1974 - Goldfish Have No Hiding Place Page 4

  We both reached the Northern hospital at the same time.

  Jean had a little more distance to cover and she must have come fast. We looked at each other as she got out of the Porsche.

  “Is he bad?”

  “I don't know: let's find out.”

  I was lucky that Dr. Henry Stanstead was the doctor handling emergencies that night. Stanstead and I played golf together and we were friends.

  “What's the verdict, Henry?” I asked as he came into the waiting room.

  “Bad. The bastards really set about him. He has a broken jaw, four ribs fractured and concussion: at least three kicks in the head.”

  “Shirley?”

  He jerked his head to a door.

  “In there. Look, Steve, I've got a busy night. Can you take her off our hands?”

  “That's what we're here for.” I turned. “Jean . . . will you?”

  She nodded and went into the other room.

  “He'll survive?”

  “Yes, but he'll be bad for some days. He could lose an eye.”

  “The police?”

  “I've told them there's no point hoping for a statement yet. Poor Wally won't be talking for at least four or five days.”

  Jean brought Shirley out and I went to her. She was crying and shaking.

  “Shirley dear, I'm so sorry . . .”

  She mopped her swollen eyes and glared at me.

  “You and your filthy magazine! I warned Wally . . . he wouldn't listen to me!” She clung to Jean who looked at me, shaking her head.

  I stood back and the two women went away.

  “Okay, Steve, inquire as often as you like. He won't die.”

  Stanstead patted my shoulder and hurried away.

  Four or five days! I thought of Gordy. My one hope now was Webber. If he couldn't come up with something, I was sunk.

  Slowly, I walked down the long corridor to the reception room.

  “Manson . . .”

  I paused, turned as a big, heavily built man, wearing a slouch hat and a shabby raincoat came over to me. I recognised him as Sergeant Lu Brenner of the city police.

  Brenner was pushing thirty-eight. He had a hard face, a flat nose, small restless blue eyes and he always looked in need of a shave: a powerfully built man who I had heard had a reputation for cruelty. I had heard, but had no proof, that his method of interrogation was to hit first in vital spots and then ask questions. Webber had once told me that the only man in the world who meant anything to Brenner was Captain of Police, Schultz. Interested, I had asked why.

  “You may not believe this, but this sonofabitch has a sweet wife. It so happened Mrs. Brenner was coming home when a junkie attacked her. He was high. Schultz - he was lieutenant then - saw the attack. He was too far down the street to be helpful. The junkie had a knife. So Schultz shot him. It was said it was the finest piece of marksmanship ever - an exaggeration, of course, but the slug passed under Mrs. Brenner's arm and spread the junkie's brains. She got a scratch from the knife. Brenner has never forgotten. He's been Schultz's man now for years and he stays that way.”

  I looked at Brenner.

  “You want me?” I said, pausing.

  “Yeah.” He glowered at me. “This guy Mitford. We're interested. What's he been working on?”

  “What's that to you?”

  “Witnesses say Mitford got out of his car and two punks set on him. They beat him up and went off with a bulging briefcase. What we want to know is if this is a mugging or if someone is trying to stop him shooting his mouth off.”

  My mind worked swiftly. Wally had been working on the High school contract. He would certainly have the papers that could fix Hammond, but also he could have had his researching about the Welcome store which could involve a number of Eastlake's wealthy wives. This was something I wasn't going to tell Brenner.

  “He was working on the High School contracts,” I said. “The estimates are some fifty thousand dollars over the schedule.”

  He stared thoughtfully at me.

  “That's City Hall business. Was there anything else?”

  “Not as far as I know.”

  “I'd better talk to his wife. Has she gone back home?”

  “I think so. Don't be too sure that because this is City Hall business, someone wouldn't want it hushed up.”

  He pushed his hat to the back of his head.

  “Yeah. Well, if you snoopers stick your snouts out, you must expect to run into trouble.”

  “Can I quote you, Sergeant? Mr. Chandler could be interested to hear your views.”

  “Think so?” His eyes shifted. “Be careful you don't stick your snout out too far,” and he walked away.

  I wondered uneasily how he would react when he read the next issue of the magazine. Shirley would know of the planned attack on Schultz. If Brenner got to her, in her present hysterical mood, she could talk. I hesitated, then went to a telephone booth in the reception hall and called her number. There was no answer. I decided Jean could have taken her to her place and I dialled. Jean answered at once.

  “Have you got Shirley there?” I asked.

  “I've just got her to bed. I've given her two pills. She should sleep until tomorrow.”

  “The police want to talk to her, Jean. Keep her under the wraps. What was that about the filthy magazine?”

  “She thinks Wally was attacked because of Hammond.”

  “Does she know about the Welcome?”

  “I don't think so. She kept babbling about Hammond.”

  “Don't come in tomorrow until you have quieted her down. I don't want her talking to the police about the Welcome, Jean.”

  “I'll handle it. Suppose you call me around eight tomorrow morning?”

  “I'll do that and thanks again.”

  I hung up and went down to my car. There didn't seem anything else I could do this night. Tomorrow, I would see Ernie Mayhew and try to raise some money. I'd go to the office and read Webber's report on Gordy. Everything now depended on him. If he failed me I would have to raise the money somehow.

  I got back home around 22.15. No lights showed. Had Linda gone to bed? I hoped so. I was in no mood to cope with her right now. Unlocking the door, I went into the living room, turned on the lights and looked around.

  There was a sheet of notepaper lying on the table. I picked it up.

  The letter said:

  Dear Steve,

  I am taking Linda to my place. Her eye should be all right in a couple of days, but in the meantime, to stop gossip, I will keep her with me.

  Never hit a woman in the face. If you must hit her, slap her bottom. It has the same effect but the bruises don't show.

  Lucilla

  I crumpled the letter and tossed it into the trash basket.

  Then I made myself a drink and sat down.

  It would seem I had a long, lonely night with panic edging my mind, ahead of me.

  ***

  At 08.00 I telephoned Jean.

  “How is Shirley?”

  “She's fine. She's right here and wants to speak to you.”

  A pause, then Shirley came on the line.

  “Steve! I'm sorry I blew my tiny mind last night: please forgive me.”

  I drew in a long deep breath.

  “There's nothing to forgive.”

  “I'll say there is! If Wally ever heard! He would kick me humpbacked! I just went crazy after seeing the darling. God! They've hurt him!” Her voice broke. A pause, then she said, “The magazine is marvellous, Steve! Wally knew the risks and so did I, but when it came, I couldn't believe these animals could be so awful.”

  “I'm telling Chandler. He'll do something for Wally. He's going to be all right. It'll take a little time. I talked with Stanstead. You're not to worry.” I didn't tell her Stanstead thought Wally might lose the sight of an eye.

  “Shirley . . . the police want to talk to you. Be careful what you say to them. No mention of Schultz. That bomb has to go off but not yet. Tell them Wally was working on t
he High school contract and nothing else . . . understand?”

  “Yes, of course. Jean's been a darling. We're going over to the hospital right now.”

  “I'll be in touch.”

  “You do understand, Steve?”

  “You're my girl. Would you give me Jean?”

  Jean came on the line.

  “I'm calling Chandler, then I'm going to the bank,” I said. “I'll stick around the office until you come.”

  “Okay, Steve.”

  I called Chandler's home and just caught him as he was leaving for his office. I told him what had happened and that I suspected it was because of the High school contract that Wally had been beaten up.

  Chandler rose to the occasion as I knew he would.

  “Where is he?”

  “The Northern.”

  “All right, Steve, I'll take care of it. I'll get a report on his condition. Tell his wife I'll take care of everything and I mean everything. His salary is to be doubled from yesterday. If these punks think they can intimidate me they have another think coming! Go after Hammond with no holds barred . . . understand?”

  Yes, I understood, but Chandler wasn't in the firing line.

  My turn could come. I, too, could be in the Northern with broken ribs and concussion.

  “Okay, Mr. Chandler. If you could have a personal word with Shirley?”

  “Personal word? I'm going to the hospital right away and I'll see her.” A pause, then he said, “This mag of ours is certainly stirring them up, isn't it?”

  “I guess it is.” I thought of Schultz.

  “Keep it up, Steve,” and he hung up.

  I made myself coffee, then drove over to Lucilla's bungalow. She answered my ring: a tall, gaunt woman with a mannish haircut, green, cold eyes and pinched nostrils.

  She had on shirt and slacks and she looked what she was: a bull dyke.

  “Hello, Steve, come in. Our poor invalid is still sleeping.”

  I followed her into the big lounge, carelessly furnished with no pieces that matched, but comfortable and cluttered with books. She made a living writing articles for art magazines and reviewing books for the California Times.

  Chandler seemed to think a lot of her.

  “How is she?”

  “A black eye.”

  “She told you why?”

  Lucilla nodded.

  “Some women do stupid things.”

  “Twenty thousand dollars makes stupidity expensive.”

  “It depends. It could be cheap. Both of you would have to leave here and you would lose your thirty thousand a year job.”

  “You could also have to leave here. Chandler wouldn't go along with a thief.”

  She gave a soft chuckling laugh.

  “I have my tiny bit of film. It cost me two thousand. I beat the creep down. He wanted five, but we settled for two.”

  “How do you know he hasn't kept some frames back?”

  “Why should he? It's easy money.” She laughed again. “I rather admire him. So many of us on the estate do it. Why shouldn't he horn in?”

  “Two thousand is a little different from twenty thousand.”

  “Gordy's bright. He judges his customers. After all, Linda looks rich. I don't.” She regarded me, her green eyes mocking. “You are rich, aren't you, darling?”

  I moved to the door, asked, “Are any of the other husbands paying?”

  She shrugged.

  “How would I know? I do know no other husband has hit his wife.”

  “Maybe that is a pity,” I said and left her.

  At least I now had a little information. This woman had said she had bargained with Gordy: could I do that? This would have to be fixed with Gordy before the Schultz article appeared. Once Gordy knew about that, he could up his price.

  I drove to the bank.

  “Sit down, Steve,” Mayhew said. “You're busy. I'm busy, so let's get down to it. I've looked into the situation. The best I can do is to fix a five thousand overdraft. Would that be any good to you?”

  “Can't you make it ten, Ernie? This is an emergency.”

  “Sorry. I'm bending over backwards, advancing you five. I don't run this bank. I have three directors breathing down my neck.”

  “Could I raise money on the house?”

  “You have an up-to-the-hilt mortgage already . . . not a hope.”

  I forced a grin.

  “Well, thanks, Ernie, I'll accept the five.”

  “I wish I could do more. Is Linda's mother bad?”

  “I guess so.”

  Looking at him, as he gave me a sympathetic smile, I wondered if his wife, Martha shopped at the Welcome store and if she was also a thief.

  I reached my office, said hi to Judy who worked the switchboard. She told me Jean hadn't come in yet. I said I knew about it and went into my office.

  My last hope now was Webber. If he failed me, I would have to go to Lu Meir and borrow at sixty percent.

  I went through my mail, then Webber called.

  “One hell of a thing has happened,” he said in his hard, cop voice. “My office was broken into last night and ten of my files were stolen. The Gordy file was among them.”

  My fingers gripped the receiver until my knuckles turned white.

  “Can you remember what was in his file?”

  “Look, we have fifteen thousand confidential files here. Jack Walsh put Gordy's file together eight months ago. He left us last month. I only read files when I have to.”

  Was there something in the tone of his voice that hinted that he was lying?

  “Where's Walsh?”

  “I wouldn't know. He was a drip and I got rid of him. Anyway, what's the interest in Gordy? Is he something important to you?”

  “What do the police say about the breakin?”

  He gave a rumbling laugh.

  “I haven't reported it. They love me like cancer. What's the use, anyway? It was a professional job and the missing files aren't important.”

  “Then why were they stolen?”

  A long pause, then he said, “I've told Mr. Chandler. He says let it go and leave the cops out of it.”

  “That doesn't answer my question. You've lost ten files. At least one of them must be important.”

  “Some nut. Look, I'm up to my eyeballs with work. Suppose you take it up with Mr. Chandler if you feel that curious,” and he hung up.

  I replaced my receiver, thought for, some minutes, then I dialled Webber's number again.

  The girl said, “The Alert Detective Agency.”

  “This is Truman and Lacey, solicitors. I understand Mr. Jack Walsh worked for you. He is a beneficiary of a will. Could you give me his address?”

  She didn't hesitate.

  “I'm afraid you are mistaken. No one of that name has ever worked here.”

  I replaced the receiver. I knew now for certain that Webber had been lying to me.

  3

  With a knock on the door, Max Berry, my other researcher, came in. Max was a big husky, around thirty years of age with a rather flattened face, having been a keen boxer at his university. He wasn't quite in the same class as Wally as a researcher, but he was good and as tenacious as a terrier after a rat. He dressed carelessly, wearing baggy, hairy suits and a red tie that always managed to work its way towards his left ear.

  “This is a hell of a thing about Wally,” he said as he shut the door.

  “It certainly is. Sit down.” I was still coping with the shock that Webber was no longer on my side. Quite why, I hadn't time to think. My immediate reaction was his wife, Hilda, had also been robbing the Welcome store. That could be the only explanation: anyway as first thoughts.

  “I've just come from the hospital,” Max went on, dropping into a chair. “Sweet grief! They certainly worked him over! How I wish it had been me! Poor Wally isn't equipped for that kind of trouble. I'd have given those punks something to remember me by.” He ran his fingers through his mop of black hair. “Any ideas, Steve? Do you think Hammo
nd is behind this?”

  “Could be.” And Hammond could be, but I was so close to the Welcome store, I couldn't get it out of my mind. “I don't know. It could be mugging.”

  “I don't think so. Wally had a briefcase stuffed with trouble. He's a cagey sonofagun. He came to me last night and we went over the Hammond estimates, but I got the idea, only half his mind was working on it. I have the feeling he was onto something else that's now landed him in hospital. Did he confide in you?”

  I moved my pen from right to left. Wally and I had always been close. I could trust him with any personal confidence, but I wasn't sure about Max. He was like a bull that rushed in, tossed its horns and if anyone got caught it was just too bad so long as he got a sensational story. I could imagine his reaction if I told him what had been going on at the Welcome store. He would probably charge down there and try to bludgeon Gordy to talk.

  “You know Wally,” I said cautiously. “He kept everything close to his chest. I think Hammond fixed him.”

  “That's my thinking. We have nearly all the facts. Wally was after a photocopy of the contract Hammond signed. We talked about it last night. I offered to get it, but he said he would get it. He has better contacts than I have.” He leaned forward, staring at me, his dark eyes somber. “I'll get it now.”

  “You know this article about Schultz,” I said. “It was Wally's special thing. It's all tied up and in proof. I've been thinking about it. Look, Max, what happened to Wally could happen to you and me. My thinking tells me that we should drop the Schultz article until we have handled Hammond. We could need police protection, and if we publish this article about Schultz that's the last thing we're going to get.”

  He rubbed his flat nose with his thumb.

  “Police protection? How can they protect us?”

  “They can give us gun permits. Chandler could swing that.”

  He grinned.

  “I don't need a gun.” And he looked down at his big hands now into fists.

  “Three toughs could take care of you, Max. You're not Superman.”

  He shrugged.

  “Okay. I'll leave it to you. I'm going after Hammond.”

  He got to his feet. “I'll be in after lunch,” and he left.

  I looked across the smog and saw the lights were blazing in Chandler's penthouse office. I hesitated for only a moment. This could be the means of relieving the pressure.