The Malaspiga Exit (9 page)

‘You mightn't have seen me,' Carpenter said. ‘People don't like talking to policemen. Especially my kind of policeman. I just hope you can help me.'

John Julius got up. He pushed his fists into his trousers pockets and glared down at Carpenter. ‘I don't like being taken for a fool,' he said. ‘I've a right to throw you out of here.'

‘But you won't,' Carpenter answered, ‘unless you've got something to hide.'

‘Hona!' The call brought the Hawaiian running. Carpenter guessed he couldn't have been far away. For a moment Julius hesitated. There was a line of red coming up from his smart silk shirt collar, reaching to beneath his ears. He was genuinely angry. And genuinely afraid too. Fear showed in the eyes bright blue, ladykillers, with fear blinking in them.

‘Hona, bring me a Buck's Fizz! And tell Jumie this gentleman won't be staying for lunch after all.' He turned away from Carpenter and sat down.

‘All right,' he said. ‘You've come into my home under false pretences. That doesn't help, as far as I'm concerned. But I have a duty as a citizen. If you've got questions, ask them.'

‘I'm sorry,' Frank Carpenter said. ‘I should have said right out what I wanted. But a lot of people do scare off. Some of this will be pretty personal, so I'll wait till you get your drink. Can I ask you something?'

Julius nodded. The red round his neck was fading.

‘What the hell is a Buck's Fizz?'

‘Champagne and fresh orange juice.' He didn't suggest that Carpenter try one. He sipped it. ‘Let's get on with it,' he said. ‘What do you want to know?'

Carpenter lit a cigarette. ‘About six or seven years ago you entertained the Duke and Duchess of Malaspiga here, didn't you?'

‘Sandro and Francesca—yes. They came on their honeymoon. Why?'

‘Would you mind telling me how you met them?'

‘I knew Sandro's father; he was much older, of course, but I was filming in Italy and we were introduced. He asked if I could show his son and daughter-in-law round Hollywood. They stayed with us for ten days. I remember my wife gave a big party for them. It made every gossip column in the country.'

‘I'll bet,' Carpenter said. ‘And do you still see them?'

‘No,' John Julius said. ‘I don't. We lost touch after my wife died.'

‘But you remember them pretty well, don't you—seven years is a long time and you must have had a lot of people staying since then. But you remembered them right away.'

‘It was a memorable visit,' the actor said.

‘Could you tell me anything about them? Anything at all, any recollection.'

‘Not till you've told me why you want to know,' he said. ‘I don't talk about my friends.'

‘They're hardly friends,' Carpenter suggested, ‘as you haven't seen them in seven years. Or is it only since your wife died? She died two years ago, didn't she?'

‘Yes,' Julius said. ‘I think she corresponded with them. She liked titles.'

‘But you weren't impressed,' Carpenter said.

‘He was impressive,' Julius said. Carpenter leaned forward and lit a cigarette for him; the service seemed to ease the tension between them. He leaned a little back in his chair and crossed his leg over the other. ‘Nobody could help being impressed by Malaspiga.'

‘Why not? What was so special about him?'

Julius waved the cigarette. ‘He was a beautiful man. And don't misunderstand me, Mr. Carpenter. I mean beautiful in the aesthetic sense. He'd have made a fortune on the screen. He had presence, magnetism. In fact he was the only duke I've ever met who looked the part. There were half a dozen producers who were fighting to sign him on when they were over here. As for the women—well.'

‘How did he take it all?'

‘As his due,' John Julius said. ‘He was amused by flattery. He had a very good sense of humour and he made fun of a lot of people. I didn't mind that; I could see how we'd look like a lot of monkeys in the zoo to him. My wife resented it, but she was a native Californian.'

‘You're English, aren't you?'

‘Originally, yes, but I took U.S. citizenship twenty years ago. I consider myself an American.' It was the sort of answer he'd have given had it been an interview.

‘Although your wife resented his attitude, she still kept up with them—but you didn't.'

‘That's right. I told you, my wife was a snob. I didn't invite them to visit again.'

There was a contradiction in the answer, but Carpenter decided not to follow it up at that stage. He himself was relaxed, he asked his questions in a quiet voice. John Julius was no longer as angry, or as frightened as he had been. Carpenter encouraged him.

‘These must seem very unrelated questions, Mr. Julius,' he said. ‘And by the way, I appreciate the way you're giving me the answers. It's good of you to cooperate after what I pulled on you.'

‘I suppose you have to do that sort of thing,' the actor shrugged. He called for the butler, who was a little longer coming this time, and ordered a second Buck's Fizz. There was a second's pause and then he offered one to Carpenter.

‘It's very refreshing—the orange takes the acid out of the champagne. It's great if you have a hangover.'

‘No, thanks.' Carpenter shook his head. ‘But I'd like another beer. Tell me, among all the women who chased after Malaspiga, was there one in particular he fell for? Some of the most beautiful girls in the world hang around here. He must have had a ball.'

‘As a matter of fact he didn't,' Julius leaned a little forward. He wrinkled his forehead; he looked exactly like an English actor playing an English actor.

‘He seemed to be very much in love with his wife. It was quite a phenomenon. There was one very famous movie actress, no names, you understand, but she was the sex goddess at Paramount, and she made a play for him one night. You've never seen anything like it. He brushed her off like a true gentleman.'

‘So you wouldn't say he made any close friends while he was staying with you?'

‘No; truer to say he made a few enemies, including the goddess, who'd never laid it on the line and been told to take it home before.' He put his head back and laughed with pleasure at the memory. ‘Jesus, was she mad!'

Carpenter allowed himself to grin. ‘I can imagine. When you don't want it they'll give it away.'

Julius looked at him. ‘You mean all women or just movie stars?'

‘All women,' Carpenter said. ‘You haven't said anything about the Duchess. What was she like?' It was an irrelevant question, and he didn't know why he'd asked it, except to stall before the next one, which was important.

The actor's face closed like a fist. ‘Nothing much to look at; I don't remember her all that clearly.'

‘She must have had something to keep a man like that on a short lead. If it wasn't beauty, what was it?'

‘I've no idea,' Julius said coldly. ‘She was rather dull; pretty in a way, if you like very dark women. Not at all sophisticated.'

The lurking fear was back behind the eyes; he picked up his drink and put it down again. He wasn't worried about answering questions concerned with Malaspiga, but the young Duchess had the opposite effect. He looked at his watch.

Carpenter knew that he was going to cut the interview short. He asked his original question.

‘Did the Duke and Duchess go anywhere more than once when they stayed with you—weren't there any social contacts that might have stuck? This is a very important question, Mr. Julius. Try to remember.'

He couldn't and he wasn't going to try; even before he answered Carpenter knew that it would be a negative.

‘They didn't make any real friends,' he said. ‘Ten days isn't very long. Now Mr. Carpenter, I'm afraid you'll have to excuse me.'

‘Sure.' Carpenter held out his hand. Julius took it, but his reluctance showed. ‘Don't you want to know why I'm asking about them?' Carpenter asked quietly. ‘Or do you know?'

Suddenly Julius looked his age. The lined forehead was real, the blue eyes held fear and revulsion. ‘I expect I know,' he said. ‘You've come to dig up some dirt connected with Elise. Well, you won't get anything from me. Hona! Show the gentleman out.'

Outside in the brilliant sunshine, Carpenter walked slowly between the line of palm trees to the avenue. Before going to interview John Julius he had made a quick investigation of the star and his background. He was a respected member of the film community; there were no scandals in his life; his marriage to a rich socialite, Elise Bohun, had lasted fifteen years until her death. He had no children, and was one of the few post-war Hollywood stars to keep his money, as well as having married it. And presumably benefited from the will. He didn't keep that house on television royalties from old films. He had disliked the Duke of Malaspiga, at the same time he admired him; his description fitted the kind of arrogant upper-class bastard that Carpenter thoroughly despised. A beautiful man, magnetic, sophisticated, contemptuous of people he considered his inferiors. He had made fun of the movie colony. How they must have hated him for that—they were already so insecure. He had disliked the Duke, but he hadn't been able to bide his hatred of the Duchess.

There was pain, as well as defiance, in the suddenly aged face, when he said those last words. ‘You've come to dig up some dirt connected with Elise …' Until that moment Carpenter hadn't known there was any dirt to dig for; on arrival in New York, he went straight to his office.

The previous day he had asked Jim Nathan to investigate the antique shop on Park Avenue, and make enquiries about Edward D. Taylor. At eight o'clock that night Nathan rang through.

‘I tried to get you earlier, Frank. They said you were out of town.'

‘I went to California. You coming in, or going home now?'

‘I'm on my way,' Nathan said. ‘But I could make a progress report over a beer. How about meeting me at Noni's in twenty minutes?'

Half an hour later, Carpenter went to the bar where he and Jim usually met, and saw Nathan at a corner booth. He went over and Nathan shook hands.

‘Well,' he raised his glass to Frank Carpenter. ‘How was the sunshine state—black with smog as usual?'

‘No. Sun was shining. Pretty air hostess on the flight back; in all, a good day. What d'you get on that antique shop on Park?'

Nathan shrugged, drawing his mouth down.

‘Nothing much. It's been established two years; the lease was bought by a private company owned by this guy Eddi Taylor. He runs a very classy antique business. I went in for a look round. They have a beautiful stock, no junk or repro stuff. The prices gave me a heart attack, so after I'd talked to the girl assistant for a while, I got the hell out. There's nothing phoney there, Frank. What's the angle on the place?'

‘I don't know yet,' Carpenter said. ‘But it's a link with out new drug pipeline. You didn't see Taylor?'

‘No. The girl said he was out of town for the day. I can always call back. I checked with the records; there's nothing known about him; he's clean.'

‘Where was he before he opened the shop on Park?' Carpenter asked the question casually. Nathan paused to light his pipe; he looked down at the bowl, stuffing the tobacco in with his fingers, before he put the match to it.

‘He had a place up in Beverly Hills,' he said. ‘But that was sold up years ago. I checked very carefully.'

‘Did he own that too?'

‘Yeah,' Nathan said. He sucked hard, drawing on the pipe. ‘I went into all the details. He brought the place, ran it for a year or two and then sold out. There's no connection there, Frank. I guess he's just another antique dealer. Sorry.'

‘I'm not so sure,' Carpenter said. ‘It looks good, but I don't like it. Go on digging; get the layout on his export-import business—who he sells to, private clients, other dealers—everything you can find out.'

‘Okay,' Nathan shrugged. ‘If you say so, but it's a waste of time. What makes you think Taylor's involved in the new pipeline?'

‘There's a connection,' Carpenter said. ‘And I'm relying on you, Jim. Keep digging. We'll find something. I know it.'

‘Tell me,' Nathan said, ‘how big is this pipeline—where's it coming from?'

‘Italy,' Frank Carpenter answered. He rubbed out his cigarette in the metal ashtray and used the stub to draw patterns in the ash. ‘Italy. We're sure of that.' Nathan called the waitress over.

‘Have another beer?' he asked.

Frank shook his head. ‘Not for me.'

‘What's the matter with you?' Nathan rolled his eyes, he liked to play the Jewish ham; he spread his hands and put on an accent.

‘You don't drink, you don't screw around, so what's the matter with you? You sick or something? Go on, live dangerously, have another beer!'

Carpenter laughed. ‘Okay. But I've got work to do.' He liked Nathan; when his own marriage broke up, the older man had proved a good friend, with a rare understanding of his feelings.

‘It's Mafia-controlled, then?'

‘It must be affiliated, or they'd have wiped the operation out. They don't encourage independent organizations. This is a bastard to pin down, but my guess is it started from small beginnings and it's been slowly building up. Now there's a big network in New York and a suspicion that it's spread to the West Coast. What we need is some hard facts, something to act on.'

‘And you haven't got that yet?' Nathan asked him.

‘No,' Carpenter said. ‘All we have is circumstantial evidence. We've got to get solid proof.'

‘How?' Nathan said. He sipped his beer. His skin was cold, his hands moist with sweat. Marie … The name was repeated in the accelerated heart-beat. Marie. Carpenter was getting close. Firelli had got close too. He wouldn't give up on Eddi Taylor. Go on digging, we'll find something. He had to find out what was happening, give Taylor warning. It wasn't enough just to block them in investigating Taylor. He had to get information. Otherwise something would happen to Marie. His left arm ached, as if he'd pulled a muscle.