Free 1974 - Goldfish Have No Hiding Place by James Hadley Chase Page B

she said, “You must get rid of the gun and you must report to the police that it has been lost.” She shook her head. “No . . . stolen from your car.”
    This I hadn't thought of.
    “You have the gun with you?” she asked.
    “Yes.”
    “How will you get rid of it?”
    How the hell did you get rid of a gun and be sure it wouldn't be found? I thought of the artificial lake on the estate, but could imagine the police would also think of that.
    “Dump it in a trash bin down town,” I said finally.
    “Yes. Give it to me. I'll do it. You must go home, Steve.”
    “To hell with that for an idea! I'm not involving you!”
    “But it will be easy for me. You could be seen doing it.
    Tomorrow, I'll make a parcel of the gun, put it in my shopping bag and drop it in a trash bin on my way to work.”
    “That's something you are not going to do.” I got to my feet. “I shouldn't have come here. I can handle it.”
    She smiled wearily, then shrugged.
    “All right. Men have to be heroes, don't they? I suppose I mustn't persuade you not to be a hero.”
    Looking at her, I knew I needed her badly and I knew I was in love with her. I unstrapped the holster and put it on the table with the gun.
    “I'm no hero, Jean. I want to say something . . .”
    “Please not!” Her voice was curt. “Not now. I'll get rid of the gun. Now go home.”
    She got to her feet and went to the front door, opening it.
    I hesitated then moved by her.
    “Thanks,” I said. “When this mess has been sorted out, I want badly to talk to you about yourself and myself.”
    “One thing at a time, Steve,” she said quietly and closed the door on me.
    I took the elevator down to the lobby and reached my car. I got in and sat thinking.
    I wanted so badly to tell her I was in love with her, but she was right, of course. This wasn't the time. I turned my thoughts to my next move. I decided it would be unwise to go to the police and report the gun was missing right now.
    This would have to be done in the morning. My story would be I had left the gun in my glove compartment when I had left the office. I had parked the car the following morning, then remembering the gun, I had found it missing.
    I had at once driven to police headquarters to report the theft.
    So long as Creeden kept his mouth shut, so long as the film showing Linda was a thief wasn't found, then I felt confident, even if the gun was eventually found and proved to be the gun that had killed Gordy, no jury could find me guilty of his murder on such flimsy evidence.
    But it didn't work out quite that easily.
    As I pulled up outside my garage door, I saw a police car parked across the way. The sight of it set my heart thumping. I got out to open the garage doors as a broad shouldered, heavily built man got out of the police car. It was Sergeant Lu Brenner.
    “Mr. Manson?”
    I turned.
    “Hello, Sergeant.”
    “A word with you.”
    “Sure. Let me put the car away and come on in.”
    He stood back. I drove the car into the garage, turned off the lights, then walked around to the front door. By this time I had my jumping nerves under control.
    Together we walked into the living room and I switched on the lights.
    “Sit down, Sergeant. What is it?”
    I moved to my desk and sat behind it while he stood before me. His craggy face could have been carved from teak. His small, restless eyes kept shifting from me to around the room and back to me again.
    “You have a .38 automatic number 4553 with a pistol permit number 75560?” he asked, staring at me.
    “I have an automatic, Sergeant,” I said. “I wouldn't know about the number.” I took out my billfold and found the pistol permit which I offered him. He examined it, then dropped in on my desk.
    “Where's the gun?”
    “In the glove compartment of my car.”
    “I want to see it.”
    “Why?”
    “Never mind why. Go get it.”
    We stared at each other.
    “Have you a search warrant, Sergeant?” I said.
    He nodded as if with