You Must Be Kidding

Five

The sound of persistent ringing on his front door bell brought Ken abruptly awake. As he sat up, what felt like a hammer crashed inside his head. He groaned, clutching his head in his hands. He threw off the sheets as the ringing of the bell persisted, swung his feet onto the bedside mat, still holding his head, his eyes shut.

The bell continued to ring, driving hot wires through his head.

God! he thought, I must have been good and drunk last night! Who the hell is this? What’s the time?

He forced his eyes to open. Sunshine was streaming into the room. His eyes went to the bedside clock. 08.15!

As he staggered to his feet, his head expanded and contracted and again he released a groan.

Goddamn that bell!

He found he was naked. He reached for and put on his dressing gown.

‘What’s the excitement about?’ Karen asked from the bed.

He spun around and stared at her. She was sitting up, naked, and blinking in the sunshine.

A wave of horror ran through him. Last night came into focus. He now remembered she had given him the button and they had gone to bed together. He had been far too drunk to remember what happened, but he could guess.

What the hell was happening to him? To have taken this little bitch into Betty’s bed! The horror of doing such a thing sobered him.

‘Someone’s at the door,’ he said feverishly. ‘Get out of sight!’

‘Poor Kenny,’ Karen jeered as she slid out of bed. ‘Always in a panic.’

He went unsteadily down the corridor and jerked open the front door. Standing on the doorstep was Lepski, with Max Jacoby behind him.

Ken stared at them. The hammer inside his head increased its blows. He was suddenly wildly angry.

‘What the hell do you want?’ he shouted.

Lepski looked him over. Boy! he thought, has this creep had a night out!

‘Sorry to disturb you, Mr. Brandon,’ he said in his cold cop voice. ‘I want to talk more about those golf ball buttons.’

Ken fought down his fury. He had to be careful. In a milder voice, he said, ‘I was going to call you this morning. I’ve found the buttons. Look I’m late. I overslept. I have to get to work.’

Lepski squinted at him.

‘You found them?’

‘They were in my wife’s button box. I looked and found them.’

Lepski made a suggestive move forward.

‘Can I see them, Mr. Brandon?’

Ken stepped back, wondering where Karen was. He led the two detectives into the living room, went to the button box, then remembered he had left the buttons in his jacket pocket.

‘Wait!’ he said, and went to the bedroom. Karen was out of sight. He guessed she would be in the bathroom. He snatched up his jacket which was lying on a chair as Lepski came to the doorway.

Lepski saw at once that two people had been occupying the big bed. Both pillows were indented.

Taking the buttons from the jacket pocket, Ken moved forward, crowding Lepski back.

‘Here they are. Now for God’s sake, stop bothering me!’

Lepski counted the buttons, then as Ken continued to move forward, he allowed himself to be directed back to the living room.

‘They seem to be all here, Mr. Brandon,’ Lepski said. ‘I’d like to see the jacket again.’

Ken dashed back to the bedroom, snatched the jacket from the closet, then returned to the living room. He thrust the jacket at Lepski.

Lepski counted the buttons, found none missing and was baffled.

‘Okay,’ he said. ‘I hope I don’t have to trouble you again.’

‘I don’t see why you should. You’ve caused me enough trouble!’ Ken snapped.

Lepski gave him his wolfish smile.

‘This is a murder investigation, Mr. Brandon. Odd things happen. Do you mind if I take the jacket and the duplicate buttons? I won’t keep them long.’

‘Take them! I don’t want to see the jacket ever again! Throw it away!’ Ken exclaimed, nearly beside himself.

‘You’ll feel better after a strong coffee,’ Lepski said. ‘I’ll return the jacket,’ and nodding to Jacoby, he let himself out.

Ken slammed the front door and locked it, then he went back to the bedroom.

Karen was dressed and combing her hair before Betty’s mirror. The sight of her using Betty’s comb sickened him.

‘Your little pals satisfied?’ she asked.

‘I was drunk!’ Ken exploded. ‘I—’

‘All right, all right,’ Karen said and laughed. ‘Don’t vent your guilty conscience on me. You never stopped screwing me all night! I told you the reservoir would fill up.’

Ken felt like killing her. He went into the bathroom, slammed the door, shaved hurriedly. Not bothering to shower, he returned to the bedroom and flung on his clothes. He could hear Karen in the kitchen.

‘Want coffee?’ she called.

He put on his loafers, then went into the kitchen. She had just made a pot of coffee. She poured and sipped.

‘Hmm... nice. Have a cup?’

‘I want you out of here!’ he said violently.

‘Oh, do shut up!’ There was a snap in her voice. ‘You creeps with hot pants are all the same. Once you’ve had it, you turn into saints. You’d better get the bed fixed: telltale evidence,’ and she giggled. ‘Get everything to the laundry.’ She finished the coffee. ‘Don’t stand there like a constipated camel! Come on! I’ll help you.’

Ken suddenly remembered the cleaning woman would be arriving at 09.00. He hurried into the bedroom and stripped off the sheets and pillow slips. Using fresh sheets, they remade the bed. He bundled the soiled sheets together.

‘Let’s get out of here!’

‘Look out of the window, dope,’ she said. ‘How are you going to get me out without me being seen?’

Ken peered out of the window. His next door neighbour, a retired banker, was pottering in his garden. Ken stood for a moment, panic riding him. How the hell was he going to get Karen away without her being seen?

‘Relax,’ she said. ‘Come on! I’ll get in the back of the car, you put the sheets on top of me, then drive out. Let’s go.’

That’s what they did.

Sweating, Ken waved to his neighbour as he drove out of the garage and then onto the road. When he reached the highway, Karen emerged and sat on the back seat.

Not speaking, Ken finally pulled up outside the office.

‘You get started on the mail,’ Karen said, getting out of the car. ‘I’ll take the sheets to Chan’s.’

Ken felt helpless. Karen was so overpoweringly efficient. As she walked away, he unlocked the office door and collected the mail. He went into his office and sat down at his desk.

His head still throbbed. He was so sick of himself he just sat there, feeling waves of guilt running through him.

The telephone bell started up. Pulling himself together, he lifted the receiver.

‘Paradise Assurance Corporation. Can I help you?’

‘Ken?’

The sound of Betty’s voice was like a blow under his heart.

‘Hi, Betty!’ His voice was a croak.

‘Darling, Daddy’s sinking.’ Betty’s voice was unsteady. ‘The doctors now say there isn’t much hope. He keeps asking for you.’

Ken closed his eyes. To him, Betty’s father was like his own father. This news drove blood from his face.

‘I’ll be with you on the first plane out. Oh, honey, I’m so sorry.’

‘I’ve checked the planes. There’s one at 10.30. Can you make it?’

‘I’ll make it. I’ll rush home and pack a bag. I’ll be with you.’

‘Mary and Jack are coming. I’ll be at the airport to meet you. Bless you, darling,’ and Betty hung up.

Ken got unsteadily to his feet as Karen came in.

The sheets... then she stopped and stared at him.

‘What the hell’s the matter now?’

‘My father-in-law is dying,’ Ken said. ‘He’s asking for me. I have to go. I’ll try to get back on Monday.’

As he started for the door, Karen said, ‘Aren’t you forgetting our little pal, Lu? He’s coming today to collect ten thousand dollars.’

Ken stared wildly at her, then beside himself, he shouted, ‘To hell with him!’ and ran out to his car.

Fat Katey White sat on the sand before the smouldering fire, her breakfast chores finished. Most of the colony had gone off, either to swim or to hunt for a dollar. She liked this period when the colony was quiet. Before long, Lu Boone would leave his cabin and come for his breakfast. Katey had put aside five sausages for him, and she planned to fry some bread. She regretted there were no eggs.

As she sat there, she thought of Lu. She heard him say to her: You’ll always be wanted. You have this thing. No one had ever said such a nice thing to her, she thought, sighing. She knew, of course, it wasn’t true, but corning from such a fantastic man, she moaned softly to herself with pleasure. Some men dug fat girls, she thought. It just might be possible that Lu meant it! Just suppose he did mean it? Just suppose he invited her into his cabin! Just suppose he made love to her! She closed her eyes. Only once had a man taken her, and he had been drunk, but Katey still remembered that frightening, but wonderful moment when she came off.

She dreamed on, imagining herself in Lu’s strong arms.

‘Gone to sleep, Katey?’

She started and looked up. Chet Miscolo stood over her. She liked Chet and she smiled.

‘Just dreaming. I’ll clear up in a minute.’

‘What were you dreaming about?’ He squatted down on his haunches.

‘Private dreams. Don’t you dream sometimes?’

‘Who doesn’t?’ He ran his fingers through his bush of hair. ‘I’m worried, Katey. It’s not going to help us being on T.V. I know for sure there was a camera man in that truck yesterday. That guy, Hamilton, is a mischief maker. We could be told to clear out... then where would we go?’

‘There are always places,’ Katey said complacently. She had become such a nomad she was happy to settle anywhere so.long as she had company, a decent fire to cook on and a supply of sausages and spaghetti. ‘What’s the time?’

‘Just after ten,’ Chet said. ‘We have been here two years, Katey. It’ll be tough if we have to leave.’

Katey wasn’t listening. In another few minutes Lu would be coming for his breakfast. She wanted to be alone with him.

‘Aren’t you going for a swim?’ Her voice a little too anxious.

Chet grinned.

‘Expecting company, Katey? Yeah, I’ll take a swim.’ He stood up. ‘Boone said he was leaving tomorrow.’

‘He told me. Maybe he’ll come back.’

Her expression of resigned despair touched Chet.

‘I expect he will,’ he said gently, knowing that by tomorrow, they would see the last of Lu Boone. ‘See you,’ and he ran off towards the sea.

Katey took the five sausages from the plastic bag and laid them, with loving care, in the pan which she put on the fire. Then she cut some slices of bread and using a little oil, she added the bread to the pan.

He could be out in a few minutes, she thought. Everything would be ready for him.

When the bread was crisp and golden and the sausages browned to perfection, and there was no sign of Lu, Katey began to get worried. She removed the pan off the fire. Maybe, she thought, he was still sleeping. Then an idea occurred to her. She would take his breakfast to his cabin! He was probably dozing on his bed and he would welcome having his breakfast served in bed.

Her heart began to flutter. He just might invite her to stay while he ate.

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 called 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.’

‘No problem. Okay, let’s go.’

‘Don’t I want make-up or something?’ Lepski asked anxiously.

Hamilton looked him over.

‘You’ll be fine as you are. Let’s go.’

He led Lepski into a brilliantly lit studio where cameras were set-up and a small army of technicians was lolling around.

‘I’m putting you on the first spot,’ Hamilton said. ‘All you have to do is to hold the jacket. I’ll do the talking. Let’s have a quick run through.’ He pointed to a table. ‘Stand behind that, and hold up the jacket.’

‘Wait a minute,’ Lepski said. ‘Should I wear my hat?’

Hamilton released a sigh.

‘All cops wear hats. Sure... wear it.’

Lepski positioned himself behind the table. Two technicians showed him how they wanted him to hold the jacket. Cameras moved forward. Lepski braced himself. This was his moment!

Hamilton stared, then nodded.

‘Okay, relax. I’ll give you your cue.’ He looked at the wall clock. ‘Coming up.’ He went over to a chair and sat down. Another camera focussed on him.

Sweating slightly, Lepski waited. He was aware that Hamilton was talking, but his mind was elsewhere. He thought of Carroll, waiting. He thought of his fink neighbours also waiting. Boy! Wouldn’t he make a goddamn impression!

Then he heard Hamilton say, ‘This is the jacket the police want to identify.’

A bearded youth signalled to Lepski who wasn’t sure what expression he should wear. He decided the stern cop rather than the grinning cop was the thing. He turned on his ferocious expression as the camera zoomed in. The bearded youth signalled him to hold it, and Lepski changed his expression from ferocious to looking friendly.

‘Anyone recognizing this jacket,’ Hamilton was saying, ‘who has any information, no matter how trivial, about this jacket should contact the police headquarters.’

The camera moved away. The bearded youth signalled to Lepski it was over, and Lepski folded the jacket and drew in a sigh of satisfaction.

A girl touched his arm and motioned him to the door. Hamilton was still talking. Lepski couldn’t care less. He had had one minute of fame. As he walked, feeling ten feet tall, into the impressive lobby, he saw a row of telephone booths. He called home.

After a delay that made him hop from one foot to the other with impatience, Carroll came on the line.

‘Hi, baby! How did you like it?’

‘Like what?’ Carroll demanded, her voice shrill.

‘Come on, baby. How did I look?’

‘Let me tell you something. I invited the Lipscombs, the Watsons and the Mayfields to watch with me. Right now they are guzzling your Cutty Sark like thirsty camels, and they are already eyeing our last bottle of gin.’

‘To hell with them!’ Lepski shouted. ‘I want to know how I looked!’

‘How should I know?’ Carroll snapped. From the tone of her voice, he could tell she was in a raging temper.

‘For Pete’s sake! Didn’t you watch the Hamilton show?’

‘Of course we watched it!’

Feeling strangled, Lepski dragged at his tie.

‘Then you saw me, for Christ’s sake!’

‘Don’t be blasphemous, Lepski!’

‘Did you or didn’t you see me?’ Lepski bawled. ‘Were you all so stinking drunk on my Scotch you didn’t see me?’

‘We were not drunk and we didn’t see you! All we saw was a close-up of the jacket, held by hands. If they were your hands, you should have washed them. They looked grimy!’

Lepski gave a great start as if he had been goosed by an icy finger.

‘Just hands, huh?’

‘Yes! I’ve got to go before they get at the gin bottle. They are having a ball... that’s more than I am! The Mayfields are throwing hints they haven’t had supper! I could have them with me for the rest of the night!’

‘Just hands, huh?’ Lepski said, dazed. Then he understood why he hadn’t been made-up. Why Hamilton hadn’t cared if he wore his hat or not. He released a soft hissing sound. ‘Why the goddamn stinking creep!’

‘Get home as soon as you can,’ Carroll said. ‘I need help here.’

‘Yeah... yeah. I’ll be back as soon as I can,’ Lepski said, his voice low. A vast black cloud of depression settled over him.

Carroll suddenly softened, recognizing from the tone of his voice, his shattering disappointment.

‘Dear Tom, I am so very sorry. You come right home and I’ll try to make it up for you.’

‘Yeah. Okay, honey,’ and Lepski hung up. He walked, heavy footed, out to his car and headed back to headquarters. He felt as if his ambitious little world had come apart at the seams.

Entering the Detectives room, he paused to gape. Three men from Homicide were at desks. Jacoby and Dusty were also at their desks: all were talking on their various telephones.

Beigler took the jacket from Lepski.

‘Get moving, Tom,’ he said. ‘That broadcast really started something. The moment it was off the air, people started calling in. Everyone in the city seems to have something to say about the jacket. We could be here all night.’

Lepski heard his telephone bell start up. He plodded across to his desk, sat down, pulled a scratch pad and pencil towards him, then lifted the receiver.

‘Lepski. Police headquarters.’

‘This is Mrs. Applebaum. I’ve just seen that jacket on the Pete Hamilton show. Mr. Hamilton said to contact the police... right?’ She sounded a very aggressive lady.

‘That’s right, madam,’ Lepski said.

‘It is my husband’s birthday, next week. I find it very difficult to give him a present.’

Lepski dug his fingers into the surface of his desk.

‘You have information about the jacket, madam?’

‘No. I want information from you. The police are supposed to give information... right?’

Lepski pushed his hat to the back of his head and dragged at his tie.

‘I’m not following you, madam,’ he said in a strangled voice.

‘I want information! I want to buy a jacket just like the one I saw on the telly for my husband’s birthday present. Where can I buy it?’

Lepski made a noise that would have frightened a hyena and slammed down the receiver.