Dutch Blue Error

by William G. Tapply

  “Go on,” said Perry.

  “Okay. You told him you were prepared to purchase the stamp. Maybe you even brought money with you to show him. Now, Shaughnessey was a very cautious man. He must have thought it odd, this change of procedure. But your finding his house and going to him would’ve made him uneasy enough to be willing to consummate the deal, get it over with and get the Dutch Blue Error off his hands. So he fetched the stamp, you gave him the money, and he poured you each a drink to seal the bargain. The first blow probably killed him. But you couldn’t take the chance. So you hit him two more times. You took the money back, took the stamp, and ransacked the place to make it appear to have been a burglary gone bad. You figured since no one knew he was the one who had the stamp, no one would link his murder to it. Or to you. You even broke the window at the back door. A nice, professional touch. The police believed it, and if Zerk hadn’t happened to see Shaughnessey’s picture in the paper, no one would ever have been any the wiser. You could have presented your father with the stamp later, having saved him a quarter of a million dollars. Or,” I added, glancing at Ollie, “you could have waited until Ollie died. Then you would have had it all to yourself. Your own secret.”

  Ollie raised his eyebrows at his son. “You?”

  Perry had been glaring at me throughout my recitation. Then his expression shifted. I saw a smile play on his lips. “Yes, me. I was going to give it to you. I got it for you.”

  “I’ll be damned,” muttered Ollie.

  “You killed a man for a stamp,” said Perry. “So did I.”

  “But that wasn’t the end of it,” I said. “Because you got a phone call from Albert Dopplinger. He wanted to speak to your father, but that was when Ollie was laid up, so he talked to you. And what he told you was upsetting. So you had to kill him, too.”

  “You killed Albert?”

  “He’s right. I had to.”

  “Yes,” I said. “You had that one all planned. Albert played right into it. You agreed to meet him at his laboratory, where he was going to show you the proof of what he told you. It was all in his notebook. You brought a gun with you. You chloroformed him, took his notebook, and shot him. Just about then you heard me at the door. You turned off the lights and hid. You saw me come in, you saw Schwartz come in behind me and use your chloroform on me, and then you saw Zerk come in and take me away. Then you slipped away, clean as a flute.”

  Ollie was shaking his head slowly back and forth. “Is that the way it was?”

  “I didn’t see Brady come in. I had left by then.”

  Ollie waved his hand. “Details. So you have the stamp.”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, Jesus, boy, go get it.”

  Perry nodded and left the room. Ollie looked at me. “Imagine that. I didn’t think the boy had it in him.”

  “He’s a murderer, Ollie. Are you proud of him?”

  Ollie smiled. “He did something, didn’t he?”

  “Yes. He did something. That’s true.”

  “So what’s next, then?”

  “Oh, come off it, Ollie. You know what’s next.”

  I was standing in front of Ollie’s wheelchair. My back was to the doorway, I saw Ollie’s eyes shift to look over my shoulder. I started to turn around. Too late, I felt Perry’s hand at my jacket pocket and a sharp pain at the base of my spine.

  “You didn’t think I’d just walk out of here with you, did you?” said Perry, lifting my Smith and Wesson from my pocket. I turned. Perry had stepped back. My gun dangled carelessly from his left hand. The muzzle of the little handgun he held in his right was a black eye staring at me.

  “Cut it out, Perry. You’ve performed your heroics. It’s all over now. Why don’t you just give me that?” I held out my hand. Perry smiled. The gun remained steady in his hand.

  “Just sit down, there, in that chair. I can kill you, too.”

  I sat. “You don’t think I’d come here like this without telling anyone, do you?” I said. “The police know all about this. They know I’m here.”

  He shook his head. “Somehow I doubt that. They wouldn’t have let you come alone. Anyway, it’s not your style. And I don’t seem to have too many choices.” He spoke to Ollie. “Here’s your stamp.” Without taking his eyes from my face, and without moving his gun from its aim at the bridge of my nose, he handed an envelope to Ollie.

  Ollie took it eagerly, lifted the unsealed flap, and gingerly reached in with his thumb and forefinger. Then he held up a tiny scrap of paper to the light. He narrowed his eyes to study it. “The duplicate Blue Error,” he whispered. “This is it.” He looked at Perry. “You have exceeded my fondest expectations. We must celebrate. Brandy. Cigars.”

  Perry smiled. Still watching me, he moved to a sideboard and poured brandy into three snifters with one hand. With the other, he kept the gun pointing at me. He handed one glass to Ollie and one to me. Then he took a silver case, flipped up the cover, and held it to his father. Ollie reached in and removed a slender cigar.

  Perry stood by his father’s shoulder, the automatic wedged into one hand, his own snifter of brandy in the other. Ollie lifted his glass.

  “Again, Brady, let us drink to the Dutch Blue Error.”

  I shrugged and sipped with the two Weston men.

  Ollie placed his glass on the table beside him. He still held the stamp in one hand. He put the cigar into his mouth and reached for a big silver lighter.

  “Now I own two Dutch Blue Errors,” he said slowly, rolling the cigar in his mouth. He held up the stamp again and squinted at it. “There’s an interesting thing about stamps,” he continued. “If, let us say, a million stamps of a particular issue existed, and each stamp was worth a dime, and one man owned every one of them, each stamp would bring no more than a dime on the market. Now, supposing there were only one of those stamps. And supposing it was worth a million dollars. And supposing the man who owned it suddenly came into possession of a second stamp—its duplicate. What do you think would be the value of each of those two stamps?”

  Ollie stared at me.

  “You asking me?” I said.

  “Yes. See what you’ve learned.”

  “Each of them would be worth at least half a million, I suppose. More, probably, if you were able to maintain the mystery about them.”

  Ollie shook his head sadly. “Ah, no. Unfortunately, it doesn’t work that way.” He glanced at Perry, then returned his attention to me. “You see, what happens is that the very existence of the duplicate destroys the value of the original. It’s no longer unique. Where there’s one duplicate, there may be more. Now. I’m very glad to have this duplicate. Not because I want to own it. But simply because I want to be certain that nobody else ever will.”

  Ollie paused, flicked his lighter, and fired up his cigar. He rotated it slowly over the flame, then blew a great cloud of fragrant blue smoke at the ceiling, still holding the flaming lighter. “There is now a way that I can secure the uniqueness of my own Dutch Blue Error,” he said softly.

  “Hey! What are you doing?” said Perry suddenly. Then he said, “Jesus Christ! Don’t do that!”

  It was too late. Ollie delicately held the little stamp over the lighter until it burst into a tiny orange flame. He dropped it into an ashtray on the table beside him. The flame died out in a moment, and the duplicate Blue Error was a tiny mound of black ash.

  “Thanks, Perry,” said Ollie, smiling around the cigar in his mouth. “It wasn’t much, true, but you did contribute something useful for a change.”

  Perry’s eyes narrowed. “You son of a bitch,” he whispered. “Now you’ve spoiled it all.”

  The report of Perry’s automatic was startlingly loud for so tiny a weapon. I saw Ollie Weston’s head jerk, then sag onto his chest. A narrow, shiny red streak trickled slowly down his leathery neck from the black hole beneath his ear.

  I leaped up and went to Ollie. I knelt in front of him and looked up into his face. His eyes were staring into his lap.

 
; His lips were drawn back over his teeth, which still clenched the smoldering cigar. I reached for his wrist, felt for his pulse, and held my fingers on it. It beat slowly and faintly.

  I looked up at Perry, who was staring expressionlessly at Ollie. “He’s still alive,” I said.

  Perry seemed transfixed. The gun in his hand was pointed at me.

  I tried to take the cigar from Ollie’s mouth. It broke off in his teeth. Then I felt again for his pulse. It seemed fainter and more irregular.

  “For Christ’s sake, get on the phone. Call an ambulance or something,” I shouted at Perry. He continued to stare at his father. The gun did not waver in his hand.

  Ollie blinked and groaned weakly. He lifted his hand a couple of inches from his lap and turned it so that his palm faced up. His eyelids flickered. He looked at me. I detected the crinkle of a smile. He wanted to tell me something. I put my ear to his mouth.

  “A thousand damn quail,” he whispered.

  I looked into his face. He widened his eyes as if he wanted to say more. Then his pupils rolled up into his head, and his hand fell back into his lap. From deep in his big chest came a gagging groan. His powerful head lolled on his chest. I clutched at his wrist. There was no pulse.

  I sat back on my heels and looked up at Perry. “He’s dead.”

  Perry’s eyes narrowed at me. He seemed to shiver. He closed his eyes tightly for a moment, and when he opened them they were clear and glittering. He motioned to me with his gun.

  “Get over there,” he said, his voice low and steady.

  “You just killed your father, Perry,” I said to him, trying to keep my own voice calm. “Why don’t you just give me the gun now.”

  I held out my hand carefully toward him. He took a quick step backward. “Yes,” he said, watching me. “I did. I killed the bastard. I always knew he was a cruel son of a bitch. But I never thought he was stupid.”

  “You found Albert’s notebook, didn’t you?”

  “Yes.” Perry laughed. “Isn’t that ironic, him burning that stamp? He wouldn’t listen to me. Never would. He always had to be right, never could admit that he might be wrong and I could be right. Well, he did his last cruel, stupid thing, didn’t he?”

  “Come on, Perry. Give me that gun. It’s all over now.”

  Perry’s eyes darted wildly around the room, then settled on me. He blinked, as if he were seeing me for the first time. Then he smiled.

  “No,” he said. “It’s not over. Move over there.”

  At that moment a chime sounded from the front of the house. Perry’s head jerked around.

  “Jesus,” he muttered. “The doorbell. Who the hell can that be?”

  “Ask not,” I said. “It tolls for thee.”

  “Shut up.”

  “The Fuller Brush man, perchance. Avon calling.”

  Perry jabbed at me with the gun. “Come on. We’re getting out of here.” He gestured toward the back of the house.

  “Don’t you think you should see who’s at the door?”

  “Why should I?”

  “I told you, the police know I’m here.”

  Perry frowned for a moment. Then he nodded. “Yeah, okay. We’ll take a look. Let’s see who it is. If you try anything, I’ll shoot him, whoever it is. Do you understand?”

  I nodded.

  “I mean it. I’ll kill him. I’ve got nothing to lose. Just do what I say. Let’s go.”

  Perry directed me out of the room, through the grand hallway; and out into the big slate-tiled foyer by the front door. He gestured for me to stand beside the doorway, out of sight from anybody standing outside the door, but only a few feet from where Perry stood to open it.

  He pulled the door open with his left hand. He held his right hand, with the gun in it, behind his back. I saw him smile.

  “Yes?”

  “This is the Weston house?” The voice belonged to Zerk. I wondered where all the police were.

  “Yes. What can I do for you?”

  “I’m looking for my friend. Brady Coyne. He told me he’d be here tonight.”

  “And you just happened to be in the neighborhood.”

  “More or less.”

  I saw Perry smile. “Sure. He’s here. Come on in.” He stood back and opened the door all the way.

  Zerk walked in. “I’m sorry to bother you at this hour, but…”

  He saw me standing there, grinning foolishly at him. Then he saw the gun in Perry’s hand. “Ah, shit,” he mumbled.

  Perry closed the door and gestured at Zerk to stand beside me. He kept waving the gun back and forth from Zerk to me and back to Zerk.

  “You should have called the police,” I said. “You trying to be some kind of hero?”

  Zerk rolled his eyes. “Me?”

  “Okay, so we’re both dumb. But you should have called Kirk.”

  Zerk turned down the corners of his mouth. “Not likely.”

  “You guys shut up,” said Perry. “Listen. We’re going to leave here now. One of you tries something, the other one gets it. I mean it. Tell him, Brady.”

  “He means it.”

  “I’ve killed three people already.”

  “He’s killed three people already,” I said. “Including his old man.”

  Zerk turned to stare at me. I nodded.

  “Christ!” he muttered.

  “Put your hands on top of your heads and walk out that door,” ordered Perry. “Go slow and stay close beside each other. Remember what I said.”

  “Just like the movies,” I said.

  “Japanese prisoners of war,” added Zerk.

  “I said, shut up,” said Perry.

  We moved out the door onto the big veranda. Zerk’s little yellow Volkswagen was parked behind my white BMW in the circular drive. I looked for a police car. I listened for the thump of helicopters. There was nothing else out there. Just me and Zerk and a crazy man with a gun pointed at our backs.

  I felt the muzzle of the gun poke my kidneys. “Okay,” said Perry. “You get in and drive the white car. Remember, your friend is here with me. Just open the door slowly and slide in. Leave the door open.”

  I did as I was told. I heard Perry instruct Zerk. “And you. You open the back door. Just open it and step aside.” Zerk obeyed. “Okay. Now you get in the front seat. Easy. Just open the door and get in. Leave the door open.”

  Zerk slid in beside me.

  At that instant I heard a familiar voice. “Hold it right there, Weston. Drop the gun.”

  I glanced around and saw Leo Kirk step out from the shadows near the veranda. He was crouched, his feet wide apart. The gun he clutched in his two hands was extended straight in front of him. It was aimed at Perry.

  The rest happened in an instantaneous flash. Two gunshots, sudden and ear-shattering. A moment’s pause, then a third shot. And then a voice, small and wondering, a moan combined with a sigh. “Oh.” And silence.

  Leo Kirk moved forward, his weapon still gripped in both hands and pointed at Perry Weston’s crumpled body. Zerk and I climbed out of the car and stood with Kirk, staring down at Perry. Kirk knelt, held a finger against Perry’s throat, then looked up at me. He shook his head.

  “He’s dead.”

  I nodded.

  The cop stood up, shrugged his shoulders, and walked into the house. His gun still dangled from his hand. Zerk and I went and sat on the front steps. “You did call the cops,” I said.

  “Yeah. I don’t have to like them to know when discretion, as they say, is the better part of valor. Kirk’s parked out in the street. We decided if you were in trouble, we’d have a better chance of helping you out if the cops didn’t start pounding on the door.”

  “Good thinking.”

  “That was Kirk’s idea.”

  “You took quite a risk.”

  He shrugged. “It’s what I seem to be doing these days. It worked.”

  I stared out at Perry Weston’s body. “In a way, it worked.”

  A few minutes later Kirk came
back from inside the house and sat heavily beside us. “There’s another body in there,” he said.

  “I know,” I said. “Perry did that.”

  “I called an ambulance and all the rest. They’re on their way. We’ve got to wait. So why don’t you tell me what happened?”

  So I told him.

  When I finished my recitation, Kirk stated at me. “The Lone Ranger rides again, eh?”

  I glanced at Zerk. “I left my faithful Indian companion home.”

  “Ha, ha,” said Zerk sarcastically. “Another ethnic slur.”

  “Why the hell didn’t you call me?” said Kirk.

  “It was all supposition,” I said. “Just a story I put together in my head. I would’ve looked like an ass if I’d been wrong.”

  “You didn’t look so smart when we got here,” said Zerk mildly.

  “Besides,” I continued, ignoring him, “I didn’t figure there was enough for you to get a warrant, so what could you do?”

  “That’s for us to decide,” said Kirk.

  “I am an attorney, you know.” It sounded more defensive than I’d intended. “In my judgment…”

  “Okay, okay. So you’re an attorney. What I still don’t understand is why Perry shot the old man.”

  “Several reasons. First, Ollie never respected Perry, never gave him encouragement, never acknowledged that Perry was a man. Treated him like a boy. Made it clear he didn’t trust him. I don’t imagine there was much love there. Ollie was not a demonstrative man in that respect. And remember—Ollie brought up Perry himself. With help from butlers and nannies and so forth. Perry’s mother swallowed a bottle of pills when he was a baby. So you can figure it out.”

  “Yeah, yeah. All that Oedipal stuff. Still…”

  “Okay, the stamp. Perry finally had proved himself, he figured. Just like his daddy. He went out and killed a couple of people, stole the stamp, and would once and for all show his pop he was a real man, deserving full respect. He made the grand presentation, and Ollie spat in his face by burning it.”