“Got ‘im bang to rights Chief…with a little judicious editing of course.”
“Terse, you disappoint me.”
“He practically confessed to killing the Chink, Tony Lee.”
“Practically Terse? How exactly ‘practically’?”
“Well ‘e took a little reminding, Sir.”
“I thought as much. Do something for me sergeant.”
“Chief?”
“See if you can locate a car. It’s a silver Zebaguchi 650, registration R256 HOG.”
“You havin’ me on Chief?”
“No Terse, get on with it man!”
The inspector decided he would have to take over the cross-examination of the other witness in person.
“Hello Mr Murphy, I’d like to ask you a few questions.”
“Ask all you like mate but I doubt if I’ll know the answers. I hadn’t seen Hymie for twenty years until we bumped into each other last night.”
“So, your luck’s taken a turn for the worse, I see.”
“You could say that. I see my share of trouble as a doorman at The Rainbow Rooms, but no-one ever tried to blow me up until this morning.”
“Well, that’s the price of associating with Hymie Goldman, Mr Murphy.”
Mike’s eyebrows knitted into a frown as though he found the words difficult to accept. “What happened to Sergeant Dickhead?” he asked.
“Look, if you’re going to be abusive, I’ll stop the interview and leave you to cool off in the cells for an hour, but if you’ve got any sense you’ll stop trying to be smart and answer my questions. Right?”
Murphy looked blankly at Decca, before nodding, almost imperceptibly.
“If you work at The Rainbow Rooms you must have known Tony Lee?” asked Decca.
“Not to talk to, no. He was a croupier and those guys think they’re above talking to doormen.”
“When did you last see him alive?”
“Weeks ago…I dunno exactly,” said Mike.
“Can you think of anyone who may have wanted to kill him?”
“No, but like I said, I didn’t know him that well.”
“Where were you last night?” resumed Decca.
“Down the Club till about eleven, then I went for a drink with Hymie Goldman.”
“And where did you go for your drink?”
“The Pink Parrot.”
“Did anyone try to get in touch with Lee over the last few days?”
“Only Steffie.”
“Steffie?” quizzed Decca, suddenly interested.
“Yeah, a friend of his,” explained Mike. “I think they used to work together.”
“What was her surname?”
“I couldn’t tell you.”
“Describe her for me, then,” asked the Inspector.
“Tall, maybe 5’10”. A looker; brunette with long legs and a smile that would stop traffic.”
“Thank you, Mr Murphy. If you’ll just sign the statement that P.C.Potter has prepared, then you’re free to go.”
“What about Hymie?” blurted Mike.
“He should be out shortly if you’d care to wait.”
So saying Decca returned to his prime suspect with a heavy heart. It looked like the imbecile Goldman was telling him the truth. Still, he could have him for obstruction any time he wanted.
“OK Reidy, start the tape. Interview with Hymie Goldman resumed at 4.50pm. Just a few more questions Mr Goldman. Can you think of any reason why Janis Turner; or for sake of argument let’s call her Steffie Scarlatti, would want to murder Tony Lee?”
“They were working a numbers racket at The Rainbow Rooms Casino, only Lee failed to show up,” said Hymie, wondering how long the questions would last. “Janis, or rather, Steffie seemed surprised when he failed to keep their appointment so I assume someone else killed him. Besides, the papers said he was found with his throat slit and that’s not her m.o.; she’s a firearms fanatic.”
“What do you know about the numbers racket, Goldman?”
“Not a lot. All I know is that someone rang my office a couple of times, shouted out four pairs of numbers, which, before you ask, I can’t remember, and hung up,” said Hymie. “Adding two and two together to make five, I assumed the call was for my assistant, Janis Turner, aka Steffie, who as it turns out knew the croupier Tony Lee. She went to see him at the Casino on the night I ran into Mike Murphy at The Rainbow Rooms”
“Thank you, what you say does seem to fit the facts as we know them. That will do for now, you’re free to go as soon as you’ve signed your statement. We’ll be in touch about the parking fines. Oh, and Goldman…”
“Inspector?”
“Don’t leave London unless I give you permission first, right?”
“Of course not. Besides, I’d need to borrow the fare first.” Were they really letting him go? He wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry. Since it had never occurred to him that they would release him, he didn’t have the first idea of what to do next.
Outside at the desk he was reunited with Mike.
“You O.K., H?”
“Yes thanks, Mike. I feel as though a great weight has been lifted off my shoulders and I have a craving for pizza.”
“I’ll join you…but it won’t be Benny’s.”
A pained look flitted across Hymie’s face. “It looks like we have another score to settle,” he said.
Part Fifteen
The Prince of Darkness was just settling down in his favourite pink velour armchair to watch his favourite gameshow, “The Price Is All Wrong”, with a nice hot cup of cocoa when the phone started ringing in the hall.
He toyed with the idea of ignoring it, but he simply couldn’t do it. For an ex-directory number it seemed to get far too many calls. He had gone ex-directory many years before on discovering that his name “P.Lau” was an open invitation to small-minded pranksters to call him up and ask him if he had prawn balls. What was the matter with people in this country? Pilau rice was Indian, not Chinese. Were they stupid or what? It was some small consolation to him to know that those who crossed him generally found themselves on the wrong side of the Great Divide.
“Lau.”
“Hello Mr Lau, Mrs Timmins here. I’ve got a bone to pick with you. You promised me faithfully you’d get rid of that awful man Goldman and I have it on reliable authority that he was released from Finchley Road Police Station not ten minutes ago.”
“But my dear Mrs Timmins...”
“Don’t give me the old soft soap Lau, when I pay good money I expect the best service available. You gave me your word they’d be scraping him off the pavement within twenty-four hours. What kind of hit-service are you running?”
“I’ll look into it, Mrs T. Rest assured no effort will be spared to ensure matters are put straight at the earliest opp…”
“I hope you’re right, Lau. When I think of the way that dreadful man caused the death of my prize pussy Tiddles, my blood runs cold. I want results Lau, not wind and piffle. Do I make myself clear?”
She hung up on him, leaving the Prince of D. feeling not a little foolish and somewhat incensed, both at the nerve of the woman, and more alarmingly at the ineptitude of his hit squad. They only had to eliminate a complete idiot, a job he could have done himself with his eyes closed. You just couldn’t get good help these days, he reflected sadly.
He descended in the lift to his office on the first floor and dug out the “Contracts Pending” file. There it was, in black and white, contract 207;
‘To: Termination of one H. Goldman of 792A Finchley Road, £5,000 plus travel expenses, 48 hour priority service.”
Everything seemed to be in order, except that the party of the third part was still walking the streets of North London.
There was a file note adding that a woman had called to notify him that H. Goldman was in possession of the Golden Pig. Not likely. Perhaps that was why they hadn’t finished the job, although again, that didn’t seem at all likely. However, as they hadn’t located it yet,
anything was possible. It was time for a little chat with Mr Hymie Goldman. He lifted the receiver and made a few calls.
*
Hymie, who for once was walking around with a spring in his step and a smile on his face, had developed a deep loathing for Edgware General Hospital. In their short acquaintance he had been interrogated by the Fuzz, fallen down a laundry chute and nearly been poisoned there. Although the latter could just have been a paranoid delusion triggered by the effects of the NHS cuts on the canteen.
He went there now to pay his respects to Benny Baker, from a combination of genuine concern and a guilty conscience.
“How is he, nurse?”
“Suffering from severe shock I’m afraid. A delayed reaction like that’s quite common in trauma cases like his. Someone destroyed his restaurant you know, while he was in it. He may not recognize you…are you family?” she enquired.
“…yes, er, I’m his brother Sydney from Australia,” bluffed Hymie. When called upon for a spontaneous response, all originality deserted him.
“Mr Baker, your brother Sydney has come to visit you,” said the nurse.
“I don’t have a brother Sydney.”
“Poor man…don’t expect too much of him, Sydney.”
“Thank you, nurse,” added Hymie, politely.
She walked off down the ward leaving the two brothers to talk.
“How are you Syd? How’s the family?” asked Benny. He was suffering from a form of amnesia which had genuinely erased Hymie like a virus from the hard drive of his mind.
“It’s me Ben…Hymie, I’ve brought you some grapes and a Get Well card.”
“Sorry I didn’t recognize you Ben-Hymie old chap, it’s this condition I’ve got, I’m not even sure who I am half the time.”
“Ben, watch my lips, it’s me…Hymie Goldman, your mate.”
“Do you still have your own business?”
“Of course I do, we were only talking about it a few days ago.”
“I hear there’s a terrible recession in Melbourne…it must be affecting you.”
“Not so as you’d notice…my office is in Finchley.”
“It’s okay Syd, don’t worry. I know things haven’t been exactly rosy between you and Joyce. She’s at that funny age when all you can do is grit your teeth and hold on tight for the ride.”
‘He’s better off out of it,’ thought Hymie. ‘There’s a homicidal maniac roaming the streets and the Pizza-King of North London thinks I’m his long lost brother Syd from Australia. That just takes the ruddy biscuit. How do I get a delusion of my own, God? Anything to get out of here!’
Hymie collected Mike from the waiting room and they took the lift down to the hospital’s main entrance.
“I know they let us walk out of that nick as free men, but I’m not daft enough to think that we’re out of the woods yet, Mike.”
“Well, it’s been nice catching up, Hymie. There’s never a dull moment with you around, but I need to get back to my own life again. I may not own my own business but at least I’ve got the flat, three square meals a day, a job I can do standing on my head and footie on a Saturday.” Mike held out a hand like a bunch of bananas for Hymie to shake goodbye.
In just a few short hours Hymie had come to rely on his old friend, the man-mountain, and the thought of trying to solve the case without him seemed almost unbearable.
“Well, that is a shame, Mike,” he said. “I was so impressed with the way you handled things at Benny’s Bakery that I was thinking of inviting you to join the business.”
“It’s good of you to offer, Hymie, but if the last forty-eight hours is anything to go by then I’d need some serious danger money to get involved in your business. What were you going to offer me? Equal partnership?”
Hymie, who had had no such thought, struggled to find words.
“Ahem, well, I was, er…thinking more of, ah…but of course, a junior partnership would be something to consider eh? After all, there are people interested in buying this business,” added Hymie, rashly.
“Oh, well, I’d definitely need to be a partner then. Otherwise, what job security would I have?”
Caught between a rock and a hard place, Hymie could neither face running the business single-handed, nor giving any of it away while there was a chance of cashing in for megabucks. He wondered if the sight of his office might dampen Mike’s enthusiasm for partnership.
“I know…” said Hymie, “if we go back to the office, you can see for yourself what it means to be a partner, and if you’re still interested in joining the firm we can negotiate the terms then and there.”
“Sounds fair,” said Mike. “We may even be able to work out how to solve this case.”
Hymie smiled. If there was a solution to the case, then together they would surely find it.
Part Sixteen
It was late; one or two a.m., when they arrived at the prestigious offices of JP Confidential. The plaque on the wall outside just said “792A” as if anything further would have been superfluous. The way things had been going lately, Hymie was convinced that it didn’t pay to advertise.
Leading the way, Hymie crept up the staircase, signaling to Mike to be as quiet as possible. His caution was born of his now habitual fear that whatever could go wrong almost certainly would. The list of things which could go wrong seemed to stretch out to infinity, beginning with eviction from his office cum flat and ending with another attempt on his life. He had no illusions that he had been anything other than lucky thus far.
He searched his pockets for the office key with a growing sense of frustration. A small pile of detritus accumulated on the floor before him as he extracted fuse wire, paper handkerchiefs, a part sucked boiled sweet, paperclips and an old Swiss Army knife but nothing vaguely resembling a key from his voluminous pockets. He was a past master at losing things. In a long and illustrious career he had lost keys, cars, car keys, money and clients. He’d even lost a wife once and that wasn’t easy.
“Oh stuff this!” cried Mike, running at the door sideways on and hitting it at shoulder height with his full body weight.”
There was a dreadful crunching sound.
“Mike!”
“Oh, don’t tell me you’ve found the ruddy key, H!”
“No, it’s not that.”
“So?”
“That’s not my office.”
The big man looked crestfallen.
“Mine’s next door, that one belongs to the opera singer.”
“She doesn’t live here I take it?” queried Mike.
“No, she just uses it as a rehearsal room.”
Mike poked his head around the door, which was hanging forlornly by a solitary hinge.
“Do you think we should leave her a note or something?”
“Or something, definitely,” said Hymie, uncharitably.
The Golden Pig Page 9