Even the Butler Was Poor (16 page)

H.J. had the feeling she'd been until recently somewhere other than here. Wherever here might be.

Victoria Station?

Not quite right.

Victorian Village?

That sounded like it. Yes, she'd been in her room at the inn there. Doing what?

Talking on the phone, she answered silently.

Right, she'd been talking to her husband. Well, not her husband anymore, but she knew whom she meant. She'd telephoned Ben. But she hadn't talked to him, only to his answering machine.

She made a faint, rusty, moaning sound. Her right arm, just below the shoulder, hurt a lot. Somebody had stuck a needle in her. H.J. remembered that now.

I hope it was a clean needle
.

Be a shame to get AIDS or hepatitis or lockjaw now that she'd decided to become a better person.

How was she going to do that exactly?

It had something to do with Ben. Oh, sure, right. By telling him she needed his help again. Only this time she wanted him to help her get rid of all of Rick's damn pictures.

The pictures. Where the hell were they?

Easy now, don't panic
.

She'd hidden the negatives in a safe place. In the coffin with the ventriloquist and his dummy at. . . No, not there. A coffin, though. That was it, under the coffin at the Village museum. The contact prints, though, were in her purse. And she had no idea where her purse had gotten to.

She'd been phoning Ben and then the door of the bathroom had come swinging open. A man came out, a big man in a dark windbreaker and dark slacks, wearing a ski mask. Before she could say anything about him into the phone, a second man—he must have been in the closet— had grabbed her from behind. He slapped a hand over her mouth, twisted the phone out of her hand and hung it up. Then he—or maybe it was the other one—had stuck a hypodermic in her arm and shot something harsh and burning into her.

That had happened. . . well, she had no idea how long ago that had been. She'd passed out as soon as they stuck the damn needle into her. Well, no. First she'd felt suddenly very sick to her stomach and then she'd become dizzy. After that she passed out.

Now she took a few careful breaths in and out. Her lungs still seemed to be working. Now to find out how some of the other important parts were functioning. Legs, arms, and so on.

That was, you know, really stupid. Letting them jump you so easily.

H.J. had no idea how they'd been able to find her at the inn. She was absolutely certain no one had tailed her from Westport over into Westchester County.

Okay, she'd figure it out later. Right now she needed to put all her effort into getting up off that bed.

She twisted, managing to pull the hand she was lying on out from under her pelvis. It was numb and her fingers started hurting when she tried wiggling them back to life. Finally, after a few rough minutes, she managed to do a shaky pushup. Then, struggling, she was able to swing her legs around. The light show played a return engagement.

When her vision cleared, she noticed she was sitting on the edge of a narrow cot that was pushed back against the wall in a small, windowless room with pale tan walls. She also saw that there was a large, wide man in dark clothing seated in a wicker chair less than five feet from her. He was no longer wearing his ski mask and a faint grin showed on his rough, weather-beaten face.

H. J. eyed him. "I thought," she said in a creaky voice, "I was alone."

"I been guarding you," he explained. "That hasn't been too bad, especially since you got such a cute little ass."

B
en jerked upright, tossed the binoculars on the passenger seat and turned around to see who had started pounding on his car window.

There was a husky, tweedy man with a bristling white moustache hitting on the glass with a gloved left hand.

Rolling down the window less than four inches, he inquired, "Yeah?"

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Ben had parked his car off the road on the street above the one where Kathkart's white mansion sat. From up here, using the binoculars he'd just bought at a sporting goods shop, he could get a fine view of the driveways.

He tried his tough Robert DeNiro voice. "What do you think I'm doing here?"

"This is a private road and you've probably come here to drink beer," said the annoyed man. "They do it most every night, although unusually much later than this. Park here, drip crankcase oil on the greenery, guzzle beer, toss beer cans, cigarettes and God knows what all around."

The dog tried to get one of his paws into the car far enough to touch Ben. He whimpered when he failed.

"I wasn't aware I was trespassing," said Ben, still tough but a bit conciliatory. He was parked on a stretch of weedy grass. There was a low stone fence and a field beyond that, but no sign of a house nearby.

"It's not my property, but I live just over the hill." The man gestured with his heavy, gnarled walking stick. "I've lived there for almost nine years, a long time by Westport standards. Most of them around here, they come and they go. All at the whim of some giant corporation or other."

"Yeah, that's sure true. In fact, that's why I happen to be here."

"What's why?"

"I'm doing some checking on a top corporate executive."

"Which executive might that be? As I understand things, that fool television fishmonger lives down below."

"He does, true. But this exec's wife is suspected of. . . Well, I need say no more."

The white-mustached man tapped his stick thoughtfully on the ground a few times. "I suppose you do have your job to do."

"Don't we all. You're very understanding."

"You won't be drinking any beer?"

"Not while on duty, it's against the rules."

"There isn't likely to be any shooting, is there?"

Ben shifted on his seat, causing the six-shooter to dig into his thigh. "Oh, no. Hell, this is nothing more than a very routine surveillance job."

The man brought his stick up and stroked his prominent chin with it. "Very well, I'll continue with my walk and leave you to your work," he said. "I assume you also won't be playing loud rock and roll on your car radio."

"That would spoil the element of surprise."

Nodding, he said, "Good evening then. Come along, Togo."

The dog gave a final whimper before dropping away.

Ben waited impatiently until they'd walked several hundred feet uphill, then grabbed the binoculars again.

H
e was My Man Chumley when he came into the little room. Full butler rig, including black tail coat, silvery hair slicked down.

"You damn bitch," began Kathkart.

"There was no need," she said from the corner where she was standing, "to dress so formally."

"I don't have all that much time right now," the actor told her. "But when I get back from this stupid personal appearance, we'll have a nice long conversation. As long as it takes, Miss Mavity."

"That'll give me something to look forward to."

"How'd your shirt get torn?"

"It's the trend around here."

Frowning at the big man over near the door, Kathkart asked him, "What did I tell you, Chico?"

"Watch the broad till she woke up. Then get hold of you."

"Asshole—what else?"

Chico didn't meet the other's eyes. "Don't mess with her."

"What was that you just mumbled? I didn't quite catch it."

"You told me not to fool around with her, Barry. And I didn't— hardly at all."

"While we're gone," Kathkart told him, "I want you to stay out in the hall. You comprehend?"

"Yeah, sure. But it's not like I molested her or anything serious. Only just, you know, a little fooling around—"

"Get the hell out of here. Now!"

"She's only some dumb bitch, so I don't see why—"

"Out. Get out."

Giving an annoyed grunt, the big man left them.

Kathkart grinned at H.J. "You know, lion, it occurs to me that if you don't tell me exactly what I want to know, I just might let that ape loose on you after all."

"You look like the kind of man that sort of idea would occur to."

"The photos," he said, "the ones we found in your purse. Is that the entire set, is that all of them?"

She nodded slowly. "Yes."

"Fine, hon." The actor moved closer to her. "Now here's the important question. Where are the negatives?"

She blinked. "What are you trying to do?"

"The negatives, sweetheart, where did you stash them?"

"If you have the pictures, you must have the negatives, too," she insisted. "Everything, the whole works, was in my purse. Could be Chico and his buddy are holding out on you."

He glanced over at the door. Then, chuckling, he shook his head. "Nice try, but no cheroot," Kathkart said. "Chico and Leo are too dumb and too chickenshit to try anything like that."

"Are they?"

"I want the negatives." He walked up to her. "I'll get them out of you, too. Tonight, tomorrow at the very latest, you'll tell me where they are."

"I'm telling you right now. They were in my purse along with the prints."

"If that were true, I wouldn't need you at all," said Kathkart, laughing. "No, not at all. See, I'd get Leo and Chico to give me the negatives, then I'd tell them to get rid of you."

"I see."

"So maybe you better forget your bluff and tell me the truth."

"And then what happens? Don't I still get handed over to your goons?"

"We can work something out."

"Such as?"

"Listen, I'm getting tired of all this chitchat," he warned. "You tell me and then we'll make a deal."

"I don't see how that would be to my advant—"

"Tell me!" He swung out with his right hand, slapping her, hard, across the face.

She pressed back against the wall. "Careful, you don't want to get blood on your nice uniform." She touched at her cheek.

"I'm not in the mood for any more—"

"This isn't at all wise, old buddy." Les Beaujack had quietly entered the room.

"Don't you start—"

"I'm serious, Barry. Leave her alone." He nodded at H.J. "I apologize for this, Miss Mavity."

"Oh, sure. Up to now it's been simply a nice, pleasant kidnapping," she said. "Then he had to go spoil it with rough stuff."

"I don't especially," said Kathkart, "like your kind of smartass—"

"Back off, Barry."

Kathkart frowned at him. "Don't start talking to me like I'm one of those dogs you and your wife raise."

He took the actor by the arm. "We're late as it is, so let's get going."

Kathkart produced a few grumbling noises deep in his chest. "If you hadn't set up this half-assed appearance, I—"

"The simplest thing to do, old buddy, is just to go and do it."

"Okay, okay." He spun around, brushed by the advertising executive and went stomping into the hall.

Beaujack smiled cautiously at H.J. "I'm sorry this happened. However, if—"

"I know. If I don't cooperate, you'll turn him loose on me."

"That exactly, I'm afraid, what will happen." His smile slowly faded away. "Think about it while we're gone."

A
t three minutes before seven Ben said, "Finally." The day had begun to fade about a half hour before and the lights had blossomed inside the house a few minutes later.

Now a grey Mercedes came rushing onto the circular front driveway of Kathkart's estate. It jerked to a stop a few feet short of the front door. Les Beaujack hurried out and up onto the porch. The big white door opened halfway, framing Beaujack briefly in a rectangle of yellow before he stepped inside.

I don't think they have hurt her yet
, Ben told himself. But that was more a hope than a conviction. H.J. might well be dead already. Maybe Joe was right. This was something for the police.

"Too late for that now."

What the hell was Beaujack doing in there? All he had to do was pick up Kathkart and take him over to Westchester.

Twilight was closing in now. It would be difficult pretty soon to see what was going on.

At nine minutes after seven the front door opened. Beaujack was the first out, followed by Kathkart in his full Chumley rig. The two of them seemed to be arguing, and as Beaujack started to get into the backseat, the burly actor caught his shoulder and yanked him around. Hands on hips, Kathkart continued facing him and shouting about something. None of their words got as far as Ben.

Trinity Winters emerged from the house next. She was wearing white jeans and a hip-length mink.

Behind her came a large, broad-shouldered man in dark clothes. He shut the door to the house and, tossing what might be a set of keys in his right hand, got in behind the wheel.