‘But Miss Thorsen has already identified him!’ Ackland spluttered.
I turned to Rich.
‘Is this man Terry Zeigler?’
Rich stared hard at the long-haired man, then he shook his head.
‘He dresses the way Terry dressed, but he is not Terry. I don’t know who the hell he is, but he is not Terry Zeigler.’
‘Sure of that, Mr Rich?’
‘Of course, I am sure. Terry worked for me for months. I paid his wages into his hand every week. I don’t know what you’re trying but you have been wasting my time, Wallace,’ and Rich walked out.
Without giving Ackland time to recover from this shock, I went to the door and signalled to Bill.
‘This is Miss Manchini,’ I said. ‘She lived with Terry Thorsen, known to her as Terry Zeigler, for quite a time.’ I turned to Liza who had swept forward, her face alight with anticipation of seeing Terry again. Then she stopped short, staring at the man with the long hair who was glaring at her. ‘Miss Manchini,’ I said, ‘is this man Terry Zeigler?’
Her frustration and disappointment were too genuine to doubt.
‘That slob! Terry! Do you imagine I wouldn’t know Terry when I see him again?’
‘You are saying this man is not Terry Zeigler?’ I said.
‘Yes! Do you think I would go to bed with a slob like this?’ Her voice became shrill. ‘God! I thought I was going to see Terry again,’ and she began to cry.
Bill, who was standing by her, took a firm grip on her arm and led her out.
There was a long pause. I looked at the man who was claiming to be Terry. Sweat was running down his face, and his eyes burned with fury. I looked at Angela Thorsen. She was motionless, hidden behind her sun goggles. I looked at Ackland who sat in a heap as if his spine was broken.
As I expected, Angela was the first to recover and take the initiative. She walked up to Ackland’s desk and stood over him.
‘Mr Ackland,’ she said, her voice harsh, ‘I know this man is my brother. Are you going to tell me you are going to take the word of a cheap nightclub owner and a whore against mine?’
Nice work, I thought, seeing Ackland’s reaction.
‘Of course not, Miss Thorsen, but there must be some mistake,’ he mumbled.
‘There is no mistake!’ Angela snapped. ‘These two people don’t want Terry to have the money left to him! They are deliberately lying! Please arrange for my brother to be paid!’
I came to Ackland’s rescue. He looked as if he was going to have a stroke.
‘Miss Thorsen!’ I barked in my cop voice. ‘Mr Ackland has no authority to pay out this money! I am representing Mr Lewis who is the executor of Miss Angus’s will. I am not satisfied. You say this man is your brother. Two people, who have known your brother for some time, say this man is an impostor. Mr Ackland will not be given the authority to payout one hundred thousand dollars until I am satisfied this man is really your brother.’
She turned. I longed to hook off her big sun goggles that completely masked her face, but I could see by her thin, trembling body how furious she was.
‘I demand my brother gets the money!’ she said, her voice low and full of hate.
‘There is really no problem,’ I said ‘Across the road is the Eden Club. Suppose we all go over there, and I will arrange with the owner, who is a friend of mine, for this guy to sit at the piano and play. If he plays as well as Fats Waller, then he gets the money. Fair enough?’
The man trying to pass himself off as Terry Zeigler suddenly went berserk.
‘I told that fucking slob it wouldn’t work!’ he yelled. ‘I told you, you stupid bitch, it wouldn’t work!’ and shoving by me, he rushed out of the office.
‘Well, Mr Ackland, that seems to be that,’ I said, feeling sorry for him as he sat deflated, his fat face as white as a sheet. ‘When Terry Thorsen does turn up, I’ll alert you.’ I looked at Angela who was standing like a statue. ‘A good try, Miss Thorsen, but not good enough.’
She turned slowly.
‘I will make you sorry for this,’ she said, her voice a low hiss. ‘God! You will be sorry!’
The vicious menace in her voice was unmistakable.
‘Try to grow up, Miss Thorsen,’ I said quietly. ‘Money isn’t everything.’ and I left the office, feeling sorry for Ackland who now had this vicious girl to cope with.
I expected to find Bill waiting for me, but he wasn’t there. I walked to where I had parked my car. That wasn’t there either. I flagged down a cab and returned to the office.
I had quite a report to write up for the Thorsen file.
Five
I was expecting to find Bill at his desk, but he wasn’t there, so I put a phone call through to Solly Lewis, Miss Angus’s executor.
He answered on the first ring and sounded like a man hopefully needing a rich client.
‘Solly Lewis, attorney,’ he announced in a firm, determined voice.
‘Who else?’ I said. ‘This is Wallace. Acme.’
‘Oh.’ A disappointed pause, then ‘Yes, Mr Wallace?’ His voice had gone down two major tones.
‘You busy?’
‘Not right now. What is it?’
‘Relax, Mr Lewis, and listen.’ I then gave him a blow-by-blow account of the afternoon’s performance at the bank. He listened in complete silence, then I concluded, ‘Looks, Mr Lewis, that Miss Angus’s money is attracting flies.’
‘I don’t understand,’ he said. ‘Miss Thorsen identified this man as her brother.’
‘Don’t let us waste time. I’ve given you the facts. Have you ever seen Terry Thorsen?’
‘No, I haven’t.’
‘I told Ackland you would not release the money unless you had complete assurance that the claimant was Terry Thorsen. Right?’
‘The money was left to Terry Zeigler, Mr Wallace.’
‘From my information,’ I said patiently ‘Thorsen and Zeigler are one and the same.’
‘I don’t know. All I do know is the money has been left to a man called Terry Zeigler.’ A pause, then he went on, ‘What information have you that Thorsen and Zeigler are the same?’
Patiently, I explained that when Terry left home he got a job playing the piano at the Dead End club, and changed his name to Zeigler.
‘Very well, Mr Wallace,’ Lewis said. ‘Then I can assume that Thorsen and Zeigler are one and the same.’
‘That’s what you can do. Now tell me: if Zeigler is dead or is never found, who gets the money?’
‘Miss Angus left the money to him. No one will get it unless it can be proved without doubt that Zeigler was Thorsen, then Thorsen’s next of kin gets it.’
‘Would that be his mother or his sister?’
‘His mother.’
‘OK, Mr Lewis. We’ll keep in contact. Maybe it would be an idea for you to call Ackland and tell him the money stays in the bank until you are satisfied about the claimant. OK?’
‘I’ll do that right now.’
‘Fine. I’ll be talking to you again, Mr Lewis,’ and I hung up.
The time now was 16.15. I wondered where Bill had got to. I wanted to discuss with him this new development. I pulled my typewriter towards me and began to thump out my report.
I had just finished when Bill walked in.
Whipping the last page from my typewriter, I said, ‘Where’ve you been? I thought you had dropped dead.’
‘I could do with a drink,’ he said as he slumped into his desk chair. ‘Where’ve I been? I’ve been working my ass off.’
I produced the office bottle, noting the time was 18.40. I made two drinks, found ice and shoved a glass over to Bill.
‘So?’
‘When this guy, pretending to be Terry, came charging out of Ackland’s office, I could see he was crazy mad. I followed him into the street. He had one of these big souped-up Honda motor cycles, and he took off. He was heading for the waterfront, and it was my guess he was going to the Black Cassette, but I was wrong. He drove past the joint, went further, then turned up Oyster Alley. There are three blocks of walk-ups there, used by the waterfront fishermen. I didn’t drive in. I heard the Honda engine die. By the time I had parked the car and walked up the alley there was no sign of this guy, but his Honda was parked outside a sleazy looking building. I took the number of the Honda, then drove to the car registration office. No problem there. The guy’s name is Lu Gerando, living at apartment 10, 3 Oyster Alley.’