‘It sounded that way, sir. I told him you’d be there.’
‘You take a lot on yourself!’ Hradec cried, but Lusk or Terment had hung up.
Across the way, a beaker exploded.
59
Pacing, Perly prowled the luxurious parlor of Harry Hochman’s suite, while in the room the tension mounted. The eight people he’d assembled here did not include any of the lawyers or insurance executives who so cluttered this case; one way and another, these people here were all principals. And Jacques Perly, with their help – witting or unwitting – was about to crack this case wide open.
He was, in fact, about to speak, to open the meeting, when Harry Hochman abruptly said, ‘Well? Are we all here?’
Perly took a moment to answer. Hochman, because this was his suite, was attempting to direct the agenda of the meeting, but Perly had other ideas. ‘Yes, Mr Hochman,’ he said eventually, ‘we’re all assembled.’
‘Then get on with it,’ Hochman said, either displaying irritability or revealing nervousness; hard to tell. ‘I’m a busy man.’
‘We’re all busy men, Mr Hochman,’ Perly said. ‘The question is, Busy at what? May I turn to you, sir,’ he said to another of the invited guests. ‘Would you tell the group your name and occupation?’
The tall, slender, white-haired man recrossed his legs. Calm, self-confident, he sat comfortably in an uncomfortable chair, arms folded, and said, ‘Name’s Hammond Cash. I’m regional manager for CDA.’
‘Continental Detective Agency.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘You have had the contract to provide security for the Votskojek embassy for some months now, is that correct?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘And there was a robbery at the embassy some little time ago?’
The thin man smiled thinly. ‘It looked like a robbery, yes, sir.’
Perly was gratified to see, from the corner of his eye, Hradec Kralowc’s sudden spasm of shock at that sentence, but he pretended for the moment not to have noticed. Concentrating on Cash, he said, ‘Looked like a robbery? Could you describe the event, Mr Cash?’
‘Certainly.’ Cash had a battered old briefcase on the floor beside his chair. Reaching into it, bringing out a sheaf of papers, he said, ‘I have here the affidavits of the security men on duty at the time, but to sum it up, Ambassador Kralowc there had two guests aboard the ship, one of whom created a diversion at the gate while the other one scampered about, waving something that was supposed to be the relic of St Ferghana—’
‘Supposed to be!’
‘One moment, Ambassador,’ Perly said. ‘You’ll get your chance. Mr Cash?’
‘Having made sure my men saw this artifact,’ Cash continued, ‘the accomplice made his escape in a powerboat operated by a third member of the group.’
‘Quite elaborate,’ Perly suggested.
‘Yes, sir, very.’ Cash chuckled, then sobered and said, ‘My men naturally suggested phoning the police, but the ambassador wouldn’t hear of it.’
‘You mean, this relic was apparently stolen in front of the eyes of your security men, and Ambassador Kralowc refused to make a police report?’
‘Yes, sir. He apparently released the first man as well.’
Kralowc was on his feet, yowling: ‘What? What are you suggesting? What are you trying to imply?’
‘All in good time, Ambassador,’ Perly told him. ‘If you’ll just be seated—’
‘I want to know what you think you’re—’
‘Sit down, Hradec,’ Harry Hochman said with such cold distaste in his gruff voice that Kralowc dropped back into his seat as though he’d been hit by an air bag.
Perly turned back to Cash. ‘Could you tell us what happened next?’
‘They shut the embassy,’ Cash replied. ‘We stayed on the job, but they shut the place down and all the Votskojek nationals left the country.’
‘I see.’ Perly turned to another of his guests, a thoughtful, pipe-smoking man. ‘Sir, would you tell us your name and occupation?’
‘John McIntire,’ the thoughtful man said, sucking on his unlighted pipe. ‘Johns Hopkins. Forensic science.’
‘And have you had occasion to spend time on the Pride of Votskojek, the Votskojek embassy?’
‘Quite a lot of time, in fact.’
‘For what purpose, sir?’
‘There was some question raised about the authenticity of a certain relic, a femur, this bone along here.’ He indicated by running the wet end of his pipe along his left pants leg.
‘And on the day of the alleged robbery, were you—’
‘Alleged!’
Many people glared at Ambassador Kralowc this time, and he subsided after that one word. Perly turned back to McIntire. ‘Were you contacted by Ambassador Kralowc later that same day?’
‘One of his people, I believe. Lusk or Terment. They called to say they were shutting the place down for a while, I wasn’t to continue my work. That situation maintained until very recently, when my fellow investigators and I were permitted to study the relic once more. Or a relic; no telling if it’s the same one.’
‘No,’ Perly agreed. ‘No telling. Do you know why doubt had been raised about the relic to begin with?’
‘Some sort of dispute,’ McIntire suggested, ‘with Votskojek’s neighbor over there, another little country. Sorry, don’t know the name.’
‘Tsergovia,’ Perly supplied, and turned to the bulldog-shaped woman in the olive green uniform. ‘You are Ambassador Kotor of Tsergovia, are you not?’
‘Yes, I am.’
‘Could you tell us why you raised this doubt about authenticity?’
‘We possessed a similar sacred relic ourselves,’ she said. ‘Until very recently, we thought ours was the real one and theirs the imitation. But we tested ours, and were embarrassed to learn we had the fake.’
‘Why was this an issue?’
‘There were political considerations,’ the ambassadress said. ‘At least, we thought so.’
Perly turned to the scrawny old man in the clerical black and the red beanie. ‘You are Archbishop Minkokus, are you not?’
‘I am.’
‘You head a commission concerning the future UN seats of both Votskojek and Tsergovia?’
‘I do.’
‘Has there been a rumor that, because of religious bias, you intended to give favorable consideration to whichever country possessed the true relic?’
‘Scurrilous!’
‘But the rumor existed. Was it false?’
‘Of course! What an idea!’ The old archbishop grew quite pink in the face.
‘Of course,’ Perly agreed, sympathetically. ‘But foolish ideas sometimes are believed.’ He turned to Ambassadress Kotor: ‘Did you believe the rumor?’
‘I’m sorry to say we did, for a while. Until we got to know the archbishop and found out what a fair and sensible man he was.’
‘Thank you, my dear,’ said the archbishop, bowing in her direction his beanied head.
Perly turned to Kralowc. ‘And did you believe the rumor?’
‘Of course not!’
‘No, you didn’t,’ Perly said, and bore in. ‘You proved you didn’t believe the rumor, by giving that relic to Harry Hochman!’
Kralowc’s eyes bugged out. ‘What?’
‘You and Harry Hochman,’ Perly pursued, ‘have been engaged in influence peddling, both here and in Europe, for some time. I have signed statements gathered by Interpol in Europe.’
‘Now, wait a minute,’ Hochman said. ‘Just a damn minute here.’
‘No, sir, Mr Hochman,’ Perly said, turning on the financier. ‘You think of yourself as an art lover, an art collector, as well as a captain of industry.’
‘I am,’ Hochman said, as though it were obvious, ‘that’s what I am. I’m all of those things.’
‘An art lover to the extent,’ Perly said, ‘that you would try anything, do anything, to get a work of art you loved.’
Too late
cautious, ‘I certainly wouldn’t say that,’ Hochman said.
‘I would,’ Perly told him. ‘I have affidavits concerning unethical and illegal activities you hired others to engage in, in Geneva and Rotterdam and Buenos Aires, to obtain certain works you coveted.’
‘Oh, balderdash,’ Hochman said. ‘The art world is a very special – That’s Guy Claverack sitting right there; he’s a dealer in – you just ask him!’
‘We’ll get to Mr Claverack in due course,’ Perly said. ‘Suffice it to say, for now, you have been known to go to extreme lengths to get a work of art you desired.’
‘No more than anyone else in the field who—’
‘Considerably more, I would say, Mr Hochman. Not many art lovers would resort to blackmail!’
Hochman screwed up his captain of industry face into shocked disbelief. ‘Are you out of your mind?’
‘I don’t believe so.’ Perly took a folded sheet of paper from his inside jacket pocket, opened it, and handed it to Kralowc, who seemed stunned by events. ‘Ambassador, this is a list of women you have dated in New York City in the last twelve months. There are forty-nine names on this list.’
Kralowc gazed dully at the list. He shook his head. ‘If you say so.’
‘We left three names off the list,’ Perly said. ‘Could you fill them in?’
‘Of course not,’ Kralowc said. ‘How am I supposed to remember?’
‘Three women you dated within the last year. Three women you spent time and money on. Three women you went to bed with. But you have no memory of them.’
‘I don’t know, I mean, I don’t see the, what’s the point in all this?’
‘They remember you,’ Perly said. ‘They and several of the others. I have affidavits concerning their sexual experiences with you. None of them felt you were, shall we say, highly motivated. Their general impression was that you hadn’t much real interest in heterosexual experience.’
‘I don’t believe you,’ Kralowc said. ‘Where are these affidavits?’
Perly pointed at a gruff-looking, gray-mustached, athletic man across the room. ‘In the possession of Bill Karnitz over there. He’s a detective with the Fraud Squad of the New York Police Department.’
‘Fraud!’
‘I suggest, Ambassador,’ Perly said, ‘that you and Dr Karver Zorn have been lovers ever since you shared a room in your undergraduate days at Osigreb Polytechnic, that you married to hide this relationship, that you parade with attractive women in New York for the same reason, because you know exposure would ruin your diplomatic career.’
‘That’s ridiculous,’ Kralowc sputtered, ‘the UN is crawling with—’
‘You were followed, Ambassador,’ Perly interrupted, ‘when you left the embassy in disguise two days ago. You spent all of the last two nights at the home of Dr Zorn in the Bronx. Why?’
‘I can explain!’
‘Go ahead, Ambassador.’
Kralowc stared, thought, started several sentences, moaned, closed his eyes, put his head in his hands.
Now Perly had him, and he knew it. ‘I further suggest,’ he suggested, pointing a rigid finger at the top of Kralowc’s head, ‘that Harry Hochman told you he wanted the relic of St Ferghana, as well as the jewel-encrusted sarcophagus in which it was—’
‘Reliquary,’ Guy Claverack said.
‘I beg your pardon,’ Perly said; ‘you’re absolutely right; I was carried away. Reliquary. It was the reliquary he really wanted, wasn’t it? And threatened to expose your affair with Dr Zorn if he didn’t get it. And how did he know about that affair? Because he had loaned you his Vermont château as a secure love nest for you and your doctor friend!’
Hochman surged to his feet: ‘This is outrageous! To sit here, in my own hotel, and listen to this absurd string of ridiculous—’
‘You think it’s ridiculous, Mr Hochman?’ Perly pointed toward Bill Karnitz, the Fraud Squad cop. ‘After our meeting here, you’ll be able to discuss this ridiculous story with Detective Karnitz.’
Hochman blanched. ‘I don’t know why you’re trying to frame me with all this, Perly,’ he said, ‘but I never knew Hradec Kralowc was a faggot until—’
‘I’m not! I’m not!’
‘I never let him use that place! He broke in there! He’s probably in league with the thieves; I wouldn’t put it past him. Question him!’
Bill Karnitz spoke quietly from his corner. ‘We will, Mr Hochman. We’ll question everybody.’
‘And if you have nothing to hide,’ Perly said, with a faint sneer, ‘you’ll be all right.’
Hochman could be seen adding up the things he had to hide. Silent, no longer full of braggadocio, he sat down.
Perly turned to the group. ‘To sum up. Ambassador Kralowc faked a theft of the relic, but didn’t report it to the police, because they would uncover the fraud at once. But the record would exist in the Continental Detective Agency files, if and when the question ever arose as to what had happened to the relic. Having established this false robbery, the ambassador closed the embassy, turned relic and reliquary over to Harry Hochman, obtained a false relic from somewhere, then reopened the embassy. All would have gone well except that, on an occasion when he and his lover Zorn were in residence in their love nest provided by Harry Hochman at his château, thieves broke in and stole the entire art collection, including the relic and reliquary. Even then, no one would have been likely to search for the truth behind appearances if Harry Hochman, in panic, had not denied ever having had the relic and reliquary in his possession. But now we know why he told that lie, as we know why the ambassador who was supposed to be guarding the relic in New York was in fact asleep in Vermont when that very same relic was being stolen right out from under him … in Vermont.’
‘Amazing deduction,’ the archbishop murmured.
Perly smiled, pleased with himself. ‘A tricky little case,’ he said, ‘but I think that wraps it up.’
Guy Claverack, looking bewildered, said, ‘Jacques? I thought we were here because of the theft. What happened to the stolen art?’
Perly looked at him in surprise. ‘The stolen art? I suppose the thieves still have it, until the insurance company pays off. This isn’t about stolen art, Guy. Stolen-art cases are a dime a dozen. This is the case of the orphaned reliquary.’
60
For weeks the neighborhood had been complaining about the smell. State and federal offices, county offices, even town offices had been deluged with calls. Children on the way to school were getting sick and housewives in a several block radius were blacking out, especially on warm, sunny days. ‘It’s like all the dead fish in the world, all in one place,’ people said.
Nothing did any good. EPA vans went by, registering the air. OSHA inspectors closed down two dry-cleaning plants and a bowling alley. State police ticketed a record number of motorists. But still the smell hung over the neighborhood, a curse that would not lift.
Finally, several of the neighborhood men got together and spent an entire weekend searching for several blocks in every direction, until at last they found the center of the stink, its fetid core. The smell was coming from a truck parked in the middle of the neighborhood on a commercial block. It even said it was a fish truck.
Calls were made. More calls were made. ‘Come take this stinking truck away!’ Weeks went by; the smell got worse; real estate values in the entire community were beginning to slide.
And then, at last, a police tow vehicle arrived. And wouldn’t you know it? Took the wrong truck.
61
Phone Calls
Monday morning, Guy received a phone call from Jacques Perly, saying, ‘When do you expect to hear from your people?’
‘Probably today sometime. Why? What can I tell them? I haven’t heard any numbers yet.’
‘Tell them we need more pictures,’ Perly said. ‘One of the insurance companies is holding out; they want to be sure your people haven’t already moved the goods offshore. You know, paying the ransom and not getting
anything for it.’
‘Jacques, what are you talking about? Of course they’ve still got it.’
‘I’m just telling you what the insurance company says. A picture of the loot, or at least some of it, with a copy of today’s newspaper showing so they know it’s a new picture.’
‘What if they say no?’
‘Then this one insurance company isn’t going to pay, and that’s a big chunk of it gone.’
‘Jacques, this doesn’t make sense, but I’ll do what I can.’
‘I’m sure you will, Guy. As you say, you’re already out-of-pocket.’
‘And getting less pleased about it every second.’
‘We’ll laugh about this when it’s over.’
‘I’m glad to hear that.’
Monday afternoon, fresh from an entertaining lunch in his upstairs dining room, Guy received a phone call from the carpenters. First, he explained the negotiations were still in an early stage, and then he said, ‘They want another picture.’
There was a pause, and the gloomy-voiced carpenter said, ‘Oh, yeah?’
‘They’re just dragging their feet, if you want my opinion, but there’s nothing I can do about it. One of the insurance companies, they insist on proof you haven’t already gotten rid of the collection somewhere else. They want a picture of it, some part of it, with a copy of today’s newspaper visible, to show it’s a new photograph.’
‘Uh-huh. Do they care which newspaper?’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘Never mind.’
‘Was that a serious question?’
‘Who knows what’s serious, Mr Claverack?’
When Guy hung up, the sound in his ears was the fluttering of many dollar bills, flying away.
Monday evening, Grijk Krugnk got a call from a friend, who said, ‘No names.’
‘Oh, hello, Chon.’
‘I said no names!’
‘Oh. Vhy?’
‘In case anyone’s listening on this line.’
‘Your line, or my line?’
‘Any line. Listen, I want you to do me a favor.’
‘Sure ding, Cho – Oh. Zorry.’
‘Don’t worry about it. In the morning, I have to go out to where we left the truck with all the stuff in it; you know the stuff I mean. Don’t mention it!’
Don’t Ask Page 30
