Cambridge English Readers

Level 6

Series editor: Philip Prowse

This Time
It's Personal
Alan Battersby

CAMBRIDGE
UNIVERSITY PRESS
CAMBRIDGE UNIVERSITY PRESS
Cambridge, New York, Melbourne, Madrid, Cape Town, Singapore, Sao Paulo

Cambridge University Press

The Edinburgh Building, Cambridge CB2 2RU, UK
Published in the United States of America by Cambridge University Press, New York
www.cambridge.org
Information on this title: www.cambridge.org/9780521798440

© Cambridge University Press 2003

This publication is in copyright. Subject to statutory exception and to the provision of

relevant collective licensing agreements, no reproduction of any part may take place
without the written permission of Cambridge University Press.

First published in print format 2003

ISBN-13 978-0-511-14156-0 eBook (Adobe Reader)

ISBN-10 0-511-14156-4 eBook (Adobe Reader)

ISBN-13 978-0-521-79844-0 paperback

ISBN-10 0-521-79844-2 paperback

Cambridge University Press has no responsibility for the persistence or accuracy of URLS
for external or third-party internet websites referred to in this publication, and does not
guarantee that any content on such websites is, or will remain, accurate or appropriate.
Contents

Chapter 1 New York in the spring 6

Chapter 2 Metropolitan Hospital 11
Chapter 3 Jones Beach 19
Chapter 4 East Harlem 26
Chapter 5 A matter of life or death 31
Chapter 6 The Odessa Steps 38
Chapter 7 Evidence 44
Chapter 8 Mrs. Romanov 50
Chapter 9 Victor Kamenev 57
Chapter 10 Witness 64
Chapter 11 Progress 71
Chapter 12 Wreck on Jones Beach 78
Chapter 13 A message from Mossolov 86
Chapter 14 Memories 90
Chapter 15 Closing the net 96
Chapter 16 Face to face 100

3
Characters

Nat Marley: New York private investigator

Stella Delgado: Nat Marley's personal assistant
Captain Oldenberg: detective with the New York Police
Department (NYPD)
Joe Blaney: colleague of Nat Marley, ex-NYPD
Jose De La Cruz: Stellas brother
Lena Rosenthal: Nat Marley's lawyer
Mrs. Romanov: Russian widow
Victor Kamenev: Russian businessman
Edith Tilden (Edie): old lady
Commander Jim Lockhart: commander of the Coast
Guard Group, Moriches
Miguel and Carlos: friends of Jose De la Cruz
Ed Winchester: journalist on the Daily News
Mossolov: professional criminal
Zernov: works for Mossolov
Tchernov: Russian immigrant

4
Chapter 1 New York in the spring

It was a fine but chilly spring morning. Fine enough even

to make the New York borough of Queens seem attractive.
Like any other day, I left my apartment on Main Street,
Queens, and walked to the subway station to commute
into midtown Manhattan on the number seven train. Like
any other day, I read the New York Daily News to pass the
time during the journey. Out of professional interest, I
always glance through the day's fresh crime stories.
Muggings, thefts, a car-jacking, a shooting, a bank robbery,
and so on. Crime — the unpleasant reality of life from
which I make my living.
The name's Marley, Nat Marley, licensed private
investigator. My prediction is that you already have a
mental image of my type of work. I can safely bet that that
your image comes straight from the fantasy world of
Hollywood. That's a long way from the truth. The
majority of my work is dull. Often just pure routine stuff
like divorce, bad debts, or missing persons. Don't imagine
for a moment that I'm good-looking either. Just an
ordinary-looking guy, bald, overweight and on the wrong
side of forty. And let's get another thing straight, my
working days seldom start with a wealthy, attractive female
client anxiously waiting for my professional services.
My office is on East 43rd Street, just a couple of blocks
from Grand Central Station. Stella Delgado, my personal
assistant was already at her desk talking on the phone.

6
Stellas been with me most of the time I've been in business.
A beautiful, intelligent Puerto Rican in her late twenties. If
she wanted, she could get a far better job elsewhere. And
I've told her that too. But she insists on working for me;
she must like me. You've heard of the expression 'on the
wrong side of the tracks', meaning the poor,
underprivileged areas of the inner city? That's where Stella
grew up, in the Barrio on the Upper East Side, known as
Spanish Harlem. She had left school early and got into
plenty of trouble as a kid. Then it took years of night
school study to catch up on her education.
As she put down the phone, I asked, "How are things on
this beautiful spring morning?"
Silence. She just gave me a blank stare. The morning
mail was on her desk, unopened. Something was definitely
wrong. "Stella, what's the matter? Come on, out with it."
She looked up at me tearfully. "Nat, I don't know what
to do. It's family - my kid brother, Jose. I've just been
talking to him on the phone. He's been arrested. He could
be in serious trouble."
There was work to catch up with that morning, bills to
send out to our satisfied or dissatisfied clients, and some
annoying letters from the IRS, the tax people. Yet again,
they'd claimed I hadn't paid enough tax. But clients and the
IRS would have to wait.
"Stella, tell me everything."
"It's a long story. Jose was found by the police in the
early hours of this morning on 112th Street just off
Lexington Avenue, Upper East Side. He was lying
unconscious with head injuries, in the driver's seat of a car
that had crashed into a wall in a parking lot. Nat, he

7
doesn't even own a car. Anyway, he was taken to the
emergency room at Metropolitan Hospital. Now he's in a
secure room under police guard. He was allowed to make
one phone call, so he called me."
"So what's the story? How did he get into this mess?" I
asked.
"The awful thing is he has no memory of what he was
doing," Stella said. "All he can remember is being at some
bar in Brighton Beach with his buddies yesterday evening.
Then nothing."
"Has he been charged with anything?" I asked.
"No. At least, not as far as I know," replied Stella.
"Why were Jose and his buddies going out for a drink at
Brighton Beach, anyway? That's quite a way from Spanish
Harlem for a night out."
"Jose works in the summer at a diner on Surf Avenue,
Coney Island. The place closes up in the winter. Jose had
been to see his boss to confirm his job for next summer. He
got some good news - they took him on as a cook. Jose
had taken a couple of his buddies along to see if he could
fix up work for them. They were taken on as waiters. Good
money, plus room and board, starting first of April.
Afterwards, they went out to celebrate."
The thought of Coney Island brought back some of
those golden childhood memories: trips to Coney Island
beach and the rides at the amusement park, family
vacations at the beach. I put those thoughts to the back of
my mind and concentrated on Stella's story.
"Anything more?" I asked.
"He said he had just a vague memory of a bar somewhere
on Brighton Beach Avenue. He knew he'd had a few too
8
many drinks. Then nothing until he woke up in a hospital
bed."
"Maybe he's in shock," I suggested. "Temporary
memory loss. If this was a simple case of drunk-driving, he
wouldn't be under police guard. And where did he get the
car from?"
"I don't know, Nat. Jose's never had a driver's license."
Not having a driver's license didn't mean he hadn't stolen
the car and driven it anyway. But I didn't say that to Stella.
I thought for a moment. If Jose hadn't been charged
with any offense, the NYPD could only hold him for a
limited time.
"All right, Stella. This is what we'll do. If Jose hasn't been
formally charged, there's no reason why we shouldn't be
allowed to visit. We're going straight over to the hospital to
talk with him."
Stella didn't move but just stood by her desk, biting her
lip-
"Is something else bothering you?" I asked.
"Nat, I'm worried sick. Jose's an ordinary loveable guy
who likes a good time. OK, he's got a criminal record. He
got into some trouble when he was a teenager. But I know
he's harmless. A danger to nobody. But someone with his
background . . . you know as well as I do what conclusion
the police will come to."
"Come on, Stella," I said. "Things have changed in this
city. It's not like the bad old days. You know how sensitive
the police are nowadays about any question of possible
prejudice. You can't assume that the NYPD will think Jose
is guilty because of his background. Any suspect has to be
judged on the evidence."

9
 "Maybe you're right," she replied, simply.
Stella didn't seem to be convinced. But I knew the
NYPD would go to any lengths to avoid the kind of
publicity an accusation of racial prejudice would attract. I
also understood Stella's fears. Stella and her family are
Puerto Rican. During the 1950s tens of thousands of
Puerto Ricans emigrated from their island to the U.S.A.
When they arrived, some of them discovered that the
U.S.A. wasn't the land of opportunity they'd expected.
Some had exchanged the poverty of Puerto Rico for the
poor neighborhoods of New York. There were dead-end
jobs waiting for them as kitchen hands or unskilled factory
workers. Today, however, some have succeeded in creating
a good life — like Stella, with a permanent job, comfortable
apartment, and loving husband. But for Stella it had been
a struggle. I could appreciate how her culture and
background might affect the way she saw things.
"Lock up the office and let's go," I said.

10
Chapter 2 Metropolitan Hospital

After a few inquiries at the main reception desk, we were

finally given the location of Jose's room at the hospital.
Eventually, when we reached the floor, it was obvious that
gaining access would be no simple matter. There was a
bored-looking police officer sitting outside. I thought I
might start with a little gentle persuasion. It can sometimes
work, even on police officers. I should know - I used to be
an NYPD officer before I set up my own business.
"Excuse me," I said, showing the officer my
investigator's license. "I represent Mr. Jose De La Cruz.
Would it be possible to speak to him? The lady here is Ms.
Delgado, sister of Mr. De La Cruz."
The officer was unimpressed. He looked me up and
down and said flatly, "Sorry, sir. No one's allowed in. And
that's official."
I wondered if he was going to be one of those people
who get their job satisfaction by creating difficulties for
others. I wasn't going to take 'no' as the final answer.
"Come on, now. Just a quick word. Won't do any harm."
"No," replied the officer sharply. "This guy's a suspect.
He's wanted for questioning."
"Suspected of doing what?" I demanded. "Has he been
charged with any crime?"
"Don't know, and no."
"Thanks for all your co-operation. Give me the name of
your boss, will you?" I asked.
11