Джеймс Чейз - Goldfish Have No Hiding Place

‘Who is this woman: Freda Hawes?’

‘Gordy’s mistress. She’s a drunken toughie. When I arrived she was slobbering over Gordy, getting herself smeared with his blood, crying and screaming. It was while she was going through her act, I spotted the shell case. God knows if she had seen it. I took a chance.’

‘Do you know anything about her?’

‘I’ve seen her around. She’s a drinker and a hustler. She hangs around bars, cadging drinks. I don’t know anything else about her.’

‘Maybe it would be an idea to investigate her. I can’t do it, but you could.’ I went on to tell him about Herman Webber and about his story that Gordy’s file had been stolen and why I knew he had been lying.

‘Webber?’ Brenner sneered. ‘If your boss hadn’t set him up as a private eye and financed him, he would be selling matches on the streets. He was going to be booted off the force for corruption, but your boss saved him. That creep would cut his mother’s throat for a dollar.’

‘So he’s crooked, but what interests me is why he said the Gordy file had been stolen. What’s in the file he doesn’t want me to see?’

Brenner nodded.

‘Yeah... you have something there. Do you think he has destroyed the file?’

I shrugged.

‘I don’t know. Look, Brenner, I’m not the only suspect around here.’ I went on to tell him about finding Frank Latimer outside my house and how I had run into Creeden coming away from Gordy’s place. ‘Either of them could have walked into my house, taken the gun and killed Gordy. They had the same motive. Their wives had also been stealing.’

‘I’ll listen around. What I want to be sure of is the film has been destroyed.’

‘Can you get me some information about Freda Hawes?’

‘Sure, but you can bet Goldstein will be onto her by now.’ He leaned forward and poked a thick finger at me. ‘I’m working on the inside and you will be working on the outside, together we could find the film before Goldstein does. But listen, Manson, this is between you and me and no one else. You talk to anyone and I’ll repeat that... you talk to anyone including your staff, we could be in trouble. So say nothing. We will work together, but no one else... understand?’

I thought of Jean. I had been going to tell her about Brenner. I loved her and I wanted to have her thoughts and advice, but now looking at Brenner’s drawn, anxious face, I realised there was no point telling her. She had someone else. I wasn’t in her life. I must not involve her.

‘I understand.’

He got to his feet.

‘We mustn’t be seen together, Manson. If you get something or I get something, we use the telephone. If we have to meet, I’ll come here late, but it is safer not to meet.’

He went away, leaving me feeling a little less lonely, but not much.

When Cissy arrived the following morning, I told her I had forgotten my keys and had to break in and could she get her husband to repair the window. She rolled her eyes and beamed and said it would be fixed by the time I returned.

I then told her that Mrs. Manson had gone to see her mother and would Cissy pack a couple of suitcases with clothes and have them sent to Dallas. I gave her three dollars for her trouble.

Having settled my home worries, I got in the car and drove to the office. I felt a little embarrassed facing Jean but I need not have been. She was her usual quiet, efficient self and we immediately got caught up in the machinery of the magazine. It wasn’t until close on midday when she came in with printers’ proofs that she said, ‘I’m sorry about tonight, Steve. Is there anything you want to tell me? We have a few moments.’

‘I’ve been thinking about it, Jean.’ I looked at her. ‘You have done enough. I could be in a jam but I’m not involving you further. The fact you got rid of the gun is more than enough.’ I forced a smile. ‘It’ll work out.’

‘I’m not scared of getting involved. If I can help, I want to help.’

‘It’s okay and thanks for the offer.’ I paused, then went on, ‘Whoever it is, Jean, I hope you will be happy.’

She flushed a little, then putting the proofs on my desk, she said, ‘Thank you. I’ll go to lunch. I won’t be long,’ and she left me.

I sat for some moments feeling sorry for myself. I wondered who the man was, then the telephone brought me back to work. Later, I remembered I hadn’t warned Shirley to tell Wally to keep his mouth shut about the Welcome store.

I called her home.

When she came on the line, I said, ‘Great news about Wally! You must be relieved.’

‘Oh, boy! You can say that again.’ Shirley sounded very elated. ‘I’m seeing him tomorrow afternoon. I might see him sooner. It depends on what Dr. Stanstead says.’

‘Shirley... I hate to bother you with this, but the police will talk to Wally. It is essential he says nothing about the Welcome store. Would you tell him that?’

‘The Welcome store? I don’t understand.’

‘Wally has been researching the store. He’s not to tell the police.’

‘But he hasn’t!’ A pause, then she said, ‘Well, at least, he didn’t tell me about it.’

‘I think he has. We are not ready yet to give out publicity to anyone about the store. It’s important.’

‘I’ll tell him, of course. Isn’t there a murder inquiry going on about the store? I’ve been so het-up, I have scarcely looked at a newspaper.’

‘That’s right. That’s why it’s important for Wally to say nothing until I’ve talked to him. This is really important, Shirley. Mr. Chandler wants it that way.’

‘All right, Steve. I’ll tell him... say nothing about the Welcome store... right?’

‘That’s it... nothing to nobody. Did Chandler tell you he is sending you and Wally to Palm Beach once Wally is on his feet?’

‘He told me. He’s a wonderful boss, Steve.’

‘Yes. I hope to see Wally sometime tomorrow after noon,’ and I hung up.

On an impulse, I picked up the telephone book and looked up Freda Hawes. She was in the book: 1189, East Street: not a good district: on the fringe of the city’s little Harlem.

I was wondering about her when Max Berry came in and from then on until I had lunch I was occupied.

I went to my club for lunch and as I sat down at a table, Harry Mitchell joined me.

We both had the rather dreary businessman’s lunch: mostly lettuce and tomatoes with a thin slice of ham.

We talked of this and that, then Mitchell said, ‘Steve, you know, in Eastlake, we live in a goldfish bowl. Punch me on the jaw if I’m stepping out of turn, but rumour says you and Linda are parting. Now... wait. If I’ve said anything out of turn, say so and let’s forget it, but this happens to be important to me.’

I stared at him.

‘I’m not with you.’

‘Could you confirm that you and Linda are parting?’ He forked up a bit of tomato, then put it back on his plate.

‘I can confirm that.’

‘I’m sorry, but I can see how it is. Linda needs living with.’ He grinned at me. ‘Look, Steve, do you plan to stay on in that big house? If you don’t, I have a buyer for you.’

I sat back, my lunch forgotten. The idea of being saddled with the house, with Cissy bleeding me white was a sudden nightmare I hadn’t thought of.

‘I could be in the market,’ I said cautiously.

He leaned forward and patted my wrist.

‘Man! Have I good news for you! Mom and Dad have been dying to live at Eastlake. We all get along fine together. There has been no, house vacant I could fix for them. You paid seventy-five thousand dollars... right?’

‘Yes.’

‘My old man is loaded. Suppose he offers eight-five? Would you be interested?’

‘I’ll have to think about that, Harry. Property has jumped way ahead. Give me a week, huh?’