1979 - You Must Be Kidding (19 page)

Now the work was finished, the desk cleared, and she pushed back her chair, lit a cigarette, and contemplated what was left of her weekend.

She felt horny.

She hadn’t had a man since Ken, and she now felt like having a man. It was a complete drag that she couldn’t drive until her licence had been restored. She decided she would spend the rest of the weekend in her cabin, but first, to find a man.

She thought of her various men friends. The trouble there, she thought, was they would be already booked. Her men friends were always careful not to have a vacant weekend.

She grimaced, then a thought struck her. Why not experiment? Why not thumb a ride and see what happened?

Some interesting man might come along. Why not? It could be fun!

She locked the office and walked up Seaview Avenue to the Miami highway. She stood under the shade of a palm tree, watching the passing cars. They moved slowly in the Saturday evening jam.

A Porsche approached, but it was driven by a fat, dreary looking man and she let that one go, although the driver looked inquiringly and hopefully at her. She disliked fat men. The stream of Fords, Mercedes, VWs and Cadillacs crept by, but the drivers, some of them of interest to her, had a girl at their sides. She was beginning to lose patience when she saw a Rolls approaching. At this moment there was a traffic block, and the Rolls came to a standstill right by her. After regarding the driver, she didn’t hesitate. He was blond, handsome and much more important, on his own. Moving up to the car, she gave the driver a dazzling, sexy smile.

‘Going my way?’ she asked.

Crispin Gregg regarded her. His first thought was that she would make a wonderful subject for a painting. Then he saw the blatant sexual invitation in her eyes. He leaned over and opened the off-side door.

‘Where is your way?’ he asked, as Karen slid into the passenger’s seat.

‘Paddler’s Creek.’ She smiled at him. ‘What a dream of a car!’

The traffic began to move.

‘Paddler’s Creek?’ Crispin said as he moved the car forward. ‘That’s the Hippy colony.’

‘That’s right.’

‘But you’re no hippy.’

She laughed and thrust out her breasts.

‘I have a cabin near the colony. I am Karen Sternwood.’

‘Sternwood?’ Crispin looked sharply at her. ‘There is a Sternwood to do with insurance who was friendly with my father.’

‘His daughter. Your father? Who are you?’

‘Crispin Gregg, my father was Cyrus Gregg He died a few months ago.’

‘You are his son? I once met your father. I liked him. How odd!’

‘Yes.’ Crispin took one hand off the driving wheel and fingered the Suleiman pendant. Since he had had it, he found the urge to keep fingering it.

‘That’s original,’ Karen said, seeing the pendant in his fingers. ‘What is it?’

‘Something I picked up,’ Crispin’s eyes shifted. ‘I have something to do. It won’t take a few minutes. Are you in a hurry?’

Karen laughed.

‘I have all the time in the world! I am at a loose end this weekend. I have nothing to do.’

Crispin nodded.

‘That makes two of us. Perhaps we might do something together?’

Looking at his lean body, his long legs, his artistic hands and his handsome face, Karen felt a rush of hot blood move down to her loins.

‘Yes, you wonderful man!’ she thought. ‘We will certainly do something together!’

‘That would be fun,’ she said.

Crispin swung the Rolls off the highway and down Paradise Avenue.

‘There is something I want to see, then my time is yours.’

At this hour of 19.10, Paradise Avenue was deserted.

All the luxury shops had now closed. Crispin pulled up outside Kendriek’s gallery.

Since he had parted with his landscape, he had itched to see it displayed in this renowned gallery. He wondered if there had already been inquiries. Saturday afternoon, of course, was a bad time, but he wanted to see how this stupid looking queer had displayed his painting.

There it was! On a silver painted easel! The last rays of the sun fell directly on it.

Crispin felt a surge of pride run through him. Yes! It was original! It had life!

‘What do you think of that?’ he asked, and pointed to the painting.

Karen stared, frowned, stared again, then looked at him.

‘That thing there?’

Crispin’s smile became fixed.

‘That painting.’

Karen shrugged.

‘I don’t know much about modern art. I have a few interesting works. My father has some of the great modern paintings.’

Crispin’s long artistic fingers tightened on the steering wheel.

‘What do you think of that painting in the window,’ he said, an edge to his voice.

‘It must be a joke . . . a weekend joke,’ Karen said.

‘Either that or Kendriek has gone out of his tiny mind. That? Why it looks to me as if an idiot child painted it. Don’t you agree?’

‘An idiot child?’ Crispin said.

She laughed.

‘Or a mad man. What a thing!’

Crispin’s fingers caressed the Suleiman pendant.

‘I thought it was original.’

‘Is that all you want to see?’ Karen asked. She was now impatient to get this hunk of man to her cabin. ‘Let’s go.’

Crispin shifted into ‘drive’ and headed back to the highway.

‘Seriously, if you are interested in good modern art,’ Karen said, ‘not utter junk like that, you should talk to Kendriek. He really knows.’

‘Utter junk?’ Crispin said. ‘You really think that?’

‘Well, don’t you?’

Crispin felt a vicious urge to pull up, press the ruby stone, then stab this girl and keep on stabbing her, but he managed to control the urge.

‘So you are free for the weekend,’ he said, his voice deceptively mild. ‘What would you like us to do?’

‘Let’s go to my cabin. You’ll like it.’ She gave him a sexy smile. ‘We’ll have fun.’

Neither of them said anything during the short drive.

‘Leave the car here,’ Karen said. ‘It’s only a short walk.’

Crispin drove the Rolls under the shadow of a palm tree, and together they walked down the path toward Karen’s cabin.

Crispin said, ‘Isn’t it around here that girl got killed?’

Knowing, of course, it was.

‘Yes. Wasn’t that terrible?’

Dusk was falling, and the path, overhung by trees and boxed in by shrubs, was almost dark.

Crispin moved closer.

‘Aren’t you scared to use this path?’ and he fingered the Suleiman pendant.

‘Not with a he-man like you with me.’

They came out into the open.

‘There it is! All mine!’ Karen said and pointed.

Crispin regarded the lonely cabin.

‘Looks good. You stay there quite alone? Don’t the hippies bother you?’

‘They dig me.’ Karen unlocked the door. ‘I dig them.’

They entered the cabin and Karen turned on the lights.

She crossed to the big window and drew the curtains.

Crispin looked around, nodding his approval.

‘Very nice,’ he said.

‘I love it!’ Karen regarded him. Some man! she thought. ‘How about a drink?’

Crispin went up to her. He put his hands gently on her arms, then turned her, so her back was to him. Then very lightly, he ran his fingers down her spine.

Karen shuddered, hunched her shoulders, feeling a wave of sexual excitement run through her.

‘Do it again!’ she said. ‘How did you guess?’

Again his fingers moved from the nape of her neck down to the end of her spine.

‘I love it!’

He pushed her gently towards the bed.

‘Wait!’ Karen slipped out of her Tshirt, dropped her jeans, whipped down her panties. Then she fell face down across the bed.

‘Do it!’ she said breathlessly. ‘Again and again!’

Crispin sat on the bed by her side. He moved a finger of his left hand down her naked back. With his right hand, he lifted the Suleiman pendant from his neck. His fingers pressed the ruby, and the blade sprang out.

‘I love it!’ Karen moaned. ‘More!’

What felt like a feather moved down her spine. The razor sharp blade gently parted her skin and blood began to well out. There was no pain: just sexual ecstasy to her.

Again the knife parted her skin in a second long line from her nape to the end of her spine. More blood began to well out.

‘God!’ Karen gasped, thumping her clenched fists on the bed. ‘This is marvellous! Do it again!’

Crispin’s eyes suddenly lit up, and his lips turned into a snarl. He cut deeper, and made a long, terrible gash down the length of her body. Blood began to pour onto the sheet. Feeling sharp pain, Karen stiffened, then whirled around onto her back. She stared with horror at Crispin’s face: the face of a savage, terrifying demon. She saw the blood stained blade.

‘What are you doing?’ she cried, her voice shrill. ‘What have you done to me?’

Then she saw the blood on the sheet, and as her mouth formed into a big O to scream, Crispin struck.

* * *

The sales girl at Lucille’s Boutique wore a claret coloured trouser suit and she had a fringe hairdo. With a welcoming smile, she drifted towards Lepski as he entered the shop.

‘Can I help you?’ she asked, and Lepski was aware she was looking him over, judging what he was worth.

‘I want a handbag,’ he said. ‘Around a hundred bucks.’

She surveyed him again with her deep blue eyes.

‘A present?’ Her eyebrows lifted. ‘A hundred?’

Lepski shifted from one foot to the other. This wasn’t his scene, but as he had come this far, he had to get the goddamn bag.

‘A present for my wife.’

‘I have just the thing: a baby mink crocodile. Your wife will adore it.’ The bag was laid on the counter. ‘It has everything: chamois leather lined. Matching lipstick and compact . . . purse. . .’

Lepski regarded the bag. He knew at once that Carroll would flip her lid to have a bag like this. What he didn’t realize was that Carroll would want a new dress, a new coat, new gloves and new shoes to go with the bag.

‘Yeah. Very nice. How much?’

‘Two hundred and fifty.’ The girl smiled at him. ‘It is a beautiful bag. Any lady would be proud to own it.’

Lepski had one hundred and ninety five dollars in his billfold. He looked at the bag regretfully.

‘Too much,’ he said firmly. ‘I want something around a hundred and fifty . . . not more.’

‘There’s this antelope, but, of course, it’s not in the same class.’

Another bag was produced. Lepski scarcely looked at it as he continued to eye the crocodile bag.

‘Will you take my check?’ he asked.

‘Do we know you?’ the girl asked, her smite fading.

Lepski produced his shield.

‘Detective Lepski. City police.’

The girl’s reaction startled him. Her eyes opened wide and she positively beamed at him.

‘Mr. Lepski? I can give you a discount. Suppose we say a hundred and seventy?’

Lepski gaped at her.

‘My brother works at headquarters: Dusty Lucas,’ the girl went on. ‘He’s often talked about you. He says you are the smartest cop on the force.’

Lepski preened himself.

‘We have a deal, and let me tell you, Miss Lucas, your brother is no slouch either.’

She gift wrapped the bag while Lepski counted out his money.

‘I appreciate this, Miss Lucas,’ he went on. He gave her his wolf leer. ‘Dusty is lucky to have a sister as gorgeous as you.’

‘Why, Mr. Lepski! That’s quite a compliment. You tell him.’

Lepski nodded.

‘Yeah. Brothers don’t appreciate sisters, but I’ll tell him.’

Out on the street, he looked at his watch. The time was 18.45. There was no point in checking out any more clothes dealers. By now, they would have closed shop. He got in his car, lit a cigarette, and thought. He found himself in a quandary. The old rum-dum, Mehitabel Bessinger, had said he would find the killer by the clues of a blood red moon, a black sky and an orange beach. She had been right the previous time when she said he would find the killer he had been hunting among oranges. Lepski hated to admit it, but it looked as if this rum-dum knew what she was talking about. He should have realized right away that she had been talking about a painting. It had been sheer chance that he had seen this painting in Kendriek’s window. He knew Kendriek was a fence. He felt sure he had been lying when he had said he didn’t know the artist who had painted the picture. He was sure that Kendriek was covering for someone. Lepski shoved his hat to the back of his head while he thought. He knew for sure that Kendriek would never cover anyone unless this someone was rich.

Lepski tossed his cigarette out of the car window. He couldn’t tell his Chief about Mehitabel Bessinger. The thought of explaining to Terrell that Carroll had consulted a drunken clairvoyant, and this rum-dum had given out these clues, brought Lepski out in a cold sweat. Terrell, and the rest of the boys, would laugh themselves sick.

They would think he had gone crazy. No, this was something he had to follow up himself: saying nothing. On Monday he would go to Kendriek’s gallery and take Kendriek’s staff apart.

He drove back to headquarters. After typing his report about his talk with Syd Heinie, he took it to Terrell.

After reading the report, Terrell shrugged. ‘Okay, Tom. Go home. Sooner or later, we’ll get a break.’

Lepski got home at 23.15. As usual, he found Carroll clued to the goggle box. She waved to him. The gangster movie was exciting. She couldn’t take her eyes off the lighted screen.

‘There’s food in the refrig.’

T.V.! Lepski thought sourly. A goddam drug!

He ate cold chicken and drank beer in the kitchen. As he listened to the sound of gunfire, police sirens and strident voices coming from the T.V., he helped himself to more beer.

At midnight, the film finished, and he walked into the living room. Carroll, her mind now switched off from the gangster violence, smiled at him.

‘A good day?’ she asked.

‘Right now, it is your birthday,’ Lepski said smugly. ‘A present!’

‘Oh, Tom! I was sure you would forget!’

‘That’s a nice thing to say.’ He placed the gift wrapped bag on her lap. ‘First grade detectives never forget!’