1975 - The Joker in the Pack (11 page)

She took the elevator to the fifth floor.

An elderly, brisk woman welcomed her.

“Mr. Gritten is waiting for you, Mrs. Rolfe,” she said and led Helga into a large, sunny inner office.

The V.I.P. treatment, Helga thought. How long will it last?

Frank Gritten looked what he was: an ex-police officer, big, bulky, thick white hair, steady blue eyes and a calm expression that gave confidence.

“Please sit down, Mrs. Rolfe. I was sorry to read about Mr. Rolfe.”

Helga sat down. She looked directly at Gritten.

“I have been talking to Mr. Freeman of the Nassau Bank. He tells me I can have every confidence in you, Mr. Gritten.”

Gritten smiled.

“Freeman and I have been good friends for years.” He sat down at his desk. “Yes, Mrs. Rolfe, you can have confidence in me. What can I do for you?”

“My husband, Mr. Gritten, has been ill for some time. This illness has affected his mind. He has got it into his head that I am being unfaithful to him,” Helga said and looked directly at the thoughtful, but probing policeman’s eyes. “Three days ago, he hired an inquiry agent to have me watched: a man called Harry Jackson.”

Gritten nodded, his face expressionless.

“A day after Mr. Rolfe hired this agent, he suffered this stroke. The agent is worried about his fees. According to him, no terms were discussed when my husband hired him. The agent has approached me, asking me to pay him. According to him he has worked for two days, hiring two people to watch me. I would like to ask you what would be a reasonable fee to pay him?”

Gritten reached for a battered pipe.

“May I have your permission to smoke, Mrs. Rolfe?”

She made an impatient movement.

“Of course.”

As he filled his pipe, he said, “He is entitled to a retainer. The minimum would be three hundred dollars. For a client of Mr. Rolfe’s standing, he could reasonably ask one thousand dollars. Then he would also be entitled to one hundred dollars a day expenses. For two days’ work, you can pay him one thousand two hundred dollars, but not a dollar more.”

“Mr. Jackson is asking ten thousand dollars.”

Gritten’s blue eyes turned steely.

“Have you proof of that, Mrs. Rolfe?”

“Nothing in writing.”

“You are speaking to me in confidence,” Gritten said. “Nothing you say to me will leave this office. In my turn, I will speak to you in confidence. For the past six months, the Nassau police have been trying to revoke Jackson’s license. They suspect he is a blackmailer, but so far they have no proof. If you could and would supply evidence that he is asking for ten thousand dollars for two days’ work, the police would put him out of business.”

“How is it then, Mr. Gritten that he is associated with Lawson’s Inquiry Agency in New York who I understand is a highly reputable firm?”

Gritten puffed at his pipe.

“Jackson was one of their operators. Four years ago he came down here and set up on his own. Lawson’s backed him. A year ago, Jackson got himself involved with a nightclub singer. She is demanding and to hold on to her, Jackson has been spending. He is now short of money and from what you are telling me, he appears no longer fussy how he gets it.”

Know your enemy
!

Helga felt a moment of triumph. The cards were falling her way.

“Do you know anything about this woman, Mr. Gritten?”

He removed his pipe and began to rub the bowl.

“If you want to put Jackson where he belongs, Mrs. Rolfe, you should come with me to the police who will give you every assistance and in the strictest confidence.”

“Thank you, Mr. Gritten, but I prefer to handle Jackson myself,” Helga said curtly. “I would appreciate any information you can give me. Who is this woman?”

“Her name is Maria Lopez. She works at the Blue Bird club. She is married to Ed Lopez who owns and captains a mail boat that runs between here and the Out islands,” Gritten pulled at his pipe. “Lopez is an interesting character. For some time now, the police have been watching him. He leads a waterfront gang known as the Death’s Heads. This gang terrorizes those who work on the waterfront, exacting dues, fines and so on. Lopez is as dangerous as a mad dog, Mrs. Rolfe.”

“Doesn’t he care for his wife?”

Gritten smiled.

“Yes, he cares very much. As I said, Lopez is an interesting character. When he trusts someone, he trusts them. He trusts his wife.”

“And yet she and Jackson . . .”

“She is greedy and Jackson spends money on her. They both know the danger they run and their affair is more than discreet, so discreet no one, except the police, know about it.”

“So you could say Jackson is playing with dynamite?”

Gritten’s smile broadened.

“That, Mrs. Rolfe, is an understatement.”

She got to her feet.

“Thank you. You have been more than helpful. What do I owe you?”

Gritten levered himself out of his chair.

“Mrs. Rolfe, I have read about you. If you will pardon me, it seems that you are what my American friends call a tough cookie. Anything I have told you that can fix Jackson is for free. You have my best wishes, but please remember that Jackson is also a tough cookie. If you need help, I am entirely at your service.”

“I won’t need help, Mr. Gritten, but thank you for the offer.” Then flashing on her most charming smile, she left the office and not bothering to wait for the elevator, she ran down the stairs.

On her way back to the hotel, she glanced at her watch. The time was 16.20. She thought of the long hours ahead of her before confronting Jackson.

If only she wasn’t so alone! If only she had someone to help her pass the hours until the morning. She must take no risks. She would stay in her suite, have a lonely dinner on the terrace and take two sleeping pills for company.

She smiled bitterly. One of the richest women in the world and all alone!

* * *

At 09.00 the following morning, Hinkle appeared with the service trolley.

“I trust you slept well, madame,” he said as he poured the coffee.

“Yes, thank you.” The two sleeping pills had given Helga an excellent sleep. She was feeling relaxed and her mind was very alert. “I am sure you will be glad to get home, Hinkle.”

“Yes, madame. I find hotel life disagreeable.”

“Did Mr. Rolfe have a good night?”

“Apparently. He is under sedation, madame.”

She stirred her coffee.

“You saw Jones?”

Hinkle’s face darkened.

“Yes, madame. He will be ready to travel after lunch.”

Casually, she said, “He seems to be intelligent.”

“It would appear so.” Hinkle’s voice conveyed his disapproval. “He has, of course, a lot to learn.”

So Dick – she was now thinking of him as Dick – had made no difficulties. She felt a surge of excitement.

“I have to go out this morning and I will lunch in the grillroom.”

“Everything will be packed, madame. I will take care of the hotel check. We will leave at 13.30.”

“You are a great comfort to me, Hinkle.” She smiled fondly at him.

“It is good of you to say so, madame. I have already packed Mr. Rolfe’s clothes and papers.” Hinkle paused. “The red folder containing the letter to Mr. Winborn is missing.”

Helga felt a chill run over her. She should have thought of this possibility. Her mind worked swiftly. It was vital to her to retain Hinkle’s trust. This was a sudden and dangerous situation. She had to keep him on her side.

“You have been good enough to tell me that you approve of me,” she said quietly, forcing herself to look directly at him. “I can’t tell you how grateful I am that you confided in me. I consider your confidence to be the act of a true friend, and Hinkle, I do need a friend.”

Hinkle’s fat face softened. He bowed slightly and his eye’s turned moist. She saw at once she was using the right approach.

“You advised me to read this letter. I did. Hinkle, I apologize. When you said Mr. Rolfe’s mind was affected, I didn’t believe you. I couldn’t believe he has become a mental case. I saw him yesterday and I realized he has become a mental case. I now realize you are much wiser than I am. He looked at me with frightening hatred. I know people suffering from mental troubles turn on those they love the most. He and I have always been so close . . . so happy together. I have done everything I could do for him.” She put her hands to her face and caught her breath in a choked sob, willing the tears to come.

“Please, madame, don’t distress yourself,” Hinkle said, his voice unsteady. “May I say . . .”

She looked up. A tear rolled down her cheek.

“No, please don’t, Hinkle. This is distressing for us both. You have been so kind to me. I read the letter. If Mr. Winborn reads it, my future is finished.” She lifted her hands in a gesture of despair. “I know, as you know, if Mr. Rolfe had been normal he would never have written such a cruel, unjust letter. I took it.” She closed her eyes and another tear rolled. “Dr. Levi tells me that Mr. Rolfe can’t live much longer. I will keep the letter safely. If he recovers I will put the letter back among his papers, but if he dies – and pray God he won’t and pray God this dreadful mental illness will pass – then I intend to destroy the letter.” She looked directly at him. “Tell me if I am doing wrong.”

“Madame,” Hinkle said huskily, “I wouldn’t have suggested you read that letter unless I hoped you would remove it. This is a sad and shocking thing. I am afraid Mr. Rolfe is a very sick man and what you have done is right. It will give me great satisfaction, madame, to continue to serve you.”

Helga turned away, frightened he would see the triumph that jumped into her eyes.

“Thank you, Hinkle,” she said huskily.

She waited until the door closed, then she drew in a long deep breath. The cards were still falling for her. Trusting, kind Hinkle! She felt a pang of shame for deceiving him which she immediately dismissed.

Offense is better than defense
!

Now for Jackson!

* * *

An hour late, she found parking on Ocean Avenue and took the elevator to the fourth floor of Jackson’s office block. She tapped on the frosted glass panel of his door, turned the handle and walked into a small office.

She was calm and the steel in her gave her fatalistic courage. Before long she would know if bluff and courage would defeat Jackson or if he was really the tough cookie that Gritten had said he was.

Facing her was a battered desk at which sat a young colored girl with frizzy hair. She was wearing faded blue Levis and a man’s crude colored shirt, the tails knotted at her waist. She was reading a movie magazine and seeing Helga, her black eyes opened wide. Helga had deliberately dressed severely in a slate grey costume, relieved only by a string of pearls. Her cold sophistication and her hard, searching stare seemed to mesmerize the girl.

“Mr. Jackson,” Helga said, her voice snapping.

“Yeah, ma’am.”

The girl slid off her seat and opened a door on her right.

“You gotta customer,” she said into the room.

Helga brushed the girl aside and entered a shabby office only slightly larger than the outer office. She looked around, noting the two windows were grimy, the carpet threadbare, the steel filing cabinets badly scored.

Jackson who had been reading a racing sheet, jumped to his feet, dropping the sheet on the floor.

“Well, this is a surprise,” he said, forcing a grin.

Helga looked him over. This wasn’t the immaculate blackmailer who had met her at the Pearl in the Oyster restaurant. This was Jackson in his working clothes; a shabby suit that needed pressing, a shirt with grubby cuffs and a food stain on the tie.

She waited until the girl had closed the door, then moving to a well-worn leather chair by the desk, she sat down.

“I am rather rushed, Mr. Jackson,” she said. “Mr. Rolfe and I are leaving Nassau on the two o’clock flight. He has asked me to settle your account.”

Just for a moment, bewilderment showed in Jackson’s eyes, then he recovered himself and laughed.

“That’s swell of him, Mrs. Rolfe. I’m happy to hear had had made such a quick recovery.”

“How much does he owe you?”

Jackson’s eyes narrowed.

“We had agreed about that, Mrs. Rolfe.”

“How much does he owe you?” Helga repeated.

“You agreed to pay me ten thousand dollars.”

“Mr. Rolfe will find that excessive.”

His face suddenly bleak, Jackson said, “That doesn’t concern me, Mrs. Rolfe.” Then the confident jeering smile appeared. “That’s for you to arrange with him, isn’t it?”

Helga shrugged. She opened her bag and took out the ten one-thousand dollar bills. She counted hem so he could see them, then put them in her lap.

“If you will give me a receipt for ten thousand dollars for two day’s work to give to Mr. Rolfe, I will pay you.”

His confident smile faded.

“So you are still trying to act tricky. I warned you about that, didn’t I? That kite won’t fly. I’ll give you a receipt for one thousand dollars, the rest of the money is strictly between ourselves.” He paused, then leaning forward his eyes like stones, he asked, “Have you got one of your fancy recorders in your bag?”

She nodded.

“I have, but it is not recording.” She took the tiny recorder from her bag. “I brought it along so you could hear a recording I made yesterday. It is a conversation between myself and Dick Jones, your fink as you call him.”

Jackson stiffened.

“You may be a professional peeping Tom,” Helga went on, “but you are a very amateur blackmailer.”

“You think so?” Jackson leaned forward, his face now an ugly snarling mask. “Listen to me, baby, I’ve got you over a barrel! Give me that money or I’ll take it!”

“You could be stupid enough to do just that.” She placed the roll of bills on the desk. “So you are not only a blackmailer, you are also a thief.”

Jackson reached for the money, then he paused and withdrew his hand. His eyes turned shifty as he stared at her.

“What are you cooking up?”

“A good question to use your own phrase,” Helga was beginning to enjoy herself. “The bank has the numbers of these bills. The police, so I am told, are only waiting for you to make a slip and away goes your license. I can prove this money belongs to me. Can you prove you didn’t steal it? But go ahead and take it.” She paused, then said in a soft, deadly voice, “Providing, of course, Mr. Jackson, you have the guts.”