1979 - You Must Be Kidding (22 page)

As they sat side by side in the plane, the mystery of the missing golf ball button was solved. Betty looking in her bag for a cigarette, gave a little laugh and produced the button.

‘Look, darling. I carry this around as my talisman.’ She put her hand on his. ‘It’s something that belongs to you.’

Ken, remembering his panic, remembering how Karen had got him another button, remembering how drunk he had been, and remembering he had taken Karen into Betty’s and his bed, had trouble in forcing a smile.

Now, sitting at his desk, he thought back on that Sunday. Karen was dead. Lu Boone was dead. This disloyal, disgraceful episode in his married life was now behind him. Clenching his fists, he swore to himself that it would never happen again.

On the other side of the city, Lepski parked his car within a few yards of Kendriek’s gallery. He walked in to be met by Louis de Marney, pale, but with a false smile of welcome.

‘Mr. Lepski! How nice! Mr. Kendriek is expecting you.’ He led Lepski into Kendriek’s reception room.

Kendriek, beaming like an amiable dolphin, rose from behind his desk and offered a fat hand, but Lepski was in no mood for this kind of greeting.

Ignoring the offered hand, he said in his cop voice, ‘What have you got for me?’

‘Please sit down, Mr. Lepski. Let us conduct this conversation in a civilized manner,’ Kendriek said, losing his smile. He sat down.

After hesitating, Lepski took the visitor’s chair, facing Kendriek.

‘Mr. Lepski, please understand that I have to protect my clients. You are asking for the name of the artist who painted this picture. That, of course, is a fair question from the police, but this artist made me promise not to reveal his name. Many artists ask me for anonymity. This may seem strange to you, but I assure you it often happens.’

Lepski glared at him.

‘So you know who he is?’

Kendriek took off his wig, stared at the inside of it as if he expected to find in it an ant’s nest, then he replaced it, askew.

‘Yes, Mr. Lepski. I know the name of the artist.’ He leaned forward, his little eyes like stones. ‘If you will explain to me why you think this artist has something to do with these murders, and if you can convince me that you have definite evidence against this artist, then, of course, I will reveal his name.’

Lepski shifted in his chair. How the hell could he tell this fat queer about this rum-dum Mehitabel? How could he even tell Terrell about her? A red moon! A black sea! An orange sky!

Seeing Lepski hesitate, Kendriek moved into the offensive.

‘Perhaps, Mr. Lepski, it would be better if Chief Terrell talked to me. I have always found him understanding.’ The dolphin smile was back. ‘Suppose, if I may suggest, you speak to your Chief, then he could, if he feels it necessary, speak to me.’

Realizing he was defeated, Lepski got to his feet.

‘Okay, Kendriek,’ he snarled. ‘So you don’t give us information. I’ll remember this. When you are in trouble, you’ll be in real trouble,’ and he stormed out of the gallery.

Kendriek took off his wig and threw it up to the ceiling.

As Louis, who had been listening, came in, Kendriek beamed at him.

‘You see, cheri, this stupid cop was bluffing!’

* * *

By 10.30, Ken Brandon had cleared his desk, had talked over the telephone to his sales director, and now decided, he would go on a hunt for new business.

As he was pushing back his chair, Mary Goodall came in. ‘There’s a detective wanting to speak to you, Ken. Detective Lepski.’

‘Send him in, Mary,’ Ken said, his heart beginning to race.

Lepski came in, wearing a wide, friendly grin that didn’t reach his hard cop eyes.

‘Hi there, Mr. Brandon!’ he said. ‘I’ve brought your jacket back.’

Ken gulped, forced a smile as he said, ‘Thank you. I hope no further trouble.’

Lepski put the jacket on Ken’s desk.

‘The spare buttons are in the pocket, Mr. Brandon.’

‘Thank you.’

‘No problem now,’ Lepski went on. ‘I’m sorry to have worried you.’

‘Well, you have a job to do,’ Ken said.

‘Yeah. This news about Miss Sternwood must have been a shock.’

‘Yes. Is that all, Mr. Lepski? I’ve just got back and I have a work load.’

‘I’m hoping you can help me,’ Lepski said. ‘This won’t take long. Does the name Cyrus Gregg mean anything to you?’

Ken stared at him.

‘Of course. He was one of my clients. He died some months ago.’

‘You handled his insurance?’

‘That’s right.’

‘Did Mrs. Gregg continue the coverage?’

‘Yes. The policy has an automatic renewal.’

‘There’s a son. What do you know about him, Mr. Brandon?’

‘I have had no dealings with him.’ Ken moved impatiently. ‘What is this all about?’

‘Have you ever seen him?’

‘No.’

‘Know anything about him?’

‘I know nothing about him. I’ve never seen him. So what is this all about?’

Lepski sat astride one of the upright chairs.

‘I’ll explain. Sit down for a moment, Mr. Brandon. This is important.’

Bewildered, Ken sat behind his desk.

‘We found a golf ball button right by where Janie Bandler was murdered,’ Lepski said. ‘We found that there were only four jackets with these special buttons sold in the city. We have checked out three of the jackets, including yours, and we know that you and the other two owners of the jacket have had nothing to do with Janie’s murder. We were told by Mrs. Gregg that the fourth jacket, together with Mr. Gregg’s other clothes, was given to the Salvation Army. We have been trying to trace this jacket, but no one at the Salvation Army has handled it. We are now wondering if Mrs. Gregg lied to us. We are wondering if her mysterious son kept his father’s jacket and wore it on the night of Janie’s murder. We have a description of a man, seen wearing the jacket on the day Janie was murdered. He has been described as tall, blond and wearing Gucci shoes. We have further information that this man could be an artist, painting way-out landscapes. This man is responsible not only for Janie’s murder, but for Lu Boone’s and Miss Sternwood’s murders. You with me so far?’

Ken eased himself back in his chair.

‘I hear you,’ he said, ‘but what has all this to do with me?’

‘All this I’m telling you is surmise. We don’t know for sure that Gregg’s son is the man we want. Mrs. Gregg draws a lot of water in this city. She has the ear of the Mayor. We want definite evidence that her son is an artist, is tall and blond and wears Gucci shoes. If we get those facts, we can interrogate him, but not before.’

‘I would have thought the simplest thing is for you to go to Mrs. Gregg’s place and ask to speak to her son,’ Ken said. ‘What’s the matter with that?’

‘If it was that simple, I wouldn’t be taking up your time,’ Lepski said. ‘But it isn’t. Mrs. Gregg is tricky. Suppose her son has nothing to do with the murders? Suppose she refuses to let us see him, asking why we want to see him? We have no real proof so we could be in a bind. Now, Mr. Brandon, here’s what I’m asking you to do. Will you go to the Gregg’s place and ask to see the son? Say you understand he has valuable paintings and he might like to insure them. We must know he is an artist and he matches up with this description we have: tall, blond, and possibly, wearing Gucci shoes.’

Ken shook his head.

‘I don’t want anything to do with it,’ he said firmly. ‘This is police business. Don’t tell me you can’t call and see Gregg yourself. Why drag me into this?’

Lepski shifted in his chair.

‘Let me spell this out, Mr. Brandon. We could be making a mistake. Gregg may not be the killer we are after. The Gregg family employ the smartest and toughest attorney in this city. If we are wrong about Gregg, we could get landed with a libel action. All I am asking you to do is to take a look at Gregg. If he doesn’t match up with the description we have of this killer, that’s it. Maybe, you can sell him some insurance. If he does match up, then we move in and arrest him.’

Again Ken shook his head.

‘I won’t have anything to do with this.’

With his wolf’s smile, Lepski played his trump card.

‘You are forgetting one important thing, Mr. Brandon. If Gregg is the man we are after, and you identify him for us, you will pick up the reward Mr. Sternwood is offering . . . two hundred thousand dollars.’

Ken gaped.

‘Two hundred thousand dollars? Me? You must be kidding!’

‘No kidding, Mr. Brandon. I assure you if you identify Gregg as the man we want, you get the reward.’

Two hundred thousand dollars!

Ken felt a surge of excitement run through him. What couldn’t he do with money like that! Into his mind swam a picture of a new house in a better district, a big swimming pool, better cars for Betty and himself! Betty could even give up working for Dr. Heintz! He could even give up his job and start his own business!

Watching him, Lepski saw Ken was hooked.

‘If you really mean I’ll get the reward if I identify Gregg,’ Ken said, ‘then I’ll cooperate.’

Lepski beamed at him.

‘Providing your evidence leads to Gregg’s arrest and conviction,’ he said, ‘then you get the reward. I guarantee that.’

Ken drew in a deep breath.

‘Okay.’ His mind was churning with the thought of owning two hundred thousand dollars. ‘So what do you want me to do?’

Lepski knew that Brandon could be dealing with a dangerous killer, but he held back this information, fearing Brandon might chicken out if he realized he could be walking into trouble. Brandon must be protected, Lepski told himself.

‘I’ll set it up,’ he said, and picking up the telephone receiver, he dialled police headquarters. He asked for Max Jacoby. After a delay, Jacoby came on the line.

‘Max . . . Tom,’ Lepski said. ‘That idea you had could jell. I want you to come fast to Paradise City Assurance, Secomb. We have a trip to make.’

‘I’m up to my eyes in work!’ Jacoby protested.

‘Who the hell cares? Get moving, fast!’ Lepski hung up.

Then smiling at Ken, he said, ‘No problem. In half an hour, we’ll get going. Here’s what you have to do.’

His mind only half concentrating, as he kept thinking what he would do with two hundred thousand dollars, Ken listened.

* * *

Lepski, driving his car with Max Jacoby at his side, followed Ken’s car as he headed for Acacia Drive.

Jacoby was worried.

‘I hope to God you know what you are doing,’ he said, as Lepski slowed the car in a traffic block. ‘We are sticking our necks out! The Chief will have our hides if something goes wrong. You should have reported to him first!’

‘Relax,’ Lepski said. ‘You know as well as I do, if I told the Chief knew what’s cooking, he would have put his foot on it. Between the two of us, Max, we could bust this case.’

‘How about Brandon?’ Jacoby demanded. ‘Suppose he walks into trouble? Suppose Gregg is our man? We know the killer is a psychopath. Suppose he kills Brandon? What will happen to us?’

‘Take it easy, Max,’ Lepski said, not feeling all that easy himself. ‘We are giving Brandon protection, aren’t we? That’s why I have you with me.’

‘Did you warn Brandon that he could be walking into trouble?’

‘Look, Max, Brandon wants the reward. He is willing to cooperate,’ Lepski said, knowing he should have warned Brandon. ‘If he fingers Gregg for us, he picks up two hundred grand.’

‘Not if he is killed!’ Jacoby snapped. ‘And is this such a hot idea of yours to get him to wear the golf ball jacket?’

‘If Gregg is our man, the sight of that jacket could throw him,’ Lepski said. ‘If he isn’t our man, then the jacket will mean nothing to him. These psychos crack easily under pressure. Anyway, no one picks up two hundred thousand dollars for nothing.’

‘Did you warn Brandon he could be walking into trouble?’ Jacoby persisted.

Lepski shifted in his driving seat.

‘I told him not to go into the villa. I told him to stay right on the doorstep so we could watch him all the time. Just relax for the love of Pete!’

By now they had reached Acacia Drive, and as arranged, Ken drew up within a hundred yards of the Gregg villa.

‘Let’s go,’ Lepski said, sliding out of the car. Followed by Jacoby, he walked to Ken’s car.

‘Go ahead, Mr. Brandon,’ he said, looking through the open car window. ‘Just remember, don’t go into the villa. Tell the butler you want a quick word with Mr. Gregg. If he invites you in, tell him you’re badly parked and it won’t take a minute. All you have to do is take a long look at Gregg. Okay?’

Ken began to read the message. His hands, resting on the steering wheel, turned clammy.

‘Gregg could be dangerous?’ There was a sudden quaver in his voice.

Lepski shifted impatiently.

‘Take it easy,’ he said. ‘There’s a butler. Maybe Mrs. Gregg is there. You have nothing to worry about. You stay right on the doorstep where we can see you, and there’s no problem.’

Ken began to sweat.

‘But suppose I have to go inside?’

‘You don’t!’ Lepski barked in his cop voice. ‘If Gregg is our man, he won’t start anything with the butler and his mother around. You could be picking up two hundred thousand bucks!’ Reaching through the open car window, he patted Ken on his shoulder. ‘You have no problems, Mr. Brandon. We are right behind you.’

Ken hesitated, then he thought again of the reward. He forced an uneasy smile.

‘Okay. . . I’m on my way.’

He drove to the entrance of the Gregg villa, looking in his driving mirror to make sure Lepski and Jacoby were following him on foot. He was self-conscious about wearing the golf ball jacket, but Lepski had insisted he should wear it. Then parking outside the villa, he left the car and walked slowly up the drive. He glanced back, and was in time to see the two detectives had entered and were ducking out of sight into a vast clump of flowering shrubs.

He walked up to the front door of the villa, then, bracing himself, he thumbed the bell. He heard the chimes of bolls somewhere inside the villa. He waited, feeling the hot sun on his back, his heart thumping. Nothing happened.

He looked uneasily behind him, but there were no signs of the two detectives. He felt frighteningly alone. He thumbed the bell again. Apart from the sound of the bells, a heavy silence brooded over the villa.