Already men were working and I had a brief word with the foreman. Jack had made tremendous progress since I had been away. The ground had been cleared either side of the river. A number of piles had already been sunk.
I prowled around, watching the men work for ten minutes or so, then I saw Jack’s black and white Thunderbird coming fast down the hill. He pulled up near me, got out of the car and came over, his good-natured face split in a wide grin of welcome.
‘Hi, Jeff! Good to see you. All fixed up?’
I shook his hand.
‘Yes, all fixed up, and I have a surprise for you. I can get all the steel we want at two per cent under the best estimate we’ve already had.’
He stared at me.
‘Do you mean you’ve been working while you’ve been away? I thought you had gone on some private business.’
‘I’m always working,’ I said. ‘How do you like it, Jack? We make a saving of twenty five thousand.’
‘I like it fine! Tell me about it.’
We talked business for the next twenty minutes, then he said, ‘We’d better talk to our contractors, Jeff. This is good news. Look, I have a couple of jobs here to do, then I’ll be back at the office. See you then.’
He walked over to my car with me.
‘And Sarita?’ he asked.
‘The news is good,’ I said. ‘I’m seeing Zimmerman tomorrow morning.’
I told him about Zimmerman wanting to perform a second operation.
He listened sympathetically, but I could see the bridge was foremost in his mind, and I understood.
‘That’s fine, Jeff,’ he said. ‘Well, I guess…’
‘Sure,’ I said. ‘I’ll get over to the office. How is Weston shaping?’
‘He’s okay, but you’re back in time, Jeff. He wants help, and I haven’t time to give it to him.’
‘I’ll take care of him.’
‘Fine. Okay, see you around eleven,’ and he went off, shouting to the foreman to come on over.
As I drove back to the office I looked at the clock on the dashboard. The time was seven forty five a.m. In another quarter of an hour Wilbur would get my letter. What would he do? I was aware that there was sudden sweat on my hands.
I parked the car, went up to the office where I found Ted Weston and Clara already at work.
They greeted me and then Clara gave me a pile of letters and documents, estimates and files.
I sat down and started in to work.
It wasn’t until ten o’clock as I paused to light a cigarette that I suddenly remembered Wilbur. There was a train to Santa Barba at ten minutes past ten. Had he taken it? I had a sudden urge to find out.
I had already made a number of notes for Jack, and I pinned them together, then tossed them onto Weston’s desk.
‘Be a pal and take those down to Jack,’ I said. ‘He’ll want them. I’ll hold down this end.’
‘Why, sure, Mr. Halliday.’
I looked at him.
He was a nice-looking kid, eager and right on the ball. The kind of youngster I wish I had been. I watched him pick up the notes and hurry out of the office. I watched him enviously. I wished I had been like him. With any luck at all, he wouldn’t get a lump of red hot shrapnel in his face and spend months in a plastic surgery ward, listening to the groans and screams of those patients who just hadn’t what it takes to accept a new face. He wouldn’t tangle with a silver-headed, golden-voiced junky who could kill a man without blinking an eyelid. He wouldn’t live under the threat of blackmail nor would he plan a murder… one of the lucky ones, and I envied him.
As soon as he had gone, I picked up the telephone receiver and asked Clara to give me an outside line. When I got it, I called ‘Long Distance’ and gave the girl the number of the Anderson Hotel. She told me the lines to San Francisco were busy, but she would call me back.
I sat smoking and sweating. I had to wait ten long, nerve-wracking minutes before I got through.
The same girl’s indifferent voice demanded, ‘Yeah? What is it?’
‘I want to talk to Wilbur,’ I said.
‘Well, you can’t. He’s checked out’
My heart gave a little lurch.
‘You mean he’s left?’
‘What else do you think I mean?’
‘Do you know where he has gone?’
‘No, and I don’t care either,’ and she hung up.
I put down the receiver and taking my handkerchief from my pocket I wiped my face and hands.
So he had gone, but had he gone to Santa Barba? If he had, he couldn’t get there until after two in the afternoon. I was in a sudden panic to stop this thing. All I had to do was to call Rima and warn her he was coming.
I very nearly did it, but at that moment the door jerked open and Jack, Weston and two contractors came in.
As I greeted the contractors I looked at my desk clock. The time was fifteen minutes past eleven. I still had time to warn Rima during the lunch hour.
But it so happened the session with the contractors became so involved that Jack suggested we should all lunch together and try to straighten out our problem while we eat.
‘Look, you boys go on ahead,’ I said. ‘I have a telephone call to make, then I’ll be with you.’
When they had gone, I lit a cigarette and stared at the telephone. If I warned Rima that Wilbur was coming she would vanish. I would probably never find her again. She would continue to blackmail me, and if I didn’t pay I would go to jail, but the thought of Wilbur, sitting in the train, getting nearer and nearer to her, turned my blood cold.
This cock-eyed murder plan was like the toss of a coin. Heads – she died. Tails – I went to jail. Why not decide it that way right now?
I took a coin out of my pocket, then flicked it high into the air. I heard it fall on the floor by my side.
For several moments I sat there, not looking down, then with an effort I leaned forward and looked at the coin.
It lay heads up!
Well, there it was. I could wash my hands of the responsibility. I could let events take their course. I got to my feet, stubbed out my cigarette and started for the door.
Then I stopped.
Into my mind came the memories of Rusty’s bar. I saw Wilbur again with the knife in his hand. I saw Rima crouching in the booth, her mouth open, and I heard again her scream of terror. I heard too the sound of her nails scratching on the wall.
I couldn’t do this thing to her. I had to warn her.
I went back to the desk, picked up the telephone and called ‘Long Distance.’ I gave the girl Rima’s telephone number.
I waited, listening to the humming over the open line.
The girl said, ‘There’s no reply. Should there be one?’
‘I guess so. Call them again, will you, please?’
There was another long wait, then the girl said, ‘I’m sorry, your party’s not answering.’
I thanked her and hung up.
The obvious thing had happened: Vasari had bolted, and Rima had gone with him.
II
But I didn’t leave it like that. There was the chance, of course, that Rima had been out and would return later. Three times during the day, when Weston was out of the office, I called the bungalow, but there was still no answer.
Finally, I decided she had gone and this cock-eyed murder plan of mine to get rid of her by remote control had failed.
I was glad and relieved. Now, I would have to prepare for trouble. In six days’ time Rima would be expecting thirty thousand dollars to be paid into her bank. I wasn’t going to pay. What would she do? Go to the police? I couldn’t take any chances. I had to assume she would go to the police, and very shortly I would be arrested for murder.
I now had to make arrangements for Sarita’s future. I called Mayor Mathison and asked him if I could come around to his place after dinner.
He wanted me to come to dinner, but I made an excuse. I wasn’t in the mood for that kind of an outing.
> I found Helen and Mathison sitting before the fire and they welcomed me. I told them about the coming operation.
Mathison said at once, ‘How are you fixed for money, Jeff? This could be an expensive business. You know how we both feel about Sarita. We look on her as our own daughter.’
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘The money’s not the trouble. I can take care of that, but it certainly looks as if she will have to have a lot of care and attention for years. She has no one except me to rely on. If anything happened to me she would be alone.’
‘Of course she wouldn’t,’ Mathison said. ‘Didn’t I just say we looked on her as a daughter. If anything happened to you, she would come here to live. Anyway, what’s all this? What is likely to happen to you?’
‘I know how he feels,’ Helen broke in. ‘One never knows. He’s right to be worried.’ She smiled at me. ‘We’ll look after her, Jeff: that’s a promise.’
That was a tremendous burden off my mind. As I drove home I felt for the first time, since Rima had started to blackmail me, at ease in my mind.
The following morning I went to the sanatorium. Zimmerman told me Sarita was still making progress.
‘I don’t want to raise your hopes too much, Mr. Halliday,’ he said, ‘but there is a chance – not much of one – but a chance that if we have any luck she will walk again.’
He took me to see Sarita. She looked very pale and small in the hospital bed. She was conscious and she recognised me, but she hadn’t the strength to speak to me.
I was allowed to stand by her bed, looking at her for a couple of minutes, and in those minutes everything she meant to me came into sharp focus.
I was glad my plan to get rid of Rima had failed. I knew I couldn’t have looked at Sarita the way I was looking at her now if I had been guilty of murder.
Jack and I spent the whole of Sunday and Monday on the bridge site. We had run into a snag of shifting soil, and we had to work out a way to handle it.
By Tuesday evening we had solved the problem. Wednesday and Thursday were days of hard slogging work at the office. I managed to get over to the sanatorium every evening to exchange smiles with Sarita. She still couldn’t talk, but at least she recognised me.
On Friday, the day I should pay the money to Rima, Zimmerman called me around ten o’clock. He said Goodyear was with him and they had examined Sarita.
‘We have decided not to wait, Mr. Halliday. We are operating tomorrow morning.’
I said I would be there. I called Mayor Mathison and told him. He said it wouldn’t be possible for him to get over to the sanatorium, but Helen would join me.
I went out in the evening to see Sarita, and for the first time she managed to say a few words.
‘They’re going to fix you up tomorrow, darling,’ I said to her. ‘You’re going to be fine in a little while.’
‘Yes, Jeff… I do want to get home.’
On my way back to the apartment I thought by now Rima would know the money wasn’t going to be paid. She would probably wait a couple of days to be sure – then what would she do? But right then I had too much on my mind to bother much about her.
The operation began at eleven o’clock the following morning and lasted four hours. Helen and I sat in the waiting-room, not speaking, but every now and then she would smile at me and pat my hand.
A little after two o’clock a nurse came in and said my office was calling me. She said the operation was nearly over, and there would be news for me in about half an hour.
The telephone was down the corridor. It was Clara on the line.
‘Oh, Mr. Halliday, I’m sorry to call you, but there is a Detective Sergeant Keary here. He says it is important he should talk to you.’
I felt my heart give a little bounce and then began to race.
‘He’ll have to wait,’ I said. ‘The operation will be over in half an hour. I can’t get back to the office before five. What’s he want?’
I knew what he wanted all right. So Rima had gone to the police!
‘If you’ll hold on, Mr. Halliday, I’ll ask him…’
Clara sounded slightly flustered.
There was a pause, then a man’s voice said, ‘This is Detective Sergeant Keary, Santa Barba City police. I would like to see you just as soon as I can.’
‘What is it?’ I said.
‘Police business,’ he said curtly. ‘I can’t talk on the telephone.’
‘Well, all right,’ I said, matching his tone. ‘You’ll have to wait. I’ll be back at five. I’ll see you then,’
and hung up.
I wiped my sweating hands on my handkerchief. Had he a warrant for my arrest? Had they already arrested Rima?
I saw Zimmerman coming down the corridor. He was smiling.
‘Dr. Goodyear will be with you in a moment,’ he said. ‘He’s just washing up. I have good news for you. We are practically certain the operation will be a success. Unless something goes very badly wrong, and we don’t anticipate this, in a few months your wife will be walking again.’
The next half hour was spent with Goodyear in a technical discussion that didn’t mean much to me, but I did gather that with careful nursing, patience and many months, Sarita would get back to normal.
While Goodyear talked, I kept thinking of Detective Sergeant Keary waiting for me. Goodyear said in couple of days I would be able to see Sarita, but not before. I thought in a couple of days I would be in the Los Angeles jail.
I left the sanatorium with Helen.
‘That talk we had yesterday about you and Ted taking care of Sarita if anything happens to me,’ I said as I drove her down town. ‘That still goes, doesn’t it?’
‘Why, of course, Jeff…’
‘I’m in a bit of a mess,’ I said, not looking at her. ‘I don’t want to go into details, but it could be I’ll be out of circulation for some time and I’m relying on you and Ted to stand by Sarita.’
‘Why not go into details, Jeff?’ she said quietly. ‘You know how Ted feels about you, and I feel that way too. If there is anything we can do…’
‘I just want to be sure Sarita is all right,’ I said. ‘You do that, and you’ll be doing everything.’
She put her hand on mine.
‘All right. You don’t have to worry about Sarita, and Jeff, I’m sorry… Ted and I like you a lot.’
I dropped her off at the City Hall. She wanted to tell Mathison the news about Sarita. She looked through the car window at me and smiled.
‘Don’t forget… anything we can do…’
‘I won’t forget.’
Ten minutes later I walked into my office.
Clara, busy thumping a typewriter, paused and looked at me.
‘It’s pretty good news,’ I said, taking off my raincoat. ‘They think she’ll walk again. It’s going to take time, but they seem pretty confident.
‘I’m so glad, Mr. Halliday.’
‘Where’s this police officer?’
‘He’s in your office. Mr. Weston had to go down to the site. He’s in there alone.’
I crossed the room, turned the handle of the door and entered.
A large, heavily built man sat at ease in one of the leather lounging chairs we had bought for important clients.
He had a typical cop face: red, fleshy and weather beaten with the usual small hard eyes and the rat-trap mouth. He had bulky shoulders and a bulky waistline, and his thinning hair was turning grey.
As he heaved himself to his feet, he said, ‘Mr. Halliday?’
‘That’s right,’ I said and closed the door. My hands were damp and my heart was thumping, but with a conscious effort I managed to keep my face expressionless.
‘I’m Detective Sergeant Keary, Santa Barba City police.’
I went around my desk and sat down.
‘I’m sorry to have kept you waiting, sergeant,’ I said. ‘Sit down. What can I do for you?’
He sat down. The small green eyes worked over me.
‘Just a routine investigation
, Mr. Halliday. I’m hoping you can help us.’
This was so unexpected I was off balance for a moment. I was expecting to be arrested. I stared at him.
‘Why, sure. What is it?’
‘We are looking for a man known as Jinx Mandon. Does the name mean anything to you?’
A false alarm! A wave of relief ran over me. My tension relaxed.
‘Jinx Mandon? Why, no.’
The small eyes continued to probe.
‘Never heard of him?’
‘No.’
He took out a pack of chewing gum, stripped off the wrapping paper and put the gum in his mouth.
His movements were slow and deliberate. He rolled the wrapping paper into a small ball and dropped it into the ash tray on my desk. All the time he stared fixedly at me.
‘What’s your home address, Mr. Halliday?’
I told him, wondering why he asked.
‘What is all this about, anyway?’ I said.
‘Mandon is wanted for armed robbery.’ Keary’s heavy jaws revolved on the gum. ‘Yesterday we picked up an abandoned car outside the Santa Barba railroad station. Mandon’s fingerprints were on the steering wheel. The car had been stolen from Los Angeles. In the compartment we found a scrap of paper on which was written your name and address.’
My heart gave a little kick against my side. Could Jinx Mandon be Ed Vasari? To cover my start of surprise, I opened the cigarette box on my desk, took out a cigarette and lit it.
‘My name and address?’ I said, desperately trying to sound casual. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘It’s simple enough, isn’t it?’ There was a sudden grating note in Keary’s voice. ‘A car used by a wanted criminal has your name and address in the glove compartment. There’s not much to understand about that. How do you account for it?’
I was recovering quickly.
‘I don’t account for it,’ I said. ‘I have never heard of this man.’
‘Maybe you have seen him.’
He took from his pocket an envelope, and from the envelope a half plate glossy photograph which he flicked across the desk to me.
I was already braced as I looked at the photograph. It was Ed Vasari all right: there was no mistaking him.
What`s Better Than Money Page 17
