High Life, Low Life by Alan Battersby

Author:Alan Battersby
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: antique
ISBN: 9780521686082
Publisher: Cambridge University Press
Published: 2001-06-01T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter 9 The lost son found

Charlie Whittaker arrived at the Century Apartments in the early afternoon. Without intending to, I gave him an unpleasant surprise.

“My God! You frightened the life out of me! So you’re Nat Marley?” he said with an amazed look on his face. “You could be my father’s ghost. That brings back some bad memories. The way he used to check my homework. He always hit me if I got less than eight out of ten.”

“Then I hope appearance is the only thing I share with your father,” I said. “I’m sorry about your mother, Mr. Whittaker.”

“Thanks,” Charlie said sadly, “but we were sort of expecting it.”

I sent Martha into the kitchen to make more coffee, and showed Charlie into the bedroom. He pulled back the sheet and stood there looking thoughtfully.

“Well, goodbye Mom,” he said finally.

“I know this is not a good time, but could we talk?” I asked. “Wilma Patterson has explained the situation about the will. I wish to say that I never agreed with it. Wilma has my instructions to give everything to the family - money, apartment and so on. I’ll just need to sign the papers,” I said.

“Thanks. It’s not your fault you were caught up in this.”

“I’m worried about Martha,” I said. “Her behavior’s very strange.”

“I can’t remember a time when her behavior wasn’t strange,” Charlie said. “You don’t have to stay. I can see to everything here now.”

“Here’s my card. If there’s anything I can do, call me.” The Whittaker family had taken up a lot of valuable time. Something we didn’t have much of. Back at East 43rd Street, Stella was still calling all the cab companies.

“Oh, hi there. Wonder if you could help me? You don’t have a driver named Jackie Clayton working for you, huh? No? Thanks anyway.”

She put the phone down.

“Nat,” she said, “that makes cab company number fifty. We’ll get there eventually.”

“Good work, Stella. And if you have to, call Staten Island and Brooklyn too.”

Before she could continue, the phone rang. Someone was shouting at the other end. Stella held the phone at arm’s length. It was Captain Oldenberg.

“Oldenberg, how are things?” I asked.

“I’ve been trying to get through to you all morning. Your phone’s been busy all the time,” Oldenberg replied in his usual direct way. “Thanks for the information about Wiseman. My boys searched his place and you should see the stuff we found there. He’s going to jail for a long time.” “Look, Oldenberg, I need to speak to Wiseman.”

I explained how we needed to find Jackie Clayton so he could see his dying mother.

“Sure you can speak to him. But will he speak to you?” asked the Captain.

Downtown on the number four express train, I was at Police Plaza quicker than any cab could make it through Manhattan. Captain Oldenberg was expecting me at Police Headquarters, and took me down to the cells. It brought back memories of my years with the NYPD. Wiseman was his usual sweet self. Physically, he seemed to be in worse shape than Mrs.

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