Spiced to Death

by Peter King

  There was just enough light to make out Tom Eck.

  “Was it something I said?” he asked softly.

  It was a perfect time to come out with a Nick Charles quip but I missed my cue. Instead I found out what it means to have a sinking heart.

  “You know, don’t you?” he asked, in a voice that was still soft.

  I hoped he couldn’t hear my brain working—inside my head, it sounded like a demented chain-saw. Suddenly, I saw a glimmer of what might be a way out …

  “The buyer had to be you or Keyhoe or Gloria Branson,” I said, though my voice wasn’t as steady as I would have liked. “I had a second string of suspects but of them, Professor Willenbroek seemed too true-blue and it didn’t seem like Dr. Li’s style. But one of you five had to be the buyer—” I paused, not just for dramatic effect but because I was still ad-libbing.

  “—and I know now that it’s you.”

  My eyes were adjusting to the gloom. The lights were on at the far end only. At this end was a platform with a speaker’s dais and microphone, and behind it a large screen. We stood inside the door, near the edge of the platform.

  “When you’re a food broker, people come to you,” Eck was saying in a chatty tone. “Some want to sell, some want to buy. There’s an awful lot of people who would love to get their hands on some Ko Feng. It’s natural they should come to me.”

  I nodded, trying to look understanding and compassionate.

  “So someone came and wanted to sell the Ko Feng to you?”

  “Right.”

  “Why not directly to one of the research outfits?”

  “I’m sure that was the initial idea. It was made more complicated and difficult due to your interference. None of the likely buyers wanted to risk being identified and the problem of authenticating the spice made it even trickier.”

  “So you were approached as a middle man?”

  “Right again.”

  “And that one person was a murderer.”

  “Catching murderers is a job for the police,” Eck said with a shrug. “I’m just a food broker.”

  “You’re a buyer of stolen goods too,” I said in a firm accusatory tone.

  There were voices outside. They had to be loud as this room was surely sound-insulated. But we were near the door and though the words were unintelligible, it sounded like the staff disagreeing over some problem. The voices faded away.

  “All right, let’s get it over with,” I said resignedly.

  Eck regarded me with a noticeable lack of interest. “Get what over with?”

  “You want me to authenticate the Ko Feng for you. Well, where is it?”

  He shook his head with an amused tolerance. “I don’t want you to do anything of the kind.”

  “But—” I stammered, “you’re surely not going to buy the Ko Feng without establishing that it’s genuine.”

  “That’s all been done,” Eck said dismissively.

  I had the nasty feeling that the situation was slipping away from me.

  “So your role in all this is finished,” he added.

  His words had a ring of finality that I didn’t like at all but I put as much joviality as I could into it as I said, “Then I’d better see when the next flight to London leaves.”

  Eck didn’t move. “Not just yet,” he said, “let’s settle a few details first.”

  “What details?”

  He kept looking at me. There was something he wasn’t certain about—something he had to know. Finally he said it. Again.

  “You know, don’t you?”

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  IT WAS QUIET. NO voices could be heard from the balcony. The gloom in the partly lit conference room made the silence all the more foreboding. Eck had put one hand into his pocket. At least there couldn’t be a Tokharev automatic there, I thought. But where were Lieutenant Gaines and Gabriella? Why weren’t they keeping an eye on me? Didn’t they know yet about the fake message that had brought me up here?

  “Tell me,” urged Eck and his hand moved in his pocket.

  “All right,” I said quickly. “It’s Marvell, isn’t it?” I said. “He got Cartwright to help him steal the Ko Feng. Renshaw saw the similarity with the earlier theft of the birds’ nests and one or the other killed him. Then Cartwright tried to double-cross Marvell—who killed him. Marvell’s background had led him to believe that he could easily sell Ko Feng to someone in the restaurant business but he miscalculated. It was Cartwright who had gotten him to switch to the research lab people as a much more lucrative market. Even that was tricky because, as you said, they couldn’t get the Ko Feng authenticated and sell it while still concealing their identity.”

  I paused on a how’m-I-doing note. Eck said nothing so I went on.

  “The point I’m not clear on is to what extent that insurance woman is mixed up in this. Maybe she knows, maybe she doesn’t, maybe she only suspects. Regardless, Marvell having disposed of Cartwright decided to sell the Ko Feng and collect on the insurance as well. You were an ideal choice to sell it to—you know everybody in the business, you could find the highest bidder.”

  We were standing near the edge of the speaker’s platform. It was about a foot high and now that my vision was adjusted to the gloom, I had seen the cord from the microphone. It ran from the bottom of the speaker’s dais and passed within about three feet of where I was standing.

  While I was talking, I was edging closer to it. I did some hand gesturing and waving to emphasize my words—not nearly as much as an average New Yorker but more than I usually do. I hoped it would distract Eck enough. I thought he was frowning but I couldn’t tell if it was because he was thinking about what I was saying or if he was puzzled at my untypical ebullience.

  “I thought for a while the Ko Feng might be shipped out of the country but I’m sure that meant too many risks.”

  “The thief had to be someone right here,” agreed Eck.

  “You say ‘the thief’ but if you bought the Ko Feng from him, you must know it’s Marvell.”

  He looked at me strangely.

  “Neither the thief nor the buyer wanted to be seen,” he said. “Bringing another authenticator into it too made it even more complicated.”

  A bell rang in my head. “Another authenticator! You brought in someone from the Mecklenburg Institute …”

  “Actually you did.”

  “Me? How could I—ah, I see. You used my name, pretended to be me.”

  I edged another couple of inches nearer to the cord.

  “Yes.” He took his hand out of his pocket. It held a gray automatic pistol that looked as if it was made of plastic.

  He waved it menacingly. “It’s real—don’t be fooled by its appearance. It’s high-impact ABS plastic with a titanium tube barrel. Up to ten feet, it’s as dangerous as any other weapon but it doesn’t set off metal detecting devices.”

  He must have spotted a change in my expression. “Yes,” he said, “I was just about to walk in here today when I saw the woman at the desk looking down at something so I waited a while. She did it every time a guest came in. I figured she had a metal detector there so I went back to the car where I keep this.” He waved it again. “You can’t be too careful on the highway.”

  He jabbed the gun in my direction. I hate guns and refuse to carry one even when an investigation in the food business seems to be turning dangerous. This one of Eck’s might be plastic but it was just as terrifying. I noticed something else—it had what looked like a small cork on the end of the barrel, probably a silencer.

  I slid one foot under the microphone cord.

  “You can cut out the play-acting” he said, and his voice had hardened. “We had enough of that with that cute trick you pulled at Martha’s. Now, I’m only going to say it one last time. You know, don’t you? But how do you know?”

  So that was what was worrying him. It may have been why he hadn’t shot me already. He had to know how I knew—and more important, it wasn’t ego or curiosity. He had to
know if anyone else could know.

  I was determined to drag this out a little longer. He wasn’t going to shoot me until I had answered his question and anyway, that confounded cord was slack. I pulled it a little more, trying to get it tight.

  “All right,” I agreed. “I did think that a partnership of Marvell and Cartwright was responsible—until now. But I tried something. I shook everybody’s hand and when I shook yours I knew it was you and Cartwright. You killed Renshaw and then Cartwright. One of you was trying to double-cross the other and take the sack of Ko Feng.”

  “I’m not going to ask you again.” His voice was bleak and if I had thought of him as a nuclear sub commander, he was now ready to push the red button.

  “Your hand smelled of Ko Feng,” I told him.

  His square jaw no longer appeared determined, now it was threatening. The eyes that had been cool and gray before were now metallic and menacing. I fancied I could see his knuckle tightening on the trigger.

  “Nonsense.”

  “It’s the truth. Besides its unique taste, Ko Feng has a powerful and extremely pervasive aroma. I noticed it on my hands the day after the theft—they still smelled of it. I went round this afternoon shaking hands with everyone—as soon as I shook yours, I knew.”

  He was eyeing me uncertainly but it didn’t make him any less threatening.

  “You had to have handled it,” I said, still twisting one foot but trying to keep his gaze locked with mine. “No one could resist—a legendary spice, lost for centuries—how could you have the sack in your possession and not open it, feel it, smell it…”

  It was an involuntary reaction. Without deviating his aim, he raised the weapon so as to sniff the back of his hand. Our eyes met and I tried to suppress a smile of satisfaction. We both knew he had given himself away.

  He lowered the gun to realign it at my stomach and the mild nausea that immediately resulted had nothing to do with the avocado or the mayonnaise or the crab cakes. I gave one more twist of my foot, heedless now as to whether he saw me.

  The microphone cord tightened and I kicked frantically sideways. The cord yanked the microphone clear off the dais and Eck’s head spun in that direction, but instead of the dais crashing too, it stayed there, unmoving. It was only the microphone that came clattering onto the wooden platform. It bounced twice and the two of us watched it come to rest.

  An interruption startled us both. A loud voice shouted something and the lights came on, all of them together. It was dazzling after the semidarkness. I groped for the microphone and threw it in Eck’s general direction, then I bolted to the nearest door. As I crashed through it, there was a pop from Eck’s silenced automatic and a bullet crunched into the wall.

  Out in the corridor, I raced for the nearest stairway, took the stairs three at a time and rammed my way through swinging doors. The large entrance ahead of me was marked as being the Vespucci Room and “safety in numbers” came into my mind. I knew it wasn’t always true but my pounding pulse wouldn’t allow me time to think of a more appropriate proverb. I went storming in.

  An enormous room, crowded with people, noisy, jostling, the din of conversation, the rattle of plates and glasses …

  No.

  Oh, the people were there but all were still and silent as statues. As I made my noisy entrance, over a thousand eyes turned in my direction.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  I STARED BACK, NOT out of insolence but bewilderment. Why was the room so still and quiet? Then, over the heads of all the others, I saw Alexander Marvell. He was at a front table. On one side of him was a large lady in a Marie Antoinette coiffure and a lot of jewelry, and there was an immaculately dressed elderly man on the other.

  Marvell had apparently been speaking. Moreover, the smoldering glare that burned in my direction suggested he had been rudely interrupted. He glanced back at his notes and resumed, speaking of the fine work being performed by the committee and naming the various charities that were benefiting from this gala affair.

  Eyes were now swiveling back in Marvell’s direction, a few at a time, then more and more. I had felt a brief period of safety while everyone’s eyes were on me but now I was exposed and isolated again. I moved quietly around the back of the room, looking for police help. My boisterous entry had fortunately attracted official attention, for a vision in blue came toward me.

  “Where have you been?” hissed Gabriella. “We’ve been looking all over for you.”

  “First,” I said urgently, “find out which car in the hotel garage belongs to Tom Eck. Don’t let him near it—he’s our man and the murder gun is in the car. I think he’s still in the hotel, so block all the exits.”

  She had her phone in her hand and was rapping out instructions before I had even finished. Then I told her what had happened. Before I had completed my account, Hal Gaines had emerged from the assembly and I brought him up to date. He told Gabriella to alert additional men outside and bring some of them in.

  “You haven’t checked in here yet?” he asked. “He could have come in a little more quietly than you did.”

  “I haven’t looked yet. He might find me before I find him.”

  “Which is more important to him?” asked Gabriella. “Killing you—which is, after all, nothing more than revenge at this stage—or getting out?”

  “Yeah,” said Gaines. “If he’s done the deal and gotten the money, he ought to be taking off—in fact, he shouldn’t even be here at this lunch.”

  “I can see why he is,” Gabriella said. “I interviewed him twice. He’s an egotist. He wouldn’t be able to resist the chance to come here and gloat—to talk to all these people, knowing something they don’t.”

  “Regardless,” said Gaines, ever the pragmatist, “let’s find him. We’ll stay behind the crowd. You two better stay together, start at that end. I’ll take this end.”

  Five minutes later when we met, head shakes were exchanged. Eck wasn’t in the room. Then for a moment he was forgotten—by me, at least—as, with the introduction of various dignitaries and the thanks to numerous fund-raisers over, Marvell resumed speaking.

  “Many are asking why we have referred to this as the Ko Feng lunch. Well, the police are on the verge of recovering it and I wanted to take advantage of this opportunity to tell you what’s going to happen to it.

  “The Celestial Spice has had a bloodstained welcome to the United States. Two men have died because of it and, sadly, greed and cupidity have been aroused in many. Consequently, I have made arrangements for the spice to be placed under the mandate of the Globus Group, who are widely known for their impartiality and independence from all commercial influences. It will be their decision where and how to allocate Ko Feng for testing for its various—and hopefully highly beneficial—characteristics.”

  So, if I had needed any proof that Alexander Marvell wasn’t involved in the theft or the murders, that was good enough for me. Giving away the spice took away his motive. Not that I had suspected him—it had been a convenient stall to use with Eck before I had finally had to tell him the truth.

  To resounding applause, Marvell sat down and the lady with all the jewelry invited the assembly to return to the food and drink. Lieutenant Gaines turned to Gabriella and me. “Let’s check all the entrances and exits from this room.”

  We did so but when we met, it was again with a shaking of heads. Police on all the doors reported no one had left. A few guests had complained at not being allowed to leave, some pleading all manner of vital engagements but a quick check of their appearance told us that none of them was Eck.

  The gala event was once more in full swing. The babble of voices was loud despite the excellent acoustics, the smell of food was pungent, sweet, cloying, tangy and piquant in turns. Champagne flowed as if there were a pipeline all the way from Reims.

  We were standing near one of the batteries of dumbwaiters, bringing food up from the kitchens in the basement. A row of screens separated us from the throng. One of the waiters stated his
opinion in a resounding Brooklyn accent. “Jeez! What’s the matter with those guys down there! Haven’t they ever worked in a kitchen before?”

  Something in the framing of the rhetorical question struck me, but it was something that their framer hadn’t intended. Hal Gaines turned at the same moment and his eyes met mine. We looked at the dumbwaiter the man was pointing to and saw several large loaves of uncut bread. I knew that Hal Gaines was thinking the same thing I was—someone in the kitchen was under duress and rather than be seen doing nothing, had made himself busy doing the first thing that came to hand.

  “We have people blocking the exits from the kitchen,” snapped Gaines, “but there’d be nothing to stop him going in! Let’s go!”

  The three of us raced out, pausing only for Gaines to shout at the officer on the door, “Which stairs lead to the kitchen?” and then following his pointing finger.

  Glistening stainless steel and warm, mellow copper reflected the high-intensity lighting and shadows swam mistily in the white-tiled floors. A few pots steamed, probably in preparation for the evening meal, but the kitchen was quiet as most of the buffet had been prepared ahead. Only four or five white-clad figures moved, ghostlike, and only the clatter of an automatic dishwasher made any significant noise.

  We scanned the faces that turned inquiringly toward us. None of them was Tom Eck.

  Gabriella suddenly said, “Look!” and a swing door, recently set in motion, was just juddering to a stop. With a quick look to make sure that there was no crouching figure behind a cabinet or workbench, we headed for the door with Gabriella in the lead.

  She had barely reached it when without warning, it was flung open. Gaines gasped something and grabbed for his gun. Gabriella already had hers out but she had been so fast, I didn’t see where it came from. As the unarmed member of the trio, I was naturally last. All three of us froze.