Instinct told Hamilton that Beigler was holding back on him.
‘Do you want me to say the police don’t know a thing?’
Beigler gave him a sour smile.
‘You say what you like, Pete. It’s early days.’ He waved to a mass of papers littering his desk. ‘We’re checking. Just remember this girl was a whore and she asked for trouble. In spite of what she was, we will find her killer. That’s our job. If you want to be helpful, say we are doing just that.’
Hamilton got to his feet.
‘Got a photo of her, Joe?’
Beigler produced a copy of the polaroid print. Hamilton studied it, and grimaced.
‘Yeah, I see what you mean: a real toughie. Okay, I’ll play it down. After all, as you say, she was only a hooker.’
While this interview was in progress, Lepski with Jacoby was visiting the various men’s wear shops in the city.
While Lepski was driving, Jacob asked, ‘How did that car key drama with Carroll work out, Tom?’
Lepski grinned.
‘Did I get away with that! I had the goddamn keys in my pocket. I thought they were mine! When I got home last night I put them under her car mat. I got her to apologize!’ He pulled up outside Henry Levine’s tailor shop. ‘When you get married, Max, you watch it! A husband has to act smart all the time or else he’s in trouble.’
They entered the shop and asked for Mr. Levine. This was the fifth unsuccessful call on tailors they had made.
Mr. Levine, fat and aging, but prosperous, immediately identified the golf ball button.
‘Sure, Mr. Lepski,’ he said. ‘This is a speciality of mine.’
He walked to a rack and produced a blue jacket with golf hall buttons. ‘See? Nice idea, huh?’
‘We are trying to trace this button, Mr. Levine. Can you tell us who has bought one of these jackets?’
‘No problem. Just wait,’ and Levine went into his office.
While waiting, Lepski examined the rack of jackets. He located one that attracted his attention.
‘How about this, Max?’ he asked. ‘Pretty sharp, huh?’
Jacoby examined the jacket of pale yellow with broad blue stripes. He thought it was an abortion.
He made a non—committal grunting noise. Lepski continued to regard the jacket, then taking off his own jacket, he slipped on the jacket and surveyed himself in the long mirror.
‘Boy! Is this great?’
Jacoby thought Lepski looked like an escapee from a circus.
‘You could stop the traffic in that,’ he said.
Lepski looked suspiciously at him.
‘Don’t you like it?’
‘I don’t have to live with it,’ Jacoby said, ‘but would Carroll like it?’
‘Yeah.’ He again regarded himself, frowning. He realized that Carroll would create a scene if he took the jacket home.
Levine came from his office.
‘Ah, Mr. Lepski!’ he exclaimed, seeing Lepski had put on the jacket. ‘I’ve always thought you had a touch of class. Now that jacket is something very, very special. It’s an original. You won’t find a similar jacket in the city. Feel the cloth . . . wonderful! Look at yourself! It is made for you! It gives you a look of considerable distinction.’
Lepski hesitated, stroking the cloth. He again regarded himself in the mirror.
Seeing his hesitation, and because Jacoby was fond of both Lepski and Carroll, he said, ‘Carroll!’
Lepski sighed, removed the jacket and put on his own.
Looking at himself in the mirror again, he decided he looked like any other cop, and he sighed again.
‘Mrs. Lepski likes to be around when I choose clothes.’ He gave a false laugh. ‘She imagines her taste is better than mine.’
Levine who had already encountered Carroll, abandoned the sale. He handed Lepski a slip of paper.
‘Those are the names and addresses of my clients who bought the jacket: only four of them. Is something wrong, Mr. Lepski?’
‘Just routine, and thanks,’ Lepski said, and he left followed by Jacoby.
Back in their car, Lepski examined the list.
‘Ken Brandon!’ he exclaimed. ‘This button places him on the murder scene!’
‘Why say that?’ Jacoby demanded. ‘We don’t even know if he has a button missing on his jacket!’
‘I bet he has!’ Lepski got excited. ‘I bet he was with that sex chick last night in her cabin. Use your head. Brandon works all day in close contact with her. Ask yourself how you would react to be in daily contact with dynamite like her.’
‘If I were in Brandon’s place, knowing she was Sternwood’s daughter, I’d leave her strictly alone. I would think of my job first.’
Lepski looked pityingly at him.
‘You’re kidding yourself. She even turned me on, and I was with her for less than ten minutes. I bet he was with her last night!’
‘So maybe, but that doesn’t prove a thing. I know the guy, I’ve done insurance business with him. He would no more rip a hooker than I would. So okay, maybe he and the girl were screwing. Where does that get us?’
Lepski frowned, pulling at his underlip.
‘After leaving her, he could have walked right into the killer, and is too scared to explain why he was on the murder scene. Anyway, who knows what goes on in a man’s mind? He could have flipped his lid and ripped the girl.’
‘So what do we do?’
‘We’ll report to the Chief.’ Lepski was burning for action. ‘If he gives us the green light, then we talk to Brandon and take him apart.’
‘Shouldn’t we check on these other three guys who own golf ball jackets?’ Jacoby asked.
Lepski regarded him.
‘One of these days, Max, you’ll make a good cop. Do you imagine I wasn’t going to do just that thing?’
‘Who are they?’
Lepski consulted the list Levine had given him.
‘Sam Macree: the deputy commissioner of works. He’s been in New York for the past week. We can rule him out. Larry Bentley, the golf pro. We’ll check where he was last night, but it’ll be a waste of time. I know Harry: not the type. Then there’s Cyrus Gregg.’ Lepski frowned, then shook his head. ‘Didn’t he get killed in a road crash around five months ago? He was in real estate and made a load of money. We can rule him out.’ Lepski thumped the steering wheel. ‘It all points to Brandon!’
‘I remember Gregg,’ Jacoby said. ‘He was a snappy dresser. What would his wife have done with all his clothes?’
Lepski stared at him.
‘Yeah . . . a good question. I’ll check on Harry Bentley. You find out what happened to Gregg’s clothes, then we’ll talk to the Chief.’
He started the car engine.
‘I’ll walk,’ Jacoby said and got out of the car. He watched Lepski drive away, then he walked back into Levine’s shop.
‘Could you tell me when Mr. Gregg bought his jacket?’ he asked as Levine hurried forward.
‘That I do know. The poor man wore it on the day he died,’ Levine said. ‘A real tragedy! Such a nice man! It was seven months ago. He came in here and bought the jacket. The next morning as he was driving to his office, some kid in a stolen car hit him. They were both killed. A tragedy!’
Jacoby now remembered the details.
‘I was wondering what happened to the jacket,’ he said.
Levine shrugged.
‘That I don’t know. Mr. Gregg bought all his clothes from me. He had many jackets and suits. I guess Mrs. Gregg got rid of them. Now, there’s a tragedy! I tell my wife, money isn’t everything. Mr. Gregg had a great deal of money, but he had trouble with his wife and with his son.’
‘What kind of trouble?’
‘Don’t let this go further, but Mrs. Gregg is a very difficult lady. Mr. Gregg and I were friends. There were times when he confided in me. Their son meant more to Mrs. Gregg than Mr. Gregg did. It sometimes happens.’ Levine shook his head. ‘Mr. Gregg was a good man. Maybe he was too good.
When the son was born, Mrs. Gregg switched all her affection to him. Mr. Gregg was a vigorous man.’ Levine grimaced. ‘No sex, you understand. I told him he should get a girl. With all his money there would have been no problem, but Mr. Gregg was a good Catholic and a good man. He suffered a lot.’
Jacoby began to wonder if he was wasting time listening to all this.
‘Tough. What does the son do?’
‘I know nothing about him. He doesn’t buy his clothes here. I have never even seen him.’
‘We want to trace this jacket. Maybe Mrs. Gregg can tell us what she did with it.’
‘Be careful with her. She is very difficult, and she has lots of money. She won’t like police officers calling on her.’
‘Where do I find her?’
‘When Mr. Gregg died, she sold the big house. She lives on Acacia Drive: a small place, but nice.’
Jacoby decided he would write a report and let Lepski handle this. He thanked Levine, then walked back to police headquarters.
* * *
Ken Brandon faced Karen, his heart pounding.
‘Are you sure?’ he asked huskily. ‘Are you quite sure?’
‘I’m sure. It was the same creep we ran into last night, he’s cut his hair and beard, but I knew him at once. He came in to check on me, and I could tell by his grin, he recognized me.’
Ken felt a wave of panic run through him.
‘What do you think he’ll do?’
Karen shrugged.
‘How do I know? I don’t think he’ll talk to the police.’
Ken took out his handkerchief and wiped his sweating hands.
‘He must be planning something! Why else should he come here?’
Karen stared at him. Her hard eyes showed contempt.
‘The way you are acting,’ she said, ‘you seem to imagine you are the first husband who has screwed around. It happens a thousand times an hour.’
‘You don’t seem to realize how serious this is!’ Ken exclaimed, slamming his fist on his desk. ‘If your father got to know! If my wife got to know! My life would be ruined!’
‘Shouldn’t you have thought of that before you got hot pants?’ Karen asked. ‘I have work to do,’ and turning she swish-hipped back to her desk.
Ken stared after her. What a reckless, irresponsible madman he had been! he thought. To have jeopardized his happiness with Betty and his career for a few sordid hours with this hard, self-indulgent bitch!
Then the telephone bell rang making him start.
A woman’s voice said, ‘Mr. Brandon? I’m putting you through to Mr. Sternwood.’ She sounded as if she were putting him through to the Pope.
Ken drew a deep breath, then Sternwood’s booming voice came on the line.
‘Brandon? I’ve been talking to Hyams. He tells me you are doing great! Thought I would have a word. I’m pleased.’
‘Thank you, Mr. Sternwood.’
‘Keep up the good work. Tell me, Brandon, how are you getting along with my little girl? I know she can be difficult, but don’t stand any nonsense. You’re running the office . . .understand? But she’s smart, isn’t she?’
Ken hesitated. Was this the moment to get Karen transferred to head office? His nerve failed.
‘She’s doing well, Mr. Sternwood.’
‘Good. Keep at it, Brandon,’ and the line went dead.
Ken sat back. He looked at his watch. The time was 17.55. In five more minutes, he could close the office. He looked at his cluttered desk. He had at least another half hour’s work to complete before he left for home.
Karen came to his office door.
‘I have a date,’ she said, and smiled at him. ‘See you tomorrow and don’t look like the prophet of doom. It doesn’t become you. Bye now,’ and she walked to the counter, lifted the flap and started for the entrance door as it swung open and Lu Boone came in.
Karen stopped short. She felt her heart skip a beat, but she switched on her sexy smile.
‘We’re closed for the day,’ she said. ‘Could you come back tomorrow?’
Lu grinned at her. Now here was a tough cookie, he told himself. He instinctively knew she recognized him.
‘It won’t wait, baby,’ he said and closed the door, then half turning, he shot the bolt. ‘Brandon here?’
‘Yes, he’s here. Did you want to see him? I don’t have your name.’
‘Call me Lu,’ Boone said, lounging forward. ‘I want to see him and you. Did he give you a good lay last night, baby?’
Sitting at his desk, listening to this conversation, Ken turned cold and sick with panic, then with an effort, he pulled himself together. Moving swiftly, he opened a desk drawer, switched on the tape recorder he used when talking to clients, then half closed the drawer. He got to his feet and walked to the door.
‘Here is Mr. Brandon,’ Karen said. She turned and looked at Ken. ‘This is Lu. He wants to talk to us.’
‘Hi, bud!’ Lu said, and grinned. ‘Did she give out last night?’
Ken said huskily, ‘I don’t know what you are talking about. What do you want?’
‘Don’t feed me that crap,’ Lu said, his voice toughening. ‘You know. What do I want? Let’s all sit down and talk.’
Ken moved back into his office and Lu followed him.
Karen remained at the doorway.
Lu looked around.
‘Not much of a dump, but I like your home, bud . . .real nice.’ He sat down on one of the upright chairs. ‘Come in, baby. Let’s all be sociable.’
Ken moved around his desk and sat down. Karen, looking relaxed, moved into the office and leaned against a filing cabinet.
‘Is this a hold-up?’ she asked. ‘Or are you high?’
‘Don’t act too smart, baby,’ Lu said. ‘I know all about you. I’ve been asking around. I know all about you, bud.’
He grinned at Ken, then at Karen. ‘Last night, a hooker got killed right by your love nest, baby. I was looking for Paddler’s Creek, and you two directed me. I have a good memory for faces. I know you two didn’t kill this hooker, but I do know you were screwing in that cabin. This morning the fuzz talked to me. I don’t dig the heat. It seems the fink who killed this hooker got blood all over his clothes so the fuzz went through my things. I don’t dig that either. They can’t pin the killing on me, so they are looking elsewhere. They wanted to know if I had seen anyone at the time of the killing as I was walking to the camp.’ He grinned. ‘I don’t give information to the fuzz. I told them I hadn’t seen anyone.’ Again he grinned. ‘I guess I did you two a big favour. If I had told them I had seen you, you would have them around you like flies, and the word would have got out that you two had been screwing. I didn’t tell them, so you owe me for a favour.’ He paused, looking first at Karen and then at Ken. ‘I do something for you, you do something for me . . . right?’
Neither Karen nor Ken said anything.
‘That’s the way I see it,’ Lu said, after a long pause. ‘I’ve been bumming around, living rough, for some time. I’m changing my lifestyle. I want money. Now you, bud, have a nice wife. I know all about her, working for this guy who fixes abortions. You, baby, have a rich pa. I know all about him. I guess between us three, we can work out a deal that would put me on easy street, and save you two problems. You with me so far?’
So it was to be blackmail, Ken thought. He glanced down at the half open drawer. He could see the spools of the recorder revolving and was thankful he had had the presence of mind to have switched on the recorder. He looked at Karen who appeared to be completely relaxed.
She shrugged.
‘Well now,’ Lu went on, ‘I decided I wouldn’t talk to the fuzz. Now, just suppose, you two tell me to jump in a lake? Maybe, I told myself, you two could be dopey enough not to want to return favour for favour. You two have a lot to lose, so here’s my proposition. Give me ten thousand dollars and I leave the scene. No problems for you: no problems for me. Do we have a deal?’
‘You get no money from us, you stinking
creep!’ Karen said before Ken could say anything.
‘Sure I reckoned you would act stupid. So okay, I put on the pressure.’ He took from his shirt pocket two slips of paper. ‘What do you think of this?’ He leaned forward and put one of the slips on Ken’s desk, then getting to his feet, he gave Karen the other slip.
Ken read what was written on his slip.
Mrs. Brandon,
Ask your husband what he was doing on the night of the 22nd with Karen Sternwood in her cabin at Paddler’s Creek.
From a well-wisher who doesn’t believe in adultery.
Karen’s slip read:
Mr. Jefferson Sternwood,
Ask your daughter what she was doing on the night of the 22nd with your employee, Ken Brandon in her cabin at Paddler’s Creek.
From a well-wisher who doesn’t believe in adultery.
He began to drift to the door.
‘I think you two will want to talk this over together,’ he said. ‘I’ll contact you in three days. Have the money here: ten thousand bucks. If you are stupid, I mail the letters.’
He grinned, nodded, then walked away.
Neither Ken nor Karen moved until they heard the front door slam. Then Ken, white faced, pressed the stop button on the recorder.
‘It’s his word against ours,’ Karen said. ‘You’ve recorded what he said?’
‘Yes.’
‘Okay. We’ll fix this creep. Give me the tape and I’ll go to the police.’
‘What are you saying?’ Ken exclaimed. ‘They’ll charge him with blackmail, and he will talk. You and I will become Miss X and Mr. X, but everyone will know!’
Karen cocked her head on one side as she stared at him.
‘Are you saying we are going to pay this creep ten thousand dollars?’
‘I haven’t ten thousand dollars!’
‘Nor have I, so we don’t pay him. Let him send the letters! My drag of a father will flip his lid, but he’s always flipping his lid. I can handle him. He won’t want to believe you screwed me, so I can convince him.’ She looked at her watch. ‘I’m late for my date. You fix your end. Your wife won’t want to believe this either, will she? So it’s up to you to convince her. See you tomorrow,’ and with a wave of her hand, she left him.
1979 - You Must Be Kidding Page 6