What`s Better Than Money?

CHAPTER NINE

I

The following afternoon, while I was working in the office, Clara came in to tell me Mr. Terrell was asking to see me.

For a moment or so I couldn’t place the name, then I remembered he was the owner of the cottage on Simeon’s Hill that Sarita had been so anxious to have, and that seemed a long way into the past.

I pushed aside the papers on my desk and told Clara to bring him in.

Terrell was a man around sixty three or four, heavily built and jovial: he looked like a benign, well red bishop.

‘Mr. Halliday,’ he said, as he shook hands, ‘I heard Sarita is coming out of hospital next week. I have a proposition that may interest you.’

I asked him to sit down.

‘What’s the proposition, Mr. Terrell?’

‘The sale of my place has fallen through. The buyer has found something nearer his work. My wife and I are off to Miami at the end of the week. I know Sarita had set her heart on our place. I’m going to suggest you take it over just as it stands at a nominal rent: say twenty dollars a week, until she gets better. Then if you like it, maybe you would reconsider buying it, but that’s up to you. My wife and I are very fond of Sarita, and we think it would give her a lot of pleasure to come straight from hospital to our place. How about it?’

For a moment I couldn’t believe my ears, then I started to my feet and grabbed his hand.

‘It’s a wonderful idea! I can’t thank you enough! Of course, I’ll accept! But here’s what I would like to do. I’ll give you a cheque right now for ten thousand dollars and as soon as I get these operations and doctor’s bills out of my hair, I’ll pay you the balance. It’s a sale!’

And that’s how it was arranged.

I didn’t tell Sarita. I wanted to see her expression when the ambulance pulled up outside Terrell’s cottage.

Helen Mathison helped me to take our personal things to the cottage. We had six clear days to prepare the place before Sarita left the sanatorium. I was working long hours at the office, spending my nights at the cottage, but in spite of being so preoccupied, every now and then, I would think of Vasari and wonder. Every morning I scanned the newspapers to make sure he hadn’t been found, but there seemed to be no interest now in the murder. During the past days there had been no mention of it in the papers.

Finally the day came when Sarita was to leave the sanatorium. I took the afternoon off. Helen drove me out there and left me. I was to ride back with Sarita in the ambulance.

They brought her out in a stretcher. The nurse who was going to stay with us came with her.

Sarita smiled excitedly at me as they slid the stretcher into the ambulance. The nurse and driver sat in front, and I got in with her.

‘Well, this is it!’ I said as the ambulance moved off, and I took her hand. ‘You’re going to be fine from now on, my darling. You don’t know how I’ve been looking forward to taking you home.’

‘I’ll soon be up and around, Jeff,’ she said, squeezing my hand. ‘I’ll make you happy again.’ She looked out of the window. ‘How good it is to see the streets again and the people.’ Then after a while, she said, ‘But, Jeff, where are we going? This isn’t the way home. Has he lost his way?’’

‘This is the way home, Sarita,’ I said. ‘Our new home. Can’t you guess?’

I had my reward then. The expression in her eyes as the ambulance began to climb Simeon’s Hill was something to see.

All my past days of tension, fear and worry were wiped out as she said in unsteady voice, ‘Oh, Jeff, darling! It can’t be true!’

The next few days were the happiest of my life. I had a lot of paper work to do so I didn’t go to the office. I worked at home, keeping in touch with Ted Watson and Clara on the telephone.

We made up a bed in the lounge for Sarita so she could be with me. She read or knitted while I worked, and every so often I would push aside my work and we would talk.

She was gaining strength every day, and on her fourth day home, Dr. Zimmerman who had come out to see her, said she could get into a wheel chair.

‘She has made tremendous progress, Mr. Halliday,’ he said as I walked with him to his car. ‘I thought once she was home she would pick up, but not as fast as this. I wouldn’t be surprised if in a few months, she won’t be walking.’

The next day the wheel chair arrived, and the nurse and I put Sarita into it.

‘Now there’ll be no holding me,’ Sarita said. ‘We must celebrate. Let’s ask Jack and the Mathisons to lunch. Let’s have a thanksgiving lunch.’

So we threw a party.

There was turkey and champagne, and after lunch, when the nurse had insisted that Sarita should go back to bed for a rest and after the Mathisons had gone, Jack and I sat outside on the terrace, overlooking the river, where in the distance we could see the men working on the bridge while we finished our cigars.

We were both feeling relaxed and good. We talked of this and that, then as Jack got lazily to his feet, he said, ‘So they finally caught the Santa Barba killer. I was beginning to think they would never get to him.’

I felt as if a mailed fist had slammed a punch under my heart. For a moment or so I couldn’t even speak, then I said, ‘What was that?’

He was stretching and yawning in the hot sunshine, and he said indifferently, ‘You know: the guy who killed the woman in the bungalow. They cornered him in a New York night club. There was a gun battle and he got hurt. They say he won’t live. I picked it up on the car radio as I came out here.’

Somehow I kept my face expressionless. Somehow I kept my voice steady.

‘Is that a fact?’ I said. It didn’t sound like me speaking. ‘Well, that’s his bad luck. I guess I’ll get back to the grindstone. It’s been swell having you, Jack.’

‘Thanks for the lunch.’ He put his hand on my arm. ‘And just for the record, Jeff: I’m terribly glad Sarita pulled through. She’s a wonderful girl, and you’re a damn lucky guy.’

I watched him drive down the hill in his black and white Thunderbird.

A damn lucky guy!

‘I was shaking, and there was sweat on my face.

So they had finally caught Vasari!

There was a gun fight, and he got hurt. They say he won’t live.

That would be lucky too – too lucky.

I had to know the details.

I told the nurse I was going down town. She said Sarita was sleeping, and she would stay around.

I drove fast to the nearest news stand. I bought a paper, but there was no news of Vasari’s arrest. I might have known I would have to wait for the final night edition.

I drove over to the office. My mind was aflame with panic.

Would he die? If he didn’t die he would go for trial for a murder I knew he hadn’t committed. I couldn’t let him go to the gas chamber.

There was work waiting for me in the office but I found it almost impossible to concentrate. I had an interview with a contractor, and my mind wandered so badly I saw he was looking at me, puzzled. I apologised.

‘My wife’s just out of hospital,’ I said. ‘We’ve been celebrating. I guess I’ve had too much champagne.’

Later, Ted Watson came in from the bridge site. He was carrying an evening paper which he dropped on the desk. I was still working with the contractor. The sight of that paper blew my concentration sky high.

We were getting out figures, and I began to make so many mistakes, the contractor said sharply,

‘Look, Mr. Halliday, let’s call this off. That champagne certainly must have been dynamite. Suppose I call around tomorrow?’

‘Sure,’ I said. ‘I’m sorry, but I have a hell of a head. Yes, let’s make it tomorrow…’

As soon as he had gone, I leaned over and grabbed the paper.

‘May I borrow this, Ted?’

‘Sure, Mr. Halliday, help yourself.’

On the front page was a photograph of Vasari and a pretty dark girl who didn’t look more than eighteen years of age. He had his arm around her and was smiling at her.

The caption under the photograph read: Jinx Mandon marries torch singer on the day of his capture.

The account of Vasari’s capture was scrappy.

While celebrating his marriage with Pauline Terry, a night club singer, at the Hole in the Corner Club, Vasari had been recognised by a detective who happened to be in the club at the time. When the detective had approached the table where Vasari and his wife were dining, Vasari had pulled a gun. The detective had shot him before he had had a chance of firing. Dangerously wounded, Vasari had been rushed to hospital. Doctors were now fighting to save his life.

That was all, but it was enough. I couldn’t do any more work. I told Weston I was going home, but I didn’t go directly home. I went to a nearby bar and drank two double Scotches.

The doctors were now fighting to save his life.

The irony of it! They were trying to save his life so that he could be executed! Why couldn’t they let him die?

What was I going to do?

If he lived, I would have to come forward. I had now no excuse not to. Sarita was no longer helpless.

Soon she would be walking again.

Maybe he wouldn’t live. There was nothing I could do now but to wait. If he died, then I would be out of this mess for good.

But if he lived…

II

The next six days were nightmare days for me.

The press was quick to recognise the drama of the doctors’ fight to save Vasari’s life. There was a bulletin printed every day. One day the headline would read: Gangster Sinking, and I would relax a little.

The next day it would be Jinx Mandon lives on. Doctors hopeful.

On the sixth day, the headlines read: Ninety-nine to one chance operation to save gangster’s life.

The paper stated that an operation by one of New York’s most eminent surgeons was to be performed on Mandon in a final effort to save his life. The surgeon, interviewed by the press, said that Mandon had only the slightest chance of survival. The operation was so delicate that it would attract the attention of the medical profession throughout the world.

It was while I was reading this that I heard Sarita say, ‘Jeff! I’ve spoken to you twice. What is it?’

I put down the paper.

‘Sorry, darling. I was reading. What did you say?’

I had trouble in meeting her puzzled eyes.

‘Is something wrong, Jeff?’

She was seated opposite me at the breakfast table in her wheel chair. We were alone. She looked well, and she was already restless to try to walk.

‘Wrong? Why no, of course there’s nothing wrong.’

Her cool grey eyes searched my face.

‘Are you sure, Jeff? You have been so nervy these past days. You worry me.’

‘I’m sorry. I was preoccupied with the bridge. There’s a lot to think about.’ I got to my feet. ‘I must get down to the office. I’ll be back about seven.’

I had a date with Jack at the bridge site. The first girder was to be put in place.

While we were waiting, Jack said, ‘Is there anything on your mind, Jeff? You’ve been looking like hell these last few days.’

‘I guess I take all this a bit harder than you,’ I said. ‘I’m really worked up about this bridge.’

‘You don’t have to be. It’s working out like a charm.’

‘Yes. Well, I guess I’m the worrying type.’

He saw the foreman was handling the girder clumsily, and with a muttered expletive, he left me and went down to where the men were working.

I would have to watch myself, I thought uneasily. The strain was beginning to show.

Two days later, it happened.

The headlines of the paper said Mandon’s operation had been successful and he was now out of danger. In another week he would be flown to Santa Barba jail. As soon as he was strong enough, he would go for trial for the murder of Rima Marshall.

I read the report in the evening paper that had been delivered to our home.

I felt physically sick.

This was it! Vasari had survived and now, unless I told the truth, he would stand trial and be executed.

I looked across at Sarita who was reading. The temptation to tell her the truth was strong, but my instincts warned me not to tell her.

I mustn’t wait any longer. Tomorrow I must go to Santa Barba and tell Keary the whole story. He must start the hunt for Wilbur right away.

‘I forgot to tell you, Sarita,’ I said as casually as I could. ‘I have to go to San Francisco tomorrow. I’ll be away a couple of days. It’s to do with this steel project.’

She looked up, startled.

‘Tomorrow? Well, all right, Jeff, but isn’t it rather sudden?’

‘We’re not getting delivery fast enough,’ I lied. ‘Jack wants me to go. I’ve only just remembered.’

When she had gone to bed, I called Jack at his pent house apartment.

‘I want to talk to Stovell,’ I said. ‘I’m running up to San Francisco tomorrow. The steel isn’t coming through fast enough.’

‘It isn’t?’ Jack sounded surprised. ‘I thought they were doing pretty well. They’re sending it through as fast as I can handle it.’

‘I want to talk to Stovell anyway. Ted can look after the office while I’m away.’

‘Well, okay,’ I could hear the puzzled note in his voice. ‘Suit yourself. There’s no big rush at your end now.’

That night as I lay in bed, I wondered what Keary would do when he heard my story. Would he arrest me or would he first check my story? Should I tell Sarita that she might not see me again when I left the next morning? Should I tell her the truth?

What a shock it would be to her if I were arrested and didn’t see her again. I knew I should tell her the truth, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it.

All night, I lay in the darkness, sweating it out, and when the dawn light came through the open window, I was still undecided what to do, but finally as I was dressing I decided to see the police first.

A little after four o’clock in the afternoon, I walked into the Santa Barba police station house.

A large, well fed police sergeant sat at a desk, chewing the end of his pen. He looked at me without interest and asked me what I wanted.

‘Detective Sergeant Keary please.’

He took the pen out of his mouth, looked at it suspiciously and then laid it on the desk.

‘Who shall I say?’

‘My name is Jefferson Halliday. He knows me.’

His large hand hovered over the telephone, then as if he couldn’t be bothered, he shrugged and waved me to the corridor.

‘Third door on the left. Help yourself.’

I walked down the corridor, paused outside the third door on the left and knocked.

Keary barked, ‘Come on in.’

I opened the door and walked in.

Keary was lolling in a desk chair, reading a newspaper. The room was small and cramped. There was just room for the desk, the desk chair and an upright chair. With me in the room, it became a squeeze.

He laid the newspaper down and leaned back in the chair so that it creaked. His small eyes widened at the sight of me.

‘Well, well, it’s Mr. Halliday,’ he said. ‘This is a surprise. Sit down. Welcome to Santa Barba.’

I sat down, facing him.

‘You’re lucky to catch me, Mr. Halliday,’ Keary said, producing the inevitable pack of chewing gum.

‘This is my last day of work I’m glad to say. I’ve been thirty-five years on the force and I reckon I’ve earned my rest. Not that it’s not going to be dull. A guy can’t do much on the lousy pension they pay you. I got a small house by the sea and a wife and I guess I’ll have to make do. How is the bridge getting along?’

‘It’s all right,’ I said.

‘And your wife?’

‘She’s doing fine.’

He put the chewing gum in his mouth and began to chew.

‘Well, that’s good news.’ He leaned his fat back against the chair back and his small hard eyes examined me speculatively. ‘You down here for any particular reason, Mr. Halliday?’

‘Yes. I’ve come to tell you Mandon didn’t kill Rima Marshall.’

The small eyes widened a trifle.

‘What makes you say that, Mr. Halliday?’

‘She was killed by a man who calls himself Wilbur. He is a drug addict and is out on parole.’

He rubbed the end of his fleshy nose with the back of his hand.

‘What makes you think he killed her?’

I drew is a long, deep breath.

‘I know he did. It was through her he got a twenty year sentence. When he came out on parole, he was looking for her. He was going to kill her, but he couldn’t find her. I told him where she was. He went to the bungalow, found her and killed her. I had already telephoned Vasari, warning him the police were coming for him. When Wilbur arrived, Vasari had already gone.’

Keary picked up a pencil and began to tap with it on the desk. His hard, fleshy face was completely expressionless.

‘Very interesting,’ he said, ‘but I don’t quite follow it. How did you know this guy Wilbur?’

‘It’s a long story,’ I said. ‘Maybe I’d better begin at the beginning.’

He stared at me.

‘Well, okay. I have plenty of time. What’s the story then?’

‘This is a statement, sergeant, that will incriminate me,’ I said. ‘It would save time if you got someone in to take it down.’

He rubbed his jaw, frowning.

‘You sure you want to make a statement, Mr. Halliday?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, okay.’

He pulled open a drawer on the desk and took out a small tape recorder. He put the recorder on the desk, plugged in the microphone which he turned in my direction. He pushed down the starting button and the reels began to revolve.

‘Go right ahead, Mr. Halliday: let’s have this statement of yours.’

I talked to the small microphone. I gave the whole story: how I had first met Rima and had saved her life when Wilbur had attacked her: how she had fingered him to a twenty year sentence. I explained about her talent for singing, about my ambition to become an agent, how I had tried to get her cured, how we had broken into the Pacific Film Studios to steal the money for her cure.

He sat there, breathing heavily, staring down at the dusty top of his desk, listening, his eyes moving from time to time to the slowly revolving reels.

He did look up and stare at me for a brief moment when I came to the shooting of the guard, then he looked down again, his jaws clamping on the gum.

I told the microphone how I had gone home, started my studies again and finally had gone into partnership with Jack Osborn. I explained about the bridge, the photograph in Life and how Rima had come to Holland City and had blackmailed me. I told about Sarita’s accident and how I needed the money to save her.

‘So I decided to kill this woman,’ I said. ‘When I finally found her, I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I broke into the bungalow and found the gun that killed the Studio guard.’ I took the gun from my pocket and put it on the desk. ‘This is it.’

Keary leaned forward to peer at the gun, then he grunted and leaned back again.

‘While I was searching for the gun, I found a box of letters. One of the letters was from a woman named Clare Sims…’

‘Yeah, I know about that. I found the letter too and I read it.’

I stiffened, staring at him.

‘If you found the letter, why didn’t you go after Wilbur?’

‘Keep going with your statement, Mr. Halliday. When you read the letter, what did you do?’

‘I went to San Francisco and I found Wilbur. I sent him a note, giving him Rima’s address and I also sent him thirty dollars for the fare down here. I checked. He left San Francisco on the day she died. He came down here and killed her.’

Keary reached out a thick finger and stopped the recorder. Then he opened a drawer in his desk and took out a bulky folder. He opened it and pawed through its contents. He found a sheet of paper and an envelope which he pushed over to me.

‘This the note you wrote him?’

My heart skipped a beat as I recognised my printing. I looked up, staring at Keary.

‘Yes. How did you get hold of it?’

‘It was found at the Anderson hotel, San Francisco,’ Keary said. ‘Wilbur never got it.’

I felt a sudden rush of blood to my face.

‘He never got it? Of course he did! And he acted on it! What are you saying?’

‘He never got it,’ Keary said. ‘This letter arrived on the morning of the 17th. Wilbur was arrested while returning to his hotel on the night of the 16th. He was arrested for carrying drugs, and he went back to complete his sentence. He is in jail right now.’ He picked up his pencil and began to tap on the desk with it again. ‘When I found the letter from Clare Sims, warning the Marshall woman that Wilbur was after her, I checked with Frisco. They told me Wilbur had been arrested. The next morning the hotel handed your letter to the police. They sent it down to us. We didn’t bother further with it as Wilbur not only couldn’t have killed her, but he never got the letter.’

I sat there, staring at him, unable to believe him.

‘Then if he didn’t kill her, who did?’ I said hoarsely.

Keary looked bored.

‘You’re hard to convince, aren’t you? I told you in the first place who killed her – Jinx Mandon. I told you we had enough on him to put him in the gas chamber, and that’s where he’s going. He was cheating with Rima Marshall. He met this singer, Pauline Terry, who was down at Santa Barba, and he fell for her. Rima found out and threatened to give him away to the police unless he gave up the girl. He was ready to go when your telephone call came through. That gave him his excuse to leave her, but she had other ideas. She went for him with a knife. There was a struggle. He went berserk and killed her. That’s his story. We have the knife. We have his blood-stained clothing and we’ve got his confession.’

I continued to stare at him, too shocked to say anything. I had delivered myself into his hands for nothing!

There was a long pause while Keary continued to tap on the desk, then he said, ‘Looks as if you’ve talked yourself into a jam, doesn’t it?’

‘Yes. I was certain Wilbur killed her and it was my responsibility. I couldn’t let Mandon suffer.’

Keary pressed down the rewind button on the tape recorder.

‘Yeah? Why should you have worried about a rat like that?’

He took the tape off the machine and laid it on the desk.

‘That happens to be the way I feel about a situation like this,’ I said quietly.

‘Well, the chances are you’ll beat a first degree murder rap,’ Keary said, ‘but they’ll hang a fifteen year stretch on you. What’s your wife think about it? Did she think it was a good idea to come down here and talk yourself into a fifteen year stretch?’

‘She doesn’t know.’

‘It’s going to be quite a jolt for her when she finds out, isn’t it?’

I moved impatiently. His sadistic smirk angered me.

‘I can’t see how that concerns you.’

He leaned forward and picked up the gun, examined it, then put it down again.

‘What’s going to happen to the bridge when you get locked up?’

‘They’ll find someone.’ I was feeling cold and numb. ‘There’s always someone else to take over another man’s job.’

‘Yeah.’ Keary shifted his bulk in his chair. ‘Another guy takes over my job tonight. By the time I’m half way home, all the bright boys here will have forgotten I ever existed. What’s your wife going to do without you?’

‘What do you care?’ I said. ‘I did what I did and I expect to pay for it. Let’s get on with it.’

He closed the file that lay before him and put it back in a drawer. Then he looked at his wrist watch.

He got to his feet.

‘Stick around for five minutes, Mr. Halliday.’ He picked up the gun and the reel of tape and pushing past me, he crossed to the door and went out, closing the door after him.

I sat there waiting.

Fifteen years!

I thought of Sarita. I blamed myself now for not telling her the truth. It was the bleakest, longest half hour I have ever sat through.

The hands of the wall clock showed half past five when the door pushed open and Keary came in. He was smoking a cigar, and he was grinning.

He closed the door, moved around me to his desk chair and sat down.

‘Have you been sweating it out, Mr. Halliday?’ he said. ‘Imagining yourself behind bars, huh?’

I didn’t say anything.

‘I’ve been saying goodbye to the boys,’ Keary went on. ‘At five o’clock I turned in my badge. I am now officially retired. Your case is to be handed over to Detective Sergeant Karnow: the biggest sonofabitch on the force.’ He took the reel of tape from his pocket. ‘When he hears this, he’ll jump for joy.’ The small hard eyes searched my face. ‘But you and me could fix it that he doesn’t hear it.’

I stiffened, staring at him.

‘What does that mean?’

The leering grin widened.

‘We could do a deal, Mr. Halliday. After all what’s better than money? I could sell you this tape if you felt like buying it. You’d be off the hook then. You could go back to your wife and your bridge and you wouldn’t have anything to worry about.’

What’s better than money?

He had used the exact words that Rima had once used. So it was going to begin all over again. I felt a sudden urge to lean across the desk and slam my fist into his leering face, but I didn’t. Instead, I said,

‘How much?’

The grin widened.

‘She was taking you for thirty thousand bucks, wasn’t she? Well, I’ll settle for twenty.’

I stared steadily at him. ‘And how much after that?’

‘I’ll settle for twenty thousand. For that you get the gun and the tape. That’s fair, isn’t it?’

‘Fair enough until you have spent the twenty thousand,’ I said, ‘then you’ll remember me and come around with a hard luck story: they always do.’

‘That’s your risk, pal, but you have a choice. You can always serve your sentence.’

I thought for a moment, then I shrugged my shoulders.

‘Okay, it’s a deal.’

‘Now that’s what I call being smart,’ Keary said. ‘I want the money in cash. When I get it you get the gun and the tape. How long will it take you to raise the money?’

‘The day after tomorrow. I’ll have to sell bonds. If you come to my office on Thursday morning, I’ll have the money for you.’

He shook his head and winked at me.

‘Not at your office, pal. I’ll call you on Thursday morning and I’ll tell you where we’ll meet.’

‘All right.’

I got to my feet and without looking at him, I went out of the office. I had just time to catch the six o’clock train back to Holland City. I sat staring out of the window, my mind busy. There had been no way out of Rima’s proposition because she had had nothing to lose. She had been so desperate for money that she would have gone to prison with me if I hadn’t paid her, but this blackmail proposition from Keary was very different. He had everything to lose. I would have to be careful, but I had confidence that I could out-smart him. One thing was certain: I wasn’t going to pay him a cent. I would rather take what was coming to me than be blackmailed for life by this fat, crooked cop.

On Thursday morning, I told Clara I was expecting a call from Detective Sergeant Keary.

‘I don’t want you to put him through to me,’ I said. ‘Tell him I’m out, and you don’t know when I’ll be back. Tell him to leave a message with you.’

A little after eleven o’clock, Clara came in to tell me Keary had telephoned.

‘He said he would meet you at one o’clock at the Tavener’s Arms.’

The Tavener’s Arms was a roadhouse a few miles outside Holland City. A few minutes to one o’clock, I drove out there. Carrying a bulky briefcase with me, I went into the bar.

Keary was sitting in a corner, a double Scotch and soda on the table. There were only two other people in the bar and they sat away from Keary.

As I crossed over to him, I saw his eyes on the briefcase.

‘Hello, pal,’ he said. ‘Sit down. What’s your poison?’

‘Nothing,’ I said as I sat down on the bench seat beside him. I put the briefcase between us.

‘I see you’ve got the money.’

‘I haven’t,’ I said.

The grin went off his face and his eyes suddenly became as hard as marble.

‘What do you mean – you haven’t?’ he snarled. ‘Do you want to go to jail, you punk?’

‘The bonds were only sold this morning,’ I said. ‘I didn’t have time to pick up the money. If you’ll come with me now, I’ll get it. You can see the money counted, and then you can have it.’

His face turned a dark purple.

‘What the hell is this? Are you trying to pull a fast one?’ he snarled, leaning forward to glare at me.

‘You try anything smart with me, and you’ll be behind bars so goddam fast you won’t even have time to tell your wife where you’ve gone.’

‘It’s a big job to count twenty thousand dollars, sergeant,’ I said mildly. ‘I thought you’d want a professional to do it for you, but if you want to do it yourself, then I’ll go to the bank now, get the money and bring it out here. I’m not trying to pull a fast one.’

He glared suspiciously at me. ‘I’m not so goddam stupid to go to the bank with you. Get the money in twenty dollar bills. I’ll count it. You get it now.’

‘And what do I get in return for the money?’ I said.

‘You get the gun and the tape. That’s the deal.’

‘You’ll give me the tape I made in your office when I confessed to being associated with the Pacific Studio guard’s shooting?’

‘What is this? That’s what you’ll get.’

‘How about a guarantee that you won’t blackmail me further?’ I thought he was going to hit me.

‘Don’t use that word to me, you punk!’ he snarled. ‘You’re damn lucky to get away with this! I could have asked for thirty thousand. To get out of a fifteen year stretch, twenty thousand is cheap!’

‘I’ll be back in an hour,’ I said.

I picked up my briefcase and walked out. I got in my car and drove back to Holland City.

I returned to the office. Clara was at lunch. Ted Weston was just leaving.

‘Are you coming with me, Mr. Halliday?’ he asked as I came into the office. We usually lunched together.

‘No. I’ve had mine,’ I said. ‘I have something to do, then I’m going out again. You get off.’

When he had gone, I opened the briefcase and took from it a couple of empty cigar boxes and some rolled up newspaper. I threw the cigar boxes and the newspaper into the trash basket and put the briefcase away.

I lit a cigarette and was a little surprised to see how steady my hands were. I sat down.

I thought of Keary at the Tavener’s Arms, waiting.

Well, all right, I thought, you gave me a bad half hour before you began to blackmail me, now it’s my turn. I was pretty sure that I now had him where I wanted him. This would be like bluffing on a poker hand. Both of us had everything to lose, but I had got used to the idea of losing everything: he hadn’t.

At half past one, I left the office and drove back to the Tavener’s Arms.

He was still sitting there. His fleshy face was shiny with sweat and his small eyes were viciously mean. It gave me a feeling of satisfaction that he had been sweating it out as he had made me sweat it out in his tiny office.

When he saw me come in, empty handed, a red flush of rage flooded his face.

There were about a dozen people now in the bar, but none of them sitting near his table.

He watched me cross the bar, his eyes glittering and his thin mouth working.

I pulled a chair and sat down.

‘Where’s the money?’ he said in a low, rasping voice.

‘I’ve changed my mind,’ I said. ‘You’re not getting a cent from me. Now go ahead and arrest me.’

His face turned purple. His great red hands turned into fists.

‘Okay, you bum! I’ll fix you for this!’ he snarled. ‘I’ll damn well see you go away for fifteen years!’

‘That’s the same sentence as you’ll get,’ I said, staring fixedly at him. ‘They treat blackmail the same way as they treat an accessory to murder.’

‘Yeah? Who are you kidding? It’s your word against mine, and I know who they’d believe!’ He looked as if he wanted to throw a punch at me. ‘You don’t bluff me, you jerk! You either pay up or you’ll go to jail!’

‘I wondered why, after thirty-five years’ service, you didn’t get higher than a detective sergeant,’ I said. ‘Now, I know. You are just a stupid oaf without any brains. You’re the last man in the world who should try to blackmail anyone. I’ll tell you why. I made my statement to you before you retired. The desk sergeant will confirm I arrived at your office at four fifteen. I left your office before you did. What was I doing, talking to you, unless I was making a statement? Why didn’t you arrest me? Why didn’t you hand my statement over to your successor before you left? What are you doing here in Holland City, talking to me?’ I waved my hand to the barman. ‘He’ll give evidence that we met here and talked. Sort that lot out, and then add this little item, and then sort it out again. You aren’t the only one now with a reel of tape. Remember the briefcase I had with me? Remember I put it between us while we talked?

Remember what we said? In that case was a portable recorder. I have an excellent tape of our conversation. When I left you I took the recorder and the tape to my bank and I’ve asked them to take care of it. When that tape is played back in court, sergeant, you’ll join me in prison. You’ll lose your pension and you’ll get a fifteen year sentence. Where you went wrong in trying to blackmail me was that you had everything to lose. Rima Marshall hadn’t a thing to lose so she got away with it, but a successful blackmailer can’t afford to be vulnerable, and you are.’

There was sweat on his face as he snarled, ‘You’re lying! There wasn’t a recorder in that briefcase!

You don’t bluff me!’

I stood up.

‘You could be right, but you can’t prove it,’ I said. ‘Go ahead and have me arrested and then see what happens. Throw your pension away and get yourself a fifteen year stretch. Why should I care? That’s up to you. If you think I’m bluffing, call my bluff. If I’m arrested, it’s my bet you’ll be arrested in a day or so after I’m in a cell. My bank has my authority to hand my tape to the Los Angeles District Attorney together with a statement made by me that covers your attempt to blackmail me if I am arrested. I’m calling your bluff, you cheap crook! Now go ahead and call mine!’

I walked out of the bar and across the courtyard to my car.

The sun was shining. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky.

Driving fast, I headed back to Holland City, back to Sarita and the bridge.

THE END