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?’
‘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.’