1974 - Goldfish Have No Hiding Place by James Hadley Chase Read Free Book Online Page B

attack on Schultz.
    “Once that article is printed, we will get no support from the police,” I concluded. “Right now, we need their support if we're to find out who was behind the attack. Also, Mr. Chandler, this could happen again. I can't produce your magazine from a hospital bed. I want a pistol permit and one for Berry. This could turn into a fighting war. Unless Schultz cooperates, we could be in bad trouble.”
    Chandler regarded mc from under his hooded lids.
    “Have you anything to replace the Schultz article?”
    “A mass of good stuff. I would run the facts on the new birth pill.”
    A pause, then he nodded.
    “I hate letting that sonofabitch off the hook, but what you say makes sense. Okay, drop it from this issue. Maybe next month, huh?”
    “Yes.”
    Again he regarded me.
    “So you think Hammond was behind this attack on Wally?”
    “It looks like it.”
    His secretary put her head around the door.
    “Your car is waiting, Mr. Chandler.”
    “Tell Borg to fix pistol permits for Steve and Berry. Tell him to get them automatics.” Chandler got to his feet.
    “We'll talk this over when I get back.” This to me.
    I helped him on with his dustcoat. His secretary picked up his briefcase.
    As we walked from his office, he asked, “How's Linda?”
    I wondered how he would react if I told him I had given her a black eye. Instead, I said, “She's fine, thank you.”
    We moved onto the long corridor.
    “I hear Webber had a break in last night,” I said casually. “He has lost some files.”
    The great man didn't break his step.
    “Yeah . . . some nut.” He glanced my way. “Something in it?”
    “I wouldn't know. I thought it odd Webber didn't call the police.”
    “The police? What use are they?” I could see his thoughts were far away. He was probably rehearsing what he was going to say to the President.
    He reached the block of elevators. A little man took the briefcase. He didn't exactly drop on his hands and knees and bang his head on the floor, but he conveyed that impression.
    “See you, Steve.” Chandler punched me lightly on my shoulder. “We'll talk,” and he strode into the elevator.
    His secretary and I watched him and the little man descend out of sight. Then she gave me a curt nod and walked back to her office.
    I went over to another elevator and thumbed the button.
     
    * * *
     
    As I entered my office, Jean was by my desk, sorting through the mail I had already read.
    “Hi, Jean! How's Shirley?”
    “She's making out. Wally is still in a coma, but they don't seem worried about him. Shirley is back home. And Linda?”
    “She's in good hands.” I went around my desk and sat down. I looked at her. Standing near me, upright, a bunch of letters in her hand, she looked very capable. She was wearing a grey and white dress that suited her. Her dark hair was glossy. For the first time I noticed she was wearing a white gold watch with a white gold bracelet. I suddenly realised I was noticing things about her that were new to me: like her watch, the cut of her dress, the silkiness of her hair, like her calm, intelligent eyes.
    A pause while we looked at each other, then she said, “Do you want to go through the mail now?”
    “I've been through it. There's nothing you can't handle.”
    I hesitated, then said, “Sit down. The day's started badly. Feel like listening?”
    She put the letters on my desk and sat down.
    “Badly?”
    I told her about Webber's telephone call, that Mayhew couldn't advance me more than five thousand. I told her about my brief talk with Lucilla Bower, that she had told me she had beaten Gordy down and had paid for the damaging strip of film. I went on to tell her I had persuaded Chandler to drop the Schultz article and to give Max and myself pistol permits.
    She listened, her face tense.
    “Well, that's it,” I concluded. “The door looks shut. I can't understand Webber. It could be his wife has been stealing and he is laying off Gordy. Chandler, of