Джеймс Чейз - Goldfish Have No Hiding Place

‘Not at all. I never went to the store. Oddly enough, he came to see me two days ago. This was the first time I had set eyes on him.’

Goldstein inclined his head, his thin lips pursing.

‘He came to your home?’

‘He came to my office. He was interested to know about our advertising rates and whether I could send one of my reporters to write up his store. I explained we didn’t take that kind of advertising nor would we be interested in writing up his store.’

‘He called on you?’

‘Yes.’

‘Couldn’t he have telephoned? It’s quite a trip from his store to your office.’

‘I do it every day and think nothing of it.’

‘Yes.’ A long pause, then he said, ‘I am investigating a murder. Since you are here and since you own — or owned, I should say — a .38 automatic, could you tell me what you were doing between 20.00 and 21.00 last night.’

I was aware my hands were damp now, but I still kept a deadpan expression.

‘I thought I made that clear. I was talking to my wife at Miss Bower’s home around 20.15. I returned to my home around 21.00 and I worked until 23.30, then I went to bed.’

‘Apart from seeing your wife, did you meet any of your neighbours?’

‘A little after 20.00 as I was leaving for home I ran into Harry Mitchell whom you know. We talked for a few minutes. After I left my wife, I met Frank Latimer whom you also know and had a word with him. That would be around 21.00.’

‘No one else?’

Here was the crunch. If Creeden had told Goldstein or would tell him we had met on East Avenue I would be in trouble.

‘No one else.’

Goldstein put down his pen.

‘Thank you, Mr. Manson.’ As I began to get up, he raised his hand. ‘May I take up a little more of your time? I have a lot of respect for your magazine and that means respect for your brains. This is an odd murder. Gordy wasn’t anything special. I am asking myself why someone should walk into his house and kill him. On the face of it, there appears to be no motive.’ He stared at me. ‘You see my problem? Why should anyone want to kill this man?’

‘I have no idea.’ I got to my feet.

‘You talked to Gordy. What kind of man would you say he was?’

I wasn’t to be drawn.

‘As you said: nothing special.’

He stared thoughtfully at me.

‘Could you enlarge on that?’

‘To me he had no personality. Maybe he was competent in his job. I was busy and his proposition didn’t interest me so he didn’t interest me.’

‘I understand.’ He paused, then went on, ‘His hobby seemed to be photography. He had a well-equipped dark room and a sophisticated enlarger. What surprises me is this, Mr. Manson: although he had this equipment there were no specimens of his work in the house. You follow me?’ He rubbed his hooked nose. ‘Here was a man with an obvious hobby and one would expect to find some photographs, wouldn’t you?’

‘Seems odd.’ I shrugged. ‘The explanation could be he had just started and he hadn’t taken any photographs?’

He shook his head.

‘No. The developing tank and the fixing dishes had been used. The killer could have taken all the photographs. If he did that, it would give me a motive: that Gordy was a blackmailer.’

‘Yes. Well, Lieutenant, I have to get to my office.’

‘Of course.’ Again he stared at me. ‘I may have to bother you again, Mr. Manson.’

‘Sure,’ I said and left him.

In my car, I sat for some moments while I thought about our conversation. It seemed certain that whoever had shot Gordy had taken the film and the blow-ups. It bothered me that Goldstein had so quickly arrived at a blackmail motive. My big lie was saying I hadn’t met Creeden on East Avenue, but Creeden was also involved and I felt sure he wouldn’t talk. Then I remembered something else. I had told Goldstein that Gordy had come to my office to talk about advertising. I remembered the tape of his blackmail threat was still on my recorder at home. If Goldstein suddenly descended on me with a search warrant — that tape would sink me. I had move and at once. I drove back home. Pulling up outside my house I walked swiftly up the drive, unlocked the front door, entered my living room and crossed over to where I kept the recorder. I was halfway across the room when I saw the reel of tape was gone. Then I saw something glittering in the sunshine on the floor by the French windows: a small puddle of broken glass. I examined the window. By the lock, someone had smashed a pane of glass.

I went back to the recorder. Whoever had taken the reel of tape had just lifted it and ripped the tape free. A small bit of tape still remained on the take-up reel. A hurried, panicky job, but whoever had taken the reel now had evidence that Gordy was trying to blackmail me.

The police? I was sure not. The police wouldn’t have broken in like this. Then... who?

I stood there, controlling a rising panic, knowing the tape could be as damaging as the gun and the film if ever they were found. Then I remembered the blow-up photograph of Linda putting the bottle of perfume in her bag which I had put in my desk drawer. I went to my desk and pulled open the drawer. The blow-up was no longer there.

The sound of the telephone bell startled me.

It was Jean.

‘Steve?’ Her voice sounded anxious. ‘What’s happening? Are you coming? Your desk is loaded and Max is here, waiting.’

Somehow I managed to keep my voice steady.

‘I’m on my way,’ and I hung up.

I took out my handkerchief and wiped off my face and hands. The thought of coping with the business of the office made me cringe, but it had to be done.

Then the front door bell rang.

Looking out of the window, I saw Creeden’s Rolls parked at the gate. I went to the front door and opened it.

‘I was hoping to catch you,’ Creeden said. ‘Just a moment, huh?’

I stood back and let him in.

He moved into the living room, paused and stared at the broken glass, then he looked at me.

‘You’ve had a breakin here?’

‘Let’s skip that,’ I said. ‘Your wife and my wife are thieves. The only way you and I can keep them in the clear and keep ourselves from a murder rap is to keep our mouths shut. I’ve already been investigated by Goldstein. It’ll be your turn before long. I said I didn’t see you on East Avenue: you say the same thing.’

‘You’ve already talked to the police?’

‘Yes. Now, you keep your mouth shut.’

‘Of course.’ He moved around the room. ‘God knows why women have to steal. It isn’t as if I keep Mabel short.’

‘Was Gordy blackmailing you?’

As he said nothing, I went on, ‘He wanted twenty thousand from me. How much from you?’

He lifted his heavy shoulders.

‘Eighty thousand.’

‘What was his approach?’

‘He stopped me in the street.’

‘He didn’t come to your home or office?’

‘No. I was getting into my car and he arrived and put on the bite.’

‘Were you going to pay him last night?’

‘Tonight. I had to sell stock.’

We looked at each other.

‘You realise, don’t you, you and I could be suspected for his murder?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, that’s the situation,’ I said. ‘You cover for me and I cover for you... right?’

He stared at me.

‘I’ve never owned a gun.’ He started for the door, paused and asked, ‘Have you?’

I met his stare and said nothing.

‘I think you could be in a hotter seat than I am,’ he said, then moving heavily, he left the house and walked down the drive to his Rolls.

Jean hadn’t exaggerated when she had said my desk was loaded. I also found Max Berry pacing around my office like a caged tiger. We spent the entire morning working on the Hammond article. I had no chance to speak to Jean while Max was with me.