Джеймс Чейз - Goldfish Have No Hiding Place

‘Sure. He’s smart. He’s put most of his money in bricks and cement.’

‘I didn’t know. Well, okay, Max, see what you can dig up about Linsky.’

He said he would and left me.

I sat for some moments staring down at my cluttered desk. Borg again? Once more I felt as if someone was breathing down the back of my neck.

The telephone bell snapped me out of my thinking and for the next hour I was kept busy.

Jean returned. I asked her if she had had a good lunch and she nodded: no information forthcoming. When she began typing, I remembered Freda Hawes. She had asked for fifteen hundred dollars. Maybe she would give me the film. I wrote a cheque, looked in on Jean, telling her I was going across to the bank. I collected fifteen one-hundred dollar bills. Ernie came out of his office and beamed at me.

‘What are you going to do with all that money, Steve?’ he asked as he shook hands. ‘How about investing it? Dow Jones is flat on its back right now. It’s a good time.’

‘Yeah. I’ll come and see you. You might get some ideas down on paper, Ernie.’

‘Sorry about Linda.’

‘Yes. Well, see you,’ and I returned to the office.

I was kept busy until 18.00, then things quieted down. I remembered to call police headquarters. I asked to speak to Lieutenant Goldstein. Whoever took the call said he was out. I told him who I was and that my wife could be reached at 1113, Westside, Dallas. I was told the Lieutenant would be informed. By the time Goldstein got busy, Linda and Lucilla would be lost in Mexico. At least that was one problem solved.

I decided I had had enough for the day. I could hear Jean’s typewriter clacking. I cleared my desk and went into her office. She paused, looking at me.

‘When are you moving in, Steve?’

‘Maybe tonight. I didn’t see the lease. Who owns the apartment?’

‘Western Properties.’

‘Who are they?’

‘Real estate people.’

‘Max tells me the apartment is owned by Joe Borg.’

‘That’s right. He is in real estate as a sideline.’ She sat back. ‘Mr. Chandler wouldn’t approve so it is confidential. I help Mr. Borg let some of his apartments. I knew this one was vacant. That was how I could fix you up so quickly.’

We looked at each other. Her calm eyes told me nothing.

‘Are you working late?’ I asked.

‘Another half an hour.’

‘Well, I’ll get off home. There are still things I have to clear up.’

‘Goodnight, Steve.’

‘Goodnight.’

I drove home, took a shower and changed into casuals. I walked around the house. I had no feeling for it now. It was no longer mine. In two days, Harry Mitchell’s parents would be installed.

I spent the next hour clearing up. Cissy had made a reasonable job of cleaning and she had cleared the refrigerator. I put my remaining clothes in a suitcase and dumped it into the back of the Merc.

I remembered that Freda had said she had parked the Mini on 22nd Street. I called a cab service. The cab took me to 22nd Street where I found the Mini. I drove it to an all-night car dealer and after haggling, he gave me less than a quarter of what it was worth.

The time now was 20.10. I spent half an hour in an Eat’s bar, chewing on a hamburger and sipping a double scotch on the rocks. Then I remembered — it seemed I was always remembering — I had a date with Sergeant Brenner at the Half Moon bar at 21.00. I looked up the number of the bar and called.

When a voice answered I said, ‘Jake?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Tell Brenner not until ten o’clock.’

‘Okay,’ and the line went dead.

I finished my drink, then as I still had time to kill, I decided I would walk to 12th Street. I arrived at The Annex ten minutes before 21.00.

The Annex was one of those glossy bars with lots of mirrors, high stools, banquettes in semi-darkness, soft music and a barman with choppers a horse would envy.

The place was nearly empty. There were four couples supporting the bar: young, well-dressed, bored looking. I glanced around. Freda hadn’t arrived.

The barman showed me his teeth. I said a scotch on the rocks. When I got it, I carried it to one of the banquettes and sat down. I had a view of the entrance.

At 21.15, just as I was getting worried, Freda came in. She was wearing a light dust coat over an orange and red cotton dress. She carried an air travel bag, slung over her shoulder. She saw me and moved a little unsteadily to the banquette and sat down, facing me. She looked a little drunk.

‘Mine’s a double gin, straight,’ she said.

The barman came over, took the order, came back with the drink and placed it before her.

We waited until he had gone away, then Freda said, ‘I’m on my way, buster.’ She blew out her cheeks and fanned my face with gin fumes. ‘What a day! I’ve been chasing my goddamn tail until now. When a girl with my connections pulls out, she has one hell of a pull out, but never mind that.’ She leaned forward, staring at me. ‘But in spite of the rush, I’ve had time to think. Blackmail is not for me. It didn’t do Jesse any good. Who wants a million if you land up in jail or you get a bullet the way he did? Give me the money and the film is yours. I’ve got it right here.’

‘You could be selling me any film, couldn’t you?’

She drank half the gin, nodded, then poked an unsteady finger in my direction.

‘Boy scout’s honour.’

‘Okay. It’s a deal.’

‘Let’s have the bread, buster.’

I looked around. No one was paying us any attention. I took the fifteen one-hundred dollar bills from my hip pocket and shoved the roll across the table. She snatched it up and stuffed it into her handbag. Then she zipped open her air travel bag and gave me a carton of 16 mm film.

‘That’s it,’ she said. ‘I’m on my way to get lost. Watch it, buster. That film is loaded with trouble and I’m damn glad to be shot of it.’

‘Where are you going?’

‘The moon won’t be far enough.’ She swallowed her drink, shuddered, then slid out of the banquette. ‘If that film can fix the sonofabitch who killed Jesse, it’ll make my day.’ With a brief nod, she was gone.

That was the last time I saw her.

It was a little after 22.00 when I arrived at the Half Moon bar. When Freda had left me, I took a taxi to my bank where they had an all-night safe deposit service. The film she had given me had already caused Gordy’s death. I wasn’t taking any chances with it. It wasn’t until I had locked it safely away that I was able to relax. Sometime tomorrow I would hire a 16 mm projector and take a look at the film.

I found Brenner nursing a beer in the upstairs room. He looked sourly at me as I shut the door.

‘I’m on early duty,’ he said. ‘I’ve got to get some sleep. What’s cooking?’

I sat at the table, facing him. I had to confide in someone and who better than a disinterested cop?

So I told him about Freda, about finding the film in Gordy’s desk drawer, how I was slugged, how the film had gone missing, how she had told me there was a second film and it was now in my bank.

He sipped his beer, smoked, stared down at the table and listened. By the time I had finished, tiny sweat beads made his face glisten.

‘Do you think Creeden’s got it?’

‘I hope so. If he has it, he’ll destroy it.’

He thought about this, then wiped his hand over his face. ‘As long as that film exists, we both are in trouble.’

‘I know that.’

We stared at each other.

‘What about this second film? When are you looking at it?’

‘I’ll hire a projector tomorrow.’

‘I want to see it.’

‘Who wouldn’t?’ I looked at the dirty white wall facing me. ‘I could bring the film and the projector here in my lunch hour.’