1974 - Goldfish Have No Hiding Place Read Free Page A

encouragingly and to wait.
    “Mr. Manson, you have created a splendid, vigorous magazine that attacks dishonest people. It is a fine, much needed endeavour,” Gordy said. “I have read all the issues and I look forward to reading the next.” He leaned forward to tap ash off his cigarette into my glass ashtray. “I'm here, Mr. Manson, to offer you information concerning petty theft in my store. It is called petty theft, but over a year, the amount of stealing comes to some $80,000.”
    I stared at him.
    “You mean people living on the estate steal $80,000 a year from your store?”
    He nodded.
    “That is correct. I don't know why it is, but people do steal: even well-off people. It is an oddity that, so far, hasn't been explained. A servant working on the estate will buy ten dollars' worth of goods and will steal two packs of cigarettes. A wealthy lady will buy a hundred dollars' worth of goods and yet will steal an expensive bottle of perfume.”
    This began to interest me. If what this man was telling me was true I could write an explosive article which Chandler would love. '
    “You surprise me, Mr. Gordy,” I said. “You have proof?”
    “Of course.”
    “What proof have you?”
    He stubbed out his cigarette and lit another as he smiled at me.
    “In spite of the heavy cost, my directors decided to install camera scanners that cover the whole store. The cameras began to operate two weeks ago. My directors consulted the Chief of Police who expressed his willingness to prosecute on the evidence the film produced, providing the film was convincing.” He relaxed back in his chair. “The film I now have, Mr. Manson, is so convincing, I hesitate to hand it over to Captain Schultz. I felt I should first consult you and a number of husbands whose wives shop in my store.”
    I felt a sudden rush of cold blood up my spine.
    “I'm not following you, Mr. Gordy,” I said and heard my voice was husky. “Just what do you mean?”
    “Mr. Manson, please don't let us waste time. Your time is precious and so is mine.” He produced from his pocket an envelope and flicked it on to my desk. “Look at this. It is a blow-up from a frame of twenty feet of film. I suggest it is enough proof, apart from the film, to tell you that Mrs. Manson has been naughty.”
    I picked up the envelope and drew from it a glossy photograph. It showed Linda, looking furtive, putting a bottle of Chanel No. 5 into her handbag.
    I sat still, like a stone man, staring at the photograph.
    “Of course she isn't the only one,” Gordy said gently.
    “So many ladies of Eastlake do this kind of thing. The film is very revealing. Captain Schultz would have no difficulty in prosecuting. Your nice, beautiful wife, Mr. Manson, could even go to prison.”
    Slowly, I put the photograph down on my desk.
    Gordy got to his feet.
    “This is, of course, a shock to you,” he said, showing his yellow teeth. “You will need time to think about it and even discuss it with Mrs. Manson. We could arrange this sad affair. Before I give Captain Schultz this revealing cassette of film I could snip out your wife's participation. I suggest $20,000 and you get the film. It is not a lot of money considering your success. May I suggest you come and see me tomorrow night with cash. I have a small, modest house not so far from your beautiful house. No. 189 Eastlake.”
    He leaned forward, staring at me, his eyes like chips of ice, his yellow teeth now revealed in a snarl. “Tomorrow night, Mr. Manson . . . cash please,” and he walked out of my office while I sat there, staring at Linda's beautiful face, seeing her doing this mean, mean thing and knowing I would have to save her from prosecution.
    But how?
    I had always told myself that if ever anyone tried to blackmail me, I would go immediately to the police: the only way of dealing with a situation like that. But my attack on Schultz would make this impossible for me to go to him.
    He would certainly stamp on Gordy, but he