But how?
I had always told myself that if ever anyone tried to blackmail me, I would go immediately to the police: the only way of dealing with a situation like that. But my attack on Schultz would make this impossible for me to go to him. He would certainly stamp on Gordy, but he would have no mercy on Linda unless...
Could I withdraw the article? I still had over a week before the printing run. I had a lot of material I could substitute but Chandler had okayed the article. He had given me a bonus of $10,000, clearing my debts, for creating the article. Could I now persuade him that our facts might not stand up and we could get landed with a hell of a libel suit?
There was a tap on my door and Wally Mitford came in.
‘Have you time to look at this draft about the new High school building, Steve?’
I wanted to be alone to think and it was an effort to say, ‘Sure. Sit down.’
Wally took a chair and began spreading papers on my desk. I slid the photo of Linda into my desk drawer and turned off the tape recorder.
Wally was tubby and amiable looking, around forty years of age. He had a receding hairline, eyes almost hidden behind thick-lensed glasses and the jaw of a bulldog. He was the best research reporter I knew and I have met a lot of them.
We discussed the new High School which was being built by a contractor employed by the City Hall. Wally thought the estimate was far too high. He had inquired around and had discovered at least three other contractors who had put in a much lower bid.
‘It’s Hammond,’ he said. ‘He’s getting a big rake off. We could start trouble for him. What do you think?’
‘See what Webber can dig up about him.’
Webber was head of Chandler’s detective agency.
‘Okay.’ Wally made a note. ‘Are you all right, Steve? You look as if you’re sickening for the flu.’
‘Nothing more than a headache.’ I paused, then said, ‘That article about Schultz. Do you think we should run it?’
‘Run it?’ He gaped at me. ‘Are you fooling?’
‘I’ve been thinking about it. It could land us in a lot of trouble. I mean the cops will really turn sour and it could mean personal trouble for us all.’
‘We talked that out when we planned the article, didn’t we?’ Wally grinned. ‘You planned it and I wrote it: so you and I are the boys out on a limb. What have we to worry about? What can the cops do to us? I, like you, behave myself... so what?’ He regarded me. ‘Are you getting cold feet, Steve? Have you a secret past?’ His wide grin did nothing for me. ‘Besides the boss has given us the green light. If there is any trouble he takes care of it and that sonofabitch Schultz has it coming.’
‘Yes. Okay. You talk to Webber and see what you can dig up about Hammond.’
He gave me a thoughtful stare, gathered up his papers and started for the door.
‘Take it easy tonight, Steve. Go to bed early.’
When he had gone, I ran off the tape and put the cassette in my pocket. I put the photograph in my briefcase, then I went into Jean’s office.
‘I’m going home, Jean. I’ve got a chill or something. Wally will be here if anything turns up.’
She looked with concern at me.
‘Have you any Aspros at home?’
‘Sure. I’ll be fine tomorrow,’ and I went out into the corridor. Wally’s office door was open. I looked in.
‘I’m going home, Wally. If there’s trouble, call me.’
‘There won’t be. Have an early night.’
I hesitated, but I had to know.
‘Does Shirley shop at the Welcome stores?’
Shirley was Wally’s nice, practical wife.
‘That den of thieves?’ Wally shook his head. ‘I reckon they are more than fifteen percent ahead of any other store in the district. It’s just for the rich and the snobs. We could do an exposure on them, Steve. We could cut them down to size.’
‘It’s a thought. Well, see you tomorrow,’ and I took the elevator down to the street level. I got in my car, started the motor and stared bleakly through the windshield.
What was I to do? Twenty thousand dollars by tomorrow night or this film would go to Schultz. I could imagine the police arresting Linda. I could imagine the sensation and how the press would love it. Chandler would immediately give me the gate. I thought of all our neighbours: the yak, the head wagging and for the first time since I married Linda, I was thankful we had no children.
But there must be a way out.
I had cleared my overdraft. Would Ernie Mayhew advance the $20,000? That, after brief consideration, I knew was a pipe dream. He might advance me $5,000 if I thought up some reasonable excuse. But how to raise the rest of the money? I thought of Lu Meir who lent money and who I was planning to attack. Max Berry, my other researcher, had already drafted a blueprint. We were going to attack Meir on his 60 % interest loans and Max had details about Meir’s collectors: thugs who beat-up those unfortunates who couldn’t pay this exorbitant interest. Maybe if I killed the article, Meir would lend me the money at reasonable rates, but then I remembered Chandler had already seen Max’s first draft and had approved it.
I shifted the gear stick to drive and headed for home.
Once out of the city and through the smog belt, the evening sun was hot and the air clear. I didn’t expect to find Linda at home and I wasn’t disappointed. The garage doors were open and the Austin Cooper not there. I drove my car into the garage, looked at my watch — the time was just after 18.00 — then unlocked the door from the garage into the house and went to my study. I wound the tape onto my recorder, put the photograph in my desk drawer, then went into Linda’s dressing-room. It took me only a few minutes to find the bottle of Chanel No. 5. I then opened her make-up cabinet and surveyed the bottles and lotions that lined the shelves. Any of these, of course, could have been stolen. There was a large, ornate bottle of Joy perfume. The New Yorker had told me in an ad that this was the most expensive perfume you could give a woman. I closed the cabinet door and went into the kitchen to get ice for a drink I badly needed.
The kitchen was in a mess: our breakfast things stood in the sink, the remains of a Quick-lunch curry chicken cluttered the kitchen table with a used plate, knife and fork. Bread crumbs were scattered on the floor. I remembered that Cissy would arrive tomorrow. I went back to my study, fixed a drink and sat behind my desk. I sat there, trying to think up a solution. I admit to panic. I saw everything I had worked for, my whole future blown sky high because my stupid, beautiful wife had to be greedy. Why couldn’t she have asked me to buy her perfume? How could she have been so utterly irresponsible as to turn thief, knowing if she were caught, what it would mean to both of us?
I forced my mind away from her and thought of Jesse Gordy. I thought back on what he had said, then not sure, I switched on the tape and listened to his voice.
The film I now have, Mr. Manson is so convincing, I hesitate to hand it to Captain Schultz. I felt I should first consult you and a number of other husbands whose wives shop in my store.
So, obviously, Linda wasn’t the only thieving wife. Others of my neighbours were being blackmailed. My mind darted as I thought of the people we knew who lived around us. The Mitchells? The Latimers? The Thiessens? The Gilroys? The Creedens? The list could go on and on: all wealthy men with spoilt wives: much more wealthy than I was, but I doubted if their wives who I knew well were more spoilt than Linda. Could these husbands have received a visit from Gordy? Suppose there had been four other thieving wives? A demand of $20,000 a wife. $80,000 for a visit, a threat and a snippet of film!
I felt a sudden surge of anger and picking up the telephone receiver I called Herman Webber.