Not My Thing

by James Hadley Chase

  He found Carroll sitting before the TV, absorbed in a soap opera. She didn’t look at him as he came into the living-room.

  ‘Don’t speak to me!’ she snapped. ‘I’ve almost had enough of you, Lepski! A movie and a dinner! That’s a big laugh!’

  Lepski strode to the TV set and snapped it off just when the doe-eyed heroine seemed about to be raped.

  With a scream of rage Carroll jumped to her feet.

  ‘Shut up!’ Lepski snarled in his cop voice. ‘Listen! We’ve got the biggest case we’ve ever had! Sherman Jamison’s wife has been kidnapped!’

  Carroll’s rage evaporated as she stared at her husband.

  ‘Mrs Jamison… kidnapped!’

  ‘Correct. A real big deal! The Chief is scared that Jamison will make trouble, so all this is strictly under the rug until the ransom has been paid and Mrs Jamison returned. The FBI have moved in, and I’m working with them. I’ve got to get some sleep. Tomorrow will be one hell of a day!’

  ‘Oh, Tom, I wasn’t to know.’ Carroll came to him and put her arms around him. ‘Come on! We’ll go to bed.’

  In spite of Carroll’s ministrations, Lepski spent a restless night. There was this thought that kept nagging at him, far back in his subconscious. He came awake at 07.30 and the nagging thought suddenly jelled. Clearly into his mind came the memory of Lucky Lucan leaving Lucy Loveheart’s brothel.

  He recalled how puzzled he had been that a gigolo like Lucan should be calling on Lucy Loveheart. He stiffened. Lucan had been fingered by Drysdale as a possible go-between for the kidnappers. Suppose the kidnappers had asked Lucan to find a safe-house in which to hide Mrs Jamison? What could be safer than Lucy Loveheart’s brothel? A hunch? Well, hunches were all part of police business.

  Galvanized, Lepski sprang out of bed and rushed into the bathroom where he showered and shaved hastily. As he returned to the bedroom he heard Carroll was already in the kitchen. He threw on his clothes to the smell of grilling ham.

  ‘Have you thought of something, Tom?’ Carroll asked as he stormed into the living-room.

  ‘Yes! I’ve got to get moving fast!’

  ‘You’ll eat your breakfast first,’ Carroll said firmly. She placed a plate of four fried eggs and grilled ham before him as he sat down.

  ‘A cop’s real wife!’ Lepski said and grinned at her as he attacked the food.

  ‘What have you thought?’ Carroll asked, sitting at the table.

  ‘Never mind,’ Lepski mumbled, his mouth full. ‘It’s a hunch. I think I know where they could be hiding Mrs Jamison.’

  ‘Careful you don’t choke yourself,’ Carroll said anxiously as she watched Lepski bolting down the food. She poured coffee. ‘Where do you think they’ve hidden her?’

  ‘It’d take too long to tell you,’ Lepski said, then drank the coffee, shoved aside his plate and jumped to his feet. ‘See you, honey,’ and, grabbing his hat, he rushed out to his car.

  While Lepski was bolting down his breakfast, Kling came awake from a sodden sleep with a king-sized hangover. He felt as if someone was slamming a sledgehammer inside his skull. He groaned, holding his head. Slowly, he peeled open his eyes to find Ng standing over him.

  ‘Perhaps coffee, sir?’ Ng asked.

  Kling snarled at him. When suffering from a hangover, he was at his vicious worst.

  ‘Nothing! Get the hell out!’

  ‘Sir. May I take the car?’ Ng asked.

  ‘Take any goddamn thing! Get the hell out!’

  All night, after getting Kling into bed, Ng had thought of Shannon Jamison. This beautiful, gentle woman must not die, Ng kept telling himself as he tossed and turned in his bed. But how to save her without being disloyal to his master? His mind had shifted to Kling. This man had done so much for him and his mother. Ng moaned softly to himself. He was sure that Kling would kill this woman as he would kill a fly. How to save her?

  There was time… ten days. Ng thought of the pleasure he would get, seeing Shannon again. He would get her flowers and breakfast.

  Watched by Beryl from her window, he got in the car and drove down to the highway. While Kling had been snoring in his bed, Ng had taken a fifty-dollar bill from Kling’s well stuffed wallet. The only place where Ng could buy flowers was at the airport. He bought roses and two orchids. By the time he reached Lucy Loveheart’s residence, Lepski was parked opposite, waiting and hopefully watching.

  He saw Ng drive down into the garage.

  A slimly built Vietnamese!

  Lepski slid out of his car. He was elated. It looked as if his hunch was paying off! Cautiously, he walked down the ramp of the underground garage in time to see the elevator’s indicator show that the cage had gone to the top floor.

  Returning to his car, he now felt almost certain that Sherman Jamison’s wife was hidden on the top floor of Lucy Loveheart’s brothel.

  With the patience of a dedicated cop, Lepski lit a cigarette, settled himself and awaited further developments.

  Unaware that he had been watched, Ng stood before the door of the Whipping room, his heart thumping. He clutched the bouquet of flowers. He tapped on the door. When he heard nothing, he tapped again.

  Shannon who had passed a restless night, hearing the persistent tapping, started up from the bed. With a clutch of fear, she called, ‘Who is it?’

  ‘It’s Kim, ma’am,’ Ng said. ‘May I come in?’

  Shannon gave a gasp of relief. She felt she could handle this odd Vietnamese.

  ‘Yes, come in. Give me five minutes.’ She slid out of the bed and went into the bathroom.

  ‘I’m sorry to be so early, ma’am,’ Ng said as he entered the living-room. ‘I wanted to give you breakfast.’

  Shannon didn’t hear any of this as she was in the bathroom.

  Finding a vase, Ng filled it with water and arranged the flowers. He set the vase on the table, then went into the kitchen and made coffee.

  He was setting the table as Shannon came in. She was wearing a kimono that Lucan had bought and, to Ng, she looked so beautiful he caught his breath.

  ‘Ma’am, some toast?’ he asked, regarding her with adoring eyes.

  ‘No, thank you. Coffee will be fine,’ Shannon said, then, seeing the flowers, she exclaimed, ‘How lovely! Thank you, Kim. How kind you are!’

  ‘It is nothing, ma’am.’ He poured the coffee. ‘I do hope you found the food acceptable. I have been worrying. These frozen packs aren’t much.’ He held a chair for her to sit down at the table. ‘I would so much like to cook you a good lunch. Would you allow me to do this, please? I can prepare you an excellent meal of saffron rice chicken with lychee. Would you like that, ma’am?’

  Shannon stirred sugar into her coffee, her mind active. She had now come to the conclusion that this odd Vietnamese youth had fallen in love with her.

  ‘That sounds marvellous, Kim.’ She forced a smile. ‘I’d love that.’

  ‘I will arrange it, ma’am. It will give me great pleasure.’

  She sipped the excellent coffee and regarded him.

  ‘Kim, please be frank with me. I feel you are a friend. I am a prisoner here, and I do realize how fortunate I am to have such a nice, kind jailer. I am worried. My husband and I don’t get along any more.’ She put down the cup. ‘He wants to marry another woman. I keep asking myself if he will pay the ransom for me to be released.’

  Ng nodded.

  ‘Oh, yes, ma’am. I’ve already told you. He will have to pay the ransom. My master has him in a squeeze. You have nothing to worry about.’

  ‘What squeeze?’ Shannon asked, forcing her voice to sound casual.

  ‘That I can’t tell you, ma’am. I promise you, when the ransom is paid, you will be safe.’

  ‘There is another thing that worries me,’ Shannon said, looking directly at Ng. ‘A few months ago, my husband suffered a heart attack. Suppose he had a fatal attack before the ransom was paid. What would happen to me?’

  Ng stared at her.

  ‘Whatever happens, yo
u will go free.’ He moved to the door. ‘I will arrange your lunch. You have nothing to worry about.’

  As he rode down in the elevator, his mind churned with excitement.

  Here was the solution!

  With Jamison dead, there would be no ransom. This lovely woman would be freed. His master would lose interest. No money… no killing.

  He felt confident he could get into Jamison’s villa and kill him.

  That was the solution!

  There was time. First, he wanted to show this lovely woman how well he could cook. As he walked up the ramp of the garage, he reminded himself of the ingredients he would have to buy.

  As he hurried along the sidewalk towards the big self-service store, Lepski slid out of his car and followed him.

  9

  Jamison’s executive jet touched down at the Zurich airport at 09.30.

  The previous afternoon he had told Smyth to alert his pilot to be ready to take off for Switzerland, and for Smyth to book a suite at the Baur au Lac hotel, and to alert Maurice Felder, the President of the Swiss branch of the Jamison Computer Organization, that he wished to see him, immediately he arrived.

  Jamison was met by one of the senior executives who carried his bag, saw him through the douane and to the Rolls Royce that the hotel used to meet VIP clients.

  He was received at the hotel with obsequious bows and conducted to a suite overlooking the lake. Having shaved, showered and changed, Jamison went down to the hotel entrance where the Rolls drove him to the sumptuous offices of the Corporation.

  Maurice Felder, the President, received him with a warm handshake.

  ‘Most unexpected, Mr Jamison,’ he said as Jamison sat down. ‘A very pleasant, and gratifying surprise.’

  Felder was a tall bulky man in his late fifties, always immaculately dressed, balding and, as Jamison knew, one of the shrewdest and most knowledgeable Swiss in the country. What Felder didn’t know about big business, industry, banking and big money wasn’t worth knowing.

  ‘I have a personal problem,’ Jamison said abruptly. ‘I want to know everything there is to know about Banque Bovay. What can you tell me?’

  As Felder sat behind his desk, he lifted his bushy eyebrows.

  ‘A small, private bank. There are, of course, a number of these in Zurich, Bern, Basle and Geneva. These small banks give individual service, don’t ask awkward questions and extend the recognized banking secrecy to foreigners. This particular bank has been in the hands of the Bovay family for the past fifty years. Henri Bovay who had been running the bank for the past twenty years has just retired. His son, Paul, has taken his place. I understand that Henri Bovay suffered a stroke, and now has nothing to do with the bank. Paul Bovay seems to be doing a good job. The bank, in a small way, is prosperous. Its assets are acceptable.’ Felder paused and regarded Jamison. ‘Is this the kind of information you need, Mr Jamison?’

  ‘When did the son take over the bank?’

  ‘Only last month.’

  ‘Tell me more about the father.’

  Felder, aware that he had an important board meeting in twenty minutes’ time, smiled his humourless Swiss smile.

  ‘Perhaps you would be good enough first to tell me what the problem is, Mr Jamison, and why you are interested in a small concern like the Bovay Bank. I could then give you direct information without wasting your time.’

  ‘Or wasting your time,’ Jamison said with a nod of approval. All his dealings with Felder had been excellent. Felder was one of the few men that Jamison considered a top-class executive.

  Felder lifted his fat hands.

  ‘Yes, Mr Jamison. I have a board meeting.’

  ‘Right. Here’s the problem. My wife has been kidnapped.’

  Felder stiffened.

  ‘I am sorry to hear this, Mr Jamison. So…?’

  ‘The ransom of five million dollars is to be paid to the Bovay Bank. The kidnapper whose name is Ernie Kling has an account at this bank. Kling is an American citizen. Unless the ransom is paid, he tells me he will murder my wife. He has given me his account number at the Bovay Bank. I need to prove to him that this sum has been paid into his account before my wife is set free.’

  Felder sat for a long moment, pulling at his underlip, then he picked up the telephone receiver that connected him with his secretary.

  ‘The board meeting is to be cancelled,’ he said. ‘I don’t wish to be disturbed,’ and he hung up. ‘Yes, Mr Jamison, this is a problem.’ He looked directly at Jamison. ‘Tell me your thinking.’

  ‘I want my wife free,’ Jamison lied.

  Felder nodded.

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘But I’m damned if I’m going to pay this kidnapper five million dollars,’ Jamison went on.

  Felder again nodded.

  ‘There is always a solution to any problem. May I ask you to leave this with me? I believe you are staying at the Baur au Lac?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I suggest we meet there for dinner tonight,’ Felder said. ‘Would eight o’clock be convenient?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You have this man Kling’s account number at the Bovay Bank?’

  ‘I have it.’ Jamison took from his wallet the scrap of paper Kling had given him. It was in a plastic envelope. He passed the envelope to Felder who wrote down the number, then returned the envelope to Jamison.

  ‘By this evening, I hope to have found a satisfactory solution.’ Felder got to his feet. ‘Please be patient, Mr Jamison, this isn’t going to be easy, and I will need a little time.’

  ‘I understand. Thank you, Felder.’ Jamison got to his feet. ‘I have every confidence in you.’ Then, lying, Jamison went on, ‘I don’t have to tell you that my wife’s life must not be at risk.’

  ‘That, of course, is understood. As you are here, would you care to inspect the factory? I can arrange a conducted tour.’

  ‘No!’ Jamison barked. ‘I’m not in the mood. Then at eight o’clock tonight.’ Shaking hands, he left.

  Felder sat at his desk and snatched up the telephone receiver.

  ‘Get me Mr Paul Bovay of the Bovay Bank,’ he told his secretary.

  * * *

  Lepski burst into Chief of Police Terrell’s office and slid to a standstill.

  ‘Chief! I’ve found her!’ he bawled.

  Terrell, with a mass of papers on his desk, looked up with barely suppressed impatience and regarded Lepski. ‘Found who?’ he asked.

  ‘Mrs Jamison! Who else?’

  Terrell pushed back his chair.

  ‘You have found Mrs Jamison?’

  ‘I got a hunch,’ Lepski said, loosening his tie. ‘I’m willing to bet she’s stashed away in Lucy Loveheart’s whore-house!’

  Terrell rubbed his nose.

  ‘Sit down, Tom. Take it easy,’ he said. ‘Tell me.’

  Briefly, Lepski made his report. How he had seen Lucan leave the brothel, how he had this hunch, how he had sat outside the brothel and seen the slim Vietnamese drive down to the garage, how he had seen the elevator go to the top floor.

  ‘This Viet left about an hour later and went marketing. I followed him,’ Lepski went on. ‘He bought a chicken and various herbs and a pack of rice, then he returned to the whore-house. So it’s my bet that Mrs Jamison is there.’

  ‘You don’t know she’s there. Okay, it looks good, but neither of us know she’s there, do we, Tom?’

  Lepski made a noise like a circular saw hitting a knot of wood.

  ‘So what? We get a warrant and raid the place. We find Mrs Jamison! Or we don’t... so what?’

  ‘Tom, you are a good cop,’ Terrell said, ‘but you don’t know a thing about the politics of this city. There are three judges here who could sign a warrant, but they won’t for the simple fact they are Loveheart’s weekly clients. The Mayor is also her client. We can not, repeat can not, raid Loveheart’s whore-house. I’m not saying you are wrong, but if Mrs Jamison isn’t there you and I will be retired. Make no mistake about that. Lucy
has too much clout going for her. So forget it! We wait until the ransom is paid and Mrs Jamison is safe, then we’ll grab Lucan, this tough and the Viet, but we stay still until then.’

  With a grunt of disgust, Lepski got to his feet and stamped out of Terrell’s office.

  * * *

  Having had a three-pill sleep, Lucan came awake, and his thoughts immediately turned to the lush girl next door. He shaved, showered and put on swim-shorts. He decided he would invite her to have a swim, then take her to lunch, then soften her up with sweet talk, and by the evening she should be a push-over.

  Flexing his muscles, he left his cabin and rapped on Beryl’s cabin door. There was a pause, then the door opened and, to Lucan’s startled dismay, he found himself confronted by a tall, powerfully built man who gave him a wide, friendly smile.

  ‘I’m Jack Shaddock,’ Howard Jackson said, and reaching out, grabbed Lucan’s hand in a vice-like grip and shook it. I guess you’re Julian Lucan.’ He released Lucan’s half paralysed hand. ‘My little wife tells me you were good enough to feed her last night. Thanks a million. My wife likes to eat.’ Jackson gave a booming laugh. ‘I’ve just arrived. Some place, huh?’

  All Lucan’s erotic thoughts about getting Beryl into his bed faded. He forced a smile.

  ‘Just being neighbourly. I thought as she was on her own, she’d like a swim. Well, that’s okay. I guess I’ll take off.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Jackson said. ‘We won’t be staying long. I’ve a big deal on.’ The two men stared at each other. Jackson’s smile was less friendly. ‘See you around,’ he went on, and closed the door.

  As Lucan, feeling utterly frustrated, walked down to the sea, he experienced an odd uneasiness. He shrugged this off, telling himself it was due to his frustration. As he waded into the sea, he tried to cheer himself up by thinking there were still lots of women around.

  It wasn’t until he was stretched out under the shade of a palm tree that this odd feeling of uneasiness returned. Then suddenly a cold shiver ran down his back.

  When he had been confronted by this man who called himself Jack Shaddock, something at the back of his mind told Lucan he had seen this man before.