Read 1974 - Goldfish Have No Hiding Place for Free Online

Wally on my own. Jean said why not leave it until tomorrow, but if I could catch Wally tonight I had to go.
    “Thanks for everything, Jean,” I said. “You're a life saver.”
    She stared at me for a brief moment, smiled, got in her car and drove away.
    I drove fast across the city to where Wally lived: a modest, nice bungalow, but in the smog belt and nothing very de luxe. All the same, I was pretty sure Wally had a bigger bank balance than I had.
    I pulled up outside the bungalow and was surprised to find it in darkness. I looked at my watch. It was just after 21.00. I got out of the car, opened the gate and walked up the drive. I rang the bell and waited. Nothing happened. I rang again, then a voice said, “They're not in.”
    I turned around. There was an elderly man with a dog by the gate.
    “There's been trouble,” the man went on. “Are you a friend of Mr. Mitford? I'm his neighbour.”
    I came down the path.
    “I'm Steve Manson. Trouble?”
    “I've read about you, Mr. Manson. Your magazine is just fine. Yes . . . trouble . . . poor Wally has been mugged. They've rushed him to hospital.”
    I felt a chill run up my spine.
    “Is he bad?”
    “I guess so. The police took him with Mrs. Mitford in an ambulance.”
    “Which hospital?”
    “The Northern.”
    “Could I use your phone?”
    “Of course, Mr. Manson. I'm right next door.” He whistled to his dog and then led me up a path to a bungalow just like Wally's.
    In two minutes, I was speaking to Jean.
    “Wally's hurt, Jean. He's at the Northern. Will you come over? Shirley will want help.”
    “I'll be right over,” she said and hung up.
    We both reached the Northern hospital at the same time.
    Jean had a little more distance to cover and she must have come fast. We looked at each other as she got out of the Porsche.
    “Is he bad?”
    “I don't know: let's find out.”
    I was lucky that Dr. Henry Stanstead was the doctor handling emergencies that night. Stanstead and I played golf together and we were friends.
    “What's the verdict, Henry?” I asked as he came into the waiting room.
    “Bad. The bastards really set about him. He has a broken jaw, four ribs fractured and concussion: at least three kicks in the head.”
    “Shirley?”
    He jerked his head to a door.
    “In there. Look, Steve, I've got a busy night. Can you take her off our hands?”
    “That's what we're here for.” I turned. “Jean . . . will you?”
    She nodded and went into the other room.
    “He'll survive?”
    “Yes, but he'll be bad for some days. He could lose an eye.”
    “The police?”
    “I've told them there's no point hoping for a statement yet. Poor Wally won't be talking for at least four or five days.”
    Jean brought Shirley out and I went to her. She was crying and shaking.
    “Shirley dear, I'm so sorry . . .”
    She mopped her swollen eyes and glared at me.
    “You and your filthy magazine! I warned Wally . . . he wouldn't listen to me!” She clung to Jean who looked at me, shaking her head.
    I stood back and the two women went away.
    “Okay, Steve, inquire as often as you like. He won't die.”
    Stanstead patted my shoulder and hurried away.
    Four or five days! I thought of Gordy. My one hope now was Webber. If he couldn't come up with something, I was sunk.
    Slowly, I walked down the long corridor to the reception room.
    “Manson . . .”
    I paused, turned as a big, heavily built man, wearing a slouch hat and a shabby raincoat came over to me. I recognised him as Sergeant Lu Brenner of the city police.
    Brenner was pushing thirty-eight. He had a hard face, a flat nose, small restless blue eyes and he always looked in need of a shave: a powerfully built man who I had heard had a reputation for cruelty. I had heard, but had no proof, that his method of interrogation was to hit first in vital spots and then ask questions. Webber had once told me that the only man in the world who meant anything to Brenner was Captain of Police, Schultz. Interested, I had