“Oh, God! Now what’s biting you?”
“It’s not in his contract to take news pictures,” Burdick said. “You’ll pay him for that picture and you’ll respect his copyright. If it’s as good as you say it is, it will be reproduced all over the world. The Sun doesn’t own the copyright, just remember that.”
“What do you think I am... a thief?”
“You could be unless you’re closely watched, Henry,” Burdick said and hung up.
He was scrambling into his clothes when he heard the front door open. Hastily zipping up his trousers, he came out of his bedroom.
Cade and a tall, blonde girl had entered the living-room.
“Hello, Val,” Burdick said and then looked at the girl. What a beaut! he thought Wherever did she drop from?
“This is Vicki Marshall,” Cade said, setting down his camera bag. “Her brother put a slug in Friedlander’s arm. She is going to stay the night here, out of the way of the reporters.” He turned to the girl and went on, “No one will think of looking for you here, Miss Marshall. Just take it easy and try to stop worrying. I have an idea I can fix it for your brother. I’m going down to the Sun now. I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”
The girl walked slowly around the table, shedding her black, light-weight coat. She seemed in a state of shock. Her large violet-blue eyes were empty of expression, her full red lips were trembling.
“Sit down,” Cade said gently. “It’s going to work out. You take it easy until I get back.” To Burdick, he went on, “You coming, Ed?”
“Sure. Henry is yelling for me.”
“Then let’s go.”
Vicki Marshall was now sitting in one of the lounging chairs, her head down, her fine gold hair falling forward and hiding her face.
Cade signalled to Burdick and the two men left the apartment. On the way down in the elevator, Cade said, “It’s knocked her sideways. She and the boy are pretty close.”
“Some girl!” Burdick said. “What a looker! Any idea what she does?”
“From what I saw in her place, she is a fashion artist. Very good stuff. I thought it best to get her out of the way. She wanted to go to him, of course, but I persuaded her to wait.”
Ten minutes later, they walked into Mathison’s office. Joel Bernstein was already there. The well-known criminal lawyer was short, fat and aggressive. He was studying one of Cade’s photos of Friedlander. He stood up as Mathison made the introductions. The three men shook hands.
“I wouldn’t want a picture like this printed if I were Friedlander,” Bernstein said, dropping the print on the desk.
Burdick examined it, then whistled. Here was a fat, ageing face of evil and corruption, every wrinkle cruelly etched, the heavy bags under the eyes in deep shadows, the slack ruthless, mean mouth twisted in a snarl.
“We’re not using it,” Cade said quietly. “We can do a deal with Friedlander. We’ll use the others.”
“We won’t!” Mathison exploded. “That’s the one! What are you talking about? These others are nothing!”
Burdick flicked through the other prints.
“They flatter the old fairy,” he said. “That’s the one, Val.”
Cade looked at Mathison.
“These photographs are my property, Henry. You can have the others for free. They show Friedlander’s bandaged arm and that’s news. They are also exclusives. This one will not be used unless I say so.”
“You can’t stop me using it!” Mathison said furiously.
“He can, you know,” Burdick said, “and he can slug the Sun for infringement of copyright.”
Cade turned to Bernstein.
“We could get this thing settled quickly. Would you see Friedlander and show him this print? If he will drop the charges against Marshall and say it was an accident, we don’t print, but if he wants it rough, he can have it rough.”
Bernstein thought for a moment, then nodded.
“Nice idea.” He put the print in his brief-case. “I’ll get over there right away.”
“Now, wait a minute...” Mathison shouted, banging-his fist on the desk. “You...”
But Bernstein walked out of the office without even looking at Mathison.
There was a pause, then Mathison said, “Do you realise, Val, you could have sold that picture to every paper in the world? You could have cleaned up big with it. What’s the matter with you?”
“Nothing. There are times when money isn’t everything. I would like to get the boy off... that’s all there is to it.”
Watching him, Burdick wondered if it was the sister and not the boy who was influencing Cade. He hoped it was.
An hour later, Bernstein telephoned.
“It worked,” he said to Mathison who answered the call. “I’m on my way down to Police Headquarters. Friedlander is dropping the charge. It’s lucky it was his gun and not Marshall’s. His story is Marshall found the gun in a drawer, didn’t realise it was loaded, picked it up and it went off.”
Mathison breathed heavily.
“But everyone will know it’s a lie.”
“Of course, but they won’t be able to prove it’s a lie.”
Mathison looked at the remaining prints of Friedlander and Jerry Marshall. At least he had the exclusives, even if the story was dead.
“Okay,” he said. “Thanks for calling.”
“I’ll have the boy out in an hour. He’ll have to appear in court tomorrow, but that will be a formality. I’ll take care of it all,” Bernstein said and suddenly laughed. “This fellow Cade is something pretty special. It never occurred to me to blackmail Friedlander. He certainly knows his psychology.”
“Yes, doesn’t he?” Mathison said sourly and hung up.
Cade and Burdick were waiting outside police headquarters when Jerry Marshall came out, surrounded by excited press men. An angry cop cleared the way for him to Cade’s car. Getting in, with flashlights popping, Marshall flopped on the back seat as Cade drove away.
“Mr. Bernstein told me what you did for me, Mr. Cade,” Marshall said. “I owe you a lot. Anyway, thanks.”
“You owe more to your sister, Jerry. She’s a pretty nice girl. Try to remember that in the future, will you?”
Burdick smiled to himself. There was a note in Cade’s voice he hadn’t heard before. Burdick had heard about Juana. He had a feeling that Vicki Marshall could be the antidote that he was hoping sooner or later Cade would find.
Cade pulled up outside their apartment.
“Go on up,” he said to Marshall. “We’ll take a drive around. Take her home and keep out of mischief. We want to be in bed in a couple of hours so be out of our place by then.”
Marshall got out of the car. He bent to look at Cade.
“Vicki will want to thank you. Please come up with me.”
Cade shook his head.
“What do I want with thanks? Don’t keep her waiting. So long, Jerry,” and he pulled away from the kerb.
“Nice work,” Burdick said, lighting a cigarette, “and nice girl.”
“Yes,” Cade said.
They drove in silence along the traffic-packed streets, and from time to time Burdick glanced at Cade. The relaxed expression on Cade’s face, the far-away look in his eyes pleased Burdick. This was the first sign that the inner pain and tension that Burdick knew was always with Cade was beginning to lessen.
The following morning, the two men left New York for Hollywood. This was an assignment that had been set up two weeks previously. They were to do an article on the forgotten movie stars, an opportunity for Cade’s camera work that Mathison was sure would be unique.
They returned to New York ten days later. Cade had been following the Friedlander case in the newspapers. The affair had been quickly disposed of as Bernstein had promised. Marshall had been discharged, and Friedlander had gone to Rome to recuperate.