You Must Be Kidding

Three

An all grey-haired man walked into Police headquarters. Someone had once told him he looked like James Stewart, the movie actor, and from then on, he had aped the actor’s mannerisms. He was Pete Hamilton, crime reporter on the City’s T.V. network. As he covered scandal, society gossip as well as crime, he had a vast audience. He was regarded by the police as the original pain in the ass.

Ignoring Sergeant Tanner who was at the charge desk, he walked briskly down the corridor and swept into Beigler’s tiny office.

‘Hi, Joe!’ he said, coming to rest before Beigler’s desk. ‘Let’s have it! I’m on the air in a couple of hours.’ He pulled up a chair, sat down and took out a notebook. ‘Janie Bandler. What clues? What are you guys doing?’

Beigler sighed. He would have liked to have caught hold of Hamilton and kicked him out of his office, but no one did that to a man of Hamilton’s influence.

‘It would seem,’ Beigler said carefully, ‘we have a sex nut around. Apart from rape, there seems no other motive. We are checking. I don’t have to tell you, Pete, that finding, a sex nut is the hardest nut to crack.’

‘You’re becoming quite a wit, Joe. So, okay, what have you got so far? Any clues? Any leads? This poor girl... what do you know about her?’

‘No clues so far,’ Beigler said. He never gave out information unless he had to. ‘Janie asked for trouble. She was a whore. Maybe she ran into some guy, propositioned him and was unlucky.’

‘He ripped her... right?’

‘Sure.’

Hamilton stared at him.

‘A ripper could do it again.’

‘Yeah, but he could have been passing through the City. We don’t want to start a panic, Pete, so play that angle down.’

Hamilton’s eyes narrowed.

‘Listen, Joe, I have a sixteen year old daughter! Girls should be warned. If there is a nut around, it’s Mayor Hedley’s and your job to show the red light. I don’t give a damn about panic! Girls must be warned!’

‘I can’t stop you,’ Beigler said quietly. ‘The Chief is talking now with the Mayor.’

‘Have you talked to Chet Miscolo?’

‘We’ve talked to him.’

‘Didn’t he come up with anything?’

‘We have the names and addresses of all those in the colony last night,’ Beigler said. ‘We’re checking each and every one. It’ll take a little time. Right now as I’ve said we have nothing to go on. As soon as we have, I’ll alert you.’

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.

Karen’s slip read:

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.

Convince Betty? Ken thought. That would mean lying to her. When she got the letter, she would show it to him. Ken knew he could never lie convincingly to her. He had never lied to her in their four years of happy marriage.

He began to pace around his desk. What a mad fool he had been! Remorse, panic, self-disgust tore at him. Then he pulled himself together. What was done, was done! There was only one decent thing to do. He must tell her before the letter arrived. He must hope that her love for him would survive the shock. But suppose it didn’t? Suppose she was so shocked, her love for him died? He couldn’t bear to think of that possibility. He tried to assure himself that they were too close, but he did realize that their future relationship might never be the same. The thought sickened him, but whatever happened, he told himself, he must tell her: rather than lie to her.

He looked at his watch. The time was 18.30. She would be home now. He would go home at once and tell her.

He locked the office, got in his car and edged into the home-going traffic. The drive back to his house seemed endless. It was stop-start all the way.

Sitting in the air conditioned car, he tried to think what he would say to her: how best to soften his confession? What words did a man use to tell his wife that he had been unfaithful to her?

He was still undecided when he drove into his garage. Betty’s car was there.

Bracing himself, he walked into the lobby.

‘Ken?’ Betty appeared in the doorway of their bedroom. ‘Oh, darling! I’m so glad you are back! I was just going to call you.’

He could see she was pale and her eyes anxious.

God! he thought. Has that creep been to see her? His heart began to hammer.

‘What is it, honey? Something wrong?’

‘Mother’s just called. Dad has had a heart attack. She wants me.’

Betty’s parents lived in Atlanta. Her father was a successful attorney, and Ken was fond of him. This news gave him a jolt. His own problem was forgotten.

‘Is he bad?’

Betty fought back tears.

‘I’m afraid so. Will you drive me to the airport? There’s a plane leaving in an hour. I must catch it.’

‘Of course... I’m terribly sorry.’

‘I’m all packed. Let’s go!’

He took a suitcase she handed to him.

‘Are you all right for money?’

‘Yes... yes. Let’s go!’

As they drove fast to the airport, Betty said, ‘I hate leaving you, Ken. I don’t know how long I’ll be away. Do you think you can manage? There’s plenty of food in the freezer.’

‘Of course. No problem. I wish I could come with you.’ He put his hand on her. ‘Not to worry, honey.’

Betty dissolved into tears.

He drove on. His mind switched to his own problem. It was unthinkable to tell her now. If she stayed away a week or so, then when the letter arrived, he would destroy it!

He had a reprieve!

Chief of police Terrell, sitting behind his desk, smoking his pipe, listened to Lepski’s report.

‘Harry Bentley is in the clear,’ Lepski concluded. ‘He was at the club house all the evening. I’ve seen his jacket, no buttons missing. So that leaves Brandon and Gregg. It’s my guess Brandon was with the Sternwood girl, and after screwing her, he came on the body. He could have seen the killer. He could even have killed her. So what do I do? Do I put pressure on him?’

‘Check his jacket,’ Terrell said. ‘Find out what he says he was doing at the time of the killing. I don’t see a man like Brandon being a sex ripper. It’s none of our business what Sternwood’s daughter does. We have to tread carefully, Tom.’

Lepski shrugged.

‘Gregg is dead, but he had a lot of clothes. What happened to them? If his wife gave them away, the jacket could have been worn by the killer. From what I hear, Mrs. Gregg is tricky.’

‘You can say that again, but talk to her. Handle her with kid gloves. She has money and influence, but talk to her.’

The time now was 20.15. Lepski decided that Brandon would be home, so with Jacoby at his side, he drove to Brandon’s bungalow.

Back from the airport, Ken was trying to relax. He didn’t feel like getting himself a meal. He pushed Lu Boone out of his mind and was thinking of Betty’s father when his thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the front door bell.

Getting to his feet, hoping it wasn’t a neighbour dropping in, he opened the front door.

The sight of Lepski and Jacoby shocked him. He stepped back, his heart beginning to pound, knowing his face had turned white.

Lepski noted the signs of panic, and in his cop voice, said, ‘Mr. Brandon? Detective Lepski. Detective Jacoby. We want to talk to you.’

Ken struggled to control himself. He stood back and said huskily, ‘Come on in. What is it?’

Lepski and Jacoby followed him into the lounge. Lepski looked around, approving the comfort of the room.

‘What is it?’ Ken repeated.

Lepski believed in the slow approach. He saw that Brandon was already unnerved: no harm in turning the screw.

‘Nice place you have here, Mr. Brandon.’

Ken didn’t say anything. He stood motionless, looking from Lepski to Jacoby and back to Lepski. He felt a trickle of cold sweat down the side of his face.

Lepski let the silence prolong.

Finally, Ken said, ‘What is it?’

‘We are investigating a murder, Mr. Brandon.’ Lepski took from his jacket the golf ball button. ‘This yours?’

Ken stared at the button lying on Lepski’s open palm will felt a rush of cold blood up his spine.

‘Is this yours?’ Lepski repeated sharply.

‘I... I don’t think so,’ Ken said, almost sick with panic.

‘Mr. Brandon, this button was found a few yards from the murder scene,’ Lepski said. ‘It’s an unusual button. We have been checking. Four men, including yourself, bought a jacket from Levine with buttons like this one. We have to check. Have you a jacket with this kind of button?’

Ken moistened his dry lips.

‘Yes.’

‘Can I see the jacket?’

Ken thought, if there is a button missing!

‘I’ll get it.’

‘Thank you, Mr. Brandon,’ and as Ken went down the corridor to the bedroom, Lepski winked at Jacoby. ‘He’s our guy,’ he said under his breath.

Opening the closet door in his bedroom, Ken took out the jacket. Feverishly, he checked the buttons, then drew in a long deep breath of relief. No buttons missing! He stood for a minute or so, forcing himself to relax, then he walked back to the lounge and handed the jacket to Lepski.

‘There are no buttons missing,’ he said, his voice much more in control.

Lepski checked the jacket. He was too good a detective to show his disappointment.

‘Fine, Mr. Brandon. We have to check these things out. Sorry to have troubled you.’

Ken nodded, feeling a surge of relief.

‘Of course.’

Lepski gave him his cop stare.

‘This girl was killed last night around eight and ten. Where were you at that time, Mr. Brandon?’

Panic again gripped Ken.

‘Eight and ten last night?’ he repeated to gain time. He had to lie. He couldn’t tell this hard faced cop that he was with Karen. He had to protect her and himself.

‘That’s what I asked,’ Lepski said, knowing Brandon was thinking up a lie.

‘I was home,’ Ken said. ‘I should have been at my sister-in-law’s wedding anniversary, but my car broke down. I called my brother-in-law and explained.’

‘What time did you call your brother-in-law, Mr. Brandon?’

‘Just after eight. No, it was nearer half past eight.’

‘Could I have your brother-in-law’s name?’

‘Jack Fresby, the corporation lawyer.’

‘Yeah, I know him,’ Lepski said. ‘You stayed home the rest of the evening?’

‘I was here when my wife returned just after midnight.’

Lepski again stared at him, then nodded.

‘Okay. Sorry to have troubled you.’ Lepski gave him his wolfish smile and left.

As he got into his car, he said to Jacoby, ‘He was lying his head off.’

‘Wouldn’t you?’ Jacoby said. ‘Did you imagine he would tell you he was with the Sternwood girl?’

‘He could have seen the killer. I’ll talk to him again.’ He started the engine. ‘Let’s go talk to Mrs. Gregg... could be fun.’

After a ten minute drive, they arrived on Acacia Drive where the retired rich lived. On rising ground, at the back of the City, all the villas had a direct view of the distant sea and beach. Each villa was individually designed. All of them had at least an acre of garden, hidden from view by ten foot high hedges. Silence reigned over Acacia Drive. The owners were enormously wealthy and old. There were no sounds of transistors: no shouts from the young.

‘Like a goddam graveyard,’ Lepski said, as he drove along the sand-strewn road, looking for Mrs. Gregg’s villa.

He found the villa at the far end of the road. Pulling up, he and Jacoby got out and surveyed the massive oak, nailed lidded gates that hid the villa.

‘The way these old farts live,’ Lepski snorted, and shoving open one of the gates, he peered at the immaculate garden, ablaze with flowers, then looked at the two storey villa, painted white and blue, that stood at the end of the drive.

Together, the two detectives walked up the drive and paused before the white painted front door. Lepski thumbed the bell, then paused to look right and left. To his right he saw a big swimming pool. To his left a four car garage. One of the garages contained a Rolls-Royce Silver Shadow. The other three garage doors were closed.

The evening sun was hot. They waited for some minutes, then Lepski, muttering under his breath, rang again.

The door swung open, and they were confronted by the very thing Lepski had seen out of a horror movie. Here was a tall, emaciated looking man, dressed in black, wearing a wasp waistcoat, black and yellow stripes, with the dignity of an Archbishop.

Lepski gaped at him.

Around seventy years of age, this man had a long, yellow complexioned face, his thinning hair was snow white, his eyes were as expressionless as sea washed pebbles. His lips were paper thin. As he regarded Lepski, his shaggy eyebrows lifted.

‘Mrs. Gregg,’ Lepski said in his cop voice.

‘Mrs. Gregg doesn’t receive at this hour, sir,’ the man said in a voice that could have come from the grave.

‘She’ll see me,’ Lepski said and flashed his badge. ‘Police.’

‘Mrs. Gregg has retired to bed. May I suggest you return tomorrow at eleven o’clock?’

Lepski leaned against the door portal.

‘Who are you?’ he asked.

‘I am Reynolds, sir. I am Mrs. Gregg’s butler.’

‘Maybe we don’t have to disturb Mrs. Gregg,’ Lepski said. ‘We are investigating a murder.’ He took the golf ball button from his pocket and showed it to Reynolds. ‘Recognize this?’

Reynolds regarded the button, his face expressionless.

‘I have seen a similar button. The late Mr. Gregg had a jacket with golf ball buttons.’

‘What happened to the jacket?’

‘I had the unhappy task of getting rid of all Mr. Gregg’s clothes,’ Reynolds said. ‘He had a large wardrobe. Madam asked me to get rid of them at his death.’

‘Including the golf ball jacket?’

Watching him, Lepski saw the grey eyes shift.

‘Yes.’

Lepski pulled at his nose, sensing that this man was lying.

‘What did you do with the jacket?’

‘Among many things, I sent it to the Salvation Army.’ Lepski stared at him for a long moment.

‘When was this?’

‘Two weeks after Mr. Gregg’s death. Sometime in January.’

‘Did you notice that a button was missing on the jacket?’

Again the grey eyes shifted.

‘No, I didn’t notice.’

‘This button was found within a few yards of the murder scene,’ Lepski said. ‘Are you quite sure the button wasn’t missing when you gave the jacket to the Salvation Army?’

‘I think I would have noticed it, sir, but I didn’t examine the jacket closely. I just gave it away with Mr. Gregg’s other clothes.’

Lepski looked at Jacoby and shrugged.

‘Thank you. I don’t think we need bother Mrs. Gregg.’

Reynolds inclined his head, stepped back and closed the door.

As the two detectives walked back to their car, Lepski said, ‘I’ve got a feeling old Dracula was lying.’

‘He sure looked shifty.’

‘You check the S.A. tomorrow, Max. That jacket could be remembered.’

They got in the car and headed back to headquarters.

Jacoby said suddenly, ‘I’ve an idea. With a jacket like that, and these special buttons, a class tailor like Levine would provide a spare set. What do you think?’

‘You’ve got something. Yeah.’

Back at their desks in the detectives’ room, Lepski hunted up Levine’s home telephone number and called him. After talking to Levine, he said, ‘Thanks a lot. Sorry to have troubled you,’ and hung up. He grimaced at Jacoby. ‘Every jacket had a duplicate set of buttons. So that puts us back to square A! I’m beginning to love this goddam case! So, what have we got? Macree is out. He is still in New York. Bentley has a cast iron alibi. So that leaves us with Brandon and the Salvation Army. I still fancy Brandon. So, tomorrow, you check the S.A. and I’ll check Brandon’s duplicate buttons. If there is one missing, I’ll turn on the heat.’ He looked at his watch. The time was just after 22.00. ‘I’m going home. Carroll will be flipping her lid.’

‘Why didn’t you telephone that you would be so late?’ Carroll demanded when Lepski entered his home.

‘What’s to eat?’ he demanded, stamping into the lounge.

‘It must be spoilt now. I have already eaten.’

Lepski made a noise like a ship’s siren.

‘I’ve been working my ass off all day, and now you tell me I have nothing to eat!’

‘Don’t be vulgar, Lepski. Sit down, and I’ll get you your dinner.’

Lepski beamed. He passed his hand over his wife’s behind.

‘That’s talking! What have I got?’

‘Keep your hands off me! There’s a time and a place for everything. Sit down!’

Lepski took off his jacket, loosened his tie, and sat down. In a few minutes, Carroll put a casserole on the table. It was her usual disaster, but Lepski was hungry. He poked around with a fork at the contents of the casserole, sighed, then forked an overcooked lump of meat onto his plate. Somehow, the potatoes, carrots and onions were scarcely cooked.

He began to saw up the meat while Carroll sat by his side. He took a mouthful and began to chew.

‘There’s brandy and wine in this stew,’ Carroll said. ‘How do you like it?’

‘Could be nourishing,’ Lepski said manfully. ‘The gravy is fine. What’s the meat... goat?’

Carroll bridled. Any form of criticism was fighting talk to her.

‘I’ll have you know Lepski, it is the best neck of lamb!’

Lepski continued to chew.

‘That’s right?’ He swallowed, then began to saw up a potato. It flew off his plate and landed on the floor.

‘Lepski! You are a disgusting eater!’ Carroll said. ‘The trouble with you is you try to bolt your food. Cut everything up in small pieces. Take time! Decent eaters enjoy their food slowly.’

‘Where’s the fancy meat mincer I bought you?’ Lepski asked, ‘Let’s screw it on the table and give this lot the works.’

Carroll stared at him.

‘You need to see your dentist, Lepski,’ and getting up, she walked over to the T.V. set and turned it on.

Lepski moaned softly and began sawing the meat into tiny pieces.

Carroll usually had the last word.