1979 - You Must Be Kidding (18 page)

‘Golf ball buttons, huh? Let me think.’ He rubbed the back of his neck. ‘Unusual kind of jacket, huh?’

Lepski made a soft growling noise.

‘Well, now I think of it, I did have a jacket with golf ball buttons.’

Lepski stiffened to attention. At last, a break!

‘You said blue, didn’t you?’ Heinie asked.

‘Yeah.’

Heinie shook his head.

This jacket was brown. I remember it. Must have been two years, maybe three years ago. Sort of jacket that sticks in the mind, huh?’

‘This jacket is blue!’ Lepski snarled.

Heinie thought some more.

‘No . . . I haven’t seen it.’

‘Look, Mr. Heinie, this is important,’ Lepski rasped. ‘This is to do with a murder investigation.’

‘Sure . . . sure.’ Heinie nodded. ‘No, I haven’t seen a blue jacket with golf ball buttons. A brown one . . . sure, back two, three years ago, but no blue one.’

‘Maybe one of your staff. . .’

‘I don’t have a staff,’ Heinie said. ‘Who wants staff these days?’

Police work! Lepski thought in disgust. ‘Gucci shoes?’

‘Huh?’

‘Have you sold a pair of Gucci shoes to anyone anytime?’

‘You mean those Italian shoes?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Don’t ever get them. You want a fine pair of shoes? I can show you. . .’

‘Forget it!’ Lepski snarled. ‘And watch it, Heinie! Your son could get into trouble giving you clothes intended for the Salvation Army.’

‘Not Joe . . . he’s too smart to get into trouble,’ Heinie said, and grinned.

Lepski stamped out of the store and made his way to his car. Then the thought struck him he had to buy a handbag for Carroll. He paused by his car. Where the hell was he going to buy a goddam handbag on Saturday afternoon? If there was one thing Lepski loathed it was shopping.

‘Hi, Mr. Lepski!’

Turning, Lepski found Karen Sternwood at his side. His eyes ran over her: some doll, he thought.

‘Hi, there Miss Sternwood. How are you doing?’

She pouted.

‘I am just grabbing a hamburger. Imagine! My boss has gone off for the weekend and left me a raft of work. I’ll be working all afternoon. Saturday! Imagine!’

‘Mr. Brandon away?’

‘His father-in-law’s sick. He won’t be back until Monday. How’s the murder investigation going?’

‘We’re working at it.’ Lepski had a sudden idea. ‘Miss Sternwood, you could help me if you would have the time.’

Her eyelashes fluttered. Sweet Pete! Lepski thought, if this babe hasn’t hot pants then I’m a monkey’s uncle.

‘For you, I have time,’ she said.

Lepski eased his shirt collar.

‘I have to buy my wife a handbag for her birthday. How do I go about it?’

‘That’s no problem. What kind of handbag?’

‘I wouldn’t know. Something fancy, I guess. My wife is pretty choosey.’

Karen laughed.

‘Most women are. The point is how much do you want to spend? Five hundred dollars? Something like that?’

‘Well, not that high. I thought around a hundred.’

‘You can’t do better than try Lucille’s boutique on Paradise Avenue,’ Karen said. ‘You can rely on her.’ She smiled, fluttered her eye lashes, thrust her breasts at him as she went on, ‘I’ve got to get this hamburger. See you,’ and she walked away, swashing her hips while Lepski stared after her.

Getting in his car, he drove fast to Paradise Avenue. The luxury shops kept open on Saturday afternoon, and the sidewalks were crowded with people, shop window gazing.

Parking his car, Lepski set off down the long avenue, looking for Lucille’s boutique. He had got halfway down the avenue, cursing to himself, when he passed Kendriek’s gallery. It was only because he was looking desperately at every passing shop window that he saw Crispin’s landscape in Kendriek’s window.

He came to an abrupt halt as he stared at the painting, then he felt the hairs on the back of his neck bristle.

A red blood moon!

A black sky!

An orange beach!

He stepped up to the window and again stared at the painting.

‘Holy Pete!’ he thought. ‘That old rum-dum’s prophecy!’

He remembered she had been right when he had been hunting that killer last year. She had said he was to look for oranges, and the killer had been selling oranges!

Could she be right again?

Then he remembered what Doroles had said:
the hands
of an artist.

Could the man who had painted this landscape be the killer they were hunting for?

He hesitated for a long moment, then walked purposely into the gallery.

seven

L
ouis de Marney was sulking. He considered Kendriek’s insistence to keep the gallery open on Saturday afternoon a drag. He also considered that Kendriek’s insistence that he, as head salesman, should remain, while the rest of the boys enjoyed themselves in their various ways, utterly unfair.

Admittedly, some eight weeks ago, some doddery old cow had wandered in and bought a Holbein miniature (a brilliant fake) for sixty thousand dollars. Since then, no one had visited the gallery on Saturday afternoon, but Kendriek was optimistic.

‘You never know, cheri,’ he said to Louis, ‘the door may open and some sucker come in. After all, you have Sundays and Thursdays: what more can you expect?’

Apart from sulking, Louis was outraged that he had to drive to the Gregg villa and to receive a wrapped canvas from an obviously drunken butler. On removing the wrapping, back at the gallery, he found himself confronted by one of Crispin’s landscapes.

‘We can’t show this!’ he shrilled. ‘Look at it!’

In dismay, Kendriek studied the landscape.

‘Very advanced,’ he said, and took off his wig to wipe his dome with a silk handkerchief.

‘Advanced?’ Louis shrilled. ‘It’s an insult to art!’

‘Put it in the window, cheri,’ Kendriek said. ‘You never know.’

‘But I do know!’ Louis screamed. ‘It will lower the tone of our lovely gallery!’

‘Control yourself, Louis!’ Kendriek snapped. ‘Put it in the window! I said I would show it, and I have to show it.’

He tapped Louis gently on his shoulder. ‘Remember, cheri, he owes us forty thousand dollars. Put it in the side window by itself,’ then shaking his head, he returned to his reception room.

Louis cleared the side window and put Crispin’s painting on an easel and in the window. Then he flounced to his desk and sat down, seething with fury.

He was trying to divert his mind with a gay magazine when Lepski entered the gallery.

Louis looked up and stiffened. He knew by sight and name every cop in the city, and he knew Lepski was a renowned troublemaker. He edged his foot to a concealed button under the carpet and pressed it. Kendriek, who was going through an illustrated art book, looking for something he could fake, saw the red light gleam on his desk and knew at once that he was about to have a visit from the police. This didn’t bother him. There were no hot objects d’art in the gallery, but he was surprised. The police hadn’t visited his gallery for the past six months. He heaved himself out of his chair, went to the Venetian mirror, set his wig askew and then, moving like a cat, he opened his door a crack to listen.

Louis had risen from his chair. His rat-like face was wreathed in smiles.

‘Detective Lepski!’ he gushed. ‘Such a stranger! Let me guess! You are looking for a gift for your beautiful wife! An anniversary! A birthday! A special occasion! How right you are to come to us! I have the very thing! Detective Lepski! For you, we can make a very special price! Let me show you!’

Somewhat dazed by this reception, Lepski hesitated.

Louis swished by him, opened a glass-covered case and produced a brooch set with lapis lazuli stones.

‘How your wife would love this, Detective Lepski!’

Louis said excitedly. ‘Regard it! An Italian antique of the sixteenth century! How her friends would envy her! It’s unique. To anyone else, I wouldn’t sell it under one thousand dollars! But for you: five hundred! Think of the joy it would give her!’

Lepski pulled himself together. He gave Louis his cop stare.

‘That picture in the window: the one with the red moon.’

Louis started and gaped, then quickly recovered himself.

‘How wise! How perceptive! Of course. Such a striking painting on your wall would constantly remind your beautiful wife of you!’

‘I don’t want to buy it,’ Lepski snarled, his temper rising. ‘I want to know who painted it.’

‘You don’t want to buy it?’ Louis said in faked amazement.

‘I want to know who painted it!’

Kendriek decided it was time for him to appear on the scene. He walked heavily into the gallery, looking a complete freak with his wig askew.

‘It can’t be!’ he exclaimed. ‘Surely, you are Detective 1st Grade Lepski.’ He advanced. ‘Welcome to my modest gallery. You are inquiring about the painting in our window?’

‘I’m asking who painted it!’ Lepski snapped.

‘Who painted it?’ Kendriek raised his eyebrows. ‘You are interested in modern art? How wise! You buy a painting today, and in a few years, you treble your outlay.’

Lepski made a noise like a fall of gravel.

‘This is police business. Who painted it?’

To give Kendriek time, Louis said, ‘He is referring to the painting with the red moon, cheri.’

Kendriek nodded, lifted his wig and set it further askew on his head.

‘Of course. Who painted it? Ah! Now you have raised a problem, Detective Lepski. I don’t know.’

‘What do you mean—you don’t know?’

‘If I remember rightly an artist left it with us to sell. Although the painting has certain talent, it has no great value. I thought it would be fun to put it in the window over the weekend. Saturday afternoons are good for the young trade. I would let it go for fifty dollars. It would be cheerful in a youngster’s room, don’t you think?’

‘Who was the artist?’ Lepski rasped.

Kendriek heaved a regretful sigh.

‘To the best of my knowledge he didn’t leave a name nor did he sign the painting. He said he would call back, but so far he hasn’t.’

‘When did he leave the painting with you?’

‘A few weeks ago. Time goes by so quickly. Do you remember, cheri?’ Kendriek smiled at Louis.

‘No.’ Louis shrugged indifferently.

‘What was this artist like? I want a description,’ Lepski said.

‘What was he like?’ Kendriek looked sad. ‘I didn’t deal with him. Do you remember, Louis?’

‘I didn’t deal with him either,’ Louis said with another indifferent shrug.

Lepski eyed the two and felt instinctively they were lying.

‘Then who saw him?’

‘One of my staff. Artists continually come in here with paintings. Sometimes, we take the painting. These paintings are put in our cellar and from time to time, I look at them, and select something for the window. I don’t know who actually dealt with this artist.’

‘This is police business,’ Lepski said. ‘We have reason to believe the man who painted this picture is connected with the killing of Janie Bandler and Lu Boone. I don’t have to tell you about them, do I?’

Kendriek felt his heart miss a beat, but he was a master at controlling his expression. He merely lifted his eyebrows.

‘What makes you think that?’

‘Never mind that! I want a description of this man! He could be the homicidal killer.’

Kendriek thought of Crispin Gregg. He also remembered that Crispin owed him forty thousand dollars.

‘I will ask my staff, Detective Lepski. They are not here on Saturday. You understand? Young people must have a little time off from the chores of daily work. One of them could remember.’

Lepski shifted from one foot to the other. He was almost sure he was being contrived.

‘I’ll spell it out,’ he said. ‘We are looking for a man with fair hair, around six foot tall, with artistic hands. Last seen, he was wearing a blue jacket with white golf ball buttons, pale blue slacks and Gucci shoes. We have reason to believe this man is responsible for two savage, mad murders. He could strike again any time. Now, I’m asking you for the last time, do you know the man who painted that picture?’

Kendriek felt a trickle of cold sweat run down his fat back. Just for a moment, he flinched, and Lepski saw the flinch.

There was a pause while Kendriek’s quicksilver mind went into action. There had been something frightening in Crispin Gregg’s expression that even now haunted him.

Could he be this killer? Suppose he was? Suppose he (Kendriek) gave information that led to his arrest? Forty thousand dollars gone phut! The Suleiman pendant could never be resold!

‘I had no idea how serious this is,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘Detective Lepski! You can rely on me. On Monday, when my staff is here, I will ask them. But better, Detective Lepski, if you would come here on Monday morning, you could ask them yourself.’

‘Where is your staff?’ Lepski snarled.

‘Ah! That I don’t know. I have five clever young men working for me. They could be out of town - they could be anywhere. The weekends are their own. But on Monday, they will all be here.’

‘Now listen,’ Lepski snarled in his cop voice, ‘anyone shielding this killer becomes an accessory to two murders. Remember that! I’ll be here Monday morning,’ and he stamped out of the gallery.

When Kendriek saw Lepski disappear, he turned to Louis.

‘Don’t involve me!’ Louis shrilled. ‘Why didn’t you tell him? An accessory to two murders!’

‘Tell him?’ Kendriek tore off his wig and threw it across the gallery. ‘Gregg owes me forty thousand dollars!’

‘Don’t involve me!’ Louis repeated. ‘I have had enough! I’m going for a swim! You must take all responsibility!’ and he flounced out of the gallery.

* * *

Karen Sternwood finally cleared her desk. The mail had been heavy and business brisk. Without Ken to help out, her Saturday afternoon had been completely taken up with routine work. She looked at her watch. The time was 18.30.

She thought of her father with a bunch of oldies on his yacht. He had invited her, but she had said she had to work and her father had been impressed. She had explained Ken had to go to his father-in-law who was very sick and she had to hold the fort. Her father had approved.