Dr. Yes (16 page)

    I
said, 'Hello, No Alibis, murder is our business, in a strictly nonliteral
sense.'

    A woman's
voice said, 'I'll give you bloody murder.'

    And
ordinarily this would have caused me to slam down the receiver and hide under
the counter, but as it happened, I recognised her voice. I said, 'What has she
done now?'

    It
was Mrs Collins, the owner of the Sunny Delight nursing home where I had
sequestered Mother. Although physically she was falling to bits, and mentally
she was as mad as a bag of spiders, Mother had always expressed a horror of and
revulsion for such establishments, and had made me swear on a bible that I
would never send her to one. She believed in God as much as I did, so she must
have known it was meaningless. She would also have guessed that my absolute
denial that she was going into Sunny Delight because of her deteriorating
condition was complete bollocks, and instead chose to accept my justification
for her 'temporary' removal from her own home: that she was actually going into
hiding as part of the witness protection programme she was being obliged to
join because of her involvement in the
Case of the Cock-Headed Man.
She
had demanded to know why I wasn't also part of the scheme and I'd told her that
I could look after myself, which had caused her to snort, and Alison also,
listening in the background. But the thing was, as long as Mother could
convince herself that she was part of such a scheme, then she was happy enough
to go. She was finally self-aware enough to know that she wasn't capable of
looking after herself any more. And that I couldn't be bothered.

    However,
her capacity for causing mayhem did not diminish with her change in
circumstances. Calls from Mrs Collins were a weekly, occasionally daily,
occurrence.

    'I
can hardly bring myself to tell you what she's done.'

    'I'm
sure it can't be that bad.'

    'Well
you'd be wrong. It is important that our patients are not ... upset. That means
that the television programmes they are allowed to watch in the communal area
have to be monitored, and where we believe them to be inappropriate, then the
channel must be changed.'

    'I
understand.'

    'Well
your mother does not.
The Exorcist,
you will also agree, is not suitable
afternoon viewing.'

    'How
did ...?’

    'Sky
Horror Movies. She coerced the pin number out of one of our young nurses.'

    'My
mother

    'I
had to switch it off. Your mother showed her displeasure by .. .'

    'Yes?'

    'By .
. .'

    'Uhuh?'

    'Oh I
can't even bring myself to say it.'

    'Please
just say it.'

    'She
. . . lowered her . . .'

    'Her
... ?'

    'She
took down her

    'She
took down what?'

    'She
lowered her . . . and then she ... in the middle of the ...'

    'She
what what and a what what?'

    'She
had a . . .
shit
on the lounge carpet!'

    
'Oh.
God. I'm sorry, I . . .'

    'And
that was bad enough.'

    'There's
more?'

    'We
have all types of residents here. We are not easily shocked. Many of them no
longer have control of their faculties. Your mother, despite her stroke, is
not
one of them.
It isn't just that she
did
it.'

    'It
isn't?'

    'It
was the look of triumph on her face
while
she did it. That's what got me
the most. The pure, unadulterated pleasure she took from her disgusting act of
defiance.'

    That's
my ma.

    'Well,'
I said, 'I'm really dreadfully sorry. It can't have been very pleasant, to observe
or to clean up.'

    'Don't
worry on that front; we have Filipinos for that. I just . . . don't know what
to do with her.'

    'Have
you tried sedation?'

    She
laughed. I did not.

    'To
be serious for one moment, I really am at the end of my tether. I simply cannot
condone or allow this type of behaviour.'

    She
paused. I waited. She kept with the pause.

    'What
are you saying?'

    'I'm
saying we have decided to institute a three strikes and you're out policy. You
may consider this a verbal warning. If she gets to number two

    'Number
two . . . ?'

    'Please,
if there's a second offence, then you will receive a written warning. If it
happens again after that, then we will have to ask you to remove her from the
home. Is that understood?'

    I
sighed. 'Yes. Okay. I'll come and have a word with her. I'll make sure it won't
happen again.'

    Neither
of us, obviously, believed
that.

    Alison
came steaming through the door just as I hung up. She was smiling again.

    'How
clever am I?' she asked.

    There
was a simple answer to that. But I contented myself with a simple 'Well that
remains to be seen.'

    She
put the V-cutter back on the counter and said, 'See, not a scratch on it.'

    'I'm
not sure if that constitutes clever. Careful, maybe.'

    'Oh shut
up and listen. I know you don't have a very high opinion of me

    'I
never . . .'

    '. .
. but I know my stuff, and I knew that wasn't a UK hallmark. It's really only
us, the Dutch and the Swiss who go in for hallmarking anyway, and America,
where this baby's from, don't give a toss.'

    'America?
Do you . . . ?' 'They may not hallmark, but they leave what we call a maker's
mark. See this . . . ?'

    She
pointed to something on the cutter.

    'No.'

    'There.'

    'Sorry,
no. Not with my eyesight.'

    'Well
get out your thingamajig.'

    'Excuse
me?'

    'Your
Sherlock Holmes spyglass.'

    'What
on earth are you talking about?'

    'Jeff
told me all about it. Get it out and have a look. It's a clue.'

    'I
haven't a
clue
what you're talking about. And Jeff's a notorious liar
and fabricator. He said you were a two-faced cow.'

    Her
eyes narrowed. 'And what did you say?'

    'I'm
allergic to cows. And therefore you can't be one. A cow.'

    'Right.
I'm not getting into this. Just look and learn. This manufacturer uses a
particular symbol to represent the year it was made. What you would be seeing
if you had the gumption to take out your little toy is the image of a small
bugle.
That
tells us that this was manufactured in 2005 by the Palio
company out of Providence, Rhode Island. And
this
. . . super- minuscule
number obviously allows them to keep track of their products, which allows
me
to e-mail them and ask where this was purchased, which I did, and they
responded ...'

    'You
did this in seven and a half minutes?'

    'No,
five. Two and a half were getting there and back. Impressed?'

    'No,
I was wondering why so long.'

    She
gave me a sarcastic smile and said, 'There's like an international fraternity
of jewellers; we help each other.'

    'The
fellowship of the rings.'

    She
ignored me. She slapped a piece of paper on to the counter. 'So now it's over
to you. Here. This is the cell phone number for Joe's Cigars. As far as I can
determine, it's basically a cart set up beside the valet parking entrance for
Caesar's Palace in Las Vegas. That's where your V-cut was purchased.'

    'Vegas?'

    'Vegas.'

    'And
what do you want me to do, phone some
cart
and ask if it, he or she
remembers selling someone a V-cut at some point in time, in Vegas, where
everyone smokes cigars?'

    'Yes.
That's the number. I even included the international code. The point is,
according to the serial number, the V-cut was delivered to Joe's within the
past six weeks. It was a special order. Joe ordered just one, not a box of
them. You and I know that Vegas is all about high rollers, high stakes, big
cigars. Joe must sell a lot of V-cutters. So why order just one? Most cutters
cost five or ten dollars; this one cost Joe fifty dollars wholesale. Makes you
think he's bringing it in for someone, and that if you press the right buttons,
like the ones on your phone, he might tell you who it was.'

    'Why
don't you do it? You're on a winning streak.'

    'Because
you're the boss, you're
the man,
it's your job.'

    'I
don't like phones and I don't like people, and what if I can't get rid of him?
Have you any idea how expensive international calls are, especially to a mobile
phone?'

    Alison
folded her arms. She tapped her fingers on the counter.

    I
said, 'Okay, damn your eyes, I'll call him. But could you go and stand over
there?'

    'Why?'

    'I
don't like being looked at or listened to while I make a call.'

    'What
if I have something relevant to contribute?'

    I
raised an eyebrow. She shook her head and crossed the shop, although not far
enough. Nevertheless I moved to the phone and tapped in the numbers. I turned
my back to her while I waited for an answer. The dialling tone switched to an
international pulse.

    It
was answered with a 'Hey.'

    'Hello,
can I speak to Joe?'

    'Joe
dead.'

    It
was, even given my line of work - bookselling - totally unexpected.

    'I...
I... I.. . Oh. I'm very sorry. Ahm. My sincere condolences. How did he ...?'

    'He
shot.'

    My eyes
flitted up to Alison's. She had moved closer, stealthily, while my back was
turned. My heart rate was up. My shirt was sticking to my back
already.
I shook my head at her. She mouthed,
'What?'
I mimed putting a gun to my
head and shooting.

    That's
. . .
terrible . .
. What happened?' I asked.

    'He
owed money, he shot. It's Vegas.'

    'When
. . . when was this?'

    'Nineteen
fifty-six. We over it now.'

    'Nineteen
. . .! Oh - I misunderstood.'

    'Hey,
everyone asks for Joe, no Joe since fifties. Been my family since 'sixty-two,
me here since 'eighty- seven. Everyone call me Joe 'cos it say Joe above my
head. I don't mind. Every day I'm Joe, go home, I'm not Joe. I'm Manuel Gerardo
Ramiro Alfonzo Aurelio Enrique Zapata Quetzalcoatl. Most people find it easier
just call me Joe. What I do for you?'

    'Well,
my name is Donald, Donald Westlake,' I said, for I have a business and its
reputation to protect. 'I'm a police officer, I'm calling from ah, Scotland
Yard in London, England.'

    'I heard
of that. What the problem?'

    'We're
trying to trace the owner of a V-cut cigar cutter, to do with a big case, a
murder case. Traced it as far as you, wondering if you could help us. There are
obviously official channels we could go through, but sometimes it's easier to
get it straight from the horse's head. Mouth.'

    'Yeah,
sure, okay, do what I can. V-cut you say? Sell a lot of V-cut, not sure I . .
.'

    'This
one was probably a special order, expensive, you brought it in in the past few
weeks, I have the serial number here.'