1979 - You Must Be Kidding (16 page)

Crispin’s eyes narrowed.

‘A switch blade knife?’

Kendriek picked the pendant from its velvet bed and laid it on his fat palm.

‘Suleiman wore the original in 1540. It is reputed to have saved his life from an assassin’s attack. Let Jo-Jo demonstrate. It is quite, quite fascinating.’ Jo-Jo came forward and Kendriek draped the silver chain around his neck and allowed the pendant to swing down, lying on Jo-Jo’s narrow chest. ‘You see? A delightful, artistic pendant, but something very different. Jo-Jo!’

Jo-Jo pressed the top ruby on the hilt of the dagger, and from the slab of silver, a thin, narrow-bladed knife sprang out.

‘The first switch blade knife! It is utterly deadly and sharper than a razor. It is quite unique, Mr. Gregg.’

Crispin stared at the glittering four-inch blade. He felt a surge of sexual excitement run through him. This was something he had to possess!

‘What are you asking for it?’ he demanded.

This was so unexpected that Kendriek, for a split second, hesitated.

‘It is quite unique, Mr. Gregg. Actually, it is a museum piece. I—’

‘What do you want for it?’ Crispin snapped.

‘I am asking fifty thousand dollars. There is no other like it in the world, but for you, if you would like it, shall we say forty thousand?’

‘Give it to me!’ Crispin said to Jo-Jo who pressed the emerald at the point of the dagger and the blade snapped back. Jo-Jo hurriedly removed the chain from his neck and handed the pendant to Crispin who snatched it from him. Crispin put the chain around his neck and let the pendant drop on his chest, then he moved to a mirror and surveyed himself.

Kendriek watched. Could this be a sale? Admittedly the original pendant had been worn by Suleiman the Great.

Kendriek had seen coloured drawings of it, and in an inspired moment, he had got his best silversmith to copy it.

The copy had cost three thousand dollars. The rubies and emeralds were clever fakes.

Crispin pressed the ruby and the blade sprang out.

‘Pray be careful, Mr. Gregg,’ Kendriek said, his voice anxious. ‘The blade is incredibly sharp.’

Crispin lifted the pendant, letting the sunlight, coming through the big window, play on the blade. Again he felt a sexual urge run through him. Then nodding to himself, he pressed the emerald button and the blade snapped out of sight.

He turned and stared at Kendriek. There was a strange expression on his face that Kendriek couldn’t define, but which made him uneasy.

‘I’ll take it at forty thousand,’ Crispin said. ‘Bill me,’ and he walked down the aisle and out onto the street, the pendant bouncing gently on his chest.

Louis, watching discreetly, came forward.

‘That was truly marvellous!’ he gushed. ‘You are the most marvellous salesman!’

‘There’s something about that man. . .’ Kendriek began, then shrugged. He had made a thirty seven thousand dollar profit, so why should he worry about Crispin Gregg? ‘This afternoon, Louis, go to Mr. Gregg’s place and collect one of his paintings. We will exhibit it. Although I have little confidence in Lowenstein’s opinions, we have to bear in mind that he considers Mr. Gregg’s work of no commercial value. Let us see for ourselves. At least, Mr. Gregg has become a client.’

Then still not able to shake off his uneasiness from that strange, almost frightening expression he had seen on Crispin’s face, he walked heavily back to his reception room.

* * *

After one hundred and seventy seven telephone calls and eighteen visits to the squad room, the citizens of Paradise City abruptly lost interest in the golf ball jacket, but they had supplied information that had to be written down and collated.

On this sunny morning at 08.00, Lepski, Jacoby and Dusty Lucas toiled at their desks.

Lepski had returned home the previous night after 01.00. He had found his living room in a shambles. His bottle of Cutty Sark stood empty on the table. There were used glasses, overflowing ashtrays and it would seem, from the debris, Carroll had provided her guests with snacks.

He had gone up to bed to find Carroll asleep. From the soft whistling noise coming from her, he judged she was in an alcoholic stupor. Depressed by the T.V. fiasco, he had flopped into bed by her side, and finally slept. She was still sleeping when he dragged himself from the bed, showered, dressed and drove down to headquarters by 07.30.

Jacoby and Dusty joined him, and they set about reading the mass of reports the T.V. inquiry about the golf ball jacket had produced.

Finally, around 10.00, they had completed their reading and the information added up to nil, They had accurate descriptions of Ken Brandon, Harry Bentley and Sam Macree: all men seen wearing the jacket by conscientious citizens, but there was no information about the fourth jacket, once owned by the late Cyrus Gregg, and that was the information they so badly wanted.

Lepski pushed back his chair and released a snort of disgust that made both Jacoby and Dusty pause in their work.

‘Not a goddamn thing!’ Lepski exploded. ‘You two got anything?’

They shook their head.

‘Okay. Dusty, go talk to those two S.A. collectors. Put pressure on them. One or the other could be lying.’

Lucas, an eager beaver, nodded and took himself off.

Lepski leaned back in his chair. There was a nagging thought at the back of his mind that had nothing to do with police work. Next month would bring Carroll’s birthday, and he couldn’t remember the exact date. This fact had been bothering him for days. He wanted to buy her a present. He wanted to give her the present on the right day. He knew he would be in the doghouse for weeks if he didn’t come up, not only with the right date, but also, with the right present. This was something he had to avoid.

Vaguely, he remembered last year, he had taken Carroll to an expensive restaurant. Maybe the Maître d’ could give him the date. Then he realized he couldn’t remember the name of the restaurant. He thumped his fist on his desk with exasperation.

‘Got something on your mind, Tom?’ Jacoby asked, recognizing the signs.

‘Yeah. God help me, I’m trying to remember the date of Carroll’s birthday.’

‘The day after tomorrow,’ Jacoby said without hesitation.

Lepski half started from his chair, his eyes bulging.

‘You must be kidding! It’s next month!’

‘The day after tomorrow: the tenth,’ Jacoby said. ‘I keep a birthday book.’

‘A—what?’

‘We Jewish people are sentimental,’ Jacoby said, smiling. ‘I know we are known to be mean, but we are sentimental. My father kept a birthday book. He liked to send friends a card or a present. I keep a birthday book. Carroll is a friend. I’ve already bought her a bottle of perfume. It will be delivered the day after tomorrow.’

Lepski sucked in his breath.

‘You really mean it’s on the tenth?’

‘That’s it.’

‘Holy God!’ Lepski’s hands turned clammy. ‘I could have sworn it was next month! Perfume, huh? You’re sending her perfume?’

‘Well, I thought a wonderful girl like Carroll would like some perfume.’

‘Yeah . . . yeah.’ Lepski loosened his tie. ‘What the hell can I give her?’

Jacoby, who wasn’t married, but had a string of girlfriends, hid a grin.

‘Just look around, Tom. Girls like presents.’

‘Yeah.’ Lepski stared into space. ‘But what the hell what?’

‘A handbag. A dress. Jewels. Depends on how much you want to spend.’

‘It’s not how much I want to spend: it’s how much I can afford to spend,’ Lepski said. ‘A handbag, huh? That’s an idea. Yeah. I’ll give her a handbag.’

A voice said, ‘If you two will stop yakking, can I have some attention?’ A female voice, soft, sensual: a creamy voice.

Both detectives swung around and stared.

Standing at the barrier that divided the Detectives’ room from the visitors was a coloured girl, and what a girl!

Both Lepski and Jacoby pointed like gun dogs, then Lepski came fast to the barrier.

The girl was the colour of coffee, gently diluted with cream. She was tall and willowy. She wore close fitting white cotton slacks and a close fitting blood red jersey top.

What this outfit did to her made Lepski breath heavily through his nose. He hadn’t seen a more perfect woman’s body! Big, half pineapple shaped breasts, a tiny waist, a voluptuous sweep of hips, long legs. Her features were sensual: a short, thin nose with slightly flared nostrils, big black eyes that glittered with life, and full lips that suggested untold promises. Some girl!

‘Yes, miss?’ Lepski said, looking into the black eyes and feeling his blood move down to where it shouldn’t have moved down—being a married man.

‘I’ve come about this jacket I saw on the telly last night,’ the girl said. Her voice reminded Lepski of Mae West’s in an old movie he had seen, murmuring ‘Come up and see me sometime.’

He opened the gate of the barrier.

‘Come on in,’ he said, aware that Jacoby was leaning over his desk, staring. ‘Have a seat.’

She moved by him. Her body flowed. Her breasts did a tiny jig. Following her, Lepski watched the movement of her hips. She sat in a chair opposite Lepski’s desk, opened her handbag and took from it a pack of Camels. Lepski searched through his pockets for a match, but she had already lit the cigarette with a solid gold lighter before he had found his matchbook.

He sat down and restrained a leer. He knew instinctively that this girl knew all the answers, and a detective, although first grade, was small fry to her, but that didn’t stop him from eyeing those beautiful breasts, scarcely concealed by the jersey top.

‘May I have your name, miss?’ he asked and drew a scratch pad towards him.

‘Doroles Hernandez. I live in apartment 165 Castle Avenue. My mother got screwed by a Spanish creep who ran a factory, and I was the product. I kept his name.’ She gave Lepski a brilliant smile, revealing perfect white teeth. ‘Just the background, Mr. Detective. Do you want more?’

Lepski whistled through his nose. He knew all about Castle Avenue: that was where the expensive hookers lived. So she was a hooker! Boy! He thought, if I wasn’t married and five years younger, I’d be up there at apartment 165 Castle Avenue, like a lizard after a fly!

‘You have information, Miss Hernandez,’ he asked in a carefully controlled voice.

‘Maybe . . . maybe not. I had a stand-up last night. The guy was sick or something,’ Doroles said, ‘so I put on the telly. I don’t usually look at the telly. It’s a drag, you know?’

‘Yeah. So you looked at the telly and saw the jacket . . . right?’ Lepski said, trying to keep his mind off those provocative breasts and on the work in hand.

‘That’s it.’ She gave him a sexy smile that almost destroyed his better feelings. ‘There I was all alone, with a gin martini for company. . .’ She paused and regarded him with her big, black eyes. ‘I bet you prefer Scotch, Mr. Detective.’

Lepski, who was now wondering just how marvellous she would look without clothes, started.

‘Yeah. So there you were alone and you saw the jacket?’

‘Yes. As soon as I saw it, I remembered.’ She turned her head and caught Jacoby leaning across his desk, breathing heavily, as he gaped at her. ‘Is he a detective?’ she asked. ‘He looks cute.’

‘His mother thought so,’ Lepski growled. ‘Let’s work on this, Miss Hernandez. You saw the jacket and you remembered. What did you remember?’

‘Call me Doroles.’ This in the Mae West voice.

Lepski was thankful the desk hid what was now happening to his lower section.

‘Yeah. Well, Doroles . . . what did you remember?’

‘I remembered seeing the jacket. I thought it was pretty sharp, you know? A real eye catcher.’

‘When did you see the jacket?’

‘When?’ She moved in the chair and her breasts did a little dance which was appreciated both by Lepski and Jacoby. ‘It was on the fifth.’

Lepski stiffened to attention. On the evening of the fifth, Janie Bandler had been murdered.

‘Are you sure about the date, Doroles? This is important.’

‘I’m sure. I’ll tell you for why. It’s Jamie’s birthday. Jamie is my dog. I took him to the Blue Sky restaurant. The Maître d’ loves Jamie. Do you like dogs, Mr. Detective?’

Lepski suppressed a growling noise. He hated dogs.

‘So you took your dog out. What time was this?’

‘Lunchtime. I’m crazy about Jamie. He’s my best friend, you know? When I come home tired, he’s there waiting for me. He jumps all over me. He’s really sweet.’

Lepski snapped the pencil he was holding.

‘You were walking your dog? So what happened?’

She made a little grimace.

‘Well, this guy came up to me. Guys are always coming up to me, you know?’

Lepski could imagine. If he hadn’t been married, he would have gone up to her.

‘And this guy was wearing the golf ball jacket?’

She stubbed out her cigarette, and immediately lit another.

‘I can’t stop,’ she said, and her sensual lips parted in a smile. ‘I guess I’m nervous or something. Do you think all this crap about cigarettes being dangerous is right?’

‘Maybe. You were saying this guy came up to you,’ Lepski said. If it had been anyone but this gorgeous sex symbol, he would have been shouting by now. As it was, his face turned a dark hue.

‘A cheapie.’

‘Was he wearing the jacket?’ Lepski hissed.

Her big eyes opened wide.

‘Why, no. He was wearing a sharkskin brown . . . strictly for the birds.’

Lepski snapped another pencil.

‘We’re talking about this godda . . . we’re talking about this golf ball jacket.’

She gave him another smile that went right down to his heels.

‘You can swear if you want to Mr. Detective. I don’t mind. Lots of my men friends swear. Men do, you know?’

Lepski dug his fingers into the surface of his desk.

‘So what about the jacket?’

‘Well, this cheapie was chatting me up. He was offering fifty. Can you imagine?’ She leaned back and laughed.

She had a nice, sexy laugh, but by now, Lepski was fast losing patience. ‘Jamie wanted to visit a tree, then this jacket went by. As soon as I saw it, I thought it was real sharp. I like to see men well dressed. A man who cares about how he looks is the kind of man I like.’