The Alert Detective Agency was owned by Henry Chandler and was run by Herman Webber. This man had been a police lieutenant, had resigned because his promotion wasn’t rapid enough and had set up a private inquiry agency. He had been popular with the police and in next to no rime, five top-class police officers had deserted the force and had joined him. Chandler had financed him and had now taken him and his five officers under his wing. Webber had done all the dirty research for The Voice of the People. I didn’t like him: he was tough, hard and tricky to deal with, but he came up with facts and his facts stuck.
His hard, clipped voice came on the line.
‘Webber.’
‘This is Steve, Herman,’ I said. ‘I have a little job that needs taking care of.’
‘Go ahead: you’re being taped.’
That was Webber: efficient and still the cop. He never took any assignment unless he had everything on tape.
‘Jesse Gordy,’ I said. ‘He runs the Welcome Self-service store. I want everything about him: repeat everything about him down to how often he cuts his toenails and fast.’
‘Can do. No problem. I have a file on him that only needs bringing up to date. You’ll have it by noon tomorrow.’
‘Make it ten o’clock.’
He whistled.
‘Like that?’
‘I want it on my desk by ten o’clock,’ and I hung up. I looked at my watch. The time now was 18.20. I looked in my address book, then called Ernie Mayhew’s private number. Martha, Mayhew’s wife, answered.
‘Is Ernie back yet? This is Steve,’ I said.
‘He’s just taking a pee,’ Martha said and laughed. ‘How are you both? It seems ages since we saw each other. When can we get together? How about next Friday? Do come along.’
‘Fine. I’ll talk to Linda. You know how it is, Martha, the man never counts. She could have something on.’
Martha squealed.
‘Well, I hope so, Steve.’
Then Ernie took over.
‘Hi, Steve!’
‘Look, Ernie, an emergency has come up. Linda’s mother has to have an operation. Sorry to talk business at this time but I want to pour oil. Am I okay for $15,000?’
There was a pause.
‘You don’t mean you’re asking...’ Suddenly aware that Martha was listening, he stopped.
‘That’s what I’m asking. You can have the house for security, Ernie.’
Again a long pause.
‘Suppose we discuss this tomorrow, Steve? I’ll make a date for nine-fifteen at my office.’
‘Can you give me some idea if you could or you couldn’t?’
‘We’ll talk about it. I would say the amount isn’t realistic. Anyway, let’s talk. Sorry about Linda’s mother.’
‘Yes.’
‘Let’s get together, huh?’
‘Sure. Okay. Ernie, tomorrow,’ and I hung up.
I heard Linda’s Austin Cooper as she drove into the garage. I flicked on my desk light, finished my drink and waited.
I heard the front door open and slam. She didn’t bother to call out to me, but ran upstairs. I heard her heels thumping over my head as she crossed to the bathroom. There was a pause, then the toilet flushed. I sat there, waiting. The telephone bell rang. Although the receiver was just by my hand I didn’t touch it.
I heard Linda, from our bedroom, take the call. I listened to her yakking.
‘Steve! It’s Frank.’ She had come out on the landing and was calling down. ‘He wants you.’
I picked up the receiver.
‘Hi, Frank!’
‘How’s about coming over in twenty minutes?’ Frank Latimer asked. Listening to his deep baritone voice I wondered if his wife was a thief as mine was. ‘Sally has just bought a box of King size prawns. Jack, Suzy, Merrill and Mabel are coming. How’s about it?’
Linda came into the study.
‘Not tonight, Frank... thanks all the same,’ I said. ‘I’ve got a chill or something. I’m planning an early night.’ I listened to his commiseration, then hung up.
‘Chill?’ Linda was glaring at me. ‘What are you talking about? We haven’t any food in the house! Call him back and tell him you have changed your mind!’
‘It won’t hurt us to starve,’ I said. ‘Sit down. I want to talk to you.’
‘If you don’t want to go, I do!’ She came over to my desk and reached for the telephone receiver as I took from my desk drawer the bottle of Chanel No. 5 and put it directly before her.
2
Often enough, and sadly enough, there comes a moment of truth when a husband or a wife looks at his/her partner and realises he/she is no longer in love. That the months and even years they have lived together have turned suddenly into grey ash, and love — which is a precious thing — no longer exists between them.
This was my moment of truth as I watched Linda’s hand hover over the telephone as she looked at the bottle of Chanel No. 5. I watched her hand slowly withdraw and I watched the wary, sly expression come into her beautiful grey eyes. I watched her mouth set in a thin tight line, and for the first time since I had met her, I realised she wasn’t as beautiful as I had thought she was.
When two people fall in love they have this thing that can never be replaced between them. It is a fragile thing: a wonderful thing, but it is fragile. Looking at Linda across my desk, this thing within me for her sparked out: the way an electric light bulb goes: one moment a bright light; the next moment darkness.
I waited, watching her. The tip of her tongue moved over her lips. She stiffened, then looked at me.
‘What are you doing with my perfume?’
‘Sit down, Linda. You’ve got us in a mess. Let’s see if, between us, we can get out of it.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ She had got over the shock and her voice was quite steady. There was now that bored look on her face she put on when she thought I was being tiresome. ‘Call Frank and tell him we’re coming.’
‘Does Jesse Gordy mean anything to you?’
She frowned.
‘No. What’s the matter with you tonight? Look, if you don’t want to go, I’m going. I...’
‘Gordy is the manager of the Welcome Self-service store. He came to me this afternoon and I took our conversation down on tape. Sit down. I want you to hear it.’
She hesitated, then sat down.
‘Why should I hear it?’ But now her voice lacked her usual hard confidence. She eyed the recorder and I saw her hands turn into fists.
I pressed the playback button and we both sat motionless while Gordy’s voice told its sordid tale. When he mentioned the photograph, I took it from my desk drawer and put it in front of her.
She took a quick look at it and her face became haggard. She suddenly looked five years older and when he said: your nice, beautiful wife, Mr. Manson, could even go to prison, she flinched as if flicked by a whip.
We listened to his voice to the end. I suggest $20,000 and you get the film. It is not a lot of money considering your success. Tomorrow night, Mr. Manson... Cash please.
I pressed the stop button and we looked at each other. There was a long, long pause, then she said, ‘What a goddamn fuss about a bottle of perfume. Well, I suppose you had better give him the money.’ She got to her feet. ‘It was stupid of me, but all the girls do it: why shouldn’t I? As he said, considering your success, it is not a lot of money.’
She started for the door. I don’t think I have ever been so angry. I jumped to my feet, came around the desk and caught hold of her wrist as she was reaching for the door handle. I slapped her across her face so violently that if I hadn’t been holding her wrist she would have fallen. As it was, she cannoned against the wall and went down on her knees. I jerked her upright and with a savage shove, sent her spinning into her chair. She landed breathless, her hand against her red, burning cheek and she looked hatred at me.