The sound of the telephone bell brought me awake. I looked at the bedside clock. The time, to my consternation, was 09.35. My head still felt sore, but it no longer ached. I grabbed up the receiver.
‘Steve?’ It was Jean. ‘Are you all right?’
I tried to gather what wits I had left.
‘I’m okay... I’ve overslept.’
‘Mr. Chandler is asking for you.’
‘Tell him I’ll be right over.’
‘You have an appointment with Larry Hersche at ten.’
Hersche was our artist and not important.
‘Put him off.’ I got out of bed. ‘What’s the mail like?’
‘It’s heavy.’
‘Okay, Jean, I’ll be with you,’ and I hung up.
Then I remembered I had Freda still in my hair. She couldn’t stay here. It was Cissy’s afternoon to clean. I went into the main bedroom expecting to find Freda still asleep, but the bed was empty. I looked around, then went into the kitchen. A used coffee cup stood on the sink.
‘Freda?’
No answer. I went through the house, but she had gone.
I dunked my face in cold water, shaved, then hurried back to the spare bedroom. I made the bed. I could leave the main bedroom for Cissy to fix. It wouldn’t do for her to find both bedrooms had been used. As I threw on my clothes, I wondered where Freda had got to. Surely, she hadn’t walked down to the taxi rank which was a good half-mile from my house.
The solution came when I went into the garage. She had taken Linda’s Mini. I returned to the house, looked up her number and called her. There was a delay, then she answered.
‘This is me,’ I said. ‘No names. What’s going on?’
‘I’m packing and getting out.’ She sounded breathless.
‘You have my car.’
‘Oh, sure. It’s parked on 22nd Street. The key’s under the mat. Listen, buster, I need a getaway stake. Meet me at The Annex on 12th Street at nine tonight and bring me fifteen hundred bucks. We’ll talk business,’ and she hung up.
I put down the receiver, went to the front door as a police car pulled up. I paused, seeing Lieutenant Goldstein get out. I shut the door, locked it as he came up the drive.
‘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.’