by Shirley Lord
He’d decided to explore and peep inside one of the doors off the hall, when a maid appeared. “This way please.”
He was shown into a small room with shamrock-embossed dark green wallpaper. It reminded him of a wallpaper he’d once lived with in a country he now couldn’t remember.
There was a sound of angry voices in the hall. It sounded as if the maid was unsuccessfully trying to keep somebody out The door burst open.
“Oh!” Arthur Stern stood awkwardly in the doorway. “Wait a minute… wait a minute… this isn’t Quentin Peet. Who are you?”
Didn’t this couple ever speak to each other?
Johnny knew he stiffened up as he replied as warmly as he could, “I’m Quentin Peet’s son, John Q. Peet.”
“That’s not who I’m expecting. Where’s your father?” Stern staggered as he went across the room to sink into an armchair. It was obvious from his slurred syllables the man was half intoxicated, if not more so.
“What are you doing here?” The tone was unmistakably insulting. “Don’t tell me my sainted wife got her Peets mixed up? The story I’ve got to tell isn’t for amateurs, son. My story is big, big enough for the almighty to hear, big enough, crissakes, for the blessed Big Q himself to cover.”
Johnny had to stifle a strong urge to give Stern a punch in the jaw. What the hell was he doing here, wasting his time, helping Sorenson play nursemaid? He wasn’t going to learn anything from this sick excuse for a human being. Where was the brains of the family, Muriel Stern? Was he being set up?
To Johnny’s disgust Stern started to blubber. “D’you know what hell on earth it is, young Peet, to be watched night and day, for the cops to know what time I pee, to live with this piece of police shit around your ankle?” Stern lifted his leg and Johnny saw he was wearing an electronic monitor. “D’you know what hell it is to be locked up with a woman who wishes you’d never been born?” He lurched over to a drinks tray in the corner and poured himself a large vodka.
“Women… they’re the root of all evil. If it wasn’t for a woman, you know, I wouldn’t be…” He gulped down his drink as if he were dying of thirst. “This evil little temptress, this so-called designer with the face of an angel and the body of a kid… she’s the reason I’m in this fucking mess.” Stern stopped sniffling, leering as he went on, “You’re young—you’re probably used to these beanstalk model types, who only know how to come if they’re getting a fuck on the sly…” Stern wagged his finger at Johnny. “The kinkier die better, the more public the better… this one… this one,” he growled, “she was trying to unzip my fly when… when Svank got what was coming to him.”
Stern realized his listener was not reacting-was sitting stone-faced as he rolled out the lurid details. “I tell you, Peet, it wasn’t worth it. No fuck’s worth what I’ve been through the last few days-”
“Arthur! What are you doing here?”
Johnny didn’t need to turn to know that the formidable Muriel Stern had entered the room. He jumped to his feet as Arthur Stern cowered back in the chair, trying to hide his glass behind him. Muriel Stern stood, glaring at her husband, leaning heavily on an ebony stick. There was no sign of Sorenson.
Although there was nothing in the world that could make him feel sorry for somebody like Arthur Stern, Johnny could understand anybody quaking under Muriel’s unsparing gaze.
“I told you I would speak to Mr. Peet on your behalf.” She turned to look just as coldly at Johnny. “I hope Arthur has not been wasting your time, Mr. Peet. He has a colorful way of describing the circumstances which have led to his wrongful arrest. This has not helped him-us. Do please sit down.”
To Johnny’s relief Sorenson appeared behind her, but he wasn’t going to be of much help. “Johnny, I see there’s no need for me to make any formal introductions.” The doctor looked pale, worn out. “If you will forgive me, Muriel, I think I’m going to head out to the Island after all. I am reassured by your blood pressure and the other tests. I’ll come to see you again on Friday-unless you need me before.”
“Not much good if I do. Why you want to spend valuable time commuting back and forth I don’t know. It’s not as if you have any land! The helicopter can’t even get in there to bring you back when I need you.”
Sorenson had obviously heard it all before. He blinked his eyes in the semblance of a friendly wink, squeezed her hand, and said again, “First thing Friday then. Thank you, Johnny. I know Mrs. Stern can rely on you.”
“David.” The pronunciation of Sorenson’s first name was an order. “David, I can think much more clearly if Arthur isn’t here, drooling all over the furniture. Can’t you give him a shot or something to stop him drinking?”
Arthur Stern stood up with effort. “All right, Muriel. I know when I’m not wanted…”
Johnny couldn’t remember witnessing such a disagreeable scene between two people, let alone a husband and wife. He looked down at the floor, embarrassed to see Arthur start to walk unsteadily across the room, where Sorenson took his arm and helped him out.
After they left there was a long silence which Johnny was determined not to break. Here was the opportunity he’d been looking for, the chance to grill the only brains in the family, to see if he could find even the slightest link between the Sterns’ celebrated fortune and the murky underground world of Svank; yet a dark cloud had settled in his mind. It didn’t go away as Muriel Stern began to speak.
“I am appreciative of your offer to introduce your illustrious father to us, Mr. Peet. He is recognized by millions for his ability to bring about justice. I hope David, eh, Doctor Sorenson, has told you how I believe if only your father will write about the true facts in this case, Arthur, my husband, will be extricated from the sorry mess he is in. I am anxious for this to happen before this farce of an indictment takes place. Lawyers! Don’t talk to me about lawyers.”
She spoke as if she were presiding over a board meeting of Stern Fashion and Textiles, chomping at the bit to get her point of view across. Although she paused, obviously waiting for Johnny to agree with her, he stayed silent, fearing that what he was about to hear might make him sick to his stomach.
“For some reason I cannot fathom, Mr. Peet, my husband’s legal advisors have told him not to repeat what I am now going to tell you. I believe it is a major mistake. My husband was in the wrong place at the wrong time, but as you can see for yourself there is no way he could commit a murder.” She laughed. It was not a pleasant sound. “He had had his business differences with Svank, but if anyone took the trouble to look into that, it would soon be confirmed they had been resolved to everyone’s satisfaction.”
Muriel closed her eyes and sighed deeply. “No, the unpalatable fact is, at the time of the murder my husband was on the third floor of the library, when he should have been on the first floor. He was there, hoping for-er-privacy, advising a young, unknown, would-be fashion designer…” She pursed her lips in revulsion. “He uses the word ‘advises’ in a loose fashion; I have no doubt they were engaged in some sort of sexual encounter. This is not the first time Mr. Stern has abused my trust. In this instance…”
Johnny was no longer listening. He didn’t need to. With the ugly details supplied by Stern, everything was becoming all too clear.
“A young, unknown, would-be fashion designer.”
Ginny and Stern. Even as part of his mind refuted the shocking scenario, another part accepted that it all made terrible sense. Ginny’s playing around with Stern at the time of the murder explained why she hadn’t so far claimed the precious cloak she’d left behind, because it also explained the greater mystery: why she’d left it behind in the first place. She’d been fleeing from the scene of the crime… from Stern… from getting involved… from receiving the full spotlight of attention at the worst possible time on her modus operandi of crashing and flirting and-he still tried to block the thought, but it came right back-yes, if necessary, fucking her way to so-called success.
Muriel Stern was still giving her
orders. Her words came and went as a kind of echo in his head “… If you ask me the lawyers haven’t even attempted to find her. It’s as if they don’t believe she exists… Whose side are they on anyway… One word from your father and I know the search will be on for this wretched whore… but let me clarify what I mean.”
He had to get out of this stifling apartment, out into the fresh air, before he threw up. He jumped up clumsily, knowing he must look wild. He didn’t care about tracing a link between Svank and the Sterns anymore; he didn’t care about anything. He’d been made a fool of; he’d been betrayed.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Stern. I’m sorry, but I’ve got to go.”
“But, but, Mr. Peet-”
He rushed out of the claustrophobic little room, out of the apartment, ignoring the shout to come back from the gray-suited manservant following him out the door. He was not aware until he hit the street that he’d been holding his breath, as he used to do as a child, witnessing emotional scenes between his parents.
He didn’t know where he was going. He had to have a drink. He went into a bar on First Avenue and, head in hands, stared at his miserable reflection in the bar mirror. Ginny and Stern. Ginny and Stern. He kept shaking his head. Was it really possible his Ginny, his own little crasher, could go off with an obvious lecher like Stern to a deserted part of the library, just asking for trouble?
The answer had to be it was possible. The fact that Ginny had had the temerity-at the time he’d even half admiringly labeled it as guts-to crash the library dinner in the first place showed she was capable of anything. Even sex with Stern to get backing for her business? No, no, no, surely he couldn’t be such a bad judge of someone.
Thinking of Stern putting a finger on Ginny made him nauseous. He had to hear it from her, face-to-face, but he was too angry to listen right now. He wanted to strangle her just as much as he’d wanted to knock Stern down.
He left the bar and started to walk slowly downtown in the direction of Ginny’s loft. He welcomed the stinging air on his face, the wind howling up from the river, whipping away at his clothes.
Why should he care so much? He’d made no commitment. It was none of his business, but on the contrary, it was very much his business now. An old movie title came into his head: License to Kill. By encouraging Ginny for the sake of his book, and, God forbid, by paying her for the information, he’d given her license to crash.
He was the one who’d put a respectable spin on her crashing, filling her head with the noble idea that she was providing him with a sociological survey of contemporary mores and values. He’d stopped admonishing her and instead he’d showed her how much he loved hearing about her exploits, but how much had she left out? Was there no limit to what she was prepared to do for her business, for kicks?
He groaned as he walked. It was getting late, but he didn’t want to give up walking and hail a cab. He wanted to put his body through the extra exertion, pushing against the cold wind, feeling his hands turn to ice in his jacket pockets.
Again and again during the nearly ninety minutes it took to walk to Madison Square Park, he remembered Stern’s sick expression as he gave his account of the assignation… “the kinkier the better… the kind of girl who can only come when it’s out in public.” His footsteps quickened. He’d never really trusted Dolores, but Ginny… until he looked in her eyes and heard for himself it was true, he couldn’t believe it. If it was true, he would never trust a woman again.
There was something else that gnawed at him. Ginny had to know Stern’s life was in jeopardy.
If she had been with him that night, could she really be so heartless, so incredibly self-absorbed that in order to cover up her own crashing exploits she hadn’t come forward to confirm Stern’s alibi and so exonerate him?
It was inconceivable. As Johnny neared the loft he asked himself what or whom was Ginny covering up? Did she know something about Svank’s death-or someone connected to it? Someone like Poppy? But Poppy had a cast-iron alibi of her own. Something nagged at him, but he couldn’t think what it was.
As he rang the bell he thought he had his anger under control, until he heard her voice, shaky, breathless, nervous. Yes, definitely nervous. She was covering up something, or was it someone? He tried to sound lighthearted. “It’s me, Ginny. Back from the front.”
“Oh, Johnny, how wonderful. I hoped you’d come, but I wasn’t sure. How wonderful! Oh, Johnny.” There was no pretense in that welcome.
She was waiting for him at the top of the stairs, leaning over the banister as he climbed the last flight. She looked like a kid all right, with her hair in funny little braids, wearing a long primrose-colored nightshirt. “Oh, Johnny.” She tried to wrap herself around him. She sensed his withdrawal. “What’s wrong? My God, you’re like ice. Is it still that cold out? I can’t believe it. Quickly, come inside.”
He was shivering, but he wasn’t sure it was from the cold. He couldn’t stop until she’d made some coffee and draped a blanket around his shoulders. He leaned back, carefully studying her face as he told her a little about what he had recently discovered about “your friend Poppy’s beau.”
Was it his imagination that she paled as he dropped a few lines he’d rehearsed on the walk over? “I know from you that Svank was no pussycat, but he was no law-abiding citizen either. It’s lucky Poppy’s seen the end of him. It looks as if he died just in time to avoid going inside for a long, long time. The shit’s about to hit the fan.”
Ginny’s mouth was set in a tight line. Was she surprised? It was hard to say. He went on grimly, “Svank was done in by his own greed. It was contagious. By never delegating enough he signed his own death warrant. Someone wasn’t satisfied with his share.” He swallowed the last sip of coffee.
“Let me get you some more-”
“No, I don’t need any more goddam coffee.”
He pulled her down beside him, roughly turning her face to look at his. “D’you remember our old friend Luisa? The Villeneva jewel heist?” A flash of fear crossed Ginny’s face. She began to tremble. He tightened his grip on her arm. He didn’t care if he bruised her. He wanted to hurt her as she’d hurt him. “I’m on the case, Ginny. There’s already proof that in some way that particular jewel robbery led straight back to Svank. Big-time jewel thefts, big-time art thefts-Svank had devised a unique way of using them-as collateral, for his real line of dirty work, drug-dealing involving zillions of dollars. The retail shops, the manufacturing plants, the legit trades-all window dressing, m’dear, for what Mr. Svank was really all about.”
“Why are you staring at me? Why are you looking at me like that?” she cried. “You’re hurting my arm, Johnny. Why are you telling me all this? What has it got to do with me?”
He’d had enough. He jumped off the bed, pulling her with him, shaking her like a rag doll. “Because we both know, don’t we, that Arthur Stern didn’t kill Svank? You know because you know the real killer, don’t you, Ginny? You were with Stern, weren’t you? You witnessed the murder because you were the young designer dallying with Stern at exactly the place and exactly the time when it took place, weren’t you, Ginny?”
As his voice rose in anger, his heart sank. He’d been fooling himself. He hoped he’d see in her eyes her own fury at being accused, her stunned disbelief that he could think such a thing; but there was no fury there, no disbelief.
She didn’t attempt to lie. She sagged in his arms, looked beaten, heavy with defeat. “Yes, Johnny,” she whispered. “But it’s not what you think-”
He let her go so quickly she tumbled back on the bed. He paced backward and forward, running a hand through his hair. Now he wished he’d never come. He didn’t want to know the truth if it meant Ginny had betrayed him. It was too painful to deal with.
“Johnny…” The tears were coming now, noiseless tears in a steady stream down her cheeks. Fighting for breath, in fits and starts she told him about meeting Stern once before, and walking out on him, not knowing how much he could help her until Le
e Baker Davies told her the story about the Sterns rescuing a California designer.
He slumped down in a chair. He didn’t want to listen, but he was too tired to leave.
“He… he seemed interested in my dress at the library. I thought I’d show him the cloak, too, if I could only get him to the cloakroom before dinner. He was boasting… wanted to show off this medieval manuscript he’d given to the library. Oh, Johnny, I know I was a fool, but I hoped-”
“Ginny, I know what you hoped,” he interrupted coldly. “What happened?”
“I knew I was taking a risk, but I thought I could handle it. He’d had too much to drink… I didn’t think there’d be a problem.” She was beginning to sound hysterical. “I was so unhappy, making you mad, not meeting your father, not getting anywhere, I thought at least I could make an impression on-
“You made an impression all right. What happened?”
She shuddered. “He… he tried to rape me. He… he… might have succeeded if we hadn’t heard a shot. We saw these two men fighting at the end of the hall. We saw everything.”
“Everything? You saw who the two men were?”
She didn’t even hesitate. At this, the darkest time of Alex’s life, until she heard what he had to say, even now she couldn’t give him away. “No, no, no… the hall was too dark. It was impossible to see who they were.” She shut her eyes, trying to blot the tall, shadowy figure out of her mind.
“Oh, Johnny, please believe me. I don’t know what you’ve been told, but that’s what happened. Can you understand now why I haven’t claimed the cloak? Why I haven’t gone to the police? It’s so… so degrading. If the story gets in the papers, I’ll never live it down.”
“What about Stern? He’s about to be indicted for Svank’s death, for manslaughter, if not murder two. What about him?” “Every day I tell myself the police will find the real killer today… and Stern will be released-”