‘You don’t want to buy it?’ Louis said in faked amazement.
‘I want to know who painted it!’
Kendriek decided it was time for him to appear on the scene. He walked heavily into the gallery, looking a complete freak with his wig askew.
‘It can’t be!’ he exclaimed. ‘Surely, you are Detective 1st Grade Lepski.’ He advanced. ‘Welcome to my modest gallery. You are inquiring about the painting in our window?’
‘I’m asking who painted it!’ Lepski snapped.
‘Who painted it?’ Kendriek raised his eyebrows. ‘You are interested in modern art? How wise! You buy a painting today, and in a few years, you treble your outlay.’
Lepski made a noise like a fall of gravel.
‘This is police business. Who painted it?’
To give Kendriek time, Louis said, ‘He is referring to the painting with the red moon, cheri.’
Kendriek nodded, lifted his wig and set it further askew on his head.
‘Of course. Who painted it? Ah! Now you have raised a problem, Detective Lepski. I don’t know.’
‘What do you mean—you don’t know?’
‘If I remember rightly an artist left it with us to sell. Although the painting has certain talent, it has no great value. I thought it would be fun to put it in the window over the weekend. Saturday afternoons are good for the young trade. I would let it go for fifty dollars. It would be cheerful in a youngster’s room, don’t you think?’
‘Who was the artist?’ Lepski rasped.
Kendriek heaved a regretful sigh.
‘To the best of my knowledge he didn’t leave a name nor did he sign the painting. He said he would call back, but so far he hasn’t.’
‘When did he leave the painting with you?’
‘A few weeks ago. Time goes by so quickly. Do you remember, cheri?’ Kendriek smiled at Louis.
‘No.’ Louis shrugged indifferently.
‘What was this artist like? I want a description,’ Lepski said.
‘What was he like?’ Kendriek looked sad. ‘I didn’t deal with him. Do you remember, Louis?’
‘I didn’t deal with him either,’ Louis said with another indifferent shrug.
Lepski eyed the two and felt instinctively they were lying.
‘Then who saw him?’
‘One of my staff. Artists continually come in here with paintings. Sometimes, we take the painting. These paintings are put in our cellar and from time to time, I look at them, and select something for the window. I don’t know who actually dealt with this artist.’
‘This is police business,’ Lepski said. ‘We have reason to believe the man who painted this picture is connected with the killing of Janie Bandler and Lu Boone. I don’t have to tell you about them, do I?’
Kendriek felt his heart miss a beat, but he was a master at controlling his expression. He merely lifted his eyebrows.
‘What makes you think that?’
‘Never mind that! I want a description of this man! He could be the homicidal killer.’
Kendriek thought of Crispin Gregg. He also remembered that Crispin owed him forty thousand dollars.
‘I will ask my staff, Detective Lepski. They are not here on Saturday. You understand? Young people must have a little time off from the chores of daily work. One of them could remember.’
Lepski shifted from one foot to the other. He was almost sure he was being contrived.
‘I’ll spell it out,’ he said. ‘We are looking for a man with fair hair, around six foot tall, with artistic hands. Last seen, he was wearing a blue jacket with white golf ball buttons, pale blue slacks and Gucci shoes. We have reason to believe this man is responsible for two savage, mad murders. He could strike again any time. Now, I’m asking you for the last time, do you know the man who painted that picture?’
Kendriek felt a trickle of cold sweat run down his fat back. Just for a moment, he flinched, and Lepski saw the flinch.
There was a pause while Kendriek’s quicksilver mind went into action. There had been something frightening in Crispin Gregg’s expression that even now haunted him.
Could he be this killer? Suppose he was? Suppose he (Kendriek) gave information that led to his arrest? Forty thousand dollars gone phut! The Suleiman pendant could never be resold!
‘I had no idea how serious this is,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘Detective Lepski! You can rely on me. On Monday, when my staff is here, I will ask them. But better, Detective Lepski, if you would come here on Monday morning, you could ask them yourself.’
‘Where is your staff?’ Lepski snarled.
‘Ah! That I don’t know. I have five clever young men working for me. They could be out of town - they could be anywhere. The weekends are their own. But on Monday, they will all be here.’
‘Now listen,’ Lepski snarled in his cop voice, ‘anyone shielding this killer becomes an accessory to two murders. Remember that! I’ll be here Monday morning,’ and he stamped out of the gallery.
When Kendriek saw Lepski disappear, he turned to Louis.
‘Don’t involve me!’ Louis shrilled. ‘Why didn’t you tell him? An accessory to two murders!’
‘Tell him?’ Kendriek tore off his wig and threw it across the gallery. ‘Gregg owes me forty thousand dollars!’
‘Don’t involve me!’ Louis repeated. ‘I have had enough! I’m going for a swim! You must take all responsibility!’ and he flounced out of the gallery.
* * *
Karen Sternwood finally cleared her desk. The mail had been heavy and business brisk. Without Ken to help out, her Saturday afternoon had been completely taken up with routine work. She looked at her watch. The time was 18.30.
She thought of her father with a bunch of oldies on his yacht. He had invited her, but she had said she had to work and her father had been impressed. She had explained Ken had to go to his father-in-law who was very sick and she had to hold the fort. Her father had approved.
Now the work was finished, the desk cleared, and she pushed back her chair, lit a cigarette, and contemplated what was left of her weekend.
She felt horny.
She hadn’t had a man since Ken, and she now felt like having a man. It was a complete drag that she couldn’t drive until her licence had been restored. She decided she would spend the rest of the weekend in her cabin, but first, to find a man.
She thought of her various men friends. The trouble there, she thought, was they would be already booked. Her men friends were always careful not to have a vacant weekend.
She grimaced, then a thought struck her. Why not experiment? Why not thumb a ride and see what happened?
Some interesting man might come along. Why not? It could be fun!
She locked the office and walked up Seaview Avenue to the Miami highway. She stood under the shade of a palm tree, watching the passing cars. They moved slowly in the Saturday evening jam.
A Porsche approached, but it was driven by a fat, dreary looking man and she let that one go, although the driver looked inquiringly and hopefully at her. She disliked fat men. The stream of Fords, Mercedes, VWs and Cadillacs crept by, but the drivers, some of them of interest to her, had a girl at their sides. She was beginning to lose patience when she saw a Rolls approaching. At this moment there was a traffic block, and the Rolls came to a standstill right by her. After regarding the driver, she didn’t hesitate. He was blond, handsome and much more important, on his own. Moving up to the car, she gave the driver a dazzling, sexy smile.
‘Going my way?’ she asked.
Crispin Gregg regarded her. His first thought was that she would make a wonderful subject for a painting. Then he saw the blatant sexual invitation in her eyes. He leaned over and opened the off-side door.
‘Where is your way?’ he asked, as Karen slid into the passenger’s seat.
‘Paddler’s Creek.’ She smiled at him. ‘What a dream of a car!’
The traffic began to move.
‘Paddler’s Creek?’ Crispin said a
s he moved the car forward. ‘That’s the Hippy colony.’
‘That’s right.’
‘But you’re no hippy.’
She laughed and thrust out her breasts.
‘I have a cabin near the colony. I am Karen Sternwood.’
‘Sternwood?’ Crispin looked sharply at her. ‘There is a Sternwood to do with insurance who was friendly with my father.’
‘His daughter. Your father? Who are you?’
‘Crispin Gregg, my father was Cyrus Gregg He died a few months ago.’
‘You are his son? I once met your father. I liked him. How odd!’
‘Yes.’ Crispin took one hand off the driving wheel and fingered the Suleiman pendant. Since he had had it, he found the urge to keep fingering it.
‘That’s original,’ Karen said, seeing the pendant in his fingers. ‘What is it?’
‘Something I picked up,’ Crispin’s eyes shifted. ‘I have something to do. It won’t take a few minutes. Are you in a hurry?’
Karen laughed.
‘I have all the time in the world! I am at a loose end this weekend. I have nothing to do.’
Crispin nodded.
‘That makes two of us. Perhaps we might do something together?’
Looking at his lean body, his long legs, his artistic hands and his handsome face, Karen felt a rush of hot blood move down to her loins.
‘Yes, you wonderful man!’ she thought. ‘We will certainly do something together!’
‘That would be fun,’ she said.
Crispin swung the Rolls off the highway and down Paradise Avenue.
‘There is something I want to see, then my time is yours.’
At this hour of 19.10, Paradise Avenue was deserted.
All the luxury shops had now closed. Crispin pulled up outside Kendriek’s gallery.
Since he had parted with his landscape, he had itched to see it displayed in this renowned gallery. He wondered if there had already been inquiries. Saturday afternoon, of course, was a bad time, but he wanted to see how this stupid looking queer had displayed his painting.
There it was! On a silver painted easel! The last rays of the sun fell directly on it.
Crispin felt a surge of pride run through him. Yes! It was original! It had life!
‘What do you think of that?’ he asked, and pointed to the painting.
Karen stared, frowned, stared again, then looked at him.
‘That thing there?’
Crispin’s smile became fixed.
‘That painting.’
Karen shrugged.
‘I don’t know much about modern art. I have a few interesting works. My father has some of the great modern paintings.’
Crispin’s long artistic fingers tightened on the steering wheel.
‘What do you think of that painting in the window,’ he said, an edge to his voice.
‘It must be a joke . . . a weekend joke,’ Karen said.
‘Either that or Kendriek has gone out of his tiny mind. That? Why it looks to me as if an idiot child painted it. Don’t you agree?’
‘An idiot child?’ Crispin said.
She laughed.
‘Or a mad man. What a thing!’
Crispin’s fingers caressed the Suleiman pendant.
‘I thought it was original.’
‘Is that all you want to see?’ Karen asked. She was now impatient to get this hunk of man to her cabin. ‘Let’s go.’
Crispin shifted into ‘drive’ and headed back to the highway.
‘Seriously, if you are interested in good modern art,’ Karen said, ‘not utter junk like that, you should talk to Kendriek. He really knows.’
‘Utter junk?’ Crispin said. ‘You really think that?’
‘Well, don’t you?’
Crispin felt a vicious urge to pull up, press the ruby stone, then stab this girl and keep on stabbing her, but he managed to control the urge.
‘So you are free for the weekend,’ he said, his voice deceptively mild. ‘What would you like us to do?’
‘Let’s go to my cabin. You’ll like it.’ She gave him a sexy smile. ‘We’ll have fun.’
Neither of them said anything during the short drive.
‘Leave the car here,’ Karen said. ‘It’s only a short walk.’
Crispin drove the Rolls under the shadow of a palm tree, and together they walked down the path toward Karen’s cabin.
Crispin said, ‘Isn’t it around here that girl got killed?’
Knowing, of course, it was.
‘Yes. Wasn’t that terrible?’
Dusk was falling, and the path, overhung by trees and boxed in by shrubs, was almost dark.
Crispin moved closer.
‘Aren’t you scared to use this path?’ and he fingered the Suleiman pendant.
‘Not with a he-man like you with me.’
They came out into the open.
‘There it is! All mine!’ Karen said and pointed.
Crispin regarded the lonely cabin.
‘Looks good. You stay there quite alone? Don’t the hippies bother you?’
‘They dig me.’ Karen unlocked the door. ‘I dig them.’
They entered the cabin and Karen turned on the lights.
She crossed to the big window and drew the curtains.
Crispin looked around, nodding his approval.
‘Very nice,’ he said.
‘I love it!’ Karen regarded him. Some man! she thought. ‘How about a drink?’
Crispin went up to her. He put his hands gently on her arms, then turned her, so her back was to him. Then very lightly, he ran his fingers down her spine.
Karen shuddered, hunched her shoulders, feeling a wave of sexual excitement run through her.
‘Do it again!’ she said. ‘How did you guess?’
Again his fingers moved from the nape of her neck down to the end of her spine.
‘I love it!’
He pushed her gently towards the bed.
‘Wait!’ Karen slipped out of her Tshirt, dropped her jeans, whipped down her panties. Then she fell face down across the bed.
‘Do it!’ she said breathlessly. ‘Again and again!’
Crispin sat on the bed by her side. He moved a finger of his left hand down her naked back. With his right hand, he lifted the Suleiman pendant from his neck. His fingers pressed the ruby, and the blade sprang out.
‘I love it!’ Karen moaned. ‘More!’
What felt like a feather moved down her spine. The razor sharp blade gently parted her skin and blood began to well out. There was no pain: just sexual ecstasy to her.
Again the knife parted her skin in a second long line from her nape to the end of her spine. More blood began to well out.
‘God!’ Karen gasped, thumping her clenched fists on the bed. ‘This is marvellous! Do it again!’
Crispin’s eyes suddenly lit up, and his lips turned into a snarl. He cut deeper, and made a long, terrible gash down the length of her body. Blood began to pour onto the sheet. Feeling sharp pain, Karen stiffened, then whirled around onto her back. She stared with horror at Crispin’s face: the face of a savage, terrifying demon. She saw the blood stained blade.
‘What are you doing?’ she cried, her voice shrill. ‘What have you done to me?’
Then she saw the blood on the sheet, and as her mouth formed into a big O to scream, Crispin struck.
* * *
The sales girl at Lucille’s Boutique wore a claret coloured trouser suit and she had a fringe hairdo. With a welcoming smile, she drifted towards Lepski as he entered the shop.
‘Can I help you?’ she asked, and Lepski was aware she was looking him over, judging what he was worth.
‘I want a handbag,’ he said. ‘Around a hundred bucks.’
She surveyed him again with her deep blue eyes.
‘A present?’ Her eyebrows lifted. ‘A hundred?’
Lepski shifted from one foot to the other. This wasn’t his scene, but as he had come this far, he had to
get the goddamn bag.
‘A present for my wife.’
‘I have just the thing: a baby mink crocodile. Your wife will adore it.’ The bag was laid on the counter. ‘It has everything: chamois leather lined. Matching lipstick and compact . . . purse. . .’
Lepski regarded the bag. He knew at once that Carroll would flip her lid to have a bag like this. What he didn’t realize was that Carroll would want a new dress, a new coat, new gloves and new shoes to go with the bag.
‘Yeah. Very nice. How much?’
‘Two hundred and fifty.’ The girl smiled at him. ‘It is a beautiful bag. Any lady would be proud to own it.’
Lepski had one hundred and ninety five dollars in his billfold. He looked at the bag regretfully.
‘Too much,’ he said firmly. ‘I want something around a hundred and fifty . . . not more.’
‘There’s this antelope, but, of course, it’s not in the same class.’
Another bag was produced. Lepski scarcely looked at it as he continued to eye the crocodile bag.
‘Will you take my check?’ he asked.
‘Do we know you?’ the girl asked, her smite fading.
Lepski produced his shield.
‘Detective Lepski. City police.’
The girl’s reaction startled him. Her eyes opened wide and she positively beamed at him.
‘Mr. Lepski? I can give you a discount. Suppose we say a hundred and seventy?’
Lepski gaped at her.
‘My brother works at headquarters: Dusty Lucas,’ the girl went on. ‘He’s often talked about you. He says you are the smartest cop on the force.’
Lepski preened himself.
‘We have a deal, and let me tell you, Miss Lucas, your brother is no slouch either.’
She gift wrapped the bag while Lepski counted out his money.
‘I appreciate this, Miss Lucas,’ he went on. He gave her his wolf leer. ‘Dusty is lucky to have a sister as gorgeous as you.’
‘Why, Mr. Lepski! That’s quite a compliment. You tell him.’
Lepski nodded.
‘Yeah. Brothers don’t appreciate sisters, but I’ll tell him.’
Out on the street, he looked at his watch. The time was 18.45. There was no point in checking out any more clothes dealers. By now, they would have closed shop. He got in his car, lit a cigarette, and thought. He found himself in a quandary. The old rum-dum, Mehitabel Bessinger, had said he would find the killer by the clues of a blood red moon, a black sky and an orange beach. She had been right the previous time when she said he would find the killer he had been hunting among oranges. Lepski hated to admit it, but it looked as if this rum-dum knew what she was talking about. He should have realized right away that she had been talking about a painting. It had been sheer chance that he had seen this painting in Kendriek’s window. He knew Kendriek was a fence. He felt sure he had been lying when he had said he didn’t know the artist who had painted the picture. He was sure that Kendriek was covering for someone. Lepski shoved his hat to the back of his head while he thought. He knew for sure that Kendriek would never cover anyone unless this someone was rich.
1979 - You Must Be Kidding Page 15
