1984 - Hit Them Where it Hurts (16 page)

‘So you’re doing nothing?’

‘That’s about it, Dirk. We’re doing nothing.’

‘Change those waterfront guards. You could upset this blackmail thing.’

‘I’ll talk to the chief.’

‘See you, Tom,’ I said, and left him.

I had time to return home. Bill wasn’t there.

I guessed he was watching Angela Thorsen, which might be boring but shouldn’t be too strenuous, so I didn’t feel too conscience stricken in doing something I hadn’t done in years, it seemed—put my feet up, shut my eyes, and thought of nothing, except maybe a lot of black sheep jumping over a very high fence.

Much refreshed, I took a quick shower, changed, and then drove to the Three Crab Restaurant. I arrived three minutes to 18.00.

I was welcomed by Wally, the maître d who flashed his teeth at me.

‘Miss Willis is waiting for you, Mr. Wallace,’ he said. ‘You know your way up?’

At this hour the restaurant was alive with waiters, laying tables and generally preparing for the dinner time rush.

I nodded, climbed the stairs, knocked on the door and found Sandra sitting at the table, cigarette between her slim fingers.

‘Hi, Dirk!’ she exclaimed. ‘This has to be a quickie. He’s only out until seven.’

I sat down opposite her.

Again I was more aware of her sexual vibes.

She looked stunning in a sky-blue dress, and her green eyes were hard and calculating.

‘I’ve seen Minsky, and I think I know where he holes up,’ I told her.

This produced a big reaction from her. She leaned forward, her green eyes flashing.

‘You’ve
seen
him? How?’

Briefly, I told her what the janitor had told me, how I had seen Dolly leave with a short, broad-shouldered man, wearing a sporting cap, how I had followed them to an Italian restaurant, and then when Dolly had left, the man I was sure was Minsky had come out with another man.

I told her this man was Sol Harmas. The two had driven along to Seaview Avenue where I had lost them.

‘Yes!’ she exclaimed. ‘That’s where he is! The ranch house! J.W. had the place built at my father’s suggestion. It’s security proof. There’s no way of getting at Minsky so long as he’s there—not a chance!’

‘So, OK. We wait. He’ll come out, then we go into action.’

‘He’s certain to come out on the last day of the month, then we go into action. Yes, that’s when we get at him.’ Her smile was the most evil thing I ever hope to see on a woman’s face.

‘You haven’t seen him. I have. When he shows, what do you suggest?’

‘We grab him. I want him alive. I want him to suffer.’ Her face was again like a stone mask.

‘I’ve seen him. Grabbing Minsky would be like trying to catch a tiger with a butterfly net.’

She got to her feet.

‘There are always means. I’ll think of something. J.W. is going to New York for three days. We meet here on Thursday.’

Thursday would be the day before the first of the month.

I nodded.

‘OK here.’

She nodded, then, patting my shoulder and giving me a small, hard smile, she left.

I sat for some moments thinking, then I went down to where I had parked my car and drove home.

CHAPTER 8

I
t was well after 22.00 when I heard Bill unlock the front door. I had spent time, a glass of Scotch in my hand, doing some heavy thinking.

The rain had set in, and I could hear it beating against the windows. I got to my feet as he came rushing in, ready to make a stiff drink for him, but one look at his face, as he stood in the doorway, his mac shining with rain, made me pause.

‘Don’t say a word!’ he exclaimed. ‘I want to eat! I want a steak as big as your desk! Come on. Let’s go!’

‘Calm down, Bill. We have things to talk about.’

‘That’s what you think. I’m starving. For eight hours, I’ve been sitting in the rain with only a hot dog to eat. I’ve had it up to here! We don’t talk: we goddam eat!’

Knowing Bill, I put on my mac, locked up, then went with him to his hired car.

It wasn’t until forty minutes later, in which time Bill had demolished a king-sized steak smothered with fried onions and a stack of french fries, that he began to look human again instead of a starving refugee.

I had been nibbling at a crab salad, watching him. When I saw he was beginning to relax, I said, ‘So it’s been rough, Bill. Anything to report?’

‘Not yet,’ he said, and ordered a double portion of apple pie.

So I waited with growing impatience.

Finally, finished, he sat back and grinned at me.

‘Man! I certainly wanted that!’

‘I asked you if you had anything to report,’ I said, at the end of my patience.

‘Sorry, Dirk, but I was starving,’ he said. ‘Yes, plenty to report. I’ve been watching Angie’s cottage since eleven o’clock this morning. I didn’t see a sign of her. Around midday, Mrs. Smedley came out with a shopping basket and took off in the Beetle. Then ten minutes later Angie appeared. It was raining quite hard. She was wearing jeans and sweatshirt and the big sun goggles. She began to walk around the garden, getting soaked. From where I was sitting in the car, a good hiding place, I could look down on her. She paced around the garden like a caged wild cat. I could faintly hear that she was talking to herself. Every so often, she would stop and bang her head with her clenched fists. It was an unpleasant sight. Two or three times, she would shake her clenched fists in the air, then go on walking and talking to herself. She behaved as if she was out of her mind. Then she returned to the cottage, slamming the door. I sat there. Then Mrs. Smedley returned, carrying a heavy shopping basket. Nothing happened for the next two hours, then action really started. I heard hysterical screams coming from the cottage. The screams really got to me. They were eerie and blood chilling. I rushed down to the cottage and looked through the living room window. Man! What a scene! Mrs. Smedley was in a corner and Angie was creeping up on her. She had a big carving knife in her hand. Mrs. Smedley looked calm. She was talking. Then Angie screamed, “I want you out, black bitch! I want Terry!”’ He paused, then went on, ‘This setup looked straight out of a horror movie. There was this crazy looking girl with the knife, edging towards Mrs. Smedley who was pressed against the wall. I ran to the front door and leaned against the bell. Angie who was still screaming she wanted Terry, stopped screaming. I kept leaning on the bell. After some minutes, the door opened and Mrs. Smedley, her face running with sweat, glared at me. “Excuse me,” I said. “I’m from the
Reader’s
Digest.
I was wondering. . .” I got no further. She slammed the door in my face. I waited a minute or so, then peered through the living room window. Angie was sitting in a chair, hammering her head with her clenched fists. The knife was lying on the floor. Mrs. Smedley picked it up and took it into the kitchen. Then she came back and caught hold of Angie. She gave her a slap across her face that seemed to knock Angie unconscious, then she carried her out of my sight. So I returned to my car and sat and waited, but there was no further action. Well, that’s it, Dirk. Angie is a real nut case and should be put away.’

‘She kept screaming for her brother?’

‘That’s it.’

‘Josh told me the sun went out of her life when her brother left. What’s happened to her brother? Where is he? I’ve felt all along Terry is the key to unlock this puzzle.’

‘So, OK. What’s the next move?’

‘I’m going to talk to Mrs. Thorsen. She’s the only one able to certify Angie. The two people who could give real information are Josh and Hanna Smedley. Sorry, Bill, but you get back to watching the cottage. I’m going to Thorsen’s place. With luck I’ll be able to talk to Mrs. Thorsen.’

Bill groaned.

‘If you say so. OK. Then let’s go.’ As we were leaving the restaurant, he asked, ‘How long do you want me to watch the cottage—all night?’

‘You nose around, Bill. See what’s going on. I’ll join you after I’ve seen Mrs. Thorsen. Stay right there until I arrive.’

We got into our respective cars and headed for the Thorsen residence. I parked some yards from the gates while Bill drove up the narrow lane to the cottage.

As I walked up the drive in a fine drizzle of rain, I saw the big house was in darkness except for a light in Josh Smedley’s room.

Mrs. Thorsen was obviously out. I hesitated for a long moment, then decided I would again talk to Josh. The time was 21.30. Maybe she would be returning soon, I thought, as I pulled the bell chain. I had to do this four times before the door opened.

Josh stared at me.

‘The detective gentleman?’ he said. ‘Mrs. Thorsen is out.’

‘I want another talk with you, Josh,’ I said, and shouldered my way into the lobby.

Passing me, he plodded unsteadily down the corridor to his room. I could see he had been hitting the bottle hard. He entered his room and sat down. There was a bottle of Scotch and a half-full glass on the table beside him. He folded his black hands in his lap and regarded me with glazed eyes.

‘You heard about Hank?’

‘Yes, Mr. Wallace. Well, I warned and warned him, but he only laughed at me. He thought he would be looked after. I pray he is now at peace.’

‘You have told me that Terry and Angie were very close,’ I said. ‘Tell me just how close.’

‘I don’t understand, Mr. Wallace.’

‘Think about it, Josh. How close?’

‘She worshipped him. When he went to the music room to play, she would sit on the stairs outside the door and listen. That’s how close.’ He shook his head sadly, then took a gulp at his drink. ‘When Mr. Terry left home, she changed. She became difficult. My wife was the only one who could handle her.’

‘I am working on the theory that because her father made life impossible for Terry and drove him away, Angie, in her mental state, decided that if her father was dead, Terry would come back home. Do you agree with this thinking?’

He moved uneasily in his chair.

‘I don’t know what went on in Miss Angie’s mind.’

‘I think Angie deliberately stirred up a quarrel with her father, a violent quarrel, bad enough to bring on a heart attack, and then pushed him so that he fell, striking his head.’

He sat motionless, staring into space.

‘You heard what I said, Josh. I think Angie killed her father so her brother could return home. I think someone saw it happen and that is why she has been paying blackmail, Josh, through Hank Smedley, your son.’

He heaved a heavy sigh, looking up at me from under heavy brows.

‘You are wrong, Mr. Wallace. I have to tell you, you are wrong. There was a quarrel, a violent one, but Miss Angie went away before her father collapsed. Only I saw that happen. I heard their angry voices but when I went in he was alone and struggling to get his tablets from his desk, the tablets he had to take in a bad attack. I saw him and he saw me. I found the tablets.’

‘Yes?’

‘I found them and took them away. He collapsed, and his head hit the desk. I didn’t touch him. I went out. When I came in again I found him like I told them. Dead, and that is how I killed him.’

I stared at him for a long moment.

‘Do you know what you are saying, Josh?
You
killed Mr. Thorsen?’

He nodded.

‘Yes, sir, I say I killed him, because I let him die.’

‘But why?’

He sat still, staring into space, then he said, ‘It goes back a long time, Mr. Wallace. I have served Mr. and Mrs. Thorsen for some thirty years. When she married, I came with her. I was a good butler. Mr. Thorsen was pleased with me. It wasn’t until my son was born that my troubles began. Hank was always in and out of real trouble. I asked Mr. Thorsen if he would let Hank take care of the garden. He agreed, and gave him a small salary. For a time, Hank liked doing the garden, and he did it well. He seemed to be settling down. Then Miss Angie began to fool around with him. She was about 13 years of age. Hank was 16. It got serious, Mr. Wallace, and Mrs. Thorsen found out. Hank was sacked. From then on Hank was in constant trouble with the police. He had six months in jail.’

Josh paused to sip his drink. ‘Then my wife and I began to quarrel: always about Hank. This so upset me, I began to drink. I guess I got hooked. Then, one day, Mr. Thorsen sent for me. He told me I had been so long in their service, he was leaving me five thousand dollars in his will. That may not seem to you a big sum, but to me it was a fortune. Time passed with Hank always in trouble and I drank more and more. Then Mr. Thorsen found me drunk. He gave me notice to quit at the end of the month, and he told me he was cutting me out of his will. This was a terrible blow to me. As I’ve told you, Mr. Thorsen was a hard man. To leave this lovely house. . .’ He lifted his shoulders in a despairing shrug. ‘Then Hank came to see me. He told me if he could get five thousand, he would be able to open this club. He asked me if I could give him the money. I told him I had no money like that. He said not to worry, he would rob a bank. I was sure if he did he would be caught and spend years in jail. I told him to wait a few days. I guess I hit the bottle hard. If Mr. Thorsen died, I would continue with my job as butler and I would be able to give Hank the money he wanted. Mrs. Thorsen would never give me notice to quit. So when Mr. Thorsen died as I have told you, with Miss Angie coming in like the hand of providence, I kept my job and got the money. It was a bad thing to do. Hank’s now dead.’ He regarded me with glazed eyes. ‘My only wish now is also to be dead.’

I got to my feet. I didn’t want to hear any more. Looking at this wreck of a man, I felt sorry for him.

‘The coroner’s verdict was natural causes,’ I said. ‘I’ve already forgotten what you have told me. So long, Josh. I won’t be seeing you again.’

He sat there, staring at the Scotch in his glass. I didn’t know if what I had said had sunk into his drink sodden brain. I had the feeling his wish would soon be granted.

I left him like that and walked down the long drive in the drizzling rain to where I had parked my car.

The lights of Paradise City made a rainbow of colour against the sullen, rain swollen clouds.