1975 - The Joker in the Pack Read online

  “How is it then, Mr. Gritten that he is associated with Lawson’s Inquiry Agency in New York who I understand is a highly reputable firm?”

  Gritten puffed at his pipe.

  “Jackson was one of their operators. Four years ago he came down here and set up on his own. Lawson’s backed him. A year ago, Jackson got himself involved with a nightclub singer. She is demanding and to hold on to her, Jackson has been spending. He is now short of money and from what you are telling me, he appears no longer fussy how he gets it.”

  Know your enemy!

  Helga felt a moment of triumph. The cards were falling her way.

  “Do you know anything about this woman, Mr. Gritten?”

  He removed his pipe and began to rub the bowl.

  “If you want to put Jackson where he belongs, Mrs. Rolfe, you should come with me to the police who will give you every assistance and in the strictest confidence.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Gritten, but I prefer to handle Jackson myself,” Helga said curtly. “I would appreciate any information you can give me. Who is this woman?”

  “Her name is Maria Lopez. She works at the Blue Bird club. She is married to Ed Lopez who owns and captains a mail boat that runs between here and the Out islands,” Gritten pulled at his pipe. “Lopez is an interesting character. For some time now, the police have been watching him. He leads a waterfront gang known as the Death’s Heads. This gang terrorizes those who work on the waterfront, exacting dues, fines and so on. Lopez is as dangerous as a mad dog, Mrs. Rolfe.”

  “Doesn’t he care for his wife?”

  Gritten smiled.

  “Yes, he cares very much. As I said, Lopez is an interesting character. When he trusts someone, he trusts them. He trusts his wife.”

  “And yet she and Jackson . . .”

  “She is greedy and Jackson spends money on her. They both know the danger they run and their affair is more than discreet, so discreet no one, except the police, know about it.”

  “So you could say Jackson is playing with dynamite?”

  Gritten’s smile broadened.

  “That, Mrs. Rolfe, is an understatement.”

  She got to her feet.

  “Thank you. You have been more than helpful. What do I owe you?”

  Gritten levered himself out of his chair.

  “Mrs. Rolfe, I have read about you. If you will pardon me, it seems that you are what my American friends call a tough cookie. Anything I have told you that can fix Jackson is for free. You have my best wishes, but please remember that Jackson is also a tough cookie. If you need help, I am entirely at your service.”

  “I won’t need help, Mr. Gritten, but thank you for the offer.” Then flashing on her most charming smile, she left the office and not bothering to wait for the elevator, she ran down the stairs.

  On her way back to the hotel, she glanced at her watch. The time was 16.20. She thought of the long hours ahead of her before confronting Jackson.

  If only she wasn’t so alone! If only she had someone to help her pass the hours until the morning. She must take no risks. She would stay in her suite, have a lonely dinner on the terrace and take two sleeping pills for company.

  She smiled bitterly. One of the richest women in the world and all alone!

  * * *

  At 09.00 the following morning, Hinkle appeared with the service trolley.

  “I trust you slept well, madame,” he said as he poured the coffee.

  “Yes, thank you.” The two sleeping pills had given Helga an excellent sleep. She was feeling relaxed and her mind was very alert. “I am sure you will be glad to get home, Hinkle.”

  “Yes, madame. I find hotel life disagreeable.”

  “Did Mr. Rolfe have a good night?”

  “Apparently. He is under sedation, madame.”

  She stirred her coffee.

  “You saw Jones?”

  Hinkle’s face darkened.

  “Yes, madame. He will be ready to travel after lunch.”

  Casually, she said, “He seems to be intelligent.”

  “It would appear so.” Hinkle’s voice conveyed his disapproval. “He has, of course, a lot to learn.”

  So Dick – she was now thinking of him as Dick – had made no difficulties. She felt a surge of excitement.

  “I have to go out this morning and I will lunch in the grillroom.”

  “Everything will be packed, madame. I will take care of the hotel check. We will leave at 13.30.”

  “You are a great comfort to me, Hinkle.” She smiled fondly at him.

  “It is good of you to say so, madame. I have already packed Mr. Rolfe’s clothes and papers.” Hinkle paused. “The red folder containing the letter to Mr. Winborn is missing.”

  Helga felt a chill run over her. She should have thought of this possibility. Her mind worked swiftly. It was vital to her to retain Hinkle’s trust. This was a sudden and dangerous situation. She had to keep him on her side.

  “You have been good enough to tell me that you approve of me,” she said quietly, forcing herself to look directly at him. “I can’t tell you how grateful I am that you confided in me. I consider your confidence to be the act of a true friend, and Hinkle, I do need a friend.”

  Hinkle’s fat face softened. He bowed slightly and his eye’s turned moist. She saw at once she was using the right approach.

  “You advised me to read this letter. I did. Hinkle, I apologize. When you said Mr. Rolfe’s mind was affected, I didn’t believe you. I couldn’t believe he has become a mental case. I saw him yesterday and I realized he has become a mental case. I now realize you are much wiser than I am. He looked at me with frightening hatred. I know people suffering from mental troubles turn on those they love the most. He and I have always been so close . . . so happy together. I have done everything I could do for him.” She put her hands to her face and caught her breath in a choked sob, willing the tears to come.

  “Please, madame, don’t distress yourself,” Hinkle said, his voice unsteady. “May I say . . .”

  She looked up. A tear rolled down her cheek.

  “No, please don’t, Hinkle. This is distressing for us both. You have been so kind to me. I read the letter. If Mr. Winborn reads it, my future is finished.” She lifted her hands in a gesture of despair. “I know, as you know, if Mr. Rolfe had been normal he would never have written such a cruel, unjust letter. I took it.” She closed her eyes and another tear rolled. “Dr. Levi tells me that Mr. Rolfe can’t live much longer. I will keep the letter safely. If he recovers I will put the letter back among his papers, but if he dies – and pray God he won’t and pray God this dreadful mental illness will pass – then I intend to destroy the letter.” She looked directly at him. “Tell me if I am doing wrong.”

  “Madame,” Hinkle said huskily, “I wouldn’t have suggested you read that letter unless I hoped you would remove it. This is a sad and shocking thing. I am afraid Mr. Rolfe is a very sick man and what you have done is right. It will give me great satisfaction, madame, to continue to serve you.”

  Helga turned away, frightened he would see the triumph that jumped into her eyes.

  “Thank you, Hinkle,” she said huskily.

  She waited until the door closed, then she drew in a long deep breath. The cards were still falling for her. Trusting, kind Hinkle! She felt a pang of shame for deceiving him which she immediately dismissed.

  Offense is better than defense!

  Now for Jackson!

  * * *

  An hour late, she found parking on Ocean Avenue and took the elevator to the fourth floor of Jackson’s office block. She tapped on the frosted glass panel of his door, turned the handle and walked into a small office.

  She was calm and the steel in her gave her fatalistic courage. Before long she would know if bluff and courage would defeat Jackson or if he was really the tough cookie that Gritten had said he was.

  Facing her was a battered desk at which sat a young colored girl with frizzy hair. She was wearing fa
ded blue Levis and a man’s crude colored shirt, the tails knotted at her waist. She was reading a movie magazine and seeing Helga, her black eyes opened wide. Helga had deliberately dressed severely in a slate grey costume, relieved only by a string of pearls. Her cold sophistication and her hard, searching stare seemed to mesmerize the girl.

  “Mr. Jackson,” Helga said, her voice snapping.

  “Yeah, ma’am.”

  The girl slid off her seat and opened a door on her right.

  “You gotta customer,” she said into the room.

  Helga brushed the girl aside and entered a shabby office only slightly larger than the outer office. She looked around, noting the two windows were grimy, the carpet threadbare, the steel filing cabinets badly scored.

  Jackson who had been reading a racing sheet, jumped to his feet, dropping the sheet on the floor.

  “Well, this is a surprise,” he said, forcing a grin.

  Helga looked him over. This wasn’t the immaculate blackmailer who had met her at the Pearl in the Oyster restaurant. This was Jackson in his working clothes; a shabby suit that needed pressing, a shirt with grubby cuffs and a food stain on the tie.

  She waited until the girl had closed the door, then moving to a well-worn leather chair by the desk, she sat down.

  “I am rather rushed, Mr. Jackson,” she said. “Mr. Rolfe and I are leaving Nassau on the two o’clock flight. He has asked me to settle your account.”

  Just for a moment, bewilderment showed in Jackson’s eyes, then he recovered himself and laughed.

  “That’s swell of him, Mrs. Rolfe. I’m happy to hear had had made such a quick recovery.”

  “How much does he owe you?”

  Jackson’s eyes narrowed.

  “We had agreed about that, Mrs. Rolfe.”

  “How much does he owe you?” Helga repeated.

  “You agreed to pay me ten thousand dollars.”

  “Mr. Rolfe will find that excessive.”

  His face suddenly bleak, Jackson said, “That doesn’t concern me, Mrs. Rolfe.” Then the confident jeering smile appeared. “That’s for you to arrange with him, isn’t it?”

  Helga shrugged. She opened her bag and took out the ten one-thousand dollar bills. She counted hem so he could see them, then put them in her lap.

  “If you will give me a receipt for ten thousand dollars for two day’s work to give to Mr. Rolfe, I will pay you.”

  His confident smile faded.

  “So you are still trying to act tricky. I warned you about that, didn’t I? That kite won’t fly. I’ll give you a receipt for one thousand dollars, the rest of the money is strictly between ourselves.” He paused, then leaning forward his eyes like stones, he asked, “Have you got one of your fancy recorders in your bag?”

  She nodded.

  “I have, but it is not recording.” She took the tiny recorder from her bag. “I brought it along so you could hear a recording I made yesterday. It is a conversation between myself and Dick Jones, your fink as you call him.”

  Jackson stiffened.

  “You may be a professional peeping Tom,” Helga went on, “but you are a very amateur blackmailer.”

  “You think so?” Jackson leaned forward, his face now an ugly snarling mask. “Listen to me, baby, I’ve got you over a barrel! Give me that money or I’ll take it!”

  “You could be stupid enough to do just that.” She placed the roll of bills on the desk. “So you are not only a blackmailer, you are also a thief.”

  Jackson reached for the money, then he paused and withdrew his hand. His eyes turned shifty as he stared at her.

  “What are you cooking up?”

  “A good question to use your own phrase,” Helga was beginning to enjoy herself. “The bank has the numbers of these bills. The police, so I am told, are only waiting for you to make a slip and away goes your license. I can prove this money belongs to me. Can you prove you didn’t steal it? But go ahead and take it.” She paused, then said in a soft, deadly voice, “Providing, of course, Mr. Jackson, you have the guts.”

  For a long moment, he stared at the money, then at her. Blood rushed to his face.

  “Right!” he said. “That’s it baby! You have had your chance! The letter goes to Winborn!”

  She laughed.

  “Have you lost your nerve, Mr. Jackson? I am surprised. You are just a cheap phones. How about the five hundred thousand you and your fink are going to share? Haven’t you got the guts to fight for that?”

  “Listen, you bitch . . .”

  “No, Mr. Jackson, you listen to this,” and she switched on the recorder’s playback.

  As Dick Jones’ voice came from the tiny speaker, Jackson stiffened. He remained like a stone man until the recording finished, then he snatched up the recorder and put it in his pocket.

  “Don’t panic, Mr. Jackson, I have a copy,” Helga said.

  He glared at her, his good looks marred by vicious fury.

  “Do you imagine anyone would believe a half-caste bastard’s word against mine?”

  “Don’t you? You look worried.”

  “Nice bluff, baby, but it won’t work. You nearly had me going.” He forced a grin. “Nearly, but not quite. No judge would rule on a tape recording. The first thing he would want to know is what was in the letter and how did you get hold of it from your husband’s papers. You’d look pretty stupid wouldn’t you, trying to explain. No baby, you don’t bluff me. Now let’s cut out the smart tricks. I want a clean ten thousand dollars and I want bearer bonds for five hundred thousand or else!”

  She studied him and realized he played a King to her Queen, but she wasn’t dismayed, she still held the trump card.

  “I did hope the tape would frighten you into giving me the letter, Mr. Jackson,” she said quietly. “I see I have misjudged you.”

  He stared suspiciously at her, then his face brightened and he laughed.

  “It was a good try baby. We all make mistakes. Now here’s what you . . .”

  “I know what I am going to do.” She leaned forward and stared fixedly at him. “Something I don’t want to do because, although you are a four letter man, Mr. Jackson, I don’t wish you dead as I don’t wish anyone dead.”

  His eyes narrowed.

  “Are you threatening me?”

  “Regretfully, Mr. Jackson, you force me to blackmail you as you are blackmailing me.”

  “What are you yakking about? Suppose you cut out this double talk? Here’s what you do . . .”

  “I telephone Ed Lopez and tell him you are screwing his wife,” Helga said, speaking each word slowly and distinctly. “I will tell him to contact Frank Gritten for proof. You have been watched, Mr. Jackson. That’s what I will do unless you give me that letter immediately!”

  Jackson reared back: blood left his face, his mouth turned slack and his eyes became glazed.

  “If you have anything to hide, Mr. Jackson, never try blackmail,” Helga said. “Give me that letter!”

  Five minutes later, the red folder in her hand, she swept out of the office, past the staring young colored girl and down the stairs to the street.

  chapter five

  Never had the sky poked so blue nor the sea so sparkling nor the crowds, swarming the beach, so happy and wonderful, Helga thought as she drove back to the hotel. She felt ten years younger, gayer and utterly reckless.

  The best general did not lose the battle! This was the second time that she had beaten a blackmailer to the punch and what a punch she had given that sleazy creep! As she pulled up to a traffic light, she laughed aloud. An elderly man in a car alongside hers turned to stare at her. She gave him a flashing smile. He grinned shyly and looked away.

  She could still see Jackson’s craven face as he had given her the red folder, the letter and a photocopy. He had been shaking and sweating. She had thrown a thousand dollar bill at him, demanding a receipt. His hand had trembled so violently, he could scarcely write.

  Snatching the receipt from him, she had said cont
emptuously, “Have fun with your whore, Mr. Jackson. I won’t talk, but sooner or later, someone will,” and she had left him.

  That would sour his sordid romance, she thought and laughed again. The cards were still falling for her! In a few hours she would be flying home. Herman, in the hospital, would be out of her way. She thought of Dick Jones, seeing his beauty and her heart began to race. She would have to handle him carefully, but he was young and full of sap. Seducing him would be an exciting experience and God! how she needed an exciting experience! For the first time that she could remember she was now desperately impatient to return home. Previously, the luxury villa with Herman hobbling around, had been like a coffin to her, but not now! With Dick there, opportunities there, Herman in the hospital, she wouldn’t even think of going to Switzerland. Winborn had offered to advance her money. As soon as she returned to Paradise City, she would telephone him, telling him to put money in her account and debit the Swiss account.

  She glanced at her watch. She had still two and a half hours before leaving Nassau. She decided she wouldn’t have lunch in the sedate grillroom. In the mood for excitement, she would go to one of the West Indian restaurants. She didn’t care that she was so severely dressed. She wanted fun and she was going to have fun!

  Driving along the sea road, she pulled into the parking lot of the Riviera Tavern. The place was crowded with scantily dressed boys and girls. Music, with a terrific beat blared from amplifiers.

  A colored man in white slid up to her.

  “A table, lady?” There was a knowing grin on his face, telling her he had recognized her. She didn’t care. She was in the mood to join the young, dancing.

  “Yes and a double vodka martini!”

  “Lady, you will happier in a bikini,” the man said. “We sell them her. There’s a changing room at the back.”

  She laughed.

  “Marvelous!”

  Ten minutes later she was sitting at a table in a scarlet and white bikini, the drink before her. She was happily aware that her trim body compared more than favorably with those of the girls with their puppy fat and wobbly bottoms prancing in the center of the room.