The man, singing, was lean and tall. His face and head were so covered with thick curly hair it was hard to say if he was good looking or not. He spotted the two detectives as they came out of the shadows, and he abruptly stopped singing. He was seated on an orange crate. As he got slowly to his feet, a hundred or so eyes regarded Lepski.
Somewhere in the darkness, a voice said, ‘Fuzz.’
There was a long moment of silence and stillness, then the tall, lean man put down his guitar and walked around the seated hippies and paused before Lepski.
‘I run this camp,’ he said. ‘Chet Miscolo. Something wrong?’
‘Yeah,’ Lepski said. ‘Detective 1st Grade Lepski. Detective Lucas.’
Miscolo nodded to Dusty who nodded back.
‘What’s the trouble?’
Lepski handed him the three polaroid prints.
‘Know her?’
Miscolo moved to a gas flare, regarded the prints, then looked at Lepski.
‘Sure, Janie Bandler. Looks like she’s dead.’
A sigh went through the group who were now all standing.
‘Yeah,’ Lepski said. ‘Murdered and ripped wide open.’
Again a sigh went through the group.
Kiscolo handed back the prints.
‘She arrived last night,’ he said. ‘She told me she was only staying a few days: had a job waiting for her in Miami.’ He rubbed his hand across his mouth. ‘I’m sorry. She seemed okay to me.’ He spoke regretfully, and Lepski, watching him, decided he was sorry.
‘Let’s have all you know about her, Chet.’ Aware of the tension in the group, Lepski sat on the sand. Dusty followed his example, sitting close to the gas flare, taking out his notebook.
This was a good move. The group hesitated, then they all sat down.
The smell of frying sausages and body dirt was a little overpowering to both detectives.
‘Want a sausage, Fuzz?’ Miscolo asked, dropping on the sand by Lepski’s side, ‘we are all ready to eat.’
‘Sure,’ Lepski said, ‘and don’t call me fuzz . . . call me Lepski . . . right?’
A fat girl forked two sausages from the pan on the fire, wrapped them in paper and handed them to Lepski.
‘None for this fuzz,’ Lepski said, not wanting Dusty’s notebook to get greasy. ‘He’s getting to fat.’
There was a faint laugh around the group and the tension eased. Dusty made a comic grimace.
Lepski bit into his sausage and munched.
‘Good. You folks know how to eat.’
‘We get by,’ Miscolo said. ‘Who killed her?’
Lepski finished the sausage. He told himself he must talk to Carroll about cooking sausages. Carroll was a non-expert cook, but a tryer. She constantly produced elaborate dishes that were always disasters.
‘That’s what we want to know,’ Lepski said. ‘She came here last night and said she had a job waiting for her in Miami . . . right?’
‘That’s what I said.’
‘Did she say what job?’
‘Not to me.’ Miscolo looked around the group. ‘Did she say anything to any of you?’
The fat girl who had given Lepski the sausages, said, ‘We shared a cabin. She said she had a job, working for the Yacht Club, Miami. I didn’t believe her. From her style, I guess she was a hooker.’
Lepski thought this was more than possible.
‘What’s your name?’
‘Katey White.’
‘Katey is permanent,’ Miscolo said. ‘She handles the cooking.’
That, to Lepski, explained why the girl was so fat.
‘Did she have anything with her?’
‘She had a rucksack. It’s in the cabin.’
‘I’ll want that.’ Lepski paused, then went on. ‘What happened tonight?’
‘She said she was going for a walk,’ Katey told him. ‘I didn’t like her. So she went for a walk, and I couldn’t care less.’
‘Why didn’t you like her?’
‘She was too tough. I tried to talk to her, but her mouth was foul.’
‘When did she go for this walk?’
‘Around seven.’
‘Any of you others see her?’
There was a chorus of ‘nos.’
‘So she went for a walk, ran into trouble, got knocked on the head and had her bowels in a heap.’
There was a long pause of shocked silence.
‘Listen, you people, there could be a ripper around,’ Lepski said, his voice quiet and serious. ‘I’m warning you. Right now don’t go for walks alone at night.’ Again a long silence, then Lepski asked, ‘Would any of you know someone who would do a thing like this? Anyone kinky?’
‘No one here,’ Miscolo said firmly. ‘We are one big family. No kinks.’
Lepski thought, then asked, ‘Have you had any new arrivals? I mean someone who has arrived here within the past four hours?’
‘A guy did drift in a couple of hours ago,’ Miscolo said.
‘Calls himself Lu Boone. He had some money and has rented a cabin to himself. I don’t know anything about him.’
‘Where’s he now?’
‘Sleeping. He said he had thumbed from Jacksonville.’
‘I’ll talk to him.’ Lepski finished the remaining sausage, then got to his feet. ‘Where do I find him?’
Miscolo also got to his feet.
‘I’ll take you.’ As they walked across the sand to the ten tiny wooden cabins, with Dusty walking with them, Miscolo said, ‘I don’t want trouble here, Mr. Lepski. I’ve run this camp now for two years. There’s been no problems. Mayor Hedley accepts us.’
‘Yeah, but don’t kid yourself, Chet, you do have trouble.’
Miscolo paused and pointed to the far cabin in the row.
‘He’s in there. You want me to stay around?’
‘Suppose you go and wake him up?’ Lepski said. ‘Tell him we want to talk to him. Then when you’ve got him awake, we’ll move in . . . how’s that?’
‘You cops don’t take chances, do you?’ Miscolo grinned.
‘I’ll leave him to you. I haven’t finished my supper,’ and moving around Lepski, he walked back to the campfire.
Lepski gave Dusty a wry grin.
‘It was worth a try.’
‘That guy isn’t stupid.’
Lepski took out his .38 police special, sighed, then walked to the cabin and pushed open the door. Dusty, following training, dropped on one knee, his gun covering Lepski.
Lepski looked into total darkness. A rank smell of body dirt came to him. Then a light snapped on. Lepski moved sideways, his gun pointing.
A bearded young man, naked, sat up on the camp bed.
‘Don’t move,’ Lepski barked in his cop voice. ‘Police!’
The bearded young man flicked the dirty sheet across his lap, then stared at Lepski as he moved into the cabin.
‘What do you want with me?’
Dusty came in and moved against the wall. He shoved his gun back into its holster.
Satisfied this hippy wasn’t armed, Lepski lowered his gun.
‘Checking,’ he said. ‘What’s your name?’
‘Lu Boone. Can’t you fuzz let a guy sleep?’
Lepski sat down on the only chair. He holstered his gun.
‘You’ve just arrived, Lu? Right?’
‘If you want it spelt out,’ Boone said. ‘I booked into this cabin at five after nine.’
‘How did you come?’
‘For God’s sake! On my goddamn feet!’
‘I mean which way?’
‘Along the beach. I got a hitch to the top of the road and walked down, along the beach.’
‘This is a murder investigation,’ Lepski said quietly. ‘Did you see anyone? Hear anything? There’s a girl’s body in the first thicket along the road. You didn’t go that way?’
Boone stiffened.
‘You’re goddamn right, I didn’t! I don’t know anything about murder!’
‘The girl was killed
around the time you were walking down the road. See anyone? Hear anything?’
Boone scratched at his beard and his eyes shifted.
‘I didn’t see anyone nor hear a thing.’
Lepski felt instinctively he was lying.
‘Look, Lu, think again. Did you see anyone on the road or on the beach?’
‘I don’t have to think again. The answer’s no!’
‘This girl was ripped wide open. The killer must have got blood on his clothes,’ Lepski said. ‘I want to look at your clothes.’
‘That’s something you don’t do, fuzz. I know my rights. Get a search warrant!’
Lepski looked at Dusty.
‘Search this dump,’ he said.
As Dusty went over to the small closet, Boone jumped off the bed, stark naked, then stopped short as Lepski showed him his gun.
‘Take it easy, Lu,’ Lepski said in his cop voice.
Boone sat down on the bed.
‘I’ll fix you, fuzz. I know my rights.’
It took Dusty only a few minutes to go through Boone’s clothes. He grimaced at Lepski.
‘He’s clean.’
‘I’ll put in a complaint tomorrow!’ Boone said. ‘I’ll fix you, you goddamn flatfoot!’
Lepski gave him his wolfish smile.
‘How would you like to be taken in as a pusher, Lu?’
He took from his pocket a small packet. ‘I can always say I found this in your gear. Like the idea?’
Boone stared at the packet, then shrugged.
‘Okay. Forget it. I’m losing my touch. Fuzz can’t lose.’
‘You can say that again. Now, let’s hear about you, what you do, where you’re from, when you’re leaving here.’
Boone again shrugged and began to talk.
Dusty wrote busily in his notebook.
* * *
Ken Brandon arrived back at his home at 21.30. During the drive, his mind had been active. What a godawful mess he had got himself into! Before long, the body would be found, then the police would move in. If it hadn’t been for this gruesome murder, he would have driven to Fort Lauderdale and spent the rest of the night, celebrating Mary and Jack’s goddamn anniversary. But the sight of the ripped body had completely unnerved him. Even now as he turned into the long road, leading to his bungalow, his stomach heaved.
This was Sunday night. Most of his neighbours would be out. He turned off his headlights and using only parking lights, drove slowly down the road. So he could establish an alibi for Betty and the police, he knew it was important to get home without being seen.
He drove to his garage door, flicked the gimmick to open the door and drove in. For a long moment, he sat in his car, thinking. Then leaving the car, he opened the door that led to the lobby and walked into the darkness of the living room. He crossed to the window and peered into the street. The three villas opposite were in darkness. He drew the heavy curtains, then groped his way across the room and turned on the lights.
So far, so good! he thought. He felt confident that he had arrived without being seen.
He made himself a Scotch and soda, then sat down. His thoughts darted like frightened mice. First, he had to convince Betty. He forced his mind to concentrate. After a while, he decided he must be truthful to a point. Betty was no fool. He planned his story, then satisfied, he thought of Karen.
God! That had been a mad, reckless mistake! He flinched at the thought that tomorrow he would see her again in the office. Sexually drained, Karen, to him, right at this moment, was a menace to his marriage and to his career.
Then he thought of the bearded man they had encountered. If the police got onto him, and if he told them he had seen Karen and himself, then . . . !
He wiped the sweat off his face.
He was still sitting in the lounging chair when he heard Betty’s car. He drew in a deep breath and stood up.
A few moments later Betty came in.
‘What happened, Ken?’
He seldom saw Betty angry, but he saw the signs now.
‘I told Jack. I had a breakdown,’ he said quietly. ‘Was the party a success?’
‘Ken! Why didn’t you come? Everyone was asking. Mary was terribly upset!’
‘There was something wrong with the ignition. I’m sorry, honey. I was delayed more than an hour.’
‘But you could have come!’
‘Oh, sure. I could have come, but after the flop at the schoolhouse, after fiddling with the car, I just wasn’t in the mood. I’m sorry, but that’s how it was.’
‘A flop?’ Betty looked concerned.
‘You can say that again. After all the trouble I took, setting up five hundred chairs, I only got thirty-four people! Then when I got in the car, it wouldn’t start. There I was stuck! Hell! I was ready to flip my lid. I took out all the plugs and got in a mess. I just wasn’t in a party mood after all that.’
‘Didn’t you do any business?’
‘I got some of them to sign up, but what a flop! I came right back here to lick my wounds.’
Betty went to him and put her arms around him. He ruffled her hair, feeling sure he had crossed the first hurdle.
‘Darling, I am so sorry. I thought it was going to be so good for you,’ she said.
‘You understand? I’m sorry too. I know I should have come, but I got so goddam depressed, I couldn’t face a party.’
She moved away from him and gave him that lovely smile he so cherished.
‘Let’s go to bed. I’ll talk to Mary tomorrow.’
While they were undressing, Betty asked, ‘What happened to Miss Sternwood?’
Ken felt a tightening in his stomach.
‘She had a date. She went off before I tried to start the car,’ he said.
Betty went into the bathroom for a shower. Ken got into bed and lay on his back, staring up at the dimly lighted ceiling.
It’s going to work out, he told himself. His groin still ached from the beating he had had from Karen. He was now relaxing. Then Betty slid into bed and turned off the light. Her arms went around him and she moved close to him.
‘I’m turned on, darling,’ she said softly.
For the first time since they had been married, Ken failed her.
The following morning, Ken left Betty still sleeping, made himself a hasty cup of coffee, then drove to the office. Meeting Karen again was something he dreaded.
He unlocked the office door and went into his office, turning on both the air conditioners. He was working on the contracts he had made with the parents from the school meeting when Karen arrived.
‘Hi!’ she said, pausing in his office doorway and she smiled. ‘No problems?’
‘No.’
He looked at her. There she was in her skintight jeans, her sweatshirt that emphasized her provocative breasts, her eyes alight, but he got no buzz from her.
‘You look pale, Ken,’ she said. ‘We had a ball, didn’t we?’
He pushed thirteen contracts across his desk towards her.
‘Would you record these, please? I’ll have the others ready in a while.’
She laughed.
‘Sure.’ She came over and picked up the contracts. ‘Strictly business this morning, huh?’
He didn’t look up, but frowned down at the contract lying before him.
‘Oh-ho!’ Again she laughed. ‘Mister guilty conscience. You’ll recover,’ and she walked back to her office, swinging her hips.
Ken sat back. He must get rid of her, he told himself.
This situation just couldn’t continue. But how? He sat staring into space, listening to the busy clack of Karen’s typewriter. How to find some acceptable excuse to persuade Sternwood to move his daughter to head office.
Then the prediction of Henry Byrnes, the school’s principal, became a fact.
A sudden murmur of voices in the outer office brought Ken to his feet. He found more than a dozen black people standing before the counter. They all wanted to know what the Paradise Assurance Corporatio
n could do for their children.
From then on, Ken and Karen were busy. The morning passed swiftly. Both of them had sandwich lunches sent in from the Snack bar across the street. It wasn’t until 16.00 that they had time to relax.
‘Phew! This has been quite a day,’ Karen said. ‘Pop will be pleased.’
‘So it wasn’t such a flop. I’ll call Hyams. This is something to boast about.’
Ken went to his office and checked the number of policies he had issued, then, as he was reaching for the telephone, he heard the outer door open. Yet another client, he thought, and getting to his feet, he looked into the outer office.
A tall, thin man with hard blue eyes was standing at the counter. Ken felt a rush of cold blood down his spine. Police! He immediately recognized Detective Tom Lepski from police headquarters. Although Ken had never spoken to this man, he had often seen him either driving or walking around the city. One of Ken’s golfing friends had said, ‘You see that guy? He’ll be Chief of Police when Terrell retires: real smart.’
Ken moved back out of sight. He took out his handkerchief to mop off the rush of cold sweat. His mind flashed to the bearded hippy. He must have given the police a description of both Karen and himself!
Lepski leaned on the counter and regarded Karen with approving eyes. Lepski was susceptible to any girl who he regarded as a sexy piece.
Karen stopped typing, got up and swished her way across the room to the counter. The sway of her breasts, the swing of her hips were not lost on Lepski who gave her a leering smile.
‘Miss Sternwood?’
Karen also knew this man was a detective. Seeing his smile, she returned it with an up and under flutter of her eyelashes which intrigued Lepski.
‘Well, if it isn’t,’ she said, ‘someone is wearing my clothes.’
Lepski gave his soft wolf laugh.
‘You are a police officer,’ Karen went on. ‘Have you children, Mr. Lepski?’
Thrown off his stride, Lepski gaped at her.
‘Children? Why, no. I . . .’
‘You must be married,’ Karen said. ‘A beautiful hunk of manhood like you just couldn’t be single.’
Lepski made a noise like a cat fed sardines.
‘Miss Sternwood . . .’
‘So you are thinking of raising a family and you want insurance coverage,’ Karen went on, thrusting her breasts at him. ‘Mr. Lepski, you have come to the right place. To insure unborn children will give you a very low premium.’
1979 - You Must Be Kidding Page 4