Five pieces of jade

CHAPTER 9

As soon as he was back once more in the spartan surroundings of his modest office, Tibbs sat down to do a piece of work that could wait no longer. From the top drawer of his desk he took out a small pad of paper, then he picked up a pen and began to wTite out notations. He put one on each slip of paper, using the green ink that he favored for this particular purpose. As he finished each one, he tore it off the pad and laid it aside. He kept at it until he had thirty-one individual memoranda ^Titten in his strong, precise hand.

Wlien he had them all ready he cleared the top of his desk of everything else, took off his coat, and then began to lay out the small pieces of paper like an elaborate game of solitaire. Occasionally he shifted the positions of one or two of the paper slips; sometimes he spent a considerable time before he made up his mind where a particular memorandum would be placed. When he had all thirty-one of them doN;vn, it could be seen that they formed an irregular pattern, with several conspicuous gaps.

After the layout had been completed Virgil sat still, his hands in his lap, studying what he saw before him. He had an urge for a cigarette, but he had given that habit up long ago. He rubbed his chin with his right hand, then put it back into his lap. Twice he moved the position of one of the slips of paper. Otherwise the diagram he had prepared remained as it was, with open spaces where there were not enough data to fill them in.

It was approaching six in the evening when Tibbs had a visitor. He looked up to see the tall figure of Bob McGowan. "Am I interrupting you?" the poHce chief asked.

"No, of course not. Sit down."

McGowan eased himself down into one of the hard chairs. 74

"I just wondered how things were going in the Wang murder. Do you see any light yet?"

Virgil motioned toward the display on the top of his desk. "I have some things; but there are too many gaps up to now. Actually there's a whole missing element, and untU I can get hold of it, it's going to be rough."

"Would you like to have me assign you some help?"

"I don't think so, sir. I'm not being a prima donna: it's just that as of right now it's a one-man job. In a day or two it may be very different."

Bob McGowan crossed his long legs. "Is there a narcotics angle?" he asked.

Tibbs frowned. "Yes and no; I keep running into strong suggestions, but nothing that I can pin down. If I had to bet I'd say that there's one somewhere, but there are contradictions too. For instance, everything that I've been able to get so far on the background of the deceased shows him to have been a man of exceptional character. And he was in more than comfortable financial circumstances-from legitimate activites."

"I understand that there's a young lady who was living in his home. Is she Hkely to be involved?"

At that moment Virgil was grateful for the color of his skin. He looked up with a poker face. "Right now I'd have to say that there's a very good chance of it, but I don't have anything definite on her either."

*That might be an angle to check a little more," McGowan said. "Why don't you spend some time with her, take her out to dinner."

Tibbs looked at his chief carefully, and read nothing in his features. "That's a good idea. I take it that it would be on my expense account?"

"Ill trust to your conscience, Virgil."

*Thank you. I won't overstep the bounds."

*T have complete confidence in you; I know you won't, not while the investigation is in progress." He reached across and pointed. "There seems to be a vacant space there. What goes in it?"

Tibbs allowed himself to smile. *That will be filled this evening, I hope. It's reserved for my opinion of Mr. Aaron Finegold's jade collection. I haven't seen it yet."

"Are you famihar with jade, Virgil?"

"No, sir, but I'm working on it."

The police chief got up. "Carry on. At least you can't

complain about monotony. Nudist camps, kids with guns, baseball teams, exotic young ladies from the Orient. ."

"Do you know what she is?" Tibbs asked quietly.

"She's a human being," McGowan answered. "That's enough for me."

"God bless you," Virgil responded.

Aaron Finegold met his visitor at the front door. "Good evening, Oflacer Tibbs," he said, "or is that the right title?"

"Let's skip the titles," Virgil suggested.

"Fine with me. Please come in. By the way, is this an official call or a social one?'*

"I'd be pleased if you'd consider it both."

"In that case, the bar is open. Have you had your dinner?"

"Yes, thank you."

"Then how about joining us for coffee and dessert?"

"An imposition."

"Not at all. As a matter of fact my wife is interested in meeting you. She finished a book recently, something called In the Heat of the Night."

Virgil groaned. "Not that again, please. I'm trying to live it down."

Finegold led the way into a huge living room luxuriously carpeted with a deep-pile white rug. From a long, custom-made sofa a tall, graceful woman rose to greet him. "Miriam, this is Mr. Virgil Tibbs," Finegold said. "My wife."

"Good evening, Mr. Tibbs. Do sit down, please. We're about to have cake and coffee; in fact we've been waiting until you came."

"That's very kind of you."

"Not at all." As she finished speaking, a maid entered the room bearing a tray with individual portions of what appeared to be a tremendous chocolate cake made up of rich multiple layers. He was served with an oversized portion and given a sterlmg silver fork with which to eat it. When the coffee came it was provided in unusual cups which clearly had been imported from some designer's specialized collection.

"Now do tell me," his hostess invited, "are you here to arrest my husband?'"

"No," Virgil answered her, "at least not until after I've finished my cake. I don't see this kind very often."

"We have it made especially," Finegold said. "I got the recipe in Zurich; they know how to do things with chocolate there."

For no visible reason the conversation stopped dead at that point. Tibbs ate his cake, which was almost too rich for his palate, and drank his coffee which was an unfamiliar kind, but excellent. He had almost finished before Miriam Finegold broke the silence. "I can't wait any longer," she confessed. "Please tell us why you came. I heard you tell my husband that this is partly an official call."

"Very well," Tibbs responded. "I came to ask permission to see your jade collection."

"You mean that-really?"

Virgil nodded. "I assure you that I do."

"By any chance," Finegold asked, "are any pieces missing from Mr. Wang's stock?"

"Not to my knowledge," Tibbs answered, "and if I'd come here on an errand like that, I wouldn't have eaten your cake first."

"There are times," Miriam Finegold said, "when my husband can't forget that he's a lawyer. I hope you don't mind too much."

The attorney got to his feet "Let's look at the jade," he said.

There were seventeen pieces in the Finegold collection, all of them excellent. They were all miniature sculptures, of Chinese beauties, graceful animals, birds, and flowers. They varied in color; two of them were of a faint but clear lavender hue. Instead of being displayed together in a case, they were distributed about the jade room, so that the individual effect of each one was enhanced. They were all protected behind glass, but it was so artfully done that they seemed almost to be ready to be picked up and admired.

Tibbs turned to his hostess. "Is this your work?" he asked.

She smiled. "We did it together. We don't have too many pieces, but we like what we do have very much. Now that Mr. Wang is dead, I don't know whether we'll be adding any more or not. He seemed to give them a special aura of his own. He was a wonderful man."

"So I understand," Virgil said. "I know very little about jade, but I can appreciate beautiful things, and you certainly have a wonderful collection here."

After that he made the necessary small talk until he was able to excuse himself and return to his own car for the last trip of the day-back to his apartment.

Home at last he pulled off his shoes and flexed his weary feet. He had had a full day-too full. He mixed himself a drink, shed his coat, and took off his gun and holster. His handcuffs followed. Then he enjoyed the pure luxury of getting rid of his tie. He took a long pull at his drink and felt the alcohol coursing down his throat.

He turned on the reading lamp next to the most comfortable chair that he had, gathered up the two books on jade, and settled himself down to study.

He stayed there for more than three hours, taking occasional notes and learning some unusual things. When he finally rubbed his eyes and gave up for the day, he knew that jade was a whole culture in itself, one far out of the reach of a policeman's salary but fascinating nonetheless. He ate four cookies out of a box, drank a short glass of Seven-Up to slake his thirst, and went to bed.

In the morning nothing had gone away. None of the gaps in the layout he had made on the top of his desk had filled itself and the fact that the sun was shining did nothing to simplify his problems. He was eating breakfast when his phone rang.

He picked up the instrument and said, "Good morning."

"Good morning, Virgil, this is Frank Lonigan. How are you today?"

"Fine-I think. What's up?"

"Virgil, something has been developing here and we think that we ought to put you in the picture. It may or may not have a bearing on the case you're working on. Would you be free to have coffee with me in, say, half an hour?"

"Of course, why not. Where are you now?"

"Not too far away. How about Bob's near to the college?"

"All right; if it's too public we can talk in the car later."

"Good. See you there."

When the call had been completed, Virgil phoned the department to report when he could be expected. Then he finished dressing, rinsed off the dishes he had used, and left for his appointment.

Although he arrived two or three minutes early, Frank Lonigan was already there in a booth waiting for him. He rose to shake hands and then settled back down into the simulated leather upholstery.

When the order had been placed, Lonigan lit a cigarette and began talking. "Virgil, I've been in the narcotics control business for sixteen years, and I think that I know most of the answers. But lately there have been some developments that don't fit any pattern that I know. And while the connection isn't definite, it's entirely possible that they're related to the Wang murder."

"Don't stop now," Tibbs said.

"I won't. I don't know how familiar you are with our operation, but much of our work is overseas where we cooperate with Interpol and other police agencies to cut down the supplies at their source. Stopping illicit drugs at the border is the customs' responsibiUty; once they're inside, if they get here, then they fall under the jurisdiction of the local police authorities wherever they go and are m^arketed.'*

He stopped when the waitress arrived with coffee and sweet rolls.

"In this type of a setup, Virgil, we depend to a considerable degree on squealers-informers-who help us out, sometimes on a cash basis, sometimes for revenge or competitive reasons, and occasionally because they are responsible citizens who want to help. Therefore we make it a business to check out every tip that we get as long as it sounds at all reasonable. We've gone on a lot of wild-goose chases, but we've also bagged some important shipments. So in the long run it pays. Of course the information sources that we have set up ourselves are the most reliable and we have a good many people working undercover."

"I would expect so," Tibbs commented.

Lonigan broke a sweet roll and applied butter. "About five or six weeks ago we got a tip over the phone-anonymously-telling us about a certain shipment of merchandise that was coming up from Mexico. We got in touch with the customs people and alerted them. Without going into details, they intercepted sixty-three kilos of largely uncut heroin."

"Drugs are ordinarily off my beat,*' Tibbs said, "but that sounds to me like a mighty big bust. Approximately a hundred and forty pounds of heroin must be worth a tremendous amount of money-and it would probably supply the street traffic for months."

"Right in both cases, but that's not all." Lonigan ate more roll and washed it down with coffee. "This isn't an amateur business, you know. Whoever sent that heavy load of heroin up this way took his lumps and sent a replacement shipment by another route."

Virgil looked at him. "And you got a tip on that one too," he suggested.

"Right-from the same source as far as we can tell."

*The brotherhood will be looking for him-or her."

"That is certain. And I don't need to add that what I'm telling you is absolutely under the rose." He looked up as though he was not completely sure that Tibbs would know the reference.

''Sub rosa it is," Virgil agreed.

"Fine. With that understood, let me add a little more. We haven't been able to pin it down definitely, but we have been getting some input from the Far East that your murder victim was an importer of the stuff, in addition to his jade business."

Tibbs drank coffee and cleared his throat "Frank, I know better than to dispute evidence, and I know too how people can put up a false front. But if Wang was in that business, he had every person I've met so far who knew him completely fooled. A number of very responsible citizens have been unqualified in their endorsement of him."

"Like that."

"Absolutely. Usually somewhere along the line, if anything is wrong, it'll come to Hght. Not this time."

Lonigan studied him. "Possibly it could be the girl," he said.

"Possibly," Tibbs agreed. The time factor would be important there."

Lonigan emptied his coffee cup. "Here's why I want you in the picture, Virgil-I want to ask something. If you uncover any narcotics angle, or anything resembling one, in your investigation, please let me know. Immediately. It isn't just the usual thing." 1

"Meaning what?"

Frank Lonigan bent forward. "Virgil, put two things together and see what sort of a result you get. One: out of a clear sky we suddenly start getting tips that lead us to some of the biggest hauls in years. Two: we get the word that the Chicoms are trying to get keto into this country. And remember: not all narcotics addicts are street-comer bums. Some of them come pretty high up the social and economic ladder."

"Is there any evidence?"

"Yes, Virgil, there is. We've had four junkies DOA in the last two days. Three of them, according to our pathologist, had been hot-shotted-overdosed to death."

"What percentage of heroin does it take to do that?" ^

"Twenty-five or thirty, roughly-it depends on the addict and the purity of the drug. But these weren't heroin cases, Virgil. They died of keto-bedmidone."

When he got to his oflBce Virgil was in no mood to talk to anyone. He hung his coat over the back of his chair, sat down, and noted a memo that Commander Reese of the LAPD had called him. That was getting up there; in the Los Angeles Police Department the commander rank was next above captain. He picked up the phone and returned the caU.

The commander was brief, but potent. "I have the word that you have a problem with a possible narcotics angle. If the boys in room 321 can help you, count on us. And if you have any need to work in our jurisdiction, permission granted."

'Thank you, sir," Tibbs said. "As a matter of fact I was going to check with your narcotics people this afternoon."

"Good; I'U pass the word."

As he hung up the phone Virgil felt a little better. Things did not seem to be closing in on him quite so much. He knew where the gaps were in the layout he had made; it was a matter now of filling them. Including the one which did not show because it came at the very end-the name of the person who had done murder.

When he had gone through more paper work, and had disposed of those items which were the most pressing, he opened the telephone directory and began a patient job. There was an imposing hst of stockbrokers and unless he got an unexpectedly good break, he would have to call them all. He began by checking the white pages and establishing that Mr. Harvey's Christian name was Elliot. That helped a little, since there was less likelihood of more than one active stock trader in the area with the same name.

On his sixth call he hit pay dirt. After he had identified himself to the branch manager's satisfaction, he was told that Mr. Elhot Harvey had a sizable account with the firm and a very active one. Any further information could not be given over the phone. That was a promising enough lead to send Tibbs across the street to where the official unmarked cars were parked in a neat tan-colored row. He took the one he had been assigned and was in the brokerage office within a few minutes.

When he had presented his credentials and satisfied the branch manager of the importance of his mission, he got the kind of cooperation he had hoped for. "Some of our clients are very secretive concerning their portfolios," the manager explained. "If you were concerned with one of them, I might have to ask you to produce an official request.

Fortunately Mr. Harvey apparently doesn't care; he is a very direct and blunt person, but he has never instructed us to keep his account confidential."

"You are most helpful," Tibbs assured him. "rd like to examine the records of his transactions for the past two years if I may. Perhaps you have an ofi amp;ce somewhere that is out of sight where I can work."

"I think we can provide you with that In the unlikely circumstance that Mr. Harvey should come in personally, what shall I tell him?"

"In that case, if you need the records simply come and get them from me. I know Mr. Harvey and I prefer for the time being that he not know of this visit."

"Very well. I think, Sergeant Tibbs-is that right? — that I am entitled to ask a question in return."

"I'll answer it if I can," Virgil said.

"Mr. Harvey is a margin customer and at times we have a considerable amount of money on loan to him. While it is nominally secured by his portfoUo-I beUeve you see the direction of my concern."

"I do," Tibbs said. "At the present time I don't see any reason for you to be worried. Mr. Harvey is involved indirectly in a murder investigation; beyond that I can't go. And that information is not to be circulated."

"It will not be. I'll have my secretary show you to a vacant office; Mr. Fletcher isn't in today and you can use his. She will provide you with the records you need. I'd appreciate being kept informed as far as you are able."

"One more point," Tibbs said. "Do you know if Mr. Harvey also did business on a regular basis with any other broker?"

"I seriously doubt it. We've handled a considerable volume of transactions for him and in return we have given him a number of special services that he seems to appreciate."

"Thank you. I may be here for some time if you don't mind."

"All day if you like. If you need anything more, ask for me.

It did take much of the remainder of the day to accimiu-late all of the information that Virgil wanted. He worked patiently with a long yellow ruled pad, taking down data and making certain comparisons with the chart of the Dow Jones Industrial Average and the other major indicators. He worked straight through the lunch hour without being really aware of it, and completed his task a few minutes before three. By that time the brokerage office was all but deserted; the 7:00 a.m. opening time of the market on the West Coast forced everyone to be in early, so few of the customers' men chose to remain very long in the afternoon. Weary, but contented, Tibbs straightened things up, put his own worksheets back into his briefcase, and returned the records of Elliot Harvey's account together with the other data he had borrowed.

The manager was on the point of leaving himself. "Did you get what you needed?" he asked.

"Yes, thank you. If anyone asks questions, I was one of the company's auditors. Do you have any Negro employees?'

"Oh yes, quite a few." The answer came back a little too hastily, but Virgil forgave him that; he had heard far worse in his lifetime. Apparently the manager realized it himself, for he tried to make amends. "It is entirely consistent that one of our auditors might be black. Many of our most important clients are black also."

Tibbs took the will for the deed, shook hands, and went back to where he had parked his official car. He did not especially care for the word "black": under no circumstances would he have referred to his office mate as "yeUow." "Negro" and "Nisei" were dignified terms and he wondered how much longer it would take people, including his own, to learn to use them.

There was a ticket stuck under the windshield wiper of his car. Automatically he looked up and saw that he had been all day in a two-hour zone. He turned the slip of paper over to see who had been dumb enough to tag an official police car and found in red ink the words: Naughtyy naughty.

That reminded him of the time that someone had put out over the official radio, "Do the crosstown buses run all night?" and without a moment's hesitation someone had come back, "Do-da, do-da!"

He checked the car back in and returned to his office. Bob was still out, presumably chasing bank robbers. If that were the case, the bandits in question had something to worry about. Bob Nakamura looked less like a police detective than any man on the force, which helped him to be one of the best in the business.

It was close to six when the phone on Virgil's desk rang. He picked it up, expecting an internal call, and said "Yes?"

He was slightly startled to recognize Yumeko's voice com-

ing over the wire, "It is now I may still call you Virgil?*' she asked.

"Of course. What can I do for you, Yumeko?"

"I have worry because of Chin."

"Chin? WTio is Chin?"

"For three days he is gone," Yumeko said.

Tibbs reached for a pencil. "Now give me his full name and tell me who he is."

"He is Chin, Chin Soo. He is houseboy for Mr. Wang."

"Houseboy! No one told me about any houseboy."

"I am sorr›'. You did not ask and I did not think to say. He has gone away for three days."

It all came in a rush now, so much so that he hardly heard the words that continued to come over the wire. Houseboy! He should have thought of that, but as Yumeko said, he hadn't asked.

"I'll come over," he said almost mechanically, and then hung up. He was still a little dazed by the information. The missing element had turned up at last