The Guilty Are Afraid

“They are worth more than that,” I said, smiling at him. “That’s what they are worth on paper. Personality and goodwill are the backbone of a business like mine. I have the goodwill and I am cultivating a personality. Three thousand isn’t a fair estimate.”

“I’m interested in buying a going concern,” Creedy said, suddenly staring at me. His eyes went through me like twin bullets through chiffon. “I’m prepared to take over your agency. Shall we say ten thousand dollars to include the goodwill and what there is of the personality?”

“And what happens to me if I sold you the business?” I asked.

“You carry on, subject to my supervision, of course.”

“I don’t supervise easily, Mr. Creedy: not on an offer of ten thousand dollars.”

“I might be prepared to raise the purchase price to fifteen thousand dollars,” he said, and began to puncture holes in his snowy blotter with the letter opener.

“I take it I wouldn’t be encouraged to continue to investigate my partner’s death?”

He pursed his lips and did more damage to his blotter.

“That is a police matter, Mr. Brandon. You are not getting paid to investigate your partner’s death. I think it would be reasonable, if I bought your business, to expect you to exert your talents on something that made a profit.”

“Yeah.” I rubbed the back of my neck. “I’m sorry. Thanks for the offer. I appreciate it, but I’m solving this case, profit or no profit.”

He laid the letter opener down, placed his fingertips together and rested his chin on them. He stared at me the way you might stare at a spider that has dropped into your bath.

“I intend to buy your business, Mr. Brandon. Perhaps you will name your price.”

“On the theory that every man has his price providing the price is big enough?”

“That is an accepted fact. Every man does have his price. Don’t let us waste time. I have a lot to do today. What is your price?”

“For my business or for not going ahead with the investigation?”

“For your business.”

“It amounts to the same thing, doesn’t it?”

“What is your price?”

“I’m not selling,” I said, and got to my feet. “I’m going ahead with this investigation and no one is stopping me.”

He leaned back in his chair and began to drum gently on the desk with his fingertips.

“Don’t be hasty about this,” he said. “I have made inquiries about your partner. I am told he was an utterly worthless person. I am told that if you hadn’t worked with him the business wouldn’t have survived for very long. I am told he was a womanizer, if I may use the term. He wasn’t even a good investigator. Surely you are not going to pass up a very good opportunity because of a man like that. I want your business, Mr. Brandon. I’ll give you fifty thousand dollars for it.”

I stared at him, not believing I had heard aright.

“No,” I said. “I’m not selling.”

“A hundred thousand,” he said, his face intent.

“No,” I said and I felt my hands turn moist.

“A hundred and fifty thousand?”

“Cut it out!” I said, and I put my hands on his desk and leaned forward to stare into his expressionless eyes. “You are bidding too cheap, Mr. Creedy. A hundred and fifty thousand isn’t much to keep your name out of the biggest scandal on this coast, is it? A million would be more like it, but don’t offer it to me because I wouldn’t take it. I’m going through with this investigation and you and your money won’t stop me. If you’re all that anxious to keep me from finding out the truth why don’t you give your lackey Hertz a couple of hundred bucks and tell him to fix me? Probably he would do it for less. Sheppey was my partner. I don’t give a damn if he was a good or a bad partner. In my racket no one kills an investigator and gets away with it. We feel the same way about it as the police feel when a cop gets killed. Get that into your money-riddled mind and stop trying to buy me off!”

I turned around and started my long walk towards the exit.

The silence I left behind me was painful.

Chapter 12

I

I drove back to the bungalow with plenty on my mind. I put the car in the garage to be out of the blazing sun, unlocked the front door of the bungalow and went into the bedroom.

I stripped off, put on a pair of swimming trunks, collected a towel and then walked down to the sea. I had a twenty-minute swim, then returned to the bungalow and sat down on the verandah in the shade, put my feet up on the rail and considered the various points I had discovered.

I had to make up my mind if it was Thrisby or Bridgette Creedy who was lying. Thrisby’s story was acceptable to me and Bridgette had every reason to lie, but I wasn’t absolutely sure she had been lying.

What I had to decide was whether Thelma Cousins was being dangled in front of me to take my attention away from something else. I was quite sure the match-folder meant nothing to Bridgette, but it meant a lot to Thrisby.