1979 - You Must Be Kidding (13 page)

‘Can I see them, Mr. Brandon?’

Ken stepped back, wondering where Karen was. He led the two detectives into the living room, went to the button box, then remembered he had left the buttons in his jacket pocket.

‘Wait!’ he said, and went to the bedroom. Karen was out of sight. He guessed she would be in the bathroom. He snatched up his jacket which was lying on a chair as Lepski came to the doorway.

Lepski saw at once that two people had been occupying the big bed. Both pillows were indented.

Taking the buttons from the jacket pocket, Ken moved forward, crowding Lepski back.

‘Here they are. Now for God’s sake, stop bothering me!’

Lepski counted the buttons, then as Ken continued to move forward, he allowed himself to be directed back to the living room.

‘They seem to be all here, Mr. Brandon,’ Lepski said.

‘I’d like to see the jacket again.’

Ken dashed back to the bedroom, snatched the jacket from the closet, then returned to the living room. He thrust the jacket at Lepski.

Lepski counted the buttons, found none missing and was baffled.

‘Okay,’ he said. ‘I hope I don’t have to trouble you again.’

‘I don’t see why you should. You’ve caused me enough trouble!’ Ken snapped.

Lepski gave him his wolfish smile.

‘This is a murder investigation, Mr. Brandon. Odd things happen. Do you mind if I take the jacket and the duplicate buttons? I won’t keep them long.’

‘Take them! I don’t want to see the jacket ever again! Throw it away!’ Ken exclaimed, nearly beside himself.

‘You’ll feel better after a strong coffee,’ Lepski said. ‘I’ll return the jacket,’ and nodding to Jacoby, he let himself out.

Ken slammed the front door and locked it, then he went back to the bedroom.

Karen was dressed and combing her hair before Betty’s mirror. The sight of her using Betty’s comb sickened him.

‘Your little pals satisfied?’ she asked.

‘I was drunk!’ Ken exploded. ‘I—’

‘All right, all right,’ Karen said and laughed. ‘Don’t vent your guilty conscience on me. You never stopped screwing me all night! I told you the reservoir would fill up.’

Ken felt like killing her. He went into the bathroom, slammed the door, shaved hurriedly. Not bothering to shower, he returned to the bedroom and flung on his clothes. He could hear Karen in the kitchen.

‘Want coffee?’ she called.

He put on his loafers, then went into the kitchen. She had just made a pot of coffee. She poured and sipped.

‘Hmm . . . nice. Have a cup?’

‘I want you out of here!’ he said violently.

‘Oh, do shut up!’ There was a snap in her voice. ‘You creeps with hot pants are all the same. Once you’ve had it, you turn into saints. You’d better get the bed fixed: telltale evidence,’ and she giggled. ‘Get everything to the laundry.’ She finished the coffee. ‘Don’t stand there like a constipated camel! Come on! I’ll help you.’

Ken suddenly remembered the cleaning woman would be arriving at 09.00. He hurried into the bedroom and stripped off the sheets and pillow slips. Using fresh sheets, they remade the bed. He bundled the soiled sheets together. ‘Let’s get out of here!’

‘Look out of the window, dope,’ she said. ‘How are you going to get me out without me being seen?’

Ken peered out of the window. His next door neighbour, a retired banker, was pottering in his garden. Ken stood for a moment, panic riding him. How the hell was he going to get Karen away without her being seen?

‘Relax,’ she said. ‘Come on! I’ll get in the back of the car, you put the sheets on top of me, then drive out. Let’s go.’

That’s what they did.

Sweating, Ken waved to his neighbour as he drove out of the garage and then onto the road. When he reached the highway, Karen emerged and sat on the back seat.

Not speaking, Ken finally pulled up outside the office.

‘You get started on the mail,’ Karen said, getting out of the car. ‘I’ll take the sheets to Chan’s.’

Ken felt helpless. Karen was so overpoweringly efficient. As she walked away, he unlocked the office door and collected the mail. He went into his office and sat down at his desk.

His head still throbbed. He was so sick of himself he just sat there, feeling waves of guilt running through him.

The telephone bell started up. Pulling himself together, he lifted the receiver.

‘Paradise Assurance Corporation. Can I help you?’

‘Ken?’

The sound of Betty’s voice was like a blow under his heart.

‘Hi, Betty!’ His voice was a croak.

‘Darling, Daddy’s sinking.’ Betty’s voice was unsteady. ‘The doctors now say there isn’t much hope. He keeps asking for you.’

Ken closed his eyes. To him, Betty’s father was like his own father. This news drove blood from his face.

‘I’ll be with you on the first plane out. Oh, honey, I’m so sorry.’

‘I’ve checked the planes. There’s one at 10.30. Can you make it?’

‘I’ll make it. I’ll rush home and pack a bag. I’ll be with you.’

‘Mary and Jack are coming. I’ll be at the airport to meet you. Bless you, darling,’ and Betty hung up.

Ken got unsteadily to his feet as Karen came in.

The sheets . . . then she stopped and stared at him.

‘What the hell’s the matter now?’

‘My father-in-law is dying,’ Ken said. ‘He’s asking for me. I have to go. I’ll try to get back on Monday.’

As he started for the door, Karen said, ‘Aren’t you forgetting our little pal, Lu? He’s coming today to collect ten thousand dollars.’

Ken stared wildly at her, then beside himself, he shouted, ‘To hell with him!’ and ran out to his car.

* * *

Fat Katey White sat on the sand before the smouldering fire, her breakfast chores finished. Most of the colony had gone off, either to swim or to hunt for a dollar. She liked this period when the colony was quiet. Before long, Lu Boone would leave his cabin and come for his breakfast.

Katey had put aside five sausages for him, and she planned to fry some bread. She regretted there were no eggs.

As she sat there, she thought of Lu. She heard him say to her:
You’ll always be wanted. You have this
thing.
No one had ever said such a nice thing to her, she thought, sighing. She knew, of course, it wasn’t true, but corning from such a fantastic man, she moaned softly to herself with pleasure. Some men dug fat girls, she thought.

It just might be possible that Lu meant it! Just suppose he did mean it? Just suppose he invited her into his cabin!

Just suppose he made love to her! She closed her eyes.

Only once had a man taken her, and he had been drunk, but Katey still remembered that frightening, but wonderful moment when she came off.

She dreamed on, imagining herself in Lu’s strong arms.

‘Gone to sleep, Katey?’

She started and looked up. Chet Miscolo stood over her.

She liked Chet and she smiled.

‘Just dreaming. I’ll clear up in a minute.’

‘What were you dreaming about?’ He squatted down on his haunches.

‘Private dreams. Don’t you dream sometimes?’

‘Who doesn’t?’ He ran his fingers through his bush of hair. ‘I’m worried, Katey. It’s not going to help us being on T.V. I know for sure there was a camera man in that truck yesterday. That guy, Hamilton, is a mischief maker. We could be told to clear out . . . then where would we go?’

‘There are always places,’ Katey said complacently. She had become such a nomad she was happy to settle anywhere so .long as she had company, a decent fire to cook on and a supply of sausages and spaghetti. ‘What’s the time?’

‘Just after ten,’ Chet said. ‘We have been here two years, Katey. It’ll be tough if we have to leave.’

Katey wasn’t listening. In another few minutes Lu would be coming for his breakfast. She wanted to be alone with him.

‘Aren’t you going for a swim?’ Her voice a little too anxious.

Chet grinned.

‘Expecting company, Katey? Yeah, I’ll take a swim.’ He stood up. ‘Boone said he was leaving tomorrow.’

‘He told me. Maybe he’ll come back.’

Her expression of resigned despair touched Chet.

‘I expect he will,’ he said gently, knowing that by tomorrow, they would see the last of Lu Boone. ‘See you,’ and he ran off towards the sea.

Katey took the five sausages from the plastic bag and laid them, with loving care, in the pan which she put on the fire. Then she cut some slices of bread and using a little oil, she added the bread to the pan.

He could be out in a few minutes, she thought. Everything would be ready for him.

When the bread was crisp and golden and the sausages browned to perfection, and there was no sign of Lu, Katey began to get worried. She removed the pan off the fire.

Maybe, she thought, he was still sleeping. Then an idea occurred to her. She would take his breakfast to his cabin! He was probably dozing on his bed and he would welcome having his breakfast served in bed.

Her heart began to flutter. He just might invite her to stay while he ate.

She hurriedly poured boiling water from the cauldron onto a plate, dished up the sausages and bread, snatched up a knife and fork and walked across the sand towards Lu’s cabin.

Pausing outside the door, she timidly knocked. She waited, the hot plate in her hand. She heard nothing. The food was getting cold! She rapped harder. Still she heard nothing. He must be sleeping, she thought. She tried the door handle and the door swung open.

‘Lu?’ she called. ‘I have your breakfast.’

She peered into the cabin.

Strong sunlight came through the slats of the shutters.

The sun lit up the table, facing her. On the table stood Lu’s severed head in a circle of blood and festooned with flies.

Katey dropped the plate. The sausages and bread cascaded onto the floor.

Chet Miscolo, walking out of the sea, heard Katey’s horrifying screams. Realizing something terrible must have happened, he ran frantically towards Lu Boone’s cabin.

A seagull, startled by Katey’s screams, cried plaintively and swooped out to sea.

* * *

Terry Down, the police photographer, having taken shots of Lu Boone’s mutilated body, dashed into the shrubbery to throw up. Even hardened cops like Beigler, and Lepski were glad to leave the cabin and to wait in the hot sunshine for Dr. Lowis and his two interns to take over.

‘It’s our nut again,’ Beigler said and wiped his sweating face with his sleeve. ‘We could be wrong in thinking he’s a sex nut: he could be a homicidal nut which means even more trouble.’

‘Did you catch Pete Hamilton’s T.V. talk yesterday?’

Hess asked. ‘Hamilton said maybe Boone had seen the killer, and wasn’t talking. That hint might have alerted our nut to fix Boone.’

‘But why cut him up?’ Beigler asked.

‘Because he’s a damn nut!’

The three men turned as Dr. Lowis came from the cabin.

‘What have you got, doc?’ Hess asked.

‘A mess.’ Lowis shrugged. ‘At a close guess, I’d say he was killed around two o’clock this morning. His killer probably knocked on the door and when Boone opened up, stabbed him: an instant killing. The chopping up was done with a broad bladed knife. Again at a guess, the kind of tool sugar cane cutters use. The head was removed with two violent strokes. The rest of the damage shows the weapon was as sharp as a razor.’

‘Can you get him out of here?’ Hess asked. ‘We want to go over the cabin.’

‘The boys are fixing him now . . . won’t be long.’

Lepski said, ‘I’ll talk to Miscolo. The girl who found him is in shock. Can’t get a thing out of her.’

A second ambulance arrived with screeching sirens.

‘I’ll put her under sedation and get her to the hospital,’ Lowis said and hurried off.

Katey lay on the sand, her hands covering her face while she moaned. Every now and then her heels drummed on the sand while a big crowd of hippies stared down at her. As Lepski walked over to them, Katey was whisked away in the second ambulance.

Chet Miscolo sat on the sand and Lepski dropped down beside him while the rest of the group gathered around.

‘He was killed around two this morning,’ Lepski said. ‘Did you hear anything?’

‘I was asleep . . . nothing. Poor Katey . . . she dug him.’

Lepski looked at the group of young people.

‘Anyone see or hear anything?’

A tall, thin youth moved forward. His hair stood around his head like a beehive.

‘I did,’ he said.

Dusty Lucas had joined Lepski and he took out his notebook.

‘Who are you?’ Lepski asked.

‘Bo Walker. I’m on vacation. Last night, I had to get up for a leak,’ the youth said. ‘The time was two forty-five.’

‘How did you know that, Bo?’

‘I have a watch, man. When I got out of my sack, I looked at my watch. My old man gave it to me for my twenty—first birthday. I like to look at the goddamn thing.’

‘So you got up for a leak at two forty-five . . . then what?’

There was a light on in Boone’s cabin. Okay, I thought, if a guy likes to stay up this late, so he stays up.’

‘Did you see him, Bo?’

‘I didn’t see a thing: just the light, but I heard something. I heard two bangs: the kind of bangs a butcher makes with a cleaver when cutting up meat.’

‘That guessing? How do you know the sound a butcher makes cutting up meat?’

Bo smirked.

‘My old man’s a butcher.’

‘This was two forty-five . . . right?’

‘Yeah.’

At least, Lepski thought, he had pinpointed the time.

He felt sure the two blows Bo had heard was when the head had been severed.

‘Then what happened?’

‘I went back to my sack. That’s it.’

‘The light was still on when you got into your sack?’

‘Sure.’

‘Can you add to this, Bo? It’s important’

‘That’s it, man.’

‘You staying long?’

‘Sure. Another month. I dig this place.’

‘I’ll want to talk to you again, so stay put. Okay?’

Bo nodded.

‘And listen,’ Lepski went on, his voice serious, ‘keep this to yourself. Boone got under the limelight, and this killer fixed him. So say nothing to the media. Understand?’