the way back.

There was a small neon sign that read:

The second O was missing.

I went down a long steep stairway, and as I descended, the noise of swing and the smell of unwashed bodies increased until I reached a tiny lobby.

A big Negro sat on a stool, staring into space. He showed only the whites of his eyes. A second look told me he was turned on and wouldn’t know if he was on this earth or on the moon.

A red curtain screened the entrance and I lifted it aside and looked in.

The big room was packed with dancing figures and dark enough to make them weaving silhouettes. The noise of the four-piece band exploded against my eardrums. The smell of unwashed feet, dirt and reefers was choking.

To walk into that inferno, dressed as I was, would be to invite suicide. I dropped the curtain, deciding I would go along to Freda Hawes’ pad and wait for her there. As I started up the stairs two youths started down.

I stopped and so did they.

In the dim light, I could see they were around twenty years of age. Their filthy hair reached to their shoulders. Their white, dirty faces were pinched and their little eyes had the glitter of junkies.

‘Look who’s here,’ the taller of the two said. ‘A snout poker. What do we do to snout pokers, Randy?’

‘Stomp him,’ Randy said. He was weaving a little: either drunk or drugged. ‘Let’s get him up on the street, Heinie. Don’t want to wake up old Sam.’

Heinie beckoned to me.

‘Come on, creep, unless you want to be cut.’ A flick knife jumped into his hand.

I started up the stairs and they slowly retreated until they moved out onto the street. I had three more stairs before I joined them in the open. I jumped those stairs, hit Randy a chopping blow on his neck, weaved around Heinie, grabbed his wrist and heaved him judo-style over my back. He crashed down on the sidewalk.

I walked fast around the corner onto East Street, kept moving and told myself I was crazy to have come to this district dressed the way I was. The encounter with these two junkies showed me the red light. I had to get out of here fast. I looked around for a cab, but cabs kept clear of East Street.

Then out of an alley, three long-haired youths who must have been watching my approach, burst out and grabbed me. I was dragged into the alley, off balance and unprepared.

I went limp. My weight took them by surprise and the two holding me collapsed with me onto the evil-smelling concrete. I threw them off, kicked out at the third figure, silhouetted against the open alley, a bottle raised in his hand. I caught him in the crotch and he went over, screeching. One of the others heaved himself on me and we went down with a thud. I chopped the side of his neck hard and he flattened out. The last one lost his guts and ran.

I leaned against the wall, getting my breath back, then I moved onto the street, stepping over the one I had kicked who was screwed up, holding himself and mewing like a cat. I knew I must be in a mess. My sleeve was torn. I could smell the refuse sticking to the back of my jacket.

Keeping in the shadows, I walked down East Street. I remembered Freda Hawes’ number. When I came to her block, I climbed five steps and entered a dimly lit lobby. The mailbox told me she was on the fourth floor. There was no elevator. I climbed, walked down a corridor to a door at the far end. There was a tatty card pinned to the door that read: Miss Freda Hawes. By appointment. Tel. East 44S6.

I thumbed the bell and waited.

Somewhere on the second floor a woman screamed: ‘No! I tell you no! Keep away from me!’ Then silence.

I heard heavy footsteps pound up the stairs, but they stopped on the third floor. Looking over the rail, I saw a thickset man entering one of the apartments.

I thumbed the bell again.

While I waited I took off my jacket and shook off the potato peeling, the dead cabbage leaves and other horrors that had been sticking to me.

It became obvious that Freda Hawes was not at home. This presented a problem. If she was at the Blue Room she could jive until three or four in the morning. I couldn’t stay out in this exposed corridor for some six hours. I would also be risking my neck if I appeared on the street. I had to get to a telephone and get a cab to pick me up. Where was the nearest telephone?

I looked at the door and the card. She had a telephone. Maybe the lock was brittle. I turned the handle and was startled when the door swung open.

I paused. The chilly sensation began to crawl up my spine. Was I going to have a repeat performance? Was I going to find Freda Hawes shot to death?

As I stood there, I heard a soft moaning sound that made the hair on the nape of my neck bristle. Then I heard someone coming up the stairs. Hurriedly, I stepped into the dark room and shut the door.

I smelt fresh cigar smoke.

A neon sign across the way was flashing on and off, spelling out:

Its red light kept lighting up the small room. Across the way was a door that stood ajar.

I heard heavy footfalls pass and go on up the stairs. A trickle of sweat ran down my face. My mouth was dry. My heart was thumping.

The moaning sound came from the inner room.

Bracing myself, I fumbled my way over to the door and peered into the darkness. I could make out the outline of a bed, but nothing else. My hand slid down the wall, found a light switch. I hesitated, then turned the switch up.

The harsh overhead light made me blink.

The scene that came into my view made me catch my breath.

A woman, stark naked, lay on the bed. Her wrists were tied to the bedposts, her ankles too. She had a rag stuffed into her mouth. On her right thigh was a livid round burn: a burn that could have only been made by crushing a burning cigar end into her flesh.

I knew this was Freda Hawes. She was small, beautifully built, around twenty-five. A few years back, she could have been pretty, but now the edges had hardened, the mouth, the eyes showed the steady downward slide.

All this I took in in one brief glance, then I reached her, got the gag out of her mouth and her wrists untied. Then I started to free her ankles.

‘A drink... the kitchen,’ she croaked.

I found a light switch in the living room, found the kitchen, opened the refrigerator. It was stocked with bottles of gin and charge water. I found a dirty glass which I rinsed under the tap, poured a heavyweight slug of gin and a featherweight slug of charge water. I hurried back and seeing how her hands were shaking, I lifted her head and fed her the drink.

She drank greedily, shut her eyes, her fingers gripping my wrist.

‘More!’

‘That’ll hold you,’ I said gently. ‘You...’

‘More! Hear me, you sonofabitch! More!’ There was a yell of despair in her voice so I went back and produced the mixture as before.

When I returned she was sitting up on the side of the bed, the sheet across her lap. She snatched the glass from me, drank, then threw the glass across the room. It shattered against the wall.

‘Cigarette!’

I took out my pack, lit a cigarette and fed it between her trembling lips.

She sat still, her heavy breasts hanging forward, dragging at the cigarette, letting smoke drift down her pinched nostrils. I stood back and watched her.

After some minutes, the gin began to work. She looked up and stared at me.

‘Who are you?’

‘Just passing. I heard you making noises, so I looked in,’ I said, sure she wasn’t ready yet for me to show my hand.

She nodded.

‘I’ve always been lucky. I thought I was going to stay right there until next month. Sit around. I like you. I want a pee.’

She wobbled across to the bathroom and shut herself in. On the floor, by the bed, lay a stub of a cigar. I picked it up and regarded it. It meant nothing to me or was the smell a little familiar? My nose again, I thought and laid the cigar on the night table.

She came out of the bathroom, opened a closet, put on a wrap, then walked into the kitchen. I heard the gurgle from bottles and she came back with another glass in her hand.

‘Thanks, boy scout. Keep this close to your chest. I’m fine now. Take the breeze, will you?’

‘Lieutenant Goldstein should be told about this,’ I said gently.

She slopped her drink, then stared at me, her big dark eyes opening wide.

‘You’re not another of those bastards, are you?’

‘Have there been more than one?’

She sat on the bed, motionless for some moments, then she drank half the contents of the glass, shuddered, then looked around as she dropped the cigarette end on the floor.

I picked it up and crushed it out in an ashtray, lit another cigarette and gave it to her.

‘Who are you?’ she demanded.

‘Gordy was blackmailing me.’

She closed her eyes, nursing her glass.

‘Oh no... not again,’ she muttered. ‘So what are you going to do? Burn me?’ She let the glass slip out of her hand. It bounced on the tatty wool rug and the gin and water made a little puddle. She cradled her head in her hands and began to moan.

I moved away from her and sat in a chair. I waited, silent.

‘Hell! I’m starting to live like a hog,’ she said as if speaking to herself. She got up, picked up the glass and went into the kitchen. She came back with a drink that would have felled an ox.

‘You still here? I told you to take the breeze.’

‘I need your help.’

She peered at me. Then she took a gulp from the glass.

‘Help?’

‘That’s right. My wife stole a bottle of perfume from the Welcome store,’ I said, speaking slowly and distinctly. ‘She got caught on the scanners. Gordy wanted twenty thousand for the strip of film. He’s dead now, but the film is somewhere. I was hoping you would tell me where to find it.’

With an unsteady hand, she put the glass on the night table.

‘Jesse was a sonofabitch, but he got to me.’ The gin was working on her now. ‘I don’t know how many times I told him to cut out this blackmail caper, but he wouldn’t listen. I kept telling him it would land him in trouble. He wouldn’t listen.’ She peered at me. ‘Judas! Am I drunk! Get the hell away from me! Leave me alone.’ She reached for the glass, knocked it over and again there was a puddle on the rug.

I sat still, watching her.

She said the usual four letter words, then she held her head in her hands again.

I remained still.

After some minutes, she looked up and glared at me.

‘Look at this!’ She flicked her wrap aside and showed me the burn. ‘That bastard came here and he burned me. He too wanted the film. So go ahead and burn me and see where it gets you!’

‘Who was it?’ I spoke gently, as if I were talking to someone who had just had a major operation.

‘How would I know? A cop. I can smell a cop a mile away. A big bastard: blue, staring eyes. If I had been his mother I would have drowned him as soon as he had popped out.’

I looked at the dead cigar and it jelled. Herman Webber!

No regular cop would have burnt her.

‘You gave him the film?’

She suddenly dropped backwards across the bed, putting her arm across her eyes.

‘I want a drink.’

I picked up the glass and went into the kitchen. I made a drink and came back. Then putting the glass on the night table, I picked her up and laid her on the bed with her head on the pillow.

‘Going to start burning me?’ she asked, but she smiled for the first time.

‘Won’t you help me?’ I said, looking down at her. ‘Did you give him the film?’

‘I told him where he could find it.’ She gave a drunken giggle. ‘I said I had mailed it to my sister in New York.’

‘Did you?’

‘No.’

‘He’s a cop, baby. He’ll call your sister and he’ll know she hasn’t got it and he’ll be back.’

‘She’ll tell him yes and when he gets there, she’ll spit in his eye. My sister and I work together.’

‘But he’ll be back.’

‘I’ll be the hell away from here by the time he does.’

‘I want that film. Would fifteen hundred dollars buy it for me?’

She studied me. Maybe this was a mistake because there came into her eyes an expression only a greedy hooker has.

‘Come again?’ she lifted her head. ‘How much?’

‘Fifteen hundred. It could get you away from here. Do you know where the film is?’

She caught hold of my wrist.

‘You mean you’ll give me fifteen hundred bucks for the film?’

‘That’s what I mean.’

She blew out her cheeks. The gin was now hitting her hard and I began to wonder uneasily if she was going to pass out.

‘I know where it is. You give me the money and you get it.’

She reached for the drink, but I took it out of her hand.

‘Skip it baby! You’re already floating.’

She nodded.

‘Yeah... gimme a cigarette.’

I lit one for her and watched her try to get hold of herself.

‘Where is it?’ I said.

‘Anxious?’ she smiled. ‘I know. Let’s have the money first, buster. That’s what Jesse always said to me: money first.’

‘The money is in the bank. You won’t get it until tomorrow. You won’t get it until I get the film. I want it now!’

‘Then tomorrow we go to the bank, get the money and I’ll give you the film. How’s that, buster?’

‘If that’s the way you want to play it. By tomorrow you could be dead. That ex-cop isn’t the only one after the film. There’s a killer after it. Okay, if you want a bullet as Gordy got a bullet, we’ll wait until tomorrow.’ I got up. ‘Can I use your phone? I want to call a cab.’

She was sitting up now, her eyes scared.

‘Hey! Wait a minute! What’s this about a killer?’

‘Your pal Gordy had a film that could put a lot of rich women in jail,’ I said. ‘Someone — probably a husband — tried to get the film and he shot Gordy. It could be your turn next. Consider yourself lucky that an ex-cop burnt you. Your next visitor could kill you.’

I went over to the telephone and called a cab service. They said a cab would arrive in ten minutes.

I heard scuffling and looked over my shoulder to see Freda climbing into a dress. She was acting like she was about to miss a train.

‘No need to panic, baby. You’ve forgotten your pants.’

‘I’m coming with you! I’m not staying here alone!’

‘You don’t come with me. You lock the door when I’ve gone. Maybe this killer won’t kick it down. See you...’ and I went into the living room.

She rushed after me.

‘I’ll give it to you. Honest! Can I come with you?’

She was now a frightened child who had got at the gin bottle.

‘Okay... come on then. You’ve forgotten your shoes.’

‘You won’t run out on me?’

‘Get your shoes and your pants on. I’ll wait.’

She peered blearily at me.

‘What do I want pants for?’

The cab dropped us outside the Imperial hotel. We transferred to my car.

She leaned against me as I started the motor.

‘I’m trusting you,’ she said. ‘I’ll give you the film, but you will give me the money, won’t you?’

‘Boy scout’s honour.’

She giggled. She was still very drunk.

‘This is the first time I’ve ever trusted any man in my whole life.’

‘You have to begin sometime, baby.’

I looked at the dashboard clock. The time was 23.15. Even though it was late, I wasn’t risking driving up to Gordy’s house. Goldstein could have a cop staked out there.

My garage doors were open. I drove the Merc straight in, got out, shut the doors, turned on the light as Freda came weaving out.

‘Where’s this?’ she asked, clutching hold of my arm.

‘My home. Come on in. I’ll get you a drink.’

‘That’s talking.’

I unlocked the door into the house and together we moved into the living room.

‘Hey!’ She weaved and peered. ‘This is nice.’

‘Sit down.’

I led her to a chair and parked her. She lay back, staring around.

I pulled the curtains, then fixed her a mild gin and tonic.

‘Let’s talk, baby,’ I said, sitting close to her. ‘Just relax and tell me about Gordy.’

‘What about him? He’s dead.’

‘That’s right. How did you meet him?’

‘Last summer. Why should you care?’ She sipped her drink, then put the glass on the occasional table by her. ‘He had got this job at the stores. His wife had left him. He had a little money. A guy needs a woman from time to time. We clicked. There was something about him that got to me. He was always talking about what he would do if he could get hold of big money.’ She grimaced. ‘Most men talk that way. Then one night while we were in bed, he told me about this scanner thing. He said he could raise a million dollars. We were both pretty drunk, but he seemed so sure.’

‘A million dollars?’

‘That’s what he said. I told him he was crazy, but he kept on and on. Then I got scared. I told him he could run into trouble. He knew that. He said he had a lot of little suckers on the film, but the scanner had caught a big one as well. He said the payoff would be a million. He said if I would help him, as soon as he got the money, we would take off and we’d settle together.’ She peered at me. ‘I’m shooting off, aren’t I?’

‘You’re doing all right,’ I said. I was thinking fast. The only man living on Eastlake who could pay out a million was Creeden. A million. A lot of little suckers and a big one! So, suppose Gordy had caught ten little suckers, including me and Brenner. That could give him two hundred thousand. Creeden could be good for eight. If that wasn’t a motive to kill Gordy what was? ‘How did you help him?’

‘He wanted to spread the risk. He kept the film and he gave me the blow-ups.’

‘You have them?’

‘Have I hell! How was I to know anyone would bust into my place? Okay, I drink. I’m a careless bitch. I didn’t take all this talk about a million seriously. Jesse gave me a parcel and told me to hide it. I shoved it in a drawer and forgot about it. Then the night he died, I remembered it and looked for it and it was gone. I blew my stupid mind and I telephoned him, but there was no answer. I drove over to his house and found him dead.’ She grimaced and reached for the glass.

That jelled. I remembered when I was standing over Gordy’s body, the telephone had rung.

‘Did he tell you who the big sucker was?’

She sipped, put down the glass, then shook her head.

I got to my feet.

‘I’m going to change. You sit still. Later, I’ll go to Gordy’s house.’ I paused, then asked as casually as I could, ‘Where do I find the film?’

She studied me, her eyes trying to focus.

‘You’re going to give me the money?’

‘Boy scout’s honour.’

‘Fifteen hundred bucks?’

‘Boy scout’s honour.’

‘Will you swear by your mother’s grave you will give me the money?’

‘Boy scout’s honour is better.’

She thought about this, then nodded.

‘Okay... always the sucker. It’s in the bottom drawer of his desk.’

I stared at her.

‘Don’t give me that crap! The police would have looked there!’

She shook her head.

‘Jesse was smart. There’s a false bottom. He had a cabinet maker fix it. There’s a hidden catch under the desk. That’s where it is.’

I left her, took a shower and changed into dark casuals.

It was worth a try.

The time was just after midnight.

I armed myself with a small powerful flashlight and a heavy screwdriver. I returned to the living room. She was sleeping. She had dropped her glass and there was a small puddle of gin and water by her.

I left her, and headed for Gordy’s house.