Джеймс Чейз - Goldfish Have No Hiding Place

‘Can you spare me a minute, Mr. Manson?’

‘Not right now, Lieutenant. I’ve overslept and in a hurry to get to Mr. Chandler who is calling for me.’

He eyed me, his expression wooden.

‘We could talk as you drove.’

‘Okay.’

I opened the garage doors, backed the Merc out and he got in. As I drove down the avenue, I saw in my driving mirror the police car was following.

‘What’s on your mind, Lieutenant?’ I asked as I moved into the flow of traffic.

‘The Gordy killing. I have reason to believe that a number of people living on the Eastlake estate have been shoplifting. The store has installed scanners. The master scanner ran a 16 mm film. Gordy’s hobby appears to have been photography. There’s no film in the store: no film in his house. It points to blackmail.’

‘I can see that.’ I made my voice disinterested.

‘Yes. I’m talking to everyone who used the store. Did you?’

‘No.’

‘Your wife?’

‘Yes.’

A pause, then he asked, ‘Regularly?’

‘I think so.’

I had my eyes on the road. The traffic was heavy. I didn’t have to look at him.

‘I would like to talk to her. She might give me ideas.’

‘I doubt that.’

‘When can I see her?’

‘She’s in Dallas right now.’

‘Well, that’s not on the moon. I’d be glad if you will give me her address in Dallas.’

‘I see no point in bothering her. I’m sure she won’t be able to help you.’

‘This is a murder inquiry, Mr. Manson.’

I knew when I was licked.

‘I’m terrible about addresses. I have it written down. I’ll call you.’

‘If you will do that, Mr. Manson.’

We were now driving along the highway, heading for the city.

‘Mr. Manson, I like to be fed ideas,’ Goldstein said. ‘You are a trained journalist. What do you think? I can’t see a woman walking into Gordy’s house and shooting him, but I can see a husband of a woman who has been stealing and is being blackmailed doing just that. What do you think?’

‘Sounds reasonable.’

A long silence as we entered the city, then he said, ‘There was a complaint last night about a woman screaming in your house.’

‘I sorted that out with Patrol Officer Flynn,’ I said. ‘My radio is on the blink.’

Another long silence, then as I pulled into a parking bay outside Chandler’s block, Goldstein said, ‘I have to listen to gossip, Mr. Manson. Is it correct that you and your wife are parting?’

I faced him.

‘It is correct but I don’t see it is any business of yours.’

‘Sure.’ He nodded. ‘You will let me have her address?’

‘Yes.’

He studied me, his grey eyes like gimlets.

‘Perhaps the screaming woman last night wasn’t the radio, Mr. Manson?’

I had had enough of him.

‘Don’t bet on it, Lieutenant. As long as Mr. Chandler is my boss, don’t bet on anything regarding me.’

It was the best I could do, but it held him. I left him, rubbing his hooked nose and staring into space.

As I walked into Chandler’s office, I could see he was in a bad mood. There was that deep wrinkle between his heavy eyebrows that was the danger signal.

‘Sit down. What’s this I hear about you and Linda?’

I was in no mood to be browbeaten.

‘Linda and I have decided to divorce,’ I said, sitting down. ‘It happens every hour of every day.’

He glowered at me.

‘I warned you. In your position, you can’t afford to run this magazine and have scandal.’

My head began to ache again and I suddenly didn’t give a damn. I had a hundred and thirty thousand dollars in the bank. I could go back to Los Angeles and start again as a columnist.

‘You warned me, Mr. Chandler,’ I said. ‘So I’ll resign. How’s that?’

He leaned forward.

‘You serious, Steve?’

‘I’m serious,’ I said. ‘If I can’t get a divorce without you getting on a high horse, then I’ll quit.’

His glower went away.

‘That’s the last thing you’re going to do.’ He took a cigar from the box on his desk, cut and lit it, then he went on, ‘If you quit, Steve, the magazine would fold. You’re doing a fine job. Is there another woman?’

It was time to give it to him straight.

‘Yes. There’s another woman. Linda has got hooked with a middle-aged, ugly dyke. I haven’t any woman.’

He blew our his cheeks, studied his cigar, then grimaced.

‘You shock me, Steve.’

‘Can you imagine what it has done to me?’

‘Turn a stone and find a worm, huh?’

‘It is easy to criticise.’

He drew more smoke from the cigar, then shrugged.

‘Hammond says he is going to sue.’

‘That’s what we want, isn’t it?’

Chandler nodded.

‘But he won’t. The cards are stacked.’

‘Is that all, Mr. Chandler? I have work to do.’

He regarded me, then nodded.

‘You’re doing a fine job, Steve. I’m sorry about this thing. I want you to know I’m behind you.’

‘Thanks.’ I got to my feet. ‘Well...’

‘We must do something about Wally Mitford. When he’s fit, I want him in the sun.’

I was already halfway across his office. I stopped short.

‘Wally is already in Miami.’

He looked surprised.

‘Is that right?’ He shook his head. ‘That Borg! He’s always three jumps ahead of the gun. Good.’ He waved his cigar at me. ‘Keep going, Steve. Try to forget your troubles. I’ve already forgotten them.’

I left him on that note.

Back in my office, I coped with the mail, discussed with Jean the layout for Rafferty’s article, then settled down to the routine grind. I told Jean I would have a desk lunch and she got Judy to organise sandwiches for me. She said she had a lunch date, but would be back at 14.00. I wondered if she was lunching with her boyfriend. Again, as she left my office, I felt a little pang.

I had the office to myself so I put a call through to Dallas.

Mrs. Lucas — Linda’s mother — answered. As soon as I made myself known, she said, as Linda and I were going to get a divorce, was it wise for me to talk to her?

I said it was and after a delay, Linda came on the line.

‘Lieutenant Goldstein wants to question you,’ I said. ‘He’s a toughie. I suggest you and Lucilla take off for a trip around Mexico. Stay away and out of his reach for at least two months.’ Before she could start bleating, I hung up.

I was sure Lucilla, who was no one’s fool, would see the red light, and by the evening, they would be on their way. Linda’s mother was rich enough to finance the trip.

I was eating my second sandwich when Max Berry breezed in.

‘Look, Steve, I have an idea,’ he said, dropping into the chair by my desk. ‘How’s about me going after Senator Linsky? That old crook has been feathering his nest for years. I’ve got a lead on him that could shoot him up to the moon.’

‘Okay, Max. See what you can dig up.’

He rubbed his hand around his face, hesitated, then said, ‘You know how it is, Steve... talk. About Linda...?’

I froze, thinking: is it getting around she is a thief?

‘What about her?’

‘Well, you and she...’ He shifted uneasily. ‘Not my business, of course.’

‘That’s okay.’ I relaxed. ‘Yes, we’re parting. That reminds me. You had better have my new address.’ I scribbled the address and the telephone number on a scratch pad and handed it to him. ‘I’ll be moving in tomorrow.’

‘Fine.’ He looked at the address, then at me. ‘Did Borg fix this for you?’

‘Borg! No, Jean did.’

‘This is one of Borg’s apartments.’

I stared at him.

‘Does Borg own apartments?’