James Chase - What's Better Than Money

The telephone was down the corridor. It was Clara on the line.

‘Oh, Mr. Halliday, I’m sorry to call you, but there is a Detective Sergeant Keary here. He says it is important he should talk to you.’

I felt my heart give a little bounce and then began to race.

‘He’ll have to wait,’ I said. ‘The operation will be over in half an hour. I can’t get back to the office before five. What’s he want?’

I knew what he wanted all right. So Rima had gone to the police!

‘If you’ll hold on, Mr. Halliday, I’ll ask him…’

Clara sounded slightly flustered.

There was a pause, then a man’s voice said, ‘This is Detective Sergeant Keary, Santa Barba City police. I would like to see you just as soon as I can.’

‘What is it?’ I said.

‘Police business,’ he said curtly. ‘I can’t talk on the telephone.’

‘Well, all right,’ I said, matching his tone. ‘You’ll have to wait. I’ll be back at five. I’ll see you then,’

and hung up.

I wiped my sweating hands on my handkerchief. Had he a warrant for my arrest? Had they already arrested Rima?

I saw Zimmerman coming down the corridor. He was smiling.

‘Dr. Goodyear will be with you in a moment,’ he said. ‘He’s just washing up. I have good news for you. We are practically certain the operation will be a success. Unless something goes very badly wrong, and we don’t anticipate this, in a few months your wife will be walking again.’

The next half hour was spent with Goodyear in a technical discussion that didn’t mean much to me, but I did gather that with careful nursing, patience and many months, Sarita would get back to normal.

While Goodyear talked, I kept thinking of Detective Sergeant Keary waiting for me. Goodyear said in couple of days I would be able to see Sarita, but not before. I thought in a couple of days I would be in the Los Angeles jail.

I left the sanatorium with Helen.

‘That talk we had yesterday about you and Ted taking care of Sarita if anything happens to me,’ I said as I drove her down town. ‘That still goes, doesn’t it?’

‘Why, of course, Jeff…’

‘I’m in a bit of a mess,’ I said, not looking at her. ‘I don’t want to go into details, but it could be I’ll be out of circulation for some time and I’m relying on you and Ted to stand by Sarita.’

‘Why not go into details, Jeff?’ she said quietly. ‘You know how Ted feels about you, and I feel that way too. If there is anything we can do…’

‘I just want to be sure Sarita is all right,’ I said. ‘You do that, and you’ll be doing everything.’

She put her hand on mine.

‘All right. You don’t have to worry about Sarita, and Jeff, I’m sorry… Ted and I like you a lot.’

I dropped her off at the City Hall. She wanted to tell Mathison the news about Sarita. She looked through the car window at me and smiled.

‘Don’t forget… anything we can do…’

‘I won’t forget.’

Ten minutes later I walked into my office.

Clara, busy thumping a typewriter, paused and looked at me.

‘It’s pretty good news,’ I said, taking off my raincoat. ‘They think she’ll walk again. It’s going to take time, but they seem pretty confident.

‘I’m so glad, Mr. Halliday.’

‘Where’s this police officer?’

‘He’s in your office. Mr. Weston had to go down to the site. He’s in there alone.’

I crossed the room, turned the handle of the door and entered.

A large, heavily built man sat at ease in one of the leather lounging chairs we had bought for important clients.

He had a typical cop face: red, fleshy and weather beaten with the usual small hard eyes and the rat-trap mouth. He had bulky shoulders and a bulky waistline, and his thinning hair was turning grey.

As he heaved himself to his feet, he said, ‘Mr. Halliday?’

‘That’s right,’ I said and closed the door. My hands were damp and my heart was thumping, but with a conscious effort I managed to keep my face expressionless.

‘I’m Detective Sergeant Keary, Santa Barba City police.’

I went around my desk and sat down.

‘I’m sorry to have kept you waiting, sergeant,’ I said. ‘Sit down. What can I do for you?’

He sat down. The small green eyes worked over me.

‘Just a routine investigation, Mr. Halliday. I’m hoping you can help us.’

This was so unexpected I was off balance for a moment. I was expecting to be arrested. I stared at him.

‘Why, sure. What is it?’

‘We are looking for a man known as Jinx Mandon. Does the name mean anything to you?’

A false alarm! A wave of relief ran over me. My tension relaxed.

‘Jinx Mandon? Why, no.’

The small eyes continued to probe.

‘Never heard of him?’

‘No.’

He took out a pack of chewing gum, stripped off the wrapping paper and put the gum in his mouth.

His movements were slow and deliberate. He rolled the wrapping paper into a small ball and dropped it into the ash tray on my desk. All the time he stared fixedly at me.

‘What’s your home address, Mr. Halliday?’

I told him, wondering why he asked.

‘What is all this about, anyway?’ I said.

‘Mandon is wanted for armed robbery.’ Keary’s heavy jaws revolved on the gum. ‘Yesterday we picked up an abandoned car outside the Santa Barba railroad station. Mandon’s fingerprints were on the steering wheel. The car had been stolen from Los Angeles. In the compartment we found a scrap of paper on which was written your name and address.’

My heart gave a little kick against my side. Could Jinx Mandon be Ed Vasari? To cover my start of surprise, I opened the cigarette box on my desk, took out a cigarette and lit it.

‘My name and address?’ I said, desperately trying to sound casual. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘It’s simple enough, isn’t it?’ There was a sudden grating note in Keary’s voice. ‘A car used by a wanted criminal has your name and address in the glove compartment. There’s not much to understand about that. How do you account for it?’

I was recovering quickly.

‘I don’t account for it,’ I said. ‘I have never heard of this man.’

‘Maybe you have seen him.’

He took from his pocket an envelope, and from the envelope a half plate glossy photograph which he flicked across the desk to me.

I was already braced as I looked at the photograph. It was Ed Vasari all right: there was no mistaking him.

‘No,’ I said. ‘I don’t know him.’

Keary reached across the desk, picked up the photograph, returned it to the envelope and the envelope back into his pocket. His heavy jaws revolved on the gum as he continued to stare at me.

‘Then why did he have your name and address in the car?’

‘I wouldn’t know. Maybe the owner of the car knows me. Who is he?’

‘He doesn’t know you. We have already asked him.’

‘Then I can’t help you, sergeant.’

He crossed one thick leg over the other, his jaws moving slowly and rhythmically on the gum.

‘You’re building a bridge, aren’t you?’ he asked, unexpectedly. ‘You had your picture in Life this week?’

‘Yes. What has that to do with it?’

‘Maybe Mandon got your name from the magazine. Was your address mentioned?’

‘No.’

He shifted his bulk in the chair, frowning.

‘Quite a mystery, isn’t it? I don’t like mysteries. They make a report untidy. You have no idea why Mandon should have had your name and address in his car?’

‘None at all.’

He chewed for a moment or so, then shrugging his heavy shoulders he climbed to his feet.

‘There must be some explanation, Mr. Halliday. You think about it. Maybe you’ll remember something. If you do, give me a call. We want this guy, and we’re going to get him. There may be a hook-up between you and him you have forgotten.’