have taken me weeks to get it out of him.”
“I told you,” said Helidon, “you won’t get a red cent.”
“I think I shall, Walter. That’s why I came to see Mrs. Helidon. You see, she is just as afraid of bad publicity as you are. I’ve followed your career, Mrs. Helidon. If everything goes right for you, you should soon be the Number One hostess in Sydney. I think the Sunday Telegraph referred to you the other day as the queen-elect.”
Norma flushed, a habit she thought she had conquered. “Go on.”
“It would not be difficult for me to make known my relationship with Walter. There are several political scandal sheets that are always ready to print stuff like that.”
“You’d get no money out of them” said Helidon.
“I’m not looking for money from them,” Helga smiled. “I’m looking to you for it.”
“You mean you’d give them a story like that just out of spite?” said Norma.
“Of course not. I’m not spiteful, Mrs. Helidon. I’m just— practical? Or what’s that new word they use about politicians—pragmatic? I know you’ll give me the money before you’d let me go to those people.” She stood up, smoothing down her skirt. Norma looked at her with grudging admiration: the skirt was just the right length, not too short but just short enough to be fashionable: no one would ever take her for the whore she was. “Think about it. When Walter comes to see me on Monday, he can bring the check. Made out to Helga Brand Proprietary Limited.”
“Proprietary Limited?” Helidon echoed.
“I formed a private company a little while ago. It will be much more discreet. It will just look like a business investment for you.” She looked at Norma and smiled. “You see, I’m not really spiteful. I don’t want to ruin Walter’s career any more than you do.” The smile widened a little. “Nor do I want to ruin yours. It must mean an awful lot to you, the money you have spent on it. You must have spent much more than twenty thousand dollars. Goodnight. Monday as usual, Walter. Well—” The smile was even wider, but even then was not ugly. “Well, not as usual. Just business.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Tuesday, December 10
1
Malone and Clements had to wait two days for the answer to their query to Interpol on the dead girl’s fingerprints. In the meantime they worked with the only other clue they had. “It’s the wrong half of the tab,” said the manager of the dry-cleaning chain. “If it was the other half it’d give us the number of the shop where the dressing gown was cleaned. This’ll mean going through every order book in every shop we have.”
“Then that’s what we’ll have to do,” said Malone. “Constable Clements will start in right away.” “Why me?” said Clements.
“Because I’m the senior bloke and because you’re better at figures than I am. Just imagine you’re reading the form sheets and looking for another winner.”
“What are you grinning at?” Clements said to the manager. “Listening to one cop telling another one what to do,” said the manager. He was a cheerful, stout man who looked as if he might be put through his own dry-cleaning process every morning; his shirt was immaculate, his trousers had a knife- edge crease, even his dark hair looked as if it had been cleaned and pressed. “Do you want to start here? This is our head office. We have another twenty-seven branches.”
Clements looked at Malone, his big dark eyes as mournful as those of a dog that had just been told it was going to be locked up in the pound. Malone took pity on him. “Okay, you take half, 111 take half.” He took the dressing gown out of its brown paper bag again and showed it to the manager. “When do you reckon that was last cleaned?”
The manager twisted his mouth in what Malone took to be a facial shrug. “I’d only be guessing. Say within the last three months.”
“Could we have all the order books from all your shops for the last three months?
“I told you,” said Helidon, “you won’t get a red cent.”
“I think I shall, Walter. That’s why I came to see Mrs. Helidon. You see, she is just as afraid of bad publicity as you are. I’ve followed your career, Mrs. Helidon. If everything goes right for you, you should soon be the Number One hostess in Sydney. I think the Sunday Telegraph referred to you the other day as the queen-elect.”
Norma flushed, a habit she thought she had conquered. “Go on.”
“It would not be difficult for me to make known my relationship with Walter. There are several political scandal sheets that are always ready to print stuff like that.”
“You’d get no money out of them” said Helidon.
“I’m not looking for money from them,” Helga smiled. “I’m looking to you for it.”
“You mean you’d give them a story like that just out of spite?” said Norma.
“Of course not. I’m not spiteful, Mrs. Helidon. I’m just— practical? Or what’s that new word they use about politicians—pragmatic? I know you’ll give me the money before you’d let me go to those people.” She stood up, smoothing down her skirt. Norma looked at her with grudging admiration: the skirt was just the right length, not too short but just short enough to be fashionable: no one would ever take her for the whore she was. “Think about it. When Walter comes to see me on Monday, he can bring the check. Made out to Helga Brand Proprietary Limited.”
“Proprietary Limited?” Helidon echoed.
“I formed a private company a little while ago. It will be much more discreet. It will just look like a business investment for you.” She looked at Norma and smiled. “You see, I’m not really spiteful. I don’t want to ruin Walter’s career any more than you do.” The smile widened a little. “Nor do I want to ruin yours. It must mean an awful lot to you, the money you have spent on it. You must have spent much more than twenty thousand dollars. Goodnight. Monday as usual, Walter. Well—” The smile was even wider, but even then was not ugly. “Well, not as usual. Just business.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Tuesday, December 10
1
Malone and Clements had to wait two days for the answer to their query to Interpol on the dead girl’s fingerprints. In the meantime they worked with the only other clue they had. “It’s the wrong half of the tab,” said the manager of the dry-cleaning chain. “If it was the other half it’d give us the number of the shop where the dressing gown was cleaned. This’ll mean going through every order book in every shop we have.”
“Then that’s what we’ll have to do,” said Malone. “Constable Clements will start in right away.” “Why me?” said Clements.
“Because I’m the senior bloke and because you’re better at figures than I am. Just imagine you’re reading the form sheets and looking for another winner.”
“What are you grinning at?” Clements said to the manager. “Listening to one cop telling another one what to do,” said the manager. He was a cheerful, stout man who looked as if he might be put through his own dry-cleaning process every morning; his shirt was immaculate, his trousers had a knife- edge crease, even his dark hair looked as if it had been cleaned and pressed. “Do you want to start here? This is our head office. We have another twenty-seven branches.”
Clements looked at Malone, his big dark eyes as mournful as those of a dog that had just been told it was going to be locked up in the pound. Malone took pity on him. “Okay, you take half, 111 take half.” He took the dressing gown out of its brown paper bag again and showed it to the manager. “When do you reckon that was last cleaned?”
The manager twisted his mouth in what Malone took to be a facial shrug. “I’d only be guessing. Say within the last three months.”
“Could we have all the order books from all your shops for the last three months?
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