The Soft Centre

Chapter Nine

Max Jacobs watched Val walk into the Florida Banking Corporation. The rime was ten minutes past ten. He had been sitting in his car, waiting patiently since nine o’clock. He lit a cigarette and continued to watch and wait. At half past ten, Val came out of the bank. She was carrying a small brown paper parcel. As she looked up and down the street, Jacobs started the engine. A moment later a taxi drew up at Val’s signal and she got into it.

As the cab drew away from the kerb, Jacobs eased his car out of the parking bay and went after it. After a five minute drive, the cab pulled up outside a shabby office block and Val got out.

Jacobs hurriedly parked as Val, paying off the driver, walked into the building. Jacobs risked getting run over as he dodged through the traffic and entered the dark lobby of the building. The elevator was in motion and he started up the stairs, watching the slow crawl of the elevator and seeing it stop on the third floor. He raced to the third floor and arrived, panting. The long corridor with its frosted glass doors was deserted. He leaned against the banister rail, sure that Val had entered one of these offices, and waited.

As Val walked into the outer office of Hare’s Investigating Agency, Lucille looked up from her typewriter.

“I have an appointment with Mr. Hare,” Val said quietly.

Lucille recognised her. She got to her feet.

“I think he is ready to see you,” she said. “Just a moment,” and she went into Homer Hare’s office, shutting the door.

Hare was nibbling at a bar of chocolate. Sam Karsh stood by the window, smoking. Both men were slightly tense.

“She’s here,” Lucille said.

The two men looked at each other, then Karsh said, “Are you really going to take her money? Once you take it, we’re way out on a limb.”

Hare put the chocolate bar reluctantly into his desk drawer.

“Shoo her in,” he said to Lucille, then to Karsh, “Run away, Sammy. I’m handling this.”

Karsh hesitated, then shrugging; he went out of the office by the door that led into the corridor.

Lucille said, “I hope you know what you’re doing. I still don’t like, it.”

Her father grinned as he wiped his sticky fingers on his handkerchief.

“But you will. Shoo her in.”

Jacobs, watching, had just time to step back out of sight around the bend of the corridor as Karsh appeared. He waited. Karsh stood in the corridor, then moving silently, he entered the outer office as Val walked into Hare’s office.

Fifteen minutes later, Val came out of the office and crossed to the elevator. Jacobs saw she no longer was carrying the brown paper parcel. He remained where he was until the elevator sank out of sight. Then moving fast, he ran down the stairs, and was in time to see Val leaving the building, walking quickly and heading downtown. He hesitated for a brief moment, then seeing a Drug Store close by, he entered and shut himself in a telephone booth. A minute later, he was talking to Terrell.

“Mrs. Burnett took the money to Homer Hare’s Agency,” he reported. “She’s just left. She was carrying the money done up in a sealed brown paper parcel. She left without it.”

This news startled Terrell.

“Homer Hare?” he exclaimed. “You’re sure she left the money with him?”

“I’m sure,” Jacobs said.

“Okay. Now look, Max, this is important. Get back to the entrance of the office block and stay there. If you see either Hare, Karsh or his wife leave with the money, pick them up. Tell them I want to talk to them. Get tough. Don’t let them get rid of the money. Understand?”

“I’ll handle it, Chief,” Jacobs said and hung up.

Sam Karsh and Lucille came into Hare’s office as he tore open the brown paper parcel. Hare was smiling. The sight of the hundred dollar bills as they spilt over the desk made Karsh whistle.

“Wow! That looks good,” he said and came dose to the desk. “That looks like real money!”

Hare dug his fingers into the mass of bills, lifted them and let them flutter back on to the desk.

“Sammy... we’re rich! In two weeks time, the little lady is going to hand over the rest... we’ll be worth half a million!”

Lucille said, “Stop acting like a miser! What are we going to do with this right now?”

Hare looked sharply at her.

“What’s the matter? You getting an attack of nerves or something?”

“You’re goddamn right I’m getting an attack of nerves! Suppose the cops walked in now, how would you explain away this amount of money?”

Hare looked towards Karsh. He smiled his evil smile.

“You married a bright girl, Sammy.” He opened a drawer in his desk and took out a battered brief-case. Quickly he scooped the money into the case, clipped the case shut and then pushed it across the desk towards Karsh. “Get moving, Sammy. Rent a safe at the Miami Safe Deposit. Use any name that comes to your fertile mind so long as it isn’t one of ours and get moving. The quicker this is salted away, the safer it will be for us.”

Karsh shied away from the case.

“Not me! Lucille can take it. Suppose some cop stops me on the street? I’m not all that crazy!”

“Take it!” There was a rasp in Hare’s voice. “If you want your cut, you work for it!”

Karsh eyed the brief-case, then he looked at his wife who stared blankly at him. He got no encouragement from her, and finally, he picked up the case.

“If I walk into trouble,” he said to Hare, “I’ll sing like a lark.”

“Go ahead and sing,” Hare said. “It’ll be the last Prima Donna act you’ll ever put on!”

Karsh suddenly grinned.

“Forget it! For a third of half a million, I’d cut my wife’s throat.”

“And I believe you,” Lucille said in a flat, hard voice.

Karsh smiled at her.

“Relax, baby. I was just talking, besides, it’d need a hacksaw to saw through your throat.” Tilting his hat over his right eye, he left the office, swinging the brief-case in his hand.

Jacobs, waiting in the lobby, saw Karsh come out of the elevator. He saw the brief-case in his hand. As Karsh walked briefly out on to the street, Jacobs followed him. Karsh got into the office car and searched his pockets for the ignition key. When he found it, and as he was about to sink the key into the ignition lock, Jacobs opened the offside door and slid into the car beside Karsh.

“Hello, peeper,” he said and smiled at Karsh who lost colour as he recognised Jacobs. “Headquarters: the Chief wants to talk to you.”

Karsh’s eyes went furtively to the brief-case that lay on the seat between the two men.

“I’m busy right now,” he said. “I’ll see him later. What’s he want anyway?”

“He didn’t tell me,” Jacobs said, lighting a cigarette. “Headquarters, Karsh, and snap it up!”

“I tell you, I’m busy right now,” Karsh said desperately. “I’m on a job! Get out of my car! I’ll see your Chief in half-an-hour. Go on, copper, beat it!”

“You may not know it,” Jacobs said, his face suddenly like granite, “but there are some thirty officers, including me, who long to punch you in your left eye. We all think you are the nastiest maggot that crawled out of stinking meat! It would give us all great pleasure to push your horrible eye ball into your horrible brain. I said... headquarters!”

“You threatening me?” Karsh said, losing colour.

“That’s it, Karsh. I’ll give you five seconds to get this car moving. At the end of five seconds, you’ll get the sweetest slam in the eye any maggot’s ever had.”

“I’ll fix you,” Karsh said breathlessly. He started the car engine. “Don’t make any mistake about it! I’ll have your badge taken away!”

“If you listen hard enough, maggot, you’ll hear my knees knocking,” Jacobs said and grinned.

Ten minutes later, Karsh, carrying the brief-case, walked into Terrell’s office with Jacobs at his heels.

Terrell looked up from the mass of papers spread out over his desk. Jacobs pointed to the brief-case that Karsh was carrying and nodded his head. This signal went unseen by Karsh as Jacobs was behind him.

“Now listen, Chief,” Karsh said furiously, “this punk has no right to take me off a job. He threatened me! I’m going to report him...”

Jacobs laced his fingers together, lifted his arms and slammed his hands down on the back of Karsh’s neck. Karsh went down on hands and knees, dropping the brief-case. He thought the ceiling had fallen on him. He remained like that until Jacobs planted a solid kick on the seat of his shiny trousers. Karsh staggered to his feet and fell, groaning, into the nearest chair.

“You can’t hit a man like that,” Terrell said severely, although his eyes were twinkling.

“There was a wasp on his neck, Chief,” Jacobs said, looking sad. “I didn’t want the poor guy to get stung.”

“Is that right?” Terrell said. “For a moment, I thought you were playing rough with him.”

“Not me, Chief, you know me,” Jacobs said, smiling broadly.

Karsh snarled at him.

“I’ll fix you!” he quavered. “You just wait and see.”

“There’s that wasp again,” Terrell said. “Better kill it, Max. Look, it’s right on top of the poor guy’s head.”

As Jacobs, grinning, moved towards Karsh, Karsh scrambled out of the chair and ran across the room, setting his back against the wall.

“Don’t touch me!” he yelled frantically. “Leave me alone!”

Terrell looked at Jacobs, then at the brief-case. Jacobs picked up the case, opened it and poured its contents on to the desk.

At this moment the door opened and Beigler came in. At the sight of the money covering the desk, he paused.

“You been robbing a bank, Chief?” he said. “That looks a lot of dough to me.”

“It does, doesn’t it?” Terrell said. “Let’s see just how much there is here.”

“Don’t touch it!” Karsh exclaimed. “That belongs to Hare! He told me to put it in a safe deposit.” Then seeing the three men were staring at him, he went on hurriedly, “It’s nothing to do with me! It’s Hare’s money! I was just...”

“Shut up!” Beigler snapped. “You want me to give you a poke in the eye?”

Karsh gulped. He was scared of Beigler. He stood, white and sweating, while Jacobs counted the money.

“Twenty thousand,” he said finally.

Terrell leaned back in his chair and regarded Karsh with cold, forbidding eyes.

“Who gave you this money?”

“I told you... Hare. He told me to put it in a safe deposit bank. I don’t know nothing about it!”

“Yeah? You know Hare hasn’t this kind of money. Where did he get it?”

“He didn’t tell me. Ask him! Don’t ask me!”

“I think the wasp’s worrying this punk again,” Jacobs said. “Okay for me to swat it?”

“Take him away,” Terrell said. “I don’t like seeing insects killed. You might tell the boys that Sammy Karsh is here. They’ll want to get rid of the wasp with you... you mustn’t be selfish, Max.”

Grinning Jacobs caught hold of Karsh and locking his arms behind him, he shoved him out of the office. Karsh yelled and struggled, but Jacobs handled him effortlessly. Finally Karsh’s yells died away and Terrell looked at Beigler.

“Now what are you going to do?” Beigler said. “That punk mightn’t sing.”

“I’m going to talk to Homer Hare,” Terrell said grimly and reached for the telephone.

As Val walked down Main Street, her mind busy, she became aware of hurrying footfalls behind her... the tap, tap, tap of high heels, and she glanced around. A girl was coming up behind her, and as Val looked around, the girl smiled hopefully.

“Oh, Mrs. Burnett...”

Val stopped and turned.

The girl was shabbily dressed. She wore a grubby white sweater, a skirt that had an oil stain on the front of it, and her shoes were run down. She was around twenty-three, a badly dyed blonde, unattractive and her complexion was bad.

“Oh, Mrs. Burnett, you don’t know me, but of course, I know, you,” the girl said. “I am Mary Sherrek. I know you have never heard of me, but I’m a representative of the Miami Sun. It’s not much of a paper, but I did so hope...” She paused and looked hopeless at Val in her neat dress, looking with envy at her perfect grooming. “I don’t suppose you want to talk to me but I just had to... well, I just had to speak to you.”

“That’s all right,” Val said. “What is it?”

“You really mean you don’t mind me speaking to you? That’s wonderful. You wouldn’t give me an interview, would you? I... I... well, I...” She stopped and looked uneasily at Val who waited. The girl finally went on, “About your husband... he disappeared, didn’t he? It would be wonderful for me if you could tell me something about him. You see, I’m not very good at this job and I think they are going to get rid of me. But if I could go back there and give them an exclusive interview with you... well, it would... you understand?”

While the girl was stammering this out, Val scarcely listened. Her sharp mind was busy. She suddenly saw how it could be possible for her to begin to find out the mystery behind Sue Parnell’s death. The idea that had flashed into her mind sent her blood racing excitedly through her body.

“Let’s go over there and have a coffee,” she said. She led the way across the street and into a cafeteria that was almost empty. She ordered two coffees while Mary Sherrek sat clutching her shabby bag, staring at Val with wide, expectant eyes.

“You really mean you will give me an interview, Mrs. Burnett?” she said. “It would save my life. Honest. They are ready to throw me out. If I...”

“How long have you been working for this newspaper?” Val asked.

Mary Sherrek looked startled.

“About six months. I got a diploma through a Correspondence College. But I don’t think I’m really much good. I just haven’t...”

“But have you a press card?”

“Oh yes. I couldn’t go around without a press card, but it doesn’t mean much. It just gets you into places.”

“Could I see it, please?”

“Of course.”

The girl took the Press card from her bag and offered it to Val who studied it for a brief moment. It merely stated that Mary Sherrek represented the Miami Sun, and she should be granted facilities to assist her in her work. There was a depressing photograph of the girl stuck on the card which was signed by Chief of Police Terrell.

Val put the card on the table.

“Do you want to go home, Mary?”

The girl’s eyes opened wide.

“I can’t go home. My folk live in New York. I just haven’t the money to get there. No, I can’t go home.”

“If you had the money, would you go?”

“Oh yes. I hate it here. Yes, I’d go, but Mrs. Burnett, I should be asking you the questions. You don’t want to be bothered with my troubles.”

“I want your press card,” Val said quietly. “I will give you two hundred dollars for it. With that money, you can get home. Will you sell me your press card?”

The girl stared at her as if she thought she had gone out of her mind.

“You can’t want my press card! But why? I don’t understand.”

Val opened her bag and took from it two one hundred dollar bills.

“Never mind why I want it... I want it. Here’s the money. Can I take the card?”

Mary Sherrek stared at the two bills. She drew in a deep breath.

“You really mean it?”

“Here is the money,” Val said, trying to control her impatience. She pushed the money across the table and picked up the card. This she put in her bag. “Now go home. I get these odd whims. I like to help people. Good luck...” She got to her feet as the girl continued to stare at the two bills on the table. Then she walked quickly from the cafeteria.

A passing taxi stopped at her signal. As she got into the cab, she looked back. The girl was coming out of the cafeteria, looking bewildered, but happy.

Val gave the driver the address of her hotel. As the cab moved off, she took the Press card from her bag and studied it. Back at the hotel, she had a spare passport photograph of herself. This she could easily stick on the card. Armed with this authority, she now had a remote chance of finding out more about Sue Parnell’s murder.

Homer Hare strode into Terrell’s office like a fat Avenging Angel. He met Terrell and Beigler’s bleak stares with a stare even more bleak.

“Where’s my son-in-law?” he demanded, coming to rest before Terrell’s desk. “If you’ve so much as laid a finger on him, I’m going to my attorney. Where is he?”

Terrell slapped the brief-case lying on his desk.

“Who gave you this money?” he demanded in his cop voice.

“I’ll answer questions when you answer mine!” Hare rumbled. “Don’t you think you can scare me! I know my rights! Where’s Karsh?”

“He’ll be along,” Terrell said. “Where did you get this money from?”

“That’s my business.” Hare lowered his bulk into a chair. “I want him right here and now! Unless you produce him, I’m not talking.”

Terrell nodded to Beigler who left the office. Terrell and Hare regarded each other.

“I didn’t think you were this much of a fool,” Terrell said. “You’ve been in your racket now for over thirty years. You’ve done pretty well. You haven’t been entirely honest, but you’ve kept within the line. Blackmail isn’t a pretty thing, Hare. I’d have thought you’d have been smart enough to resist that temptation.”

Hare glared at him.

“I haven’t an idea what you’re talking about.” he said. “You be careful! Blackmail! You’re lucky there are no witnesses!”

The door opened and Beigler came in, shoving Karsh before him. Karsh had a black eye and was sweating and shaking.

Terrell stared at him in apparent astonishment. “What happened to him then? How did he get that shiner?”

Beigler shook his head sadly.

“I guess he’s born clumsy. He fell over his feet and took a toss down the stairs. But he’s all right now, aren’t you, Shamus?”

Karsh shied away from him. He held his hand to his eye and groaned.

“Sit him down,” Terrell said. “He looks in need of a rest.”

Beigler slammed a chair behind Karsh’s knees and he sat down violently.

“Are you all right, Sammy?” Hare asked, staring at him.

“Do I look all right?” Karsh snarled, mopping his eye with his handkerchief.

“Hare!” Terrell barked, “Where did you get this money from?”

Hare leaned against the chair back making it creak.

“It’s a retainer. An important client. No business of yours.”

“I happen to know who your client is,” Terrell said. “This a retainer? Twenty thousand dollars? Come on, spill it, what’s it all about?”

Hare smiled calmly.

“You must ask my client,” he said. “I was paid this amount for services to be rendered. It’s not police business strictly private business. If you do know who my client is, then ask my client.” He got to his feet and picked up the brief-case. “One little thing, Chief, if you know who my client is, you’ll also know you’ll have to watch your step very carefully. My client draws lots of water in this town. You could be on the retired list if you play the wrong card. Come on, Sammy. They can’t hold us. Let’s go.”

“Just a moment,” Terrell said, his hands in fists on the desk. “You’re having a run, Hare, but it won’t last. From now on, I’m out to get you.”

Hare winked.

“You try. You won’t get me. I’m strictly honest.”

“And another thing,” Terrell said. “I have the numbers of those bills. You spend one of them and you’ll be in trouble.”

“Think so? You talk to my client,” Hare said and stumped out of the office, followed by Karsh.

Terrell and Beigler exchanged glances.

“Well, I didn’t play that one too smart,” Terrell said, frowning. “I thought he just might crack.”

“Hare? Crack?” Beigler snorted. “So what do we do now?”

Terrell reached for the telephone.

“Get me the Spanish Bay hotel. I want to talk to Mrs. Val Burnett,” he said to the police operator.

A few minutes later, the operator told him Mrs. Burnett was out.

Replacing the receiver, Terrell shrugged.

“I’ll leave this to you, Joe,” he said. “I want to talk to her as soon as she gets back to the hotel, but let’s handle it carefully. Don’t let’s make a thing of it.”

“What can Hare have on her... a woman like that?” Beigler said, scowling. “Twenty thousand! What’s she been up to that he’s managed to throw that size hook into her?”

“That’s what I want to find out,” Terrell said. He looked at the papers on his desk. “We seem to be getting nowhere fast with the Parnell killing. What are you doing about it. Joe?”

Exasperated, Beigler began to explain when the telephone bell rang.

Terrell listened to the excited voice coming over the line and Beigler saw his face harden.

“We’ll be right over,” he said. “Don’t touch anything,” and he hung up. He stared at Beigler. “Spike Calder’s been found in a cellar room in his Club. Been dead some time.”

Beigler groaned.

“What’s the matter with this town? Okay, I’m on my way.”

“Could be Lincoln again,” Terrell said. “He and Calder knew each other. Calder was stabbed. Could be where Jacko and Lincoln have been hiding out.”

Beigler nodded and ran from the office.

Joan Parnell sprawled in the big shabby armchair, a black cat on her lap, a glass of gin and water in her hand. She stared glassily at Val who sat on the edge of her chair, a newly bought notebook in her lap, a fountain pen in her hand.

She had been careful to put on a simple grey dress. She wore no stockings and she had removed the varnish from her nails. As an afterthought she had slightly disarranged her usually immaculate hair, but even with these touches, she felt she didn’t really look much like a reporter from the Miami Sun.

She realised with relief that Joan Parnell was so drunk, she need not have taken any care. The sight of this handsome woman, her face white, her eyes peering as if to focus her properly, her hand unsteady as she held her glass upset Val.

“The Miami Sun?” Joan said thickly. “That’s just a rag. What do you want?”

“It’s about your sister,” Val said, speaking slowly and quietly. “My Editor thinks you aren’t getting much help from the police. He has taken an interest in the case. The police don’t seem to be getting anywhere and he thought if you could give me some information, we might spotlight the case and get the police to take more interest.”

“Do you imagine I need the help of a rag like the Miami Sun?” Joan said. “I’ll tell you something: I knew the police wouldn’t do a thing. I’ll tell you why: my sister was a whore. The police couldn’t care less about whores. I’ll tell you what I’ve done. I’ve gone to the best detective agency in this rotten town and I have paid them good money to find out who killed my sister. Tell that to your Editor!”

“Would that be Hare’s Investigating Agency?”

“Who else? I said the best, didn’t I? And when they find the man who killed my sister, that fool Terrell is going to look damned small!”

Val’s mind moved swiftly. It became obvious to her that Hare was now double-crossing this woman so he could blackmail Val herself. He had found out something that the police knew nothing about and instead of telling this woman, he had come to her with this blackmail proposition.

“Have you heard from the Agency yet?” Val asked.

“Not yet. I’m giving them a little time. I’ll hear... they’re smart.”

“I see.” Vat pretended to write something in her notebook. “But perhaps you have your own idea who killed your sister, Miss Parnell? This, of course, would be off the record.”

“There is one bastard who could have done it,” Joan said, brushing the cat off her lap and sitting upright. “That’s Lee Hardy. He threw her out and is shacked up with a pug faced bitch who calls herself Gina Lang. I’ll tell you something: Sue wouldn’t stand for any man throwing her out. It’s my bet she made trouble for that heel and he’s fixed her. I told that fool Terrell, but he wouldn’t listen. You go and talk to Hardy. You can tell him from me, I think he did it! Now get out of here!”

“Where do I find him?” Val asked, writing the name in her book.

“Oh, in the phone book,” Joan said impatiently and got unsteadily to her feet. “You tell your Editor I’m going to find the man who killed my sister! I can do without the help of his rotten rag!”

As Val got into the waking taxi and told the driver to take her to the nearest drug store, Lee Hardy sat in his office counting the money he had finally raised for Jacko and Moe’s get away stake. He had had considerable difficulty in raising five thousand dollars. His bank account was overdrawn and the manager had flatly refused him further credit. He had had to go around to several of his bookmaker pals and talk them into advancing sums until the sums totalled five thousand dollars.

He put the money in a brief-case and telling his girl he wouldn’t be back until the following morning, he left the office. It was a few minutes after midday when he reached his apartment. He had been worrying about leaving Gina alone with these two thugs. He didn’t trust them even after the payoff. He had borrowed a.45 automatic from one of his friends and this he now carried in his hip pocket. He felt a lot more sure of himself now he had the gun.

If Jacko and Moe managed to leave town, they all might escape this rap, he was thinking as he paid off the taxi driver, but the chances of them getting clear wasn’t so good. The police were now alerted. Jacko was as easy to recognise as an elephant.

Hardy knew he was in serious trouble. If the police caught these two, they would sing. They would implicate him the moment the cuffs were on their wrists. If he was to get out of this jam, he would have to silence them both. As the elevator took him up to his penthouse, he decided he would have to alert the police the moment Jacko and Moe left. He would get Gina to do this. He would kill them both before they reached the Street. He would then fire Jacko’s gun two or three times into his front door to prove to the police these two turned on him and had tried to kill him. Terrell wouldn’t be able to prove otherwise. The fact Gina had called the police should get him out of this jam.

The elevator came to a sighing stop on the top floor of the apartment block. The doors swung open. As Hardy stepped out into the wide corridor, he saw a tall, slimly built girl move through the open doorway of his penthouse: the door opened by Gina.

Hardy walked quickly across the corridor, catching Gina’s eye. He was in time to hear the slim girl say, “I am Mary Sherrek. I am from the Miami Sun. Could I see Mr. Hardy?”

Gina, her face tense, said, “He’s right behind you. I’m sure he’d love to talk to you.”

The girl turned. Hardy was struck by her beauty, but immediately became uneasy by the expression in her eyes. The steady, searching look threw him off balance.

He switched on his charm as he entered the penthouse and closed the door. Gina moved into the lounge.

“The Miami Sun?” Hardy said, his voice a shade too hearty. “Why, sure. I read it every day. What do you want? But come on in.” He entered the lounge and looked questioningly at Gina. She gave a slight nod, indicating that Jacko and Moe were in Hardy’s bedroom, He was quick to see the door was ajar.

Val looked around the lounge. There was a highly charged atmosphere that scared her. Both this girl, wearing lounging pyjamas, and this big man, seemed very much on edge.

“Sit down, sit down, sit down,” Hardy said waving to a chair. “Just what’s on your mind, Miss... what did you say your name is?”

“Sherrek,” Val said, sitting down, clutching her notebook and trying to control the thumping of her heart.

“Well, Miss Sherrek, I’m pretty busy. Just what is it?” Hardy said. He put the brief-case containing the five thousand dollars on the settee. “How about a drink?”

“No, thank you.”

“Get me a drink, Pekie,” Hardy said. “I have a thirst that would slay a camel. Now what is it?” he went on to Val as Gina moved to the cocktail cabinet.

Val really wasn’t sure how to handle this situation. She knew it could be dangerous. She knew there was something going on in the penthouse that these two didn’t want her to know about. She had seen Gina’s nod to a door leading from the lounge. She was sure it was some signal to Hardy.

“I’m covering the Parnell murder,” she said. “I understand you were a friend of Miss Parnell. I wonder if you could tell me about her... give me something of her background and whether you have any ideas who could have murdered her.”

Hardy sat down. His face became granite hard and his eyes vicious.

“I’m not talking about her,” he said. “She’s dead now. I know nothing about who killed her or why she was killed.”

Gina came across the room, swinging her neat hips carrying a large glass of whisky and ice. As she offered Hardy the glass, she said spitefully, “She was just an old, old flame that flickered out... a nobody... a tart.”

Val scarcely heard what she was saying. She was staring with rooted concentration, feeling a chill crawling up her spine, at the heavy gold bracelet around Gina’s slim wrist. From the bracelet hung a cluster of five miniature gold elephants.