Джеймс Чейз - Goldfish Have No Hiding Place

‘You saw her... two hours ago?’

‘That’s right.’ I was thinking fast now. ‘I’ll explain. Ever since Gordy’s killing, I have been wondering why someone should have killed him, as you have been. I edit a successful magazine. Gordy’s killing is topical news so I decided I would investigate this blackmail angle you suggested to me. The only lead that looked promising was this woman: Freda Hawes. I wondered if she might tell me more than you, so I telephoned her. She was scared and planning to leave, but she wanted a getaway stake. She said she had information she would sell for fifteen hundred dollars. This sounded interesting. I got the money and met her at The Annex bar. We talked. She was half drunk and frightened. She said someone might kill her as Gordy was killed. She told me Gordy had a film showing a number of women, living at Eastlake, stealing and he had been blackmailing them. She wanted to know if she told me where the film was, would I give her money. I have had a lot of experience interviewing people and I was satisfied she meant business. I gave her the money and she told me the film was in a hidden compartment in Gordy’s desk drawer. There is a little knob under the desk that releases the partition in the desk. We met at nine-fifteen and she left me twenty minutes later with the money. I was going to call you tomorrow to tell you to check the desk. I’m pretty sure when you do, you will find the film.’

I saw Hammer was busy writing in his notebook. Goldstein, looking thoughtful, was stroking his hooked nose.

‘What did you do, Mr. Manson, after she left you at nine-forty?’

Watch it, I told myself. I had to keep Brenner out of this.

‘I went to the Half Moon bar,’ I said. ‘I arrived there just after ten.’

‘Why did you go there?’

‘Looking for information. Freda Hawes mentioned that she used the bar. I was looking for background material. I talked to the barman, but she was either lying or he wasn’t passing out information. I got nothing from him so I came back here.’

He studied me, then nodded.

‘You didn’t think to tell me this when I arrived, Mr. Manson.’

‘You didn’t give me much chance, did you?’

Again he studied me, then said, ‘You gave her fifteen hundred dollars for this information... in cash?’

‘Yes. She put the money in her handbag. She was also carrying a Pan-Am overnight bag.’

‘When she was found, she had no handbag... no overnight bag.’

‘If you could find the film, Lieutenant, it could solve your problems.’

‘That’s right.’ He rubbed his hooked nose and then got to his feet. He started to move to the door. Sergeant Hammer picked up the box of cartridges and started after him. Goldstein paused and stared at me. ‘Mr. Manson, it would help this investigation if you were frank with me. Was Gordy blackmailing you?’

‘Suppose you wait until you get that film, Lieutenant?’ I said. ‘If he was blackmailing me, I wasn’t the only one.’

‘You will be seeing me again, Mr. Manson,’ he said and they went away.

I waited until I heard the elevator descend, then I sat in a chair, feeling shaky.

Goldstein hadn’t been talking for the sake of hearing his own voice. He had said the gun that had killed Freda was the gun issued to me by Borg. He, like Brenner, had identified the cartridge case. Jean had told me she had dumped the gun in a sack of refuse. She and I had been satisfied the gun was lost, but it couldn’t have been. For some time now I had had the feeling that someone was breathing down my neck. Suppose that someone had followed me to Jean’s place, then followed her, seen where she had dumped the gun and as soon as she had gone, had collected it? This could be the only explanation. Someone on the second film who was desperate to get that film. So desperate, he/she had been watching Freda. Seeing her with the Pan-Am bag, he/she had decided she had the second film in the bag, shot her with the same ruthlessness as Gordy had been shot: using my gun.

I felt cold sweat on my face as I thought of this. It seemed more than likely that the killer was the one who had broken in and taken the reel of tape that would hook me to Gordy’s killing. It also pointed to him as the man who had hit me over the head and taken the first film.

My mind turned to Creeden. He fitted my picture of a ruthless killer. I looked at my watch. The time was five minutes to midnight. I knew the Creedens kept late hours. Crossing to the telephone, I called his number.

His wife, Mabel, answered.

‘Hello, Mabel, this is Steve Manson,’ I said. ‘Sorry to call so late. Is Mark there?’

‘Mark is down town somewhere,’ she told me. ‘He should be back any moment now. He had a business dinner. I can’t think what’s keeping him.’

‘I just wanted a word. I’ll call him tomorrow.’

‘Steve... I’m so sorry about Linda.’

I had to listen to ten minutes of her yakking, but finally cut her short.

‘Well, do come and see us, Steve.’ She gave her high pitched laugh. ‘After all, single men are always in demand.’

I said I would and hung up.

It didn’t mean much, but at least, Creeden had been in the city around the time Freda was shot.

I did some more thinking without getting anywhere, then seeing it was now fifteen after midnight, I remembered Brenner telling me he wouldn’t telephone after midnight if he had proof that I was being tailed. So this meant a couple of trained cops were planted outside my building.

I was sure, I told myself, that the second film held the key to all this, but if I was now going to be tailed how was I going to get it, hire a projector and see the film without two cops busting in?

Going to my bank wouldn’t be suspicious. I’d take my briefcase with me. I remembered I was going to talk to Ernie about investments. When I left.him, I would go down to the vault and get the film. It would be unlikely my tails would know about the vault.

Freddie Dunmore had a photographic studio. He did a lot of artwork for me. That too wouldn’t be suspicious. He would have a 16 mm projector. I could talk him into letting me have his projection room for ten minutes.

Thinking about this, I decided it was the only way, but remembering Gordy’s killing and now Freda’s killing, I would start the day with the gun I had forgotten to give Max.

It was now pushing 01.00. I went into the bedroom and turned down the bed. I took a quick shower, got into my pyjamas and climbed into the strange bed. I realised as I lay there, with the bedside lamp making shadows that after all I did miss my own home. This was something I had to get used to.

If only Jean was by my side, I thought, stretching out in the king-size bed, what a difference all this would make! I wondered about the man she had chosen and I felt a pang of jealousy. Who knows? I told myself, he might get bored with her or she with him and then, maybe I would still stand a chance. As I snapped off the light, I told myself that she was the one woman who meant anything to me. I lay in the darkness and thought of her. Then I remembered something my father told me when I was a kid. My father and I had got along fine together. He was a gentle, understanding man but he hadn’t been wonderfully successful. He had said, ‘Look, Steve, here’s something to think about. If you ever really want something, never let go. Hang on and keep hanging on and sooner or later if you hang on long enough you’ll get it.’ He had smiled and ruffled my hair. ‘The trouble with me is I’ve really never wanted anything bad enough.’

Well, I wanted Jean. Remembering my father’s words, I decided to hang on. With that thought in my mind, I slipped into sleep.

Dreams are strange things. I kept dreaming that I wasn’t alone. I dreamed a shadowy figure was looking down at me as I slept. This figure was moving around me: dark, with no outline: neither man nor woman: just a silent, sinister figure and I knew, in my dream, this shadowy figure meant me harm.