1979 - You Must Be Kidding

by James Hadley Chase

  ‘I have had no dealings with him.’ Ken moved impatiently. ‘What is this all about?’

  ‘Have you ever seen him?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Know anything about him?’

  ‘I know nothing about him. I’ve never seen him. So what is this all about?’

  Lepski sat astride one of the upright chairs.

  ‘I’ll explain. Sit down for a moment, Mr. Brandon. This is important.’

  Bewildered, Ken sat behind his desk.

  ‘We found a golf ball button right by where Janie Bandler was murdered,’ Lepski said. ‘We found that there were only four jackets with these special buttons sold in the city. We have checked out three of the jackets, including yours, and we know that you and the other two owners of the jacket have had nothing to do with Janie’s murder. We were told by Mrs. Gregg that the fourth jacket, together with Mr. Gregg’s other clothes, was given to the Salvation Army. We have been trying to trace this jacket, but no one at the Salvation Army has handled it. We are now wondering if Mrs. Gregg lied to us. We are wondering if her mysterious son kept his father’s jacket and wore it on the night of Janie’s murder. We have a description of a man, seen wearing the jacket on the day Janie was murdered. He has been described as tall, blond and wearing Gucci shoes. We have further information that this man could be an artist, painting way-out landscapes. This man is responsible not only for Janie’s murder, but for Lu Boone’s and Miss Sternwood’s murders. You with me so far?’

  Ken eased himself back in his chair.

  ‘I hear you,’ he said, ‘but what has all this to do with me?’

  ‘All this I’m telling you is surmise. We don’t know for sure that Gregg’s son is the man we want. Mrs. Gregg draws a lot of water in this city. She has the ear of the Mayor. We want definite evidence that her son is an artist, is tall and blond and wears Gucci shoes. If we get those facts, we can interrogate him, but not before.’

  ‘I would have thought the simplest thing is for you to go to Mrs. Gregg’s place and ask to speak to her son,’ Ken said. ‘What’s the matter with that?’

  ‘If it was that simple, I wouldn’t be taking up your time,’ Lepski said. ‘But it isn’t. Mrs. Gregg is tricky. Suppose her son has nothing to do with the murders? Suppose she refuses to let us see him, asking why we want to see him? We have no real proof so we could be in a bind. Now, Mr. Brandon, here’s what I’m asking you to do. Will you go to the Gregg’s place and ask to see the son? Say you understand he has valuable paintings and he might like to insure them. We must know he is an artist and he matches up with this description we have: tall, blond, and possibly, wearing Gucci shoes.’

  Ken shook his head.

  ‘I don’t want anything to do with it,’ he said firmly. ‘This is police business. Don’t tell me you can’t call and see Gregg yourself. Why drag me into this?’

  Lepski shifted in his chair.

  ‘Let me spell this out, Mr. Brandon. We could be making a mistake. Gregg may not be the killer we are after. The Gregg family employ the smartest and toughest attorney in this city. If we are wrong about Gregg, we could get landed with a libel action. All I am asking you to do is to take a look at Gregg. If he doesn’t match up with the description we have of this killer, that’s it. Maybe, you can sell him some insurance. If he does match up, then we move in and arrest him.’

  Again Ken shook his head.

  ‘I won’t have anything to do with this.’

  With his wolf’s smile, Lepski played his trump card.

  ‘You are forgetting one important thing, Mr. Brandon. If Gregg is the man we are after, and you identify him for us, you will pick up the reward Mr. Sternwood is offering . . . two hundred thousand dollars.’

  Ken gaped.

  ‘Two hundred thousand dollars? Me? You must be kidding!’

  ‘No kidding, Mr. Brandon. I assure you if you identify Gregg as the man we want, you get the reward.’

  Two hundred thousand dollars!

  Ken felt a surge of excitement run through him. What couldn’t he do with money like that! Into his mind swam a picture of a new house in a better district, a big swimming pool, better cars for Betty and himself! Betty could even give up working for Dr. Heintz! He could even give up his job and start his own business!

  Watching him, Lepski saw Ken was hooked.

  ‘If you really mean I’ll get the reward if I identify Gregg,’ Ken said, ‘then I’ll cooperate.’

  Lepski beamed at him.

  ‘Providing your evidence leads to Gregg’s arrest and conviction,’ he said, ‘then you get the reward. I guarantee that.’

  Ken drew in a deep breath.

  ‘Okay.’ His mind was churning with the thought of owning two hundred thousand dollars. ‘So what do you want me to do?’

  Lepski knew that Brandon could be dealing with a dangerous killer, but he held back this information, fearing Brandon might chicken out if he realized he could be walking into trouble. Brandon must be protected, Lepski told himself.

  ‘I’ll set it up,’ he said, and picking up the telephone receiver, he dialled police headquarters. He asked for Max Jacoby. After a delay, Jacoby came on the line.

  ‘Max . . . Tom,’ Lepski said. ‘That idea you had could jell. I want you to come fast to Paradise City Assurance, Secomb. We have a trip to make.’

  ‘I’m up to my eyes in work!’ Jacoby protested.

  ‘Who the hell cares? Get moving, fast!’ Lepski hung up.

  Then smiling at Ken, he said, ‘No problem. In half an hour, we’ll get going. Here’s what you have to do.’

  His mind only half concentrating, as he kept thinking what he would do with two hundred thousand dollars, Ken listened.

  * * *

  Lepski, driving his car with Max Jacoby at his side, followed Ken’s car as he headed for Acacia Drive.

  Jacoby was worried.

  ‘I hope to God you know what you are doing,’ he said, as Lepski slowed the car in a traffic block. ‘We are sticking our necks out! The Chief will have our hides if something goes wrong. You should have reported to him first!’

  ‘Relax,’ Lepski said. ‘You know as well as I do, if I told the Chief knew what’s cooking, he would have put his foot on it. Between the two of us, Max, we could bust this case.’

  ‘How about Brandon?’ Jacoby demanded. ‘Suppose he walks into trouble? Suppose Gregg is our man? We know the killer is a psychopath. Suppose he kills Brandon? What will happen to us?’

  ‘Take it easy, Max,’ Lepski said, not feeling all that easy himself. ‘We are giving Brandon protection, aren’t we? That’s why I have you with me.’

  ‘Did you warn Brandon that he could be walking into trouble?’

  ‘Look, Max, Brandon wants the reward. He is willing to cooperate,’ Lepski said, knowing he should have warned Brandon. ‘If he fingers Gregg for us, he picks up two hundred grand.’

  ‘Not if he is killed!’ Jacoby snapped. ‘And is this such a hot idea of yours to get him to wear the golf ball jacket?’

  ‘If Gregg is our man, the sight of that jacket could throw him,’ Lepski said. ‘If he isn’t our man, then the jacket will mean nothing to him. These psychos crack easily under pressure. Anyway, no one picks up two hundred thousand dollars for nothing.’

  ‘Did you warn Brandon he could be walking into trouble?’ Jacoby persisted.

  Lepski shifted in his driving seat.

  ‘I told him not to go into the villa. I told him to stay right on the doorstep so we could watch him all the time. Just relax for the love of Pete!’

  By now they had reached Acacia Drive, and as arranged, Ken drew up within a hundred yards of the Gregg villa.

  ‘Let’s go,’ Lepski said, sliding out of the car. Followed by Jacoby, he walked to Ken’s car.

  ‘Go ahead, Mr. Brandon,’ he said, looking through the open car window. ‘Just remember, don’t go into the villa. Tell the butler you want a quick word with Mr. Gregg. If he invites you in, tell him you’re badly parked and it
won’t take a minute. All you have to do is take a long look at Gregg. Okay?’

  Ken began to read the message. His hands, resting on the steering wheel, turned clammy.

  ‘Gregg could be dangerous?’ There was a sudden quaver in his voice.

  Lepski shifted impatiently.

  ‘Take it easy,’ he said. ‘There’s a butler. Maybe Mrs. Gregg is there. You have nothing to worry about. You stay right on the doorstep where we can see you, and there’s no problem.’

  Ken began to sweat.

  ‘But suppose I have to go inside?’

  ‘You don’t!’ Lepski barked in his cop voice. ‘If Gregg is our man, he won’t start anything with the butler and his mother around. You could be picking up two hundred thousand bucks!’ Reaching through the open car window, he patted Ken on his shoulder. ‘You have no problems, Mr. Brandon. We are right behind you.’

  Ken hesitated, then he thought again of the reward. He forced an uneasy smile.

  ‘Okay. . . I’m on my way.’

  He drove to the entrance of the Gregg villa, looking in his driving mirror to make sure Lepski and Jacoby were following him on foot. He was self-conscious about wearing the golf ball jacket, but Lepski had insisted he should wear it. Then parking outside the villa, he left the car and walked slowly up the drive. He glanced back, and was in time to see the two detectives had entered and were ducking out of sight into a vast clump of flowering shrubs.

  He walked up to the front door of the villa, then, bracing himself, he thumbed the bell. He heard the chimes of bolls somewhere inside the villa. He waited, feeling the hot sun on his back, his heart thumping. Nothing happened.

  He looked uneasily behind him, but there were no signs of the two detectives. He felt frighteningly alone. He thumbed the bell again. Apart from the sound of the bells, a heavy silence brooded over the villa.

  He took out his handkerchief and mopped his sweating face. He began to relax. Maybe, he told himself, no one was home. He felt a disappointed letdown. The dream of two hundred thousand dollars began to fade.

  After waiting another long moment, he took a step back. Then almost relieved, he turned to walk back to his car. At this moment, the front door of the villa opened.

  Watching, Lepski and Jacoby, concealed behind flowering shrubs, saw Ken start down the steps, pause and turn around. They saw the front door open, but that was all they could see. Ken, moving back to the top step, blotted out their view. All they could see was his broad back.

  The first thing Ken saw was a pair of highly polished black Gucci shoes. Then looking up, he found himself confronted by a tall, blond man who was smiling at him.

  Tall! Blond! Gucci shoes! This was the man the police were searching for! Ken’s mouth turned dry. His instincts screamed to him to turn and run, but he remained motionless, like a rabbit hypnotized by a stoat.

  ‘Yes?’ Crispin said, his voice gentle.

  Ken pulled himself together.

  ‘Excuse me for disturbing you,’ he said. ‘Are you Mr. Gregg?’

  ‘That’s a nice jacket you are wearing,’ Crispin said. ‘My father had one just like that. What did you want?’

  Ken licked his dry lips.

  ‘I am sure I am disturbing you. Some other time. I won’t bother you now.’

  He took a step back, then paused as he found himself looking at an automatic pistol Crispin was pointing at him.

  ‘Do exactly what I tell you,’ Crispin said, an edge to his voice. ‘If you don’t want to be shot, come in.’

  Although Ken had often read in newspapers and in detective stories of people held at gunpoint, it wasn’t until this moment, he understood the terror of a pointing gun.

  Crispin moved back into the lobby.

  ‘Come in,’ he repeated.

  Ken thought of the two detectives, hidden and watching.

  Lepski had told him not to enter the villa, but the threatening gun gave him no alternative. Moving with leaden feet, he crossed the threshold and walked into the lobby.

  ‘Very wise of you,’ Crispin said. ‘Now shut the door.’

  His heart pounding, Ken paused and looked down the drive, but saw nothing of the two detectives. He closed the door.

  ‘Now shoot the bolts,’ Crispin said.

  Ken found two heavy bolts: one at the top of the door, the other at the bottom. His hand shaking, he did as he was told.

  ‘Now go upstairs,’ Crispin said.

  Supporting his shaking legs by holding onto the banister rail, Ken mounted the stairs. Crispin followed him.

  ‘To your right,’ Crispin said. ‘Go in.’

  Ken entered Crispin’s luxurious living room.

  ‘Sit down.’ The gun pointed to a chair, away from the picture window.

  Ken sat down, resting his sweating hands on his knees.

  Crispin perched himself on the edge of the big desk.

  ‘You must excuse the gun,’ he said. ‘I am nervous of being kidnapped. I always take precautions. Who are you?’

  Maybe, Ken thought, this is going to work out all right.

  He could understand a man of Gregg’s worth being nervous about being kidnapped.

  ‘My name is Brandon,’ he said, trying to steady his voice. ‘I represent the Paradise City Assurance. I’ve called to see if you would be interested in insuring your paintings. I assure you, Mr. Gregg, I am quite harmless.’

  Crispin stared at him for a long moment.

  ‘Insure my paintings? How do you know I paint? Did Kendriek tell you?’

  Again Ken felt a sick feeling of fear. Lepski had asked him to verify that Gregg was a painter. The fact that he was now saying he was, plus the description Lepski had given, told Ken this tall, blond man who was staring at him was without any doubt the lunatic killer who had so horribly murdered Karen Sternwood. He felt the blood drain out of his face.

  Watching him, Crispin asked again, ‘Did Kendriek tell you?’

  Ken had had business dealings with Kendriek, insuring some of Kendriek’s treasures.

  ‘In confidence, Mr. Gregg,’ he said, his voice husky, ‘Mr. Kendriek did mention you had valuable paintings.’

  ‘Yes, they are valuable.’ Crispin dropped the gun into his pocket. ‘Again, I apologize for scaring you, Mr. Brandon, but in these days, unknown callers can be dangerous.’

  ‘Of course.’ Ken again began to relax. ‘Would it interest you, Mr. Gregg for us to cover your paintings?’

  ‘Would they have to be valued?’

  ‘Not necessarily. You tell us what you think they are worth, and we will quote.’

  ‘Perhaps you would care to see some of my work, Mr. Brandon?’ Crispin said and stood up.

  ‘I am no judge,’ Ken said and got to his feet. ‘I won’t waste your time further, Mr. Gregg.’ His one thought now was to escape from the villa. ‘Just tell me approximately what you want us to cover your work for, and I will write to you, quoting premiums.’ He started moving towards the door.

  ‘It won’t take a moment,’ Crispin said. ‘I am working on a particularly interesting study. I must show it to you.’ As he stared at Ken, he fingered the Suleiman pendant, and he smiled.

  ‘I have another appointment,’ Ken said desperately.

  ‘Some other time, Mr. Gregg. Suppose I call and see you tomorrow? You can tell me the value of your paintings and I can quote you.’

  As Ken opened the door,’ Crispin his opal coloured eyes suddenly alight, moved towards him.

  * * *

  Crouching behind the flowering shrubs, Lepski, with Jacoby by his side, watched Ken move forward and enter the villa.

  ‘The stupid jerk!’ Lepski exploded. ‘He’s gone in! I told him to stay outside! You heard me, didn’t you?’

  ‘I heard what you told him,’ Jacoby said, showing alarm. ‘So what are we going to do?’

  Lepski wiped his sweating face with the back of his hand.

  ‘The stupid peabrain! I told him whatever he did, he was to stay on the doorstep, and not to go in!’ />
  Staring at the villa, the two detectives saw the front door close.

  ‘So what are we going to do?’ Jacoby said.

  ‘What can we do? Could be Mrs. Gregg opened the door and Brandon felt he had to go in.’ Lepski shoved his hat to the back of his head in exasperation.

  ‘If Mrs. Gregg didn’t open the door: if the butler didn’t open the door but Gregg did, we’d better do something,’ Jacoby said. ‘Tom! I get the feeling this caper has turned sour.’

  ‘Just suppose Gregg isn’t our man,’ Lepski said feverishly. ‘Just suppose Brandon walks out in the next few minutes. If we go charging in there, we could start a stink that could put us back on the beat.’

  ‘But suppose Gregg is our man?’ Jacoby said. ‘Suppose Gregg kills him? We’d better do something.’

  ‘Yeah.’ Lepski straightened. ‘I’ll handle this, Max. You stay right here.’ He took out his .38 police special. ‘If there’s trouble, I’ll fire a shot, and you come running. Okay?’

  ‘What’s your idea?’

  ‘I’ll say I’m checking on this goddam golf ball jacket again,’ Lepski said, then leaving Jacoby, he walked swiftly across the lawn and to the front entrance of the villa. He returned his gun to its holster and leaving his jacket open so he could grab his gun, he thumbed the doorbell.

  As Crispin moved towards Ken, his eyes glittering, the bell of the telephone standing on his desk began ringing.

  The sound brought Crispin to an abrupt halt. He pointed to a chair away from the door.

  ‘Sit down a moment, Mr. Brandon.’ The edge to his voice and his expression was such that Ken, now thoroughly frightened, hurriedly sat down.

  Not turning his back to Ken, Crispin moved to the desk and lifted the receiver.

  ‘Yes? Who is it?’

  ‘Sergeant Beigler. City police. Is that Mr. Gregg?’

  Watching, Ken saw Crispin’s face turn into a snarling mask.

  ‘Yes. What is it?’

  ‘You are wanted at the Paradise hospital, Mr. Gregg. I’m sorry to tell you there has been an accident.’

  ‘My mother?’

  ‘Yes, sir. Apparently she lost control of her car and hit a truck.’

  ‘Is she badly hurt?’ Crispin asked eagerly.