Goldfish Have No Hiding Place

7

I approached Gordy’s house with stealth, pausing every twenty yards to listen and peer into the gloom. No one was walking his dog. I passed two houses still emitting the sound of television. I was tense, wondering if I was going to walk into a cop. When I was in sight of the house, I stepped off the road and got behind a tree. I watched and waited.

There were no signs of life. I didn’t hurry. I had plenty of time. After some fifteen minutes, I began to assure myself that there was no cop around so I moved out of my cover and cautiously reached the house. There was no light showing. Was there a cop sitting in the living room in the dark? Moving silently, I stepped onto the small grass lawn and made my way around to the back of the house. Here, I paused and surveyed the scene: there was nothing to survey, so nerving myself, I moved up to the back door. It was locked of course. The police wouldn’t have left it unlocked that was why I had brought the screwdriver.

A quick look at the lock in the light of my flash showed me it was flimsy. I inserted the screwdriver and levered gently. After a little more pressure the lock sprang and the door opened. There had been a minimum of noise. I didn’t move into the darkness, but stood, listening. I only heard the thump of my heartbeats. I turned on my flash, found I was in a small kitchen, entered and closed the door. I eased open the kitchen door, paused to listen again, then sent the beam of my flash down the short corridor which ended at the front door. I remembered the living room lay to my left.

I moved silently down the corridor until I reached the living room door which was closed. I hesitated. If a cop was sitting in there, waiting, I would be in real trouble. As I stood, sweating, I told myself I would be in more trouble if I didn’t get the film.

I turned the handle and opened the door. Faint moonlight came through the big window. I looked around. No one sprang at me. No bawling cop voice challenged me. I moved into the room, closing the door and fumbled my way to the window. I pulled the flimsy curtains. I couldn’t risk turning on the electric light.

I located the desk. It stood in a corner. I crossed to it, knelt and examined the underneath in the light of my flash. It took me several seconds to find a tiny wooden knob. If Freda hadn’t told me, I would have missed it.

I pulled open the bottom drawer which was full of account books and old cheque stubs. I scooped these onto the floor, then reaching under the desk, I pressed the knob. The bottom of the drawer moved back four inches and there lying in the hollow was a carton of 16 mm film.

I knelt there, staring at it, scarcely believing my eyes, then I snatched it up and put it on the desk. I pressed the knob again, closing the partition, then carefully returned the junk I had spilled on the floor.

Picking up the carton, I moved fast to the door and into the corridor.

Maybe he had been in the house all the time or maybe he had been hiding in the garden and had followed me in. That’s something I didn’t discover.

As I reached the back door, clutching the carton, I heard a tiny rustle behind me. As I was turning, much too late, a light seemed to explode inside my head and I was down on hands and knees. There was a vague flicker of light, then the sound of running feet.

I remained still, my head trying to burst, then with an effort I supported myself against the wall, my eyes closed, while my head screamed at me. After same moments the screaming died down and I felt the back of my head. There was a small bump. The blow hadn’t been vicious, but bad enough.

I groped around on the floor, found my flashlight and turned it on. I made sure the carton of film had gone. Then with a feeling of sick despair, I tottered out into the warm night air.

It took me nearly twenty minutes to get to the end of East Avenue. I kept losing my balance like a drunk and twice I had to sit on the grass verge, then the night air or something cleared my throbbing head and I was able to walk straight and I walked straight into Mark Creeden and his dog.

‘Well, for God’s sake!’ he exploded. ‘Are you working out another problem?’

‘That’s it.’ My voice was husky. ‘Always problems.’

He laughed.

‘You’re right. I have a problem with this pooch. Look at the time! At my age... dog walking after midnight.’

I tried to see his face but it was too dark. Was this the man who had killed Gordy? Was this the man who had just hit me over the head and had taken the film?

‘I hear you’re leaving Eastlake, Manson. I’m sorry. I’m sorry too about the break-up.’

‘Thank you.’ My head was throbbing badly now. I was in no mood for chit-chat. ‘Well, I’ll get along.’

I started off again and he fell into step.

‘May as well go back myself.’

We walked in silence for some yards, then he said, ‘Do you think we’re going to be blackmailed again, Manson?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Someone must have this goddamn film.’

If you haven’t, I thought.

‘Yes.’

A long pause as we walked side by side.

‘Haven’t you, with your connections, some way of finding it?’

‘Haven’t you?’

‘I guess I would have to be careful, but you, running a magazine, could make inquiries.’

Had he got the film in his pocket? Was he bluffing me?

‘I’m trying.’

‘It affects both you and me, Manson. Do more than try. If Goldstein finds the film, we’re both in serious trouble. I’ve already lied to him. Tomorrow, it’ll be your turn.’

We had now reached my house.

‘I understand Mitchell’s parents are taking over your house,’ Creeden said as I opened the gate.

‘That’s right.’

‘We should keep in touch. Where are you going to live?’

‘I’m looking around. When I find some place, I’ll telephone you.’ My head was giving me hell. All I wanted now was to get away from him.

‘Do that. Try for the film and watch Goldstein.’

‘Sure.’

I walked up the drive, leaving him standing by the gate, his spaniel by him.

As I unlocked the front door, I remembered I had Freda Hawes in my living room. I entered silently, shut and locked the door, then looked into the living room. She was still there, still asleep.

I went into the kitchen, broke open a tray of ice cubes, collected a number in a towel and applied them to the bump on my head. After a while, the raging headache diminished. I looked at my watch. The time was 01.10. I was now able to think. An odd time for a man as rich as Creeden to walk his dog. Had it been Creeden? I hoped it was for I was sure Creeden would destroy the film. But was it Creeden?

I heard sounds from the living room.

‘Who’s there?’ Freda’s voice was shrill.

‘It’s me.’

I braced myself, then dropping the ice cubes in the sink, I walked into the living room.

She was sitting straight up in the chair, her eyes pools of terror, but when she saw me, she relaxed.

‘Hell! You scared the pants right off me!’ she said.

‘Remember? You’re not wearing pants.’ I went to the liquor cabinet and poured myself a shot of scotch. ‘You want a drink?’

‘No.’

This startled me. I looked at her. She had become sober and there was a hard expression on her face that should have warned me.

‘You got it, huh? Just like I said?’ She leaned forward, staring at me. ‘So now you give me the money, huh?’

I drank half the whisky and then put down the glass. I was still feeling pretty shaky, but I was alert enough to know I had yet another problem on my hands.

I came over and sat close to her.

‘I went over there and got the film,’ I said.

She nodded.

‘So I get the money, huh?’

‘Are you sober enough to get to your feet?’

She stared at me. The drunken peer had gone.

‘What the hell are you saying?’

‘Get to your feet and come here.’

She stood up and moved to me.

‘Give me your hand.’

‘What’s this, buster?’

‘Give me your hand.’

She held out her hand and I took it, then guided it to the back of my head.

‘Feel, but carefully.’

Her fingers crossed over the growing egg on the back of my head, then she shoved my head forward and peered. She hurt, but I let her look. She drew in a hissing breath and moved away from me.

‘What’s that?’

‘I got the film, but someone was there and he hit me solid. He now has the film.’

She flew into a rage that shocked me. Standing over me she screamed filth.

‘Boy scout’s honour!’ she finally yelled. ‘I knew it! You’re lying! You give me the money! Hear me? Fifteen hundred! I’m going to have it!’

Her screaming voice could have been heard halfway down the avenue. I couldn’t believe any woman could make such an uproar. I suddenly realised that someone in this quiet avenue might be calling the police.

Reaching forward, I jabbed my thumb into her tummy, hard. Her screaming voice cut as if I had snapped off a radio programme. She staggered back, her mouth as big as a fire bucket, over-balanced and sat down on the floor with a spine-jarring thud.

‘Do you want the cops here, you stupid bitch?’ I said.

She held her tummy and stared up at me.

‘If they come here, you’re in trouble. Get up, sit down and shut up!’

She sat there, trying to get her breath. Finally, as I made no move to help her, she crawled to her feet, her hands cupping her buttocks.

‘You bastard! You’ve broken my spine!’ But her voice was low. She staggered to a chair and sank into it, moaning.

I lit a cigarette and waited. She took some minutes to start thinking again.

‘You wouldn’t kid me?’ she asked finally. ‘Someone took the film?’

‘Do you imagine I would knock myself on the head?’

She brooded about this, then nodded.

‘Well, the creep has the little suckers, but he hasn’t got the big one.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘There are two films. The one you lost isn’t worth much. The other one could be worth a million bucks.’ She stared thoughtfully at me. ‘Suppose you and me work together, buster? You take a quarter. I take the rest. How’s about it?’

At that moment the front door bell rang.

I grabbed hold of Freda’s arm, jerked her to her feet and rushed her into my bedroom.

‘Stay still and quiet!’ I said, then shutting the door I went to the front door and opened it as the bell rang again.

In Eastlake you get cop service. Someone had telephoned and within minutes the cops had arrived.

Standing on my doorstep was a big, bulky cop and by the gate was a younger, less bulky cop.

‘What’s going on?’ The big cop regarded me, his hand fingering his pistol holster. I recognised him.

‘Hello there, Flynn. What do you mean?’

He stared stonily at me.

‘We had a call, Mr. Manson. A woman screaming.’

‘Come in,’ I said. ‘I’m sorry. My goddamn radio is on the blink. I was listening to the late night horror.’

He moved and entered the living room.

‘I was in my bedroom with the volume turned up and the radio went haywire. The sound nearly knocked my ears off.’ I forced a grin. ‘Sorry if I’ve caused a disturbance.’

He regarded me, his little eyes suspicious.

‘I was told a woman was in trouble.’

‘There’s no woman here.’

‘Your radio, huh?’

‘That’s right. I’ll get it fixed tomorrow.’

He looked at the set and I knew he was itching to turn it on, but he also knew I was the editor of The Voice of the People.

‘Okay,’ he said. ‘You caused an alarm, Mr. Manson.’

‘It alarmed me, too.’

‘A horror programme, huh?’

He could check this, but there was no other way out.

‘That’s it.’

He nodded.

‘Pretty late to listen to the radio, Mr. Manson.’

‘Is there a law against it?’ I stared him eyeball to eyeball and he decided I was a heavyweight against his lightweight.

‘Well, it’s plenty late.’

He looked around the lounge, saw the puddle of gin and water, saw my half-finished drink, saw Freda’s empty glass. This cop was nobody’s fool.

‘I’m sleeping badly,’ I said.

He nodded, then made for the front door.

‘And thanks, Sergeant, for coming so quickly,’ I said.

He gave me a cold, cop stare as he said, ‘That’s my job.’

I watched him walk down the drive, join the other cop, watched him pause and talk. They got in their car.

Freda came out of my bedroom.

‘You played that smooth, buster,’ she said. ‘I’m beginning to respect you.’

‘As if you could respect anyone. You wouldn’t know the meaning of the word. Go back in there.’

She lifted her eyebrows.

‘Getting that feeling, buster? Sure, the bedroom is my territory.’

She went into the bedroom. I turned off the lights in the sitting room, then lifted the heavy curtains aside and saw the police car was still there. After some minutes it drove away.

My head still throbbed, but not badly enough to prevent me from thinking. Two films! The film that had been stolen would reveal those stupid women — like Linda — stealing, but the second film could and probably did show someone like Mabel Creeden stealing and there was the big money. There too was the reason for murder: why Gordy had been shot. Thinking about it, as I stood in the darkness, by the window, I realised the second film — worth a million dollars in blackmail money — could be more important now to me than the film I had lost. It would nail the killer.

I went into the bedroom.

It was strange to see this woman lying in the bed I had shared for some time with Linda. She had the sheet over her. The bedside lamp made shadows in the room.

‘Let’s forget today, buster,’ she said. ‘Come on. Let’s have some action.’

The bedside clock showed 01.35. My head still ached. I was tired, but not that tired.

I sat on the bed and looked at her.

‘What’s this about a second film?’

‘Man! Are you a sucker for punishment!’ She threw aside the sheet so I could see her naked body. ‘Strip off and relax.’

I pulled the sheet over her.

‘What’s this about a second film?’

‘Oh, go to hell! I want to sleep. Go away if you don’t want to keep me company!’

‘What’s this about a million dollars?’

Her eyes lit up.

‘Are you interested? A quarter for you, the rest for me?’

‘Why not?’

She stared at me, then shook her head.

‘No. You’re not the type. You wouldn’t blackmail, would you?’

‘Would you?’

‘For that kind of bread.’ She stared up at the ceiling. ‘A million bucks! Think what you could do with it!’

If I could only con her to tell me where the film was!

‘Yes... that’s real money. What do we do?’

‘I’ve got the film. Jesse was scared of it. He gave it to me to keep. He said he could handle the little suckers on the other film, but it would need the two of us to swing the big one.’

‘So you have it? Where is it?’

She lifted her arms above her head and smiled at me.

‘That’s the sixty-four thousand dollar question, buster. I have it so that makes me worth a million bucks.’

‘Unless you get shot like Gordy did, then you’re worth Nothing.’

She grimaced.

‘Whoever shot Jesse didn’t get the film. Whoever shoots me won’t get it either. It’s stashed away and safe.’

‘Who’s the big sucker on the film?’

‘He didn’t tell me, but she’s on the film. Jesse told me that. I have only to run off the film to know her.’

‘What makes you think you would know her?’

She thought about this, then nodded.

‘There’s that. Yeah... there are so many rich bitches around.’

‘But I would know her. It’s part of my job to know everyone with money in this city. Suppose you and I work together? Where’s the film?’

‘I’ll think about it. You could have a point, buster. Do you want to join me in bed?’

I stood up. The time was 01.40. My head still ached.

‘Not tonight.’

She looked relieved.

‘Then fade away. I want my sleep.’

I left her and bedded down in the spare bedroom. I tried to sleep, but thoughts kept churning through my mind.

Finally, I got up, went into the bathroom and took a pill... a mistake.

The sound of the telephone bell brought me awake. I looked at the bedside clock. The time, to my consternation, was 09.35. My head still felt sore, but it no longer ached. I grabbed up the receiver.

‘Steve?’ It was Jean. ‘Are you all right?’

I tried to gather what wits I had left.

‘I’m okay... I’ve overslept.’

‘Mr. Chandler is asking for you.’

‘Tell him I’ll be right over.’

‘You have an appointment with Larry Hersche at ten.’

Hersche was our artist and not important.

‘Put him off.’ I got out of bed. ‘What’s the mail like?’

‘It’s heavy.’

‘Okay, Jean, I’ll be with you,’ and I hung up.

Then I remembered I had Freda still in my hair. She couldn’t stay here. It was Cissy’s afternoon to clean. I went into the main bedroom expecting to find Freda still asleep, but the bed was empty. I looked around, then went into the kitchen. A used coffee cup stood on the sink.

‘Freda?’

No answer. I went through the house, but she had gone.

I dunked my face in cold water, shaved, then hurried back to the spare bedroom. I made the bed. I could leave the main bedroom for Cissy to fix. It wouldn’t do for her to find both bedrooms had been used. As I threw on my clothes, I wondered where Freda had got to. Surely, she hadn’t walked down to the taxi rank which was a good half-mile from my house.

The solution came when I went into the garage. She had taken Linda’s Mini. I returned to the house, looked up her number and called her. There was a delay, then she answered.

‘This is me,’ I said. ‘No names. What’s going on?’

‘I’m packing and getting out.’ She sounded breathless.

‘You have my car.’

‘Oh, sure. It’s parked on 22nd Street. The key’s under the mat. Listen, buster, I need a getaway stake. Meet me at The Annex on 12th Street at nine tonight and bring me fifteen hundred bucks. We’ll talk business,’ and she hung up.

I put down the receiver, went to the front door as a police car pulled up. I paused, seeing Lieutenant Goldstein get out. I shut the door, locked it as he came up the drive.

‘Can you spare me a minute, Mr. Manson?’

‘Not right now, Lieutenant. I’ve overslept and in a hurry to get to Mr. Chandler who is calling for me.’

He eyed me, his expression wooden.

‘We could talk as you drove.’

‘Okay.’

I opened the garage doors, backed the Merc out and he got in. As I drove down the avenue, I saw in my driving mirror the police car was following.

‘What’s on your mind, Lieutenant?’ I asked as I moved into the flow of traffic.

‘The Gordy killing. I have reason to believe that a number of people living on the Eastlake estate have been shoplifting. The store has installed scanners. The master scanner ran a 16 mm film. Gordy’s hobby appears to have been photography. There’s no film in the store: no film in his house. It points to blackmail.’

‘I can see that.’ I made my voice disinterested.

‘Yes. I’m talking to everyone who used the store. Did you?’

‘No.’

‘Your wife?’

‘Yes.’

A pause, then he asked, ‘Regularly?’

‘I think so.’

I had my eyes on the road. The traffic was heavy. I didn’t have to look at him.

‘I would like to talk to her. She might give me ideas.’

‘I doubt that.’

‘When can I see her?’

‘She’s in Dallas right now.’

‘Well, that’s not on the moon. I’d be glad if you will give me her address in Dallas.’

‘I see no point in bothering her. I’m sure she won’t be able to help you.’

‘This is a murder inquiry, Mr. Manson.’

I knew when I was licked.

‘I’m terrible about addresses. I have it written down. I’ll call you.’

‘If you will do that, Mr. Manson.’

We were now driving along the highway, heading for the city.

‘Mr. Manson, I like to be fed ideas,’ Goldstein said. ‘You are a trained journalist. What do you think? I can’t see a woman walking into Gordy’s house and shooting him, but I can see a husband of a woman who has been stealing and is being blackmailed doing just that. What do you think?’

‘Sounds reasonable.’

A long silence as we entered the city, then he said, ‘There was a complaint last night about a woman screaming in your house.’

‘I sorted that out with Patrol Officer Flynn,’ I said. ‘My radio is on the blink.’

Another long silence, then as I pulled into a parking bay outside Chandler’s block, Goldstein said, ‘I have to listen to gossip, Mr. Manson. Is it correct that you and your wife are parting?’

I faced him.

‘It is correct but I don’t see it is any business of yours.’

‘Sure.’ He nodded. ‘You will let me have her address?’

‘Yes.’

He studied me, his grey eyes like gimlets.

‘Perhaps the screaming woman last night wasn’t the radio, Mr. Manson?’

I had had enough of him.

‘Don’t bet on it, Lieutenant. As long as Mr. Chandler is my boss, don’t bet on anything regarding me.’

It was the best I could do, but it held him. I left him, rubbing his hooked nose and staring into space.

As I walked into Chandler’s office, I could see he was in a bad mood. There was that deep wrinkle between his heavy eyebrows that was the danger signal.

‘Sit down. What’s this I hear about you and Linda?’

I was in no mood to be browbeaten.

‘Linda and I have decided to divorce,’ I said, sitting down. ‘It happens every hour of every day.’

He glowered at me.

‘I warned you. In your position, you can’t afford to run this magazine and have scandal.’

My head began to ache again and I suddenly didn’t give a damn. I had a hundred and thirty thousand dollars in the bank. I could go back to Los Angeles and start again as a columnist.

‘You warned me, Mr. Chandler,’ I said. ‘So I’ll resign. How’s that?’

He leaned forward.

‘You serious, Steve?’

‘I’m serious,’ I said. ‘If I can’t get a divorce without you getting on a high horse, then I’ll quit.’

His glower went away.

‘That’s the last thing you’re going to do.’ He took a cigar from the box on his desk, cut and lit it, then he went on, ‘If you quit, Steve, the magazine would fold. You’re doing a fine job. Is there another woman?’

It was time to give it to him straight.

‘Yes. There’s another woman. Linda has got hooked with a middle-aged, ugly dyke. I haven’t any woman.’

He blew our his cheeks, studied his cigar, then grimaced.

‘You shock me, Steve.’

‘Can you imagine what it has done to me?’

‘Turn a stone and find a worm, huh?’

‘It is easy to criticise.’

He drew more smoke from the cigar, then shrugged.

‘Hammond says he is going to sue.’

‘That’s what we want, isn’t it?’

Chandler nodded.

‘But he won’t. The cards are stacked.’

‘Is that all, Mr. Chandler? I have work to do.’

He regarded me, then nodded.

‘You’re doing a fine job, Steve. I’m sorry about this thing. I want you to know I’m behind you.’

‘Thanks.’ I got to my feet. ‘Well...’

‘We must do something about Wally Mitford. When he’s fit, I want him in the sun.’

I was already halfway across his office. I stopped short.

‘Wally is already in Miami.’

He looked surprised.

‘Is that right?’ He shook his head. ‘That Borg! He’s always three jumps ahead of the gun. Good.’ He waved his cigar at me. ‘Keep going, Steve. Try to forget your troubles. I’ve already forgotten them.’

I left him on that note.

Back in my office, I coped with the mail, discussed with Jean the layout for Rafferty’s article, then settled down to the routine grind. I told Jean I would have a desk lunch and she got Judy to organise sandwiches for me. She said she had a lunch date, but would be back at 14.00. I wondered if she was lunching with her boyfriend. Again, as she left my office, I felt a little pang.

I had the office to myself so I put a call through to Dallas.

Mrs. Lucas — Linda’s mother — answered. As soon as I made myself known, she said, as Linda and I were going to get a divorce, was it wise for me to talk to her?

I said it was and after a delay, Linda came on the line.

‘Lieutenant Goldstein wants to question you,’ I said. ‘He’s a toughie. I suggest you and Lucilla take off for a trip around Mexico. Stay away and out of his reach for at least two months.’ Before she could start bleating, I hung up.

I was sure Lucilla, who was no one’s fool, would see the red light, and by the evening, they would be on their way. Linda’s mother was rich enough to finance the trip.

I was eating my second sandwich when Max Berry breezed in.

‘Look, Steve, I have an idea,’ he said, dropping into the chair by my desk. ‘How’s about me going after Senator Linsky? That old crook has been feathering his nest for years. I’ve got a lead on him that could shoot him up to the moon.’

‘Okay, Max. See what you can dig up.’

He rubbed his hand around his face, hesitated, then said, ‘You know how it is, Steve... talk. About Linda...?’

I froze, thinking: is it getting around she is a thief?

‘What about her?’

‘Well, you and she...’ He shifted uneasily. ‘Not my business, of course.’

‘That’s okay.’ I relaxed. ‘Yes, we’re parting. That reminds me. You had better have my new address.’ I scribbled the address and the telephone number on a scratch pad and handed it to him. ‘I’ll be moving in tomorrow.’

‘Fine.’ He looked at the address, then at me. ‘Did Borg fix this for you?’

‘Borg! No, Jean did.’

‘This is one of Borg’s apartments.’

I stared at him.

‘Does Borg own apartments?’

‘Sure. He’s smart. He’s put most of his money in bricks and cement.’

‘I didn’t know. Well, okay, Max, see what you can dig up about Linsky.’

He said he would and left me.

I sat for some moments staring down at my cluttered desk. Borg again? Once more I felt as if someone was breathing down the back of my neck.

The telephone bell snapped me out of my thinking and for the next hour I was kept busy.

Jean returned. I asked her if she had had a good lunch and she nodded: no information forthcoming. When she began typing, I remembered Freda Hawes. She had asked for fifteen hundred dollars. Maybe she would give me the film. I wrote a cheque, looked in on Jean, telling her I was going across to the bank. I collected fifteen one-hundred dollar bills. Ernie came out of his office and beamed at me.

‘What are you going to do with all that money, Steve?’ he asked as he shook hands. ‘How about investing it? Dow Jones is flat on its back right now. It’s a good time.’

‘Yeah. I’ll come and see you. You might get some ideas down on paper, Ernie.’

‘Sorry about Linda.’

‘Yes. Well, see you,’ and I returned to the office.

I was kept busy until 18.00, then things quieted down. I remembered to call police headquarters. I asked to speak to Lieutenant Goldstein. Whoever took the call said he was out. I told him who I was and that my wife could be reached at 1113, Westside, Dallas. I was told the Lieutenant would be informed. By the time Goldstein got busy, Linda and Lucilla would be lost in Mexico. At least that was one problem solved.

I decided I had had enough for the day. I could hear Jean’s typewriter clacking. I cleared my desk and went into her office. She paused, looking at me.

‘When are you moving in, Steve?’

‘Maybe tonight. I didn’t see the lease. Who owns the apartment?’

‘Western Properties.’

‘Who are they?’

‘Real estate people.’

‘Max tells me the apartment is owned by Joe Borg.’

‘That’s right. He is in real estate as a sideline.’ She sat back. ‘Mr. Chandler wouldn’t approve so it is confidential. I help Mr. Borg let some of his apartments. I knew this one was vacant. That was how I could fix you up so quickly.’

We looked at each other. Her calm eyes told me nothing.

‘Are you working late?’ I asked.

‘Another half an hour.’

‘Well, I’ll get off home. There are still things I have to clear up.’

‘Goodnight, Steve.’

‘Goodnight.’

I drove home, took a shower and changed into casuals. I walked around the house. I had no feeling for it now. It was no longer mine. In two days, Harry Mitchell’s parents would be installed.

I spent the next hour clearing up. Cissy had made a reasonable job of cleaning and she had cleared the refrigerator. I put my remaining clothes in a suitcase and dumped it into the back of the Merc.

I remembered that Freda had said she had parked the Mini on 22nd Street. I called a cab service. The cab took me to 22nd Street where I found the Mini. I drove it to an all-night car dealer and after haggling, he gave me less than a quarter of what it was worth.

The time now was 20.10. I spent half an hour in an Eat’s bar, chewing on a hamburger and sipping a double scotch on the rocks. Then I remembered — it seemed I was always remembering — I had a date with Sergeant Brenner at the Half Moon bar at 21.00. I looked up the number of the bar and called.

When a voice answered I said, ‘Jake?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Tell Brenner not until ten o’clock.’

‘Okay,’ and the line went dead.

I finished my drink, then as I still had time to kill, I decided I would walk to 12th Street. I arrived at The Annex ten minutes before 21.00.

The Annex was one of those glossy bars with lots of mirrors, high stools, banquettes in semi-darkness, soft music and a barman with choppers a horse would envy.

The place was nearly empty. There were four couples supporting the bar: young, well-dressed, bored looking. I glanced around. Freda hadn’t arrived.

The barman showed me his teeth. I said a scotch on the rocks. When I got it, I carried it to one of the banquettes and sat down. I had a view of the entrance.

At 21.15, just as I was getting worried, Freda came in. She was wearing a light dust coat over an orange and red cotton dress. She carried an air travel bag, slung over her shoulder. She saw me and moved a little unsteadily to the banquette and sat down, facing me. She looked a little drunk.

‘Mine’s a double gin, straight,’ she said.

The barman came over, took the order, came back with the drink and placed it before her.

We waited until he had gone away, then Freda said, ‘I’m on my way, buster.’ She blew out her cheeks and fanned my face with gin fumes. ‘What a day! I’ve been chasing my goddamn tail until now. When a girl with my connections pulls out, she has one hell of a pull out, but never mind that.’ She leaned forward, staring at me. ‘But in spite of the rush, I’ve had time to think. Blackmail is not for me. It didn’t do Jesse any good. Who wants a million if you land up in jail or you get a bullet the way he did? Give me the money and the film is yours. I’ve got it right here.’

‘You could be selling me any film, couldn’t you?’

She drank half the gin, nodded, then poked an unsteady finger in my direction.

‘Boy scout’s honour.’

‘Okay. It’s a deal.’

‘Let’s have the bread, buster.’

I looked around. No one was paying us any attention. I took the fifteen one-hundred dollar bills from my hip pocket and shoved the roll across the table. She snatched it up and stuffed it into her handbag. Then she zipped open her air travel bag and gave me a carton of 16 mm film.

‘That’s it,’ she said. ‘I’m on my way to get lost. Watch it, buster. That film is loaded with trouble and I’m damn glad to be shot of it.’

‘Where are you going?’

‘The moon won’t be far enough.’ She swallowed her drink, shuddered, then slid out of the banquette. ‘If that film can fix the sonofabitch who killed Jesse, it’ll make my day.’ With a brief nod, she was gone.

That was the last time I saw her.