She hurriedly poured boiling water from the cauldron onto a plate, dished up the sausages and bread, snatched up a knife and fork and walked across the sand towards Lu’s cabin.
Pausing outside the door, she timidly knocked. She waited, the hot plate in her hand. She heard nothing. The food was getting cold! She rapped harder. Still she heard nothing. He must be sleeping, she thought. She tried the door handle and the door swung open.
‘Lu?’ she called. ‘I have your breakfast.’
She peered into the cabin.
Strong sunlight came through the slats of the shutters.
The sun lit up the table, facing her. On the table stood Lu’s severed head in a circle of blood and festooned with flies.
Katey dropped the plate. The sausages and bread cascaded onto the floor.
Chet Miscolo, walking out of the sea, heard Katey’s horrifying screams. Realizing something terrible must have happened, he ran frantically towards Lu Boone’s cabin.
A seagull, startled by Katey’s screams, cried plaintively and swooped out to sea.
* * *
Terry Down, the police photographer, having taken shots of Lu Boone’s mutilated body, dashed into the shrubbery to throw up. Even hardened cops like Beigler, and Lepski were glad to leave the cabin and to wait in the hot sunshine for Dr. Lowis and his two interns to take over.
‘It’s our nut again,’ Beigler said and wiped his sweating face with his sleeve. ‘We could be wrong in thinking he’s a sex nut: he could be a homicidal nut which means even more trouble.’
‘Did you catch Pete Hamilton’s T.V. talk yesterday?’
Hess asked. ‘Hamilton said maybe Boone had seen the killer, and wasn’t talking. That hint might have alerted our nut to fix Boone.’
‘But why cut him up?’ Beigler asked.
‘Because he’s a damn nut!’
The three men turned as Dr. Lowis came from the cabin.
‘What have you got, doc?’ Hess asked.
‘A mess.’ Lowis shrugged. ‘At a close guess, I’d say he was killed around two o’clock this morning. His killer probably knocked on the door and when Boone opened up, stabbed him: an instant killing. The chopping up was done with a broad bladed knife. Again at a guess, the kind of tool sugar cane cutters use. The head was removed with two violent strokes. The rest of the damage shows the weapon was as sharp as a razor.’
‘Can you get him out of here?’ Hess asked. ‘We want to go over the cabin.’
‘The boys are fixing him now . . . won’t be long.’
Lepski said, ‘I’ll talk to Miscolo. The girl who found him is in shock. Can’t get a thing out of her.’
A second ambulance arrived with screeching sirens.
‘I’ll put her under sedation and get her to the hospital,’ Lowis said and hurried off.
Katey lay on the sand, her hands covering her face while she moaned. Every now and then her heels drummed on the sand while a big crowd of hippies stared down at her. As Lepski walked over to them, Katey was whisked away in the second ambulance.
Chet Miscolo sat on the sand and Lepski dropped down beside him while the rest of the group gathered around.
‘He was killed around two this morning,’ Lepski said. ‘Did you hear anything?’
‘I was asleep . . . nothing. Poor Katey . . . she dug him.’
Lepski looked at the group of young people.
‘Anyone see or hear anything?’
A tall, thin youth moved forward. His hair stood around his head like a beehive.
‘I did,’ he said.
Dusty Lucas had joined Lepski and he took out his notebook.
‘Who are you?’ Lepski asked.
‘Bo Walker. I’m on vacation. Last night, I had to get up for a leak,’ the youth said. ‘The time was two forty-five.’
‘How did you know that, Bo?’
‘I have a watch, man. When I got out of my sack, I looked at my watch. My old man gave it to me for my twenty—first birthday. I like to look at the goddamn thing.’
‘So you got up for a leak at two forty-five . . . then what?’
There was a light on in Boone’s cabin. Okay, I thought, if a guy likes to stay up this late, so he stays up.’
‘Did you see him, Bo?’
‘I didn’t see a thing: just the light, but I heard something. I heard two bangs: the kind of bangs a butcher makes with a cleaver when cutting up meat.’
‘That guessing? How do you know the sound a butcher makes cutting up meat?’
Bo smirked.
‘My old man’s a butcher.’
‘This was two forty-five . . . right?’
‘Yeah.’
At least, Lepski thought, he had pinpointed the time.
He felt sure the two blows Bo had heard was when the head had been severed.
‘Then what happened?’
‘I went back to my sack. That’s it.’
‘The light was still on when you got into your sack?’
‘Sure.’
‘Can you add to this, Bo? It’s important’
‘That’s it, man.’
‘You staying long?’
‘Sure. Another month. I dig this place.’
‘I’ll want to talk to you again, so stay put. Okay?’
Bo nodded.
‘And listen,’ Lepski went on, his voice serious, ‘keep this to yourself. Boone got under the limelight, and this killer fixed him. So say nothing to the media. Understand?’
A scared look came into Bo’s eyes.
‘You think this killer could come after me?’
‘Just keep your mouth shut,’ Lepski said, then looking around at the others, ‘Anyone else saw or heard anything?’
There was a negative shake of heads.
‘Get his home address,’ Lepski said to Dusty and hurried back to Boone’s cabin.
The homicide squad and the fingerprint men were working in the cabin. Hess, standing under a palm tree, smoked a cigar. Lepski told him what Bo Walker had said.
‘So, okay, we now know for sure when the guy was killed,’ Hess said. ‘That’s important.’ He stared at the cabin. ‘Maybe the boys will come up with something. Staying in there makes me sick to my stomach. It’s a goddamn blood bath, plus flies.’
Detective Hayes of the homicide squad came out of the cabin and walked over to Hess. He handed him two envelopes.
‘Found these in his duffle bag.’
As Hess studied the envelopes, Lepski peered over his shoulder. The first envelope was addressed to Mrs. Ken Brandon. The second was to Mr. Jefferson Sternwood. Removing the contents, Hess read the extortion notes Boone had shown Ken and Karen.
‘So this fink was blackmailing them,’ Hess said, putting the slips of paper back in their envelopes. ‘Here’s our motive.’
‘Yeah.’ Lepski slapped at a mosquito that was buzzing him. ‘You know, Fred, I can’t dig a guy like Brandon doing a cut-up job like this, nor do I see him doing that job on Janie. This is a nut job, and Brandon isn’t a nut.’
‘How do you know? How do you know what goes on in this guy’s mind?’ Hess said impatiently. ‘Here is a motive. Take these letters to the Chief and see what he thinks.’
Twenty minutes later, Lepski bounded into the Detectives room. As he came to a skidding stop before his desk, Max Jacoby signalled to him.
‘Levine, the tailor, called five minutes ago. He said he wanted to talk to you . . . urgent.’
‘The Chief in?’
‘He’s with the Mayor.’
Lepski sat at his desk and called Levine.
‘Lepski. You wanted me, Mr. Levine,’ he said when the tailor came on the line.
‘Those golf ball buttons, Mr. Lepski,’ Levine said. ‘I thought you should know. I’ve one jacket left. This morning I had a client interested. When I went to the rack, I found there’s a button missing on the jacket.’
Lepski stiffened to attention.
‘The button could have dropped off, Mr. Levine.’
‘Certainly not! It was cut off!’ Levine’s voice went up a note. ‘There’s nothing shoddy about my clothes, Mr. Lepski! This button was cut off!’
‘I’d like to borrow the jacket for a couple of days.’
‘I’ve sold the jacket. I put on another button.’
Lepski made a soft whistling noise, controlling his exasperation.
‘Who did you sell it to?’
‘A gentleman. He paid cash.’
‘Does that mean you don’t know his name?’
‘He was passing through. He said he was from Texas. Why should I need his name if he paid cash?’
‘Mr. Levine, suppose someone cut off the button and put it either on his jacket or among the duplicates you supply, would you know if the button was the original or the cut-off button?’
‘How would I know that? A button is a button.’
Lepski made a noise like a meat grinder hitting gristle.
‘What was that, Mr. Lepski?’ Levine asked, startled.
‘Okay. Okay. Thanks.’ and Lepski slammed down the receiver. He explained the situation to Jacoby.
‘Take Brandon’s jacket and the duplicate buttons to the lab boys,’ he said. ‘Ask them to see if the buttons all came from the same mould and at the same time.’
When Max had gone, Lepski sat at his desk, thinking, then he called Levine again.
‘Just another question, Mr. Levine. Did Mr. Ken Brandon visit your shop within the past two days?’
‘Mr. Brandon? No, I haven’t seen him for weeks. He is not one of my regular clients.’
Lepski sighed.
Well, he thought, at least it was a try. Thanking Levine, he hung up.
It wasn’t until 11.45 that Chief of Police Terrell returned to headquarters after a long session with the Mayor.
Beigler, Hess and Lepski joined him in his office.
‘Okay, Fred,’ Terrell said as he lit his pipe. ‘What have you got?’
‘The exact time when the killer cut off Boone’s head. As an alibi breaker, it is important, but that’s about it. The cabin is full of prints. We are checking each and every one . . . a big job. It would seem our nut is getting cute. It’s my guess, he stripped naked before he cut up Boone: so no blood stains on his clothing. From the look of the shower room, he washed off. There are traces of blood.
Then there are those two blackmail notes. They could give us the motive. Brandon, under pressure, could have decided to silence Boone.’
Terrell looked at Lepski who was sitting forward, bursting to talk.
‘What have you got, Tom?’
Lepski told about Levine’s telephone call and about the missing button.
‘Brandon could have slipped into the shop when Levine was busy and cut of the buttons. I’ve sent his jacket and the duplicate buttons to the lab.’
‘Now, I’ll tell you something,’ Terrell said. ‘Mayor Hedley wanted to know what we are doing and how far we have got. I told him about Karen Sternwood and Brandon.’
Terrell grimaced as he puffed at his pipe. ‘Hedley practically blew his top. His ruling is that unless we come up with irrefutable - repeat irrefutable - proof that Brandon is a nut, we lay off Brandon. Sternwood is backing a big city loan. If we stir up a scandal about his daughter, heads will fall . . . maybe, only one head . . . mine. So we don’t put pressure on Brandon unless we get irrefutable proof he is a nut.’
‘Brandon has a strong motive,’ Hess said.
‘You’re forgetting Pete Hamilton supplied the killer with a motive. He practically said that Boone had seen the killer. There’s a possible motive.’
‘Suppose the lab boys show one of the buttons of Brandon’s duplicate set is the cut-off button?’ Lepski said. ‘What then?’
‘What does it prove except that Brandon is desperately trying to cover up his affair with the Sternwood girl?’
Terrell said impatiently. ‘Before we go after Brandon, we have to have much more proof and we don’t go after him until we get that proof!’
Hess snorted.
‘So we are back to square A.’
‘No, we’re not. We haven’t traced Cyrus Gregg’s jacket,’ Terrell said. ‘Mrs. Gregg find her butler say the jacket was given to the Salvation Army. Craddock swears he never had the jacket. The two collectors don’t remember it, but that doesn’t mean one of them didn’t keep the jacket to give away, wear himself or sell.’ Terrell looked at Lepski.
‘Get Brandon’s jacket back from the lab and take it to Pete Hamilton. I want the jacket shown on television. I want real heat put on the jacket. Get it photographed and send copies to all the newspapers. It could turn up something.’
Lepski brightened. He would fix it with Hamilton that he would show the jacket on the T.V. screen. Carroll would love that! Boy! Would this make his neighbours talk! Detective 1st Grade Lepski on television!
* * *
Lieutenant Dave Willenski, in charge of the police laboratory, regarded Lepski with disapproval as Lepski skidded to a stop at his desk.
Willenski was growing old in the service of the police.
Tall, thin, balding with bushy eyebrows and a drooping moustache, he was regarded as the best lab man on the Pacific coast.
‘The jacket Jacoby delivered,’ Lepski said briskly. ‘You finished with it?’
Willenski sat back in his chair.
‘The problem was the buttons . . . right?’
Lepski shifted impatiently from one foot to the other.
‘Yeah . . . yeah. Never mind the buttons right now. I want the jacket. I’m going on T.V. in an hour with it . . . so let’s have it!’
‘Jacoby asked me to see if one of the buttons was an odd man out,’ Willenski said with irritating calmness. ‘You know something, Lepski?’
Lepski did a double shuffle.
‘What?’
‘You guys at headquarters don’t use your eyes.’
Lepski made a noise like a cat being trodden on.
‘Never mind. Let’s have the jacket!’
‘You only use your legs,’ Willenski went on. ‘Now, if you had used your eyes, you would have seen all the buttons have serial numbers.’
Lepski stared.
‘Is that right?’
‘If you had looked closely at the buttons you would have saved me the waste of time to use my eyes.’
‘Sure . . . okay, so we don’t use our eyes. Let’s have the goddamn jacket!’
‘One of the buttons doesn’t belong to Brandon’s jacket or his duplicate set. I suggest you check the serial number of this odd button with the remaining buttons on Levine’s jacket.’
‘That could prove that Brandon or someone cut off the button and included it with Brandon duplicates . . . right?’
‘It could prove that, but you had better check Levine’s buttons.’
‘We’ll do that. Let’s have the jacket.’
Willenski smiled. His superior smile was the most irritating smile in the world.
‘But it won’t prove Brandon is your killer.’
Lepski clenched and unclenched his fists.
‘So?’
‘The button Hess gave me, found on the murder scene has a different serial number. It doesn’t match up with Brandon’s nor Levine’s buttons, so you will be wasting your time.’
‘So, okay, that’s what I’m paid for,’ Lepski said, thinking only of his appearance on the T.V. screen. ‘Time’s running out. Where’s the jacket?’
‘The trouble with you guys at headquarters,’ Willenski said, ‘is you are always after publicity. When I was a young cop. . .’
‘Yeah. I know: you and Sherlock Holmes. Where’s the goddamn jacket?’
Willenski sighed, got to his feet and went to a closet. He produced the jacket which Lepski snatched from him.
‘I’ll be back,’ Lepski said, and rushed out of the room.
On his way down stairs, he came upon a telephone booth.
He remembered he hadn’t alerted Carroll. Coming to a skidding stop, he calle
d his home.
When Carroll came on the line, he said, ‘Honey! Pin your ears back. . .’
‘Is that you, Lepski?’
Lepski made a noise like a shotgun firing.
‘Who do you think it is . . . the goddamn milkman?’
‘Lepski! Stop swearing and stop making horrible noises! You nearly deafened me!’
‘Okay! Okay! Now, listen. . .’
‘You listen to me,’ Carroll said firmly. ‘What have you done about Mehitabel’s clues?’
Lepski dragged his tie loose.
‘The blood red moon? The black sky? The orange beach?’
‘I’m glad you are thinking about it,’ Carroll said. ‘How far have you got?’
Lepski moaned to himself.
‘It’s under control. Now listen, honey. . .’
‘What do you mean . . . under control? What kind of talk is that?’
‘Will you listen?’ Lepski bawled. ‘I’ll be on Pete Hamilton’s T.V. show at nine. Me! Do you hear! I will be . . .’
‘Oh, Tom!’ Carroll’s voice turned to honey. ‘How marvellous! You really mean it?’
‘I’m telling you! At nine o’clock! Listen, honey, alert the neighbours! Get moving! I want those finks to see me! Spread the news! Okay?’
‘Tom! Of course! Pete Hamilton’s show at nine?’
‘Yeah. I’ve got to move. Time’s running out!’
‘I can’t wait!’
Lepski cut the connection, then rushed down to his car and drove to the T.V. studios.
A pert chick at the reception desk gave him a sexy smile.
‘Detective Lepski? Sure, Mr. Hamilton is expecting you. Second floor, fourth door.’
‘Thanks.’ Thinking of his first appearance on a T.V. screen, he went on, ‘Do I have to make-up?’
‘They’ll fix it. You’ll have no problems.’
Lepski took the elevator to the second floor. He found Hamilton talking to two men in shirtsleeves.
Beigler had already cleared the way with Hamilton on the telephone, and Hamilton agreed to cooperate.
Lepski stood around, holding the jacket, shifting from one foot to the other until Hamilton came over.
‘Hi, Lepski!’ Hamilton said, regarding Lepski with his cold, cynical eyes.
‘Hi, Pete! I’m showing the jacket. We don’t want it out of our hands.’
1979 - You Must Be Kidding Page 11