What`s Better Than Money?

CHAPTER THREE

I

I got to the office before eight o’clock and I was in a pretty depressed mood.

Sarita had been quiet during breakfast. We had said little to each other. Nothing was said about the bungalow, but it was there, between us like a ten-foot wall.

When I looked at my desk and saw all the paper work piled in my In-tray, my heart sank. By going to Los Angeles, I would be throwing a hopeless burden on Jack. I knew he was pretty booked up this morning with appointments with contractors at the site of the bridge.

I slaved for an hour, getting some of the urgent paper work out of the way, then the door jerked open and Jack breezed in.

‘Hi, Jeff!’ he said, going over to his desk. ‘I’ve got four bulldozers on the job. They are beginning to clear the site right now. I’ve started them, now I’ve got to see Cooper about those concrete mixers. Any mail in yet?’

‘Not yet.’ I hesitated, then blurted out, ‘Look, Jack, I’ve got to take a couple of days off.’

He was pawing through a mass of papers, muttering under his breath. For a moment, he didn’t seem to have heard, then he looked up sharply.

‘What was that?’

I leaned back in my desk chair and tried to look casual.

‘I have to take a couple of days off. I want you to hold the fort.’

He stared at me as if he thought I had gone crazy.

‘Hey! Wait a minute! You can’t do that! You can’t take time off now, Jeff! What are you thinking of!

You have Kobey, Max Stone, Crombie and Cousins lined up for appointments, haven’t you? I want those estimates for the steel today. You can’t take time off now!’

‘I’m sorry, but I have to. This is very urgent private business.’

His jovial face suddenly turned hard and flushed brick red.

‘I don’t give a damn how urgent it is! We’re building a bridge and we have a time limit! To hell with your urgent and private business! You’ve got to stay right here and do your job as I’m doing mine!’

‘But I have to go, Jack.’

He ran his hand over his balding head, staring at me. Slowly, the flush died down and into his alert eyes came a quizzing, shrewd expression.

‘What’s up then?’

‘Personal trouble,’ I said woodenly, not looking at him. ‘It’s important to Sarita and me.’

He moved papers about on his desk, frowning, then he said, ‘I’m sorry I blew up. I’m sorry too to hear you have trouble. Let’s put our cards on the table, Jeff. You and I are partners. We have put our money in this firm and we’re in it together. We have landed the biggest job the City can offer us. If we fall down on it, we’re cooked. Make no mistake about that. I don’t know what your trouble is, but I’m reminding you this job represents my future as well as yours. If you miss these appointments, we’ll lose five working days. There’s no two ways about that. If Mathison takes it into his head to telephone and finds you’re not at your desk, he’ll hit the ceiling. I’m making an issue of this, Jeff, because neither of us can nor should take a minute off for at least two months.’ He lifted his shoulders in a shrug. ‘Well, I’ve said my piece. It’s up to you what you do. If you take time off now, the bridge will be five days late, and we will have fallen down on the job, and we won’t get any more jobs like this one. I know it, and nothing you say will alter the facts.’

I knew he was right. I felt a murderous impulse go through me as I realised that Rima must have counted on this, had counted on me being chained to Holland City so she could hide herself away in her own time and with the confidence that once she was hidden, I could never find her.

I hesitated for a long moment, then I gave up. I had to think of Jack and the bridge even if it meant sacrificing myself. I would have to wait. It would make the hunt for Rima much more difficult and I stood to lose my second ten thousand dollars, but I had no alternative.

‘Okay, forget it,’ I said. ‘I’m sorry to have brought it up.’

‘Sorry – hell! You’ve got to stay here, Jeff, or we’ll be sunk! Now we have that little item off our chests, what’s the trouble? You and I are partners. I’m not that stupid I can’t see by looking at you that there is something badly wrong. It’s a good thing to share bad things: share this with me.’

I very nearly told him, but I stopped in time.

My only way out of this mess was to find and silence Rima. I couldn’t bring Jack into it. This was something I had to do on my own. I would be making him an accessory to murder.

‘It’s something I have to handle myself,’ I said, looking away from him. ‘Thanks all the same.’

‘That’s up to you,’ he said and I could see he was hurt and worried. ‘I won’t press it. I want to put on record that if you want help, financial or otherwise, I’m here. I’m your partner. What concerns you, concerns me. Understand?’

‘Thanks, Jack.’

We looked at each other, slightly embarrassed, then he got to his feet and began collecting his papers.

‘Well, I’ve got to get going. I have a couple of guys waiting for me right now.’

When he had gone, I took out my cheque book and wrote a cheque for ten thousand dollars in favour of Rima Marshall. I put the cheque in an envelope, addressed it to the Los Angeles bank and put it in my Out-tray. Then I ’phoned my bank and told them to sell my bonds.

I was caught, but I was still determined to find Rima if I could before I parted with any more money.

If I really got down to the job and worked practically non-stop, I could gain a few days breathing space.

I had three weeks in which to clear my desk, and to get so far ahead with my work I could afford a few days off: three weeks before the second payment was due.

I went to work.

I doubt if any man at any time has ever slaved harder than I did during the next two weeks. I worked like a crazy man.

I was at my desk at half-past five in the morning and I worked through until past midnight. During those two weeks, I scarcely said more than a dozen words to Sarita. I left her asleep, and on my return found her in bed. I drove my contractors nearly out of their minds. I turned poor Clara into a thin, sunken-eyed automaton. I got so far ahead with my work that Jack couldn’t keep pace with me.

‘For the love of Mike!’ he exploded after the twelfth day, ‘we’re not finishing this goddam bridge next week! Ease off, will you? My boys are going nuts under this pressure!’

‘Let them go nuts!’ I said. ‘I have everything buttoned up on my side, and I’m taking three days off from tomorrow. By the time I get back, you should have caught up. Have you any complaints if I take three days off?’

Jack lifted his hands in a gesture of surrender.

‘I’d welcome it! Seriously, Jeff, I’ve never seen anyone work the way you have worked these last two weeks. You have earned your days off. Okay, go wherever you want to, but there is just one thing: if you are in as bad a spot as I think you must be, I want to share it with you.’

‘I can handle it,’ I said. ‘Thanks all the same.’

I got home around eleven o’clock: the first time I had been reasonably early for two weeks. Sarita was preparing for bed as I walked into the apartment.

She had got over her disappointment about the cottage by now, and we were more or less on the usual terms: perhaps not quite, but close enough. I knew she had been watching the way I had been working, and it had been worrying her.

I was feeling pretty knocked out, but knowing that at last I was going on the hunt for Rima kept me going.

‘I’m leaving for New York tomorrow first thing,’ I said. ‘There are a number of things I have to take care of, and I’ll be away for three or four days. I’ve got to get a lower estimate for a bunch of items to do with the bridge, and New York is the only place where I’ll get what I want.’

She came to me and put her arms around me.

‘You’re killing yourself, Jeff. Surely you don’t have to work this hard?’

She looked up at me, her brown eyes worried.

‘It’ll ease off. It’s been tough, but I had to clear my desk before I could make this trip.’

‘Darling, could I go with you? I haven’t been to New York for years. I’d love it. We could meet after your business dates, and while you are tied up, I could look around the shops.’

Why I hadn’t thought that she would want to come with me I can’t imagine. It was the most obvious thing she would suggest. For a long, painful moment I stared at her, not able to think up an excuse to put her off. Maybe I said all I need to have said by looking at her like this. I saw the excitement die out of her eyes and her face fell.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said and turned away and began to straighten the cushions on the settee. ‘Of course you won’t want me around. I wasn’t thinking. I’m sorry I mentioned it.’

I drew in a long slow breath. I hated seeing her look like this. I hated to hurt her as I knew I had hurt her.

‘It just so happens, Sarita, I will be tied up morning, noon and night. I’m sorry, too, but I think it would be better if you stayed here this trip. Next trip will be different.’

‘Yes.’ She moved across the room. ‘Well, I guess we had better go to bed.’

It wasn’t until I had turned off the light and we were isolated in our twin beds that she said out of the darkness, ‘Jeff, what are we going to do with our money? Anything?’

If I didn’t find her and kill her, we were going to give our money to Rima, but I didn’t tell Sarita this.

‘We’re going to build a place of our own,’ I said, but there was no confidence in my voice. ‘We’re going to have some fun as soon as I get all this work behind me.’

‘Jack has bought a Thunderbird,’ Sarita said. ‘He has paid out twelve thousand dollars to redecorate and furnish his apartment. What have we done with our share of the money?’

‘Never mind about Jack. He’s a bachelor and he doesn’t have to worry about his future. I’ve got to be sure you are taken care of if anything happened to me.’

‘Does that mean I shall have to wait until you are dead or we are old before spending a dime of it?’

‘Now, look…’ The irritation in my voice sounded harsh even to me. ‘We’ll spend the money…’

‘I’m sorry. I was only asking. It seems odd that you should make sixty thousand dollars, and yet we still live the same way, still wear the same clothes, never go anywhere, never do anything, and I can’t even go to New York with you. I suppose I’m being unreasonable, but for the life of me I can’t see why you are working like a slave day in and night out and neither of us are having any fun out of it.’

I felt a hot rush of blood to my head. Goaded beyond endurance, I lost control of my temper.

‘For Heaven’s sake, Sarita,’ I yelled at her. ‘Stop this! I’m trying to build a bridge! I haven’t even got the money yet! We’ll spend it when I’ve got it!’

There was a pause, then she said in a cold, shocked voice, ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to irritate you.’

Then followed a deadly silence. It went on and on. We both knew the other was awake, unable to sleep, worried and bitterly hurt.

The shadowy ghost of Rima stood between our beds, pushing us apart, threatening our happiness.

I had to find her.

I had to rid myself of her.

II

I arrived at Los Angeles Airport a little after one o’clock and took a taxi to the Pacific and Union Bank.

Every spare moment, and they were few, that I had had during the past two weeks, I had wracked my brains as to how I was to get the address of Rima’s other bank. It was certain the Pacific and Union would have a record of the address, and my first move was to try to find out how and where this record was kept.

As I paid off the taxi, I was relieved to see that the bank was a big one. I had feared it might have been a small branch affair with only a few staff who would remember me. But this was a vast building with a commissionaire on the door, and a continuous flow of customers going in and out.

I walked into the big reception hall. On either side were the grills behind which stood the tellers. At every station was a small group of people, waiting. Around and behind these stations was a gallery where I could see clerks busy with calculating machines, duplicators and such like. At the far end of the hall I could see the glass cages for the bank officers.

I walked to one of the grills and got behind the short queue. Murmuring apologies, I reached over and took a pay-in slip from the rack. From my wallet I took ten five dollar bills. After a few minutes, there was only one customer ahead of me and I could reach the counter. I wrote in bold block letters at the head of the pay-in slip Rita Marschal, and at the foot of the slip, I wrote: paid in by John Hamilton.

The man in front of me moved away and I pushed the ten five dollar bills and the pay-in slip under the grill.

The teller took the slip, lifted his rubber stamp, then paused and frowned. He glanced up at me.

I was leaning against the counter, staring away from him, my face expressionless.

‘I don’t think this is correct, sir,’ he said to me.

I turned and stared at him.

‘What do you mean?’

He hesitated, looked again at the pay-in slip, then said, ‘If you will wait a moment…’

It was working out the way I had hoped it would. He took the slip and leaving his station, he walked briskly down the long counter to the stairs that led up to the gallery. I stood back so I could watch him.

He went up the stairs and along the gallery to where a girl was sitting at a big machine. He spoke to her.

She swung around in her chair to a big card that hung on the wall. I watched her run her ringer down what seemed a list of names, then she turned to the machine, pressed buttons, and after a moment, she reached forward and then gave the teller a card.

My heart was thumping.

I knew then that she had operated an automatic Finding and Filing machine which could produce the card containing particulars of any client by pressing numbered keys: each client having his or her own particular number.

When the keys were pressed, the card would be shot into a tray.

I watched the teller study the card and then my pay-in slip. He gave the card to the girl and then hurried back to me.

‘There is some mistake here, sir,’ he said. ‘We have no account in this name. Are you sure you have the name right?’

I shrugged my shoulders impatiently.

‘I wouldn’t swear to it. This happens to be a bridge debt. I was playing against Miss Marschal and I lost. I hadn’t my cheque book with me. I promised to pay what I owe her into this bank. I understand she doesn’t bank here, but you look after any money paid in.’

He stared at me.

‘That is right, sir, if it’s the client we deal with, but her name isn’t Marschal. It wouldn’t be Rima Marshall. The name having no ‘c’ and two ‘lls’?’

‘I wouldn’t know,’ I said. ‘Maybe I had better check.’ Then very casually, I went on, ‘I don’t happen to have her address. Maybe you can give it to me?’

He took that without a blink.

‘If you will address your letter care of the bank, sir, we’ll be happy to forward it.’

I was pretty sure he would say exactly that, but all the same, I was disappointed.

‘I’ll do that. Thanks.’

‘You’re welcome, sir.’

I nodded to him, put the money back in my wallet and walked out.

That was the first move. I now knew where the record card was kept. I now had to get at it.

I took a taxi to a quiet, inexpensive hotel, booked in, and as soon as I got to my room, I telephoned the Pacific and Union bank. I asked to be put through to the manager.

When he came on the line, I introduced myself as Edward Masters and asked him if he could see me around ten o’clock the following morning. I said there was some business I wanted to discuss with him.

He made an appointment for ten fifteen.

It irked me that I could do nothing further until the following morning, but this was something I couldn’t rush. I was acutely aware that thirteen years ago the Los Angeles police had been searching for a man with a drooping eyelid and a scar on his jaw. For all I knew there might be some keen veteran who might recognise me even now so I spent the rest of the day in the hotel lounge, and I went to bed early.

The following morning I arrived at the bank at a minute to quarter past ten.

I was shown immediately into the manager’s office.

The manager, a fat, elderly man with a bedside manner, shook my hand heartily. At the same time he managed to convey that he was pretty busy and it would be all right with him if I got down to business without wasting too much of his time.

I told him I was representing a firm of building contractors. I said we had our head office in New York and we were planning to set up a branch office in Los Angeles. We had decided to bank with Pacific and Union, and I gave him to understand we were pretty big operators. I asked his advice about obtaining premises. I said we would need plenty of room as we had ten executives and a staff of over two hundred. I could see that made an impression on him. He gave me the name of an Estate Agent who, he told me, could fix me up. I told him we planned to transfer about two million dollars from our New York bank to his to give us a start. That impressed him too.

Anything he could do, he told me, he would be pleased to do. I had only to ask and the services of the bank would be at my disposal.

‘I don’t think there is,’ I said. Then after a pause I went on, ‘Maybe there is one thing. I see you have a pretty up-to-date office equipment system here. This is something I want to install in our offices. Who are the people to go to?’

‘Chandler and Carrington are the best people,’ he said. ‘They have all the necessary equipment you would need.’

‘In a way, our business is a little like yours,’ I said, moving cautiously to the reason why I was sitting facing him. ‘We have clients all over. We need to keep in touch with them. We need records of our association with them. There’s a file and finding machine you have here. I’m interested in it. Do you find it satisfactory?’

I was lucky. It seemed this particular machine was something in which he took a lot of pride.

‘It has proved more than satisfactory. I admit it is expensive, but in the long run, it can’t be beaten.’

‘I only caught a glimpse of it as I came in,’ I said. ‘You really are pleased with it?’

‘Look, Mr. Masters, if you’re interested, I’d be happy for you to see a demonstration. We are more than satisfied. Would you care to see the machine operating?’

I forced myself to sound casual.

‘I don’t want to bother you…’

‘It’s no bother: it’s a pleasure.’ He pressed a button on his desk. ‘I’ll get Mr. Flemming to show it to you.’

‘As soon as we find the right premises, I’ll be in touch with you again,’ I said. ‘I appreciate your help.’

A clerk appeared in the doorway: an earnest looking guy who waited hopefully and expectantly.

‘Flemming, this is Mr. Masters. He will be opening an account with us. Mr. Masters is interested in our Filing and Finding machine. Will you demonstrate it to him?’

‘Yes, sir.’ The guy bowed to me. ‘It’ll be a pleasure.’

I got up. My legs felt shaky. I knew I was half way there, but half way there wasn’t enough. I shook hands with the manager, again thanked him for his help, then followed Flemming out of the office, up the stairs and along the gallery.

We stopped by the machine.

A girl, sitting before it, swung her chair around and looked at us inquiringly.

Flemming introduced me, then he went ahead and explained how the machine worked.

‘We have three thousand five hundred odd clients,’ he told me. ‘Each client has a number. We keep a fist of numbers right here on this card.’

He pointed to a big card hanging on the wall. I walked over to it and stared at it, my eyes moving over it swiftly. I found Rima’s name. It looked odd to me to see the neat lettering that spelt out: Rima Marshall. 2997.

My mind absorbed the number: it absorbed it the way I have never absorbed any other thing before in my life.

‘Having got the number,’ Flemming went on, ‘all we have to do is to press the keys that make up the number and the record card is immediately dropped into the tray here.’

‘That sounds fine,’ I said, smiling at him, ‘but does it work?’

The girl who had been listening gave me a pitying smile.

‘It never fails.’

‘Give me a demonstration,’ I said, smiling back at her.

‘Take the first number on our list,’ Flemming said. ‘R. Aitken. His number is 0001. Miss Laker, give me Mr. Aitken’s card.’

She swung around, pressed the keys. The machine hummed into life and a card fell into a tray.

‘Just like that,’ Flemming said, beaming at me.

I held out my hand.

‘I’m a sceptic. Maybe the card has nothing to do with Mr. Aitken.’

Happily, he handed the card to me.

I saw it had ‘Aitken’ printed in large type at the top of the card.

‘Yes. It’s impressive. Looks like I’ll have to invest in a machine like this. Could I have a try?’

‘Certainly, Mr. Masters. You go ahead.’

I bent over the keyboard. I pressed down the keys that spelt out 2997.

My heart was thumping so violently I was scared he and the girl would hear it.

The machine hummed. The cards flicked through the metal holder. I stood there, feeling sweat on my face, watching and waiting, then I saw the lone white card slide into the tray.

Flemming and the girl smiled.

‘The number you selected belongs to Miss Rima Marshall,’ Flemming said. ‘See for yourself if it is the correct card.’

I reached out and picked up the card.

There it was:

Rima Marshall. Account. Santa Barba. Credit $10,000.

‘Some machine,’ I said, trying to keep my voice steady. ‘Well, thanks. This is just what I’m looking for.’

Half an hour later, in a hired car, I was driving fast along the coast road to Santa Barba.

I told myself not to be too optimistic. Although I had narrowed down the field, although I was pretty sure Rima must be living somewhere in the locality of Santa Barba, I had still to find her and my time was running out.

I arrived in Santa Barba around five thirty. I asked a traffic cop where I could find the Pacific and Union Bank and he directed me.

I cruised past the bank which was closed. It was a branch bank and small. I parked the car and walked back to take a close look at it.

Exactly opposite was a small hotel.

I took my bag from the car and went over to the hotel.

It was one of those down-at-the-heel places that cater mainly for travelling salesmen.

The fat woman behind the reception desk handed me a pen to sign in and gave me a dismal smile of welcome.

I asked her if she had a room overlooking the street. She said she had, although she recommended the back rooms as they were less noisy.

I said I didn’t mind the noise, so she gave me a key and told me how to reach the room. She said dinner would be served at seven o’clock.

I carried my bag up the stairs, found the room, unlocked the door and entered.

It was clean, plain and far from comfortable, but I didn’t care. I crossed to the window and looked out. Exactly opposite was the bank.

I pulled up a chair and sat down by the window and studied the grill guarding the entrance.

When did Rima visit the bank?

I knew I dare not try the same trick I had worked on the Los Angeles branch to get a look at her record card. I knew if she got the slightest hint that I was on her trail, she would slip away, and I would have to start the hunt all over again.

Maybe if I sat at this window and watched, I might see her, and then I could follow her and find out where she lived.

I realised this would take time. I was due back at my desk the day after tomorrow. I couldn’t stay away longer than another day. Maybe I would have some luck and spot her. It was something I decided to do, although I didn’t have much hope that tomorrow she would come to the bank.

I had to be careful to keep off the streets. It would be fatal to my plans if she saw me before I saw her.

So I decided to take no chances and remain in the hotel and keep out of sight.

I unpacked, took a shower, changed, then went down to the lobby. The place was deserted. I spent some minutes checking the telephone directory and a street directory on the off chance that Rima would be listed in either one or the other, but she wasn’t.

Then I went up to my room and stretched out on the bed. There was nothing now I could do until the bank opened the following morning.

The hours crawled by.

Later, I went down to the restaurant and had a cheerless dinner, badly cooked and indifferently served.

After dinner I went up to my room and went to bed.

At breakfast the following morning, I told the fat woman I had a lot of paper work to do and I planned to work in my bedroom.

She said I wouldn’t be disturbed.

I returned to my room, pulled up a chair and sat down at the window.

The bank opened at nine o’clock. It was obvious that it wasn’t a busy branch. For the first two hours only five people entered. After that it got a little busier, but not much. I sat there and watched.

I didn’t give up hope until the bank doors were shut, then I became so depressed I could have cut my throat.

I had to leave the next morning, and I knew my chance of finding Rima before the second payment came due was now washed out.

I spent the rest of the evening, trying to think of any other way of finding her except this hit and miss chance of watching the bank, but I just couldn’t think of any other way.

It would be hopeless to walk the streets in the hope of seeing her. Besides, it would be dangerous. She could easily see me before I saw her, and then she would vanish.

Then I had a sudden idea. How would it be, I asked myself, if I employed a detective agency to find her for me?

For a few moments I was so excited by this idea I nearly rushed downstairs to consult the classified directory to find out the name and address of an agency, but then I realised I didn’t dare do it.

When I found her, I was going to kill her.

The detective agency would remember me. They would tell the police that I had hired them to look for her, and the police would start hunting for me.

This thing was between Rima and myself. No one could help me. I had to handle it myself.

It was then, as I lay on the bed, that I realised, that even when I did find her, I still had to think of a way of killing her in complete safety.

I didn’t flinch from the thought of killing her. It was Sarita’s and my future against Rima’s worthless and degenerate life. But it would have to be done so that it could never be traced back to me.

Had she confided in anyone that she was blackmailing me? Again that was something I had to find out. The whole thing now took on a nightmarish atmosphere: one difficulty led to another that led to another.

First, I had to find her.

Then I would have to be guided by circumstances as to how best to kill her.

Then I had to be quite, quite sure the murder couldn’t be traced to me.

The following morning I took the plane to Holland City and walked into my office soon after eleven o’clock.

Jack was talking on the telephone. When he saw me, he said, ‘I’ll call you back. Yeah. In ten minutes.

Something has come up…’ and he dropped the receiver onto its cradle.

He looked at me and I saw at once that something bad had happened. He was pale; there were shadows under his eyes as if he hadn’t had any sleep, and an expression on his usually cheerful face that sent a chill crawling up my spine.

‘Have you been home yet, Jeff?’

‘No. I’m just off a plane.’

I put down my suitcase and dropped my raincoat on a chair.

‘I’ve been trying to get you,’ Jack said, his voice husky and unsteady. ‘Where the hell have you been?’

‘What’s up?’

He hesitated, then got slowly to his feet.

‘It’s Sarita…’

I felt my heart miss a beat, then it began to thump violently.

‘What is it?’

‘It’s bad, Jeff. There’s been an accident… I tried everywhere I could think of to find you…’

I was cold and shaking now.

‘She’s not dead?’

‘No, but she’s pretty badly hurt. Some drunken driver hit her car. I’m afraid she is really badly hurt, Jeff.’

I stood there, staring at him, feeling empty and cold and very lonely.

‘When did it happen?’

‘The morning you left. She went shopping. This drunk was on his wrong side…’

‘Jack! Tell me! How bad is she?’

He came around the desk and put his hand on my arm.

‘They are doing their best. It’s a matter of waiting. You can’t see her. No one can see her. As soon as there’s news, they’ll telephone here. She stands a chance, but it’s a small one.’

‘Where is she?’

‘The State Hospital. But look…’

I ran out, past the white-faced Clara and down the corridor to the elevator. Somehow I got down onto the street and waved frantically to a taxi.

‘State Hospital,’ I said, jerking open the door, ‘and hurry!’

The driver took one look at my face, then he slammed the door shut, engaged gear and sent the cab racing down the side streets, missing the traffic while I sat rigid, my hands clenched on my knees.

I kept thinking that while I was hunting for Rima, the one person who meant everything in the world to me had been lying in a hospital bed. My hatred for Rima became a cold and deadly thing.

It took ten minutes of fast, reckless driving to get me to the hospital.

As I paid the driver, he said, ‘Your wife?’

‘Yes.’

I started up the steps, three at a time.

He shouted after me, ‘Good luck, bud. Good luck!’