Kept Women Can’t Quit

Chapter 7

I had a leisurely breakfast of fruit juice, ham and eggs, coffee and hot cakes. I wanted to have a good meal aboard because I didn’t know when I was going to get the next meal.

The Happy Daze Camera Company opened at nine o’clock. I went through the doors at one minute past nine.

I saw the lenses of horn-rimmed spectacles, a flashing set of teeth, and the Japanese who had sold me the camera was smothering me with politeness.

“So sorry,” he said. “I am Takahashi Kisarazu. Much trouble. Somebody throws enlarging paper on floor. Must have been from package of paper you bought. Excuse it, please. So sorry.”

He bowed and smiled and smiled and bowed.

“We’re coming to that in a minute,” I said. “Where’s your partner?”

Takahashi Kisarazu nodded to a wooden-faced Oriental who was arranging cameras in a showcase.

“Get him over here,” I said.

Kisarazu rattled out staccato syllables and the other man came over.

I opened my wallet and showed two of the small pictures of Evelyn Ellis. “You know this girl?” I asked.

He studied the pictures for a long, long time.

I looked up quickly. Takahashi Kisarazu was looking at him in a peculiarly intent manner.

“I take pictures,” Kisarazu said.

“Sure,” I said, “you take picture. Your name is on here and the name of this company is stamped on the back. You know this girl.”

“But of course,” he said. “Publicity pictures. I have studio in rear, portrait photography. You like see?”

“You know this girl,” I said.

“Yes, of course,” Kisarazu said. “I know.”

“You know where she lives?”

“I have address in my file records. Why you ask about this picture, please?”

I turned to the partner. “When I was buying my camera in here,” I said, “there was a young woman in here. Was that this woman in the picture?”

He held his head completely motionless for about a second. His eyes slithered over to Takahashi Kisarazu, then he shook his head.

“No,” he said, “different girl from one in picture.”

“Do you know that customer? Have you ever seen her before?”

“So sorry. I do not know. She look at camera, she ask questions, but she does not buy camera.”

“How long did she stay after I left?”

“You go out, she go out.”

“Right away?”

“Almost same time.”

I faced Kisarazu. “Now look,” I said, “I don’t know all the ramifications of this thing, but before I get done I’m going to find out. If you’re trying to—”

I saw his eyes look past my shoulder and the fixed smile which had been on his face became a frozen grin.

“Okay, Pint Size,” Sergeant Sellers’ voice said, “this will button it up.”

I turned to look at him.

Sellers had a plain-clothes man with him. I knew before he told me that this was a San Francisco police officer.

“Okay,” Sellers said, “we’re taking over from now on, Donald. You’re just coming along with us. They want to see you up at Headquarters.”

“On what charge?” I asked.

He said, “It’ll be larceny at the start and murder before we get through.”

Sellers turned to Kisarazu. “What was this fellow trying to find out?” he asked.

Kisarazu shook his head.

The man with Sellers pulled back the lapel of his coat, showed his badge. “Start talking,” he said.

“Trying to find out about pictures taken of model,” Kisarazu said.

Sellers frowned. “He wasn’t trying to get you to clam up about what happened when he bought the camera?”

“What do you mean, clam up?”

“About tampering with the photographic paper?”

“Oh, paper,” Kisarazu said, and smiled. “Very funny.” He let his smile become a snicker.

“Somebody is opening package of enlarging paper underneath counter,” Kisarazu said. “Very funny. After Mr. Lam leaves store we find enlarging paper on floor — seventeen sheets, double weight, white glossy. Same brand Mr. Lam buying at the time he stand at counter and I go look for cameras.”

Kisarazu bowed several times as though his head had been a cork bobbing on the water.

“Well, I’ll be go-to-hell,” Sellers said.

Kisarazu kept on bowing and smiling.

Sellers reached a sudden decision. “Okay, Bill,” he said to the man with him, “you take this guy to Headquarters and hold him. I’m going to shake this place down. There’s something here... the brainy little bastard.”

The man he had addressed as Bill clamped viselike fingers on my biceps. “Okay, Lam,” he said, “let’s go.”

He lowered his shoulder and started me toward the door.

I went along because there was nothing else to do.

Behind me I could hear Kisarazu’s parting remark, “So sorry, Mr. Lam,” he said, “so sorry.”