1974 - Goldfish Have No Hiding Place by James Hadley Chase Page B

including Linda.
    Creeden had enough pull and enough money to put Webber in his pocket. But why should he want Gordy's file destroyed? What could be in it to cause a man like Creeden trouble? Thinking about it, I decided I liked Webber better for being anxious to keep Gordy under cover. It could be his wife, Hilda, had been stealing.
    I lifted my hands and let them drop on my desk.
    “I'll see Gordy tonight. Maybe I'll get an angle.” I looked at my watch. The time was 19.15. “Have dinner with me, Jean.”
    “Thank you, but I have things to do at home.”
    I so badly wanted her company.
    “Oh, come on. Let's go to Luigi again.”
    She looked steadily at me, her dark eyes remote.
    “Don't you think you should see your wife?” There was a tiny emphasis oil the word “wife” that wasn't lost on me.
    “I'll be home. Call me after you have seen Gordy,” and she was gone.
    She was right, of course. I had no claim on her, married as I was to Linda.
    I waited until I heard her leave the office, then after a moment's hesitation, I put on the shoulder holster, again checked the gun, turned off the lights, locked up and went down to the Eat's bar across the street for a lonely, depressing dinner.
     
    ***
     
    It was 20.10 as I walked over to my car. I planned to drive home, see if there was any mail, get out the plan of the estate and locate Gordy's house, then go and see him.
    “Hi, Steve!”
    I turned.
    Harry Mitchell was leaning out of the window of his Jaguar. He was two or three years older than myself: a big, rangy man with a pleasantly ugly face. He was a top class golfer and popular at the Country club.
    I crossed over to his car.
    “Sorry about Linda's mother. Is she bad?”
    For a moment I didn't know what he was talking about, then I remembered I had told Ernie Mayhew the reason why I wanted money fast was because Linda's mother needed an emergency operation. Ernie must have told his wife and she had passed on the news.
    “Not so good.”
    “Pam has been trying to get Linda. We guessed she's upped and left you to look after her mother.”
    “That's it. She shouldn't be too long.”
    “Can't have you being lonely, Steve. Come and join us tonight.”
    “Thanks, Harry, but this gives me the chance to catch up with my backlog.”
    He grinned.
    “That's something I never get the chance of doing. If Pam's mother got ill and Pam had to go off, I guess I'd finally clear my desk.” He laughed. “The old trout hasn't been ill for fifty years. Why not look in anyway?”
    “I won't, Harry.”
    “Got over the flu?”
    “Sure: short and sharp.”
    “When you call Linda, give her our love. How's about tomorrow night?”
    “Let's see how it goes, huh?”
    “Sure. You're doing a fine job on that mag. Even I read it.” He waved and drove away.
    I drove home. Cissy had been in. She had cleared up the kitchen and flicked dust around. I found the afternoon mail on the table. Most of the mail was for Linda who loved writing letters.
    I decided it was an excuse to go over to Lucilla's place. I still had time before I saw Gordy. I dug out the plan of the estate. Gordy's house was tucked away at the end of East Avenue. I decided I would walk there. There was no point in anyone seeing my car outside his place.
    I found wearing the gun uncomfortable so I took it off and dropped the gun and the harness on the settee. Then I drove over to Lucilla's place. She opened the door.
    “Surprise . . . surprise: here's the wife beater,” she said with a cynical smile.
    “I want a word with Linda.”
    “She's in the living room. I'm cooking dinner: sorry I can't invite you: there's only enough for two. Go ahead, Steve,” and she went away.
    I walked into the living room. Linda, in a nightdress and wrap she had borrowed from Lucilla, reclined on the settee.
    Her eye was bandaged. She regarded me stonily with her other eye.
    “Here are some letters for you.” I dropped the letters by her side. “To try to raise the blackmail