Betty’s parents lived in Atlanta. Her father was a successful attorney, and Ken was fond of him. This news gave him a jolt. His own problem was forgotten.
‘Is he bad?’
Betty fought back tears.
‘I’m afraid so. Will you drive me to the airport? There’s a plane leaving in an hour. I must catch it.’
‘Of course... I’m terribly sorry.’
‘I’m all packed. Let’s go!’
He took a suitcase she handed to him.
‘Are you all right for money?’
‘Yes... yes. Let’s go!’
As they drove fast to the airport, Betty said, ‘I hate leaving you, Ken. I don’t know how long I’ll be away. Do you think you can manage? There’s plenty of food in the freezer.’
‘Of course. No problem. I wish I could come with you.’ He put his hand on her. ‘Not to worry, honey.’
Betty dissolved into tears.
He drove on. His mind switched to his own problem. It was unthinkable to tell her now. If she stayed away a week or so, then when the letter arrived, he would destroy it!
He had a reprieve!
Chief of police Terrell, sitting behind his desk, smoking his pipe, listened to Lepski’s report.
‘Harry Bentley is in the clear,’ Lepski concluded. ‘He was at the club house all the evening. I’ve seen his jacket, no buttons missing. So that leaves Brandon and Gregg. It’s my guess Brandon was with the Sternwood girl, and after screwing her, he came on the body. He could have seen the killer. He could even have killed her. So what do I do? Do I put pressure on him?’
‘Check his jacket,’ Terrell said. ‘Find out what he says he was doing at the time of the killing. I don’t see a man like Brandon being a sex ripper. It’s none of our business what Sternwood’s daughter does. We have to tread carefully, Tom.’
Lepski shrugged.
‘Gregg is dead, but he had a lot of clothes. What happened to them? If his wife gave them away, the jacket could have been worn by the killer. From what I hear, Mrs. Gregg is tricky.’
‘You can say that again, but talk to her. Handle her with kid gloves. She has money and influence, but talk to her.’
The time now was 20.15. Lepski decided that Brandon would be home, so with Jacoby at his side, he drove to Brandon’s bungalow.
Back from the airport, Ken was trying to relax. He didn’t feel like getting himself a meal. He pushed Lu Boone out of his mind and was thinking of Betty’s father when his thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the front door bell.
Getting to his feet, hoping it wasn’t a neighbour dropping in, he opened the front door.
The sight of Lepski and Jacoby shocked him. He stepped back, his heart beginning to pound, knowing his face had turned white.
Lepski noted the signs of panic, and in his cop voice, said, ‘Mr. Brandon? Detective Lepski. Detective Jacoby. We want to talk to you.’
Ken struggled to control himself. He stood back and said huskily, ‘Come on in. What is it?’
Lepski and Jacoby followed him into the lounge. Lepski looked around, approving the comfort of the room.
‘What is it?’ Ken repeated.
Lepski believed in the slow approach. He saw that Brandon was already unnerved: no harm in turning the screw.
‘Nice place you have here, Mr. Brandon.’
Ken didn’t say anything. He stood motionless, looking from Lepski to Jacoby and back to Lepski. He felt a trickle of cold sweat down the side of his face.
Lepski let the silence prolong.
Finally, Ken said, ‘What is it?’
‘We are investigating a murder, Mr. Brandon.’ Lepski took from his jacket the golf ball button. ‘This yours?’
Ken stared at the button lying on Lepski’s open palm will felt a rush of cold blood up his spine.
‘Is this yours?’ Lepski repeated sharply.
‘I... I don’t think so,’ Ken said, almost sick with panic.
‘Mr. Brandon, this button was found a few yards from the murder scene,’ Lepski said. ‘It’s an unusual button. We have been checking. Four men, including yourself, bought a jacket from Levine with buttons like this one. We have to check. Have you a jacket with this kind of button?’
Ken moistened his dry lips.
‘Yes.’
‘Can I see the jacket?’
Ken thought, if there is a button missing!
‘I’ll get it.’
‘Thank you, Mr. Brandon,’ and as Ken went down the corridor to the bedroom, Lepski winked at Jacoby. ‘He’s our guy,’ he said under his breath.
Opening the closet door in his bedroom, Ken took out the jacket. Feverishly, he checked the buttons, then drew in a long deep breath of relief. No buttons missing! He stood for a minute or so, forcing himself to relax, then he walked back to the lounge and handed the jacket to Lepski.
‘There are no buttons missing,’ he said, his voice much more in control.
Lepski checked the jacket. He was too good a detective to show his disappointment.
‘Fine, Mr. Brandon. We have to check these things out. Sorry to have troubled you.’
Ken nodded, feeling a surge of relief.
‘Of course.’
Lepski gave him his cop stare.
‘This girl was killed last night around eight and ten. Where were you at that time, Mr. Brandon?’
Panic again gripped Ken.
‘Eight and ten last night?’ he repeated to gain time. He had to lie. He couldn’t tell this hard faced cop that he was with Karen. He had to protect her and himself.
‘That’s what I asked,’ Lepski said, knowing Brandon was thinking up a lie.
‘I was home,’ Ken said. ‘I should have been at my sister-in-law’s wedding anniversary, but my car broke down. I called my brother-in-law and explained.’
‘What time did you call your brother-in-law, Mr. Brandon?’
‘Just after eight. No, it was nearer half past eight.’
‘Could I have your brother-in-law’s name?’
‘Jack Fresby, the corporation lawyer.’
‘Yeah, I know him,’ Lepski said. ‘You stayed home the rest of the evening?’
‘I was here when my wife returned just after midnight.’
Lepski again stared at him, then nodded.
‘Okay. Sorry to have troubled you.’ Lepski gave him his wolfish smile and left.
As he got into his car, he said to Jacoby, ‘He was lying his head off.’
‘Wouldn’t you?’ Jacoby said. ‘Did you imagine he would tell you he was with the Sternwood girl?’
‘He could have seen the killer. I’ll talk to him again.’ He started the engine. ‘Let’s go talk to Mrs. Gregg... could be fun.’
After a ten minute drive, they arrived on Acacia Drive where the retired rich lived. On rising ground, at the back of the City, all the villas had a direct view of the distant sea and beach. Each villa was individually designed. All of them had at least an acre of garden, hidden from view by ten foot high hedges. Silence reigned over Acacia Drive. The owners were enormously wealthy and old. There were no sounds of transistors: no shouts from the young.
‘Like a goddam graveyard,’ Lepski said, as he drove along the sand-strewn road, looking for Mrs. Gregg’s villa.
He found the villa at the far end of the road. Pulling up, he and Jacoby got out and surveyed the massive oak, nailed lidded gates that hid the villa.
‘The way these old farts live,’ Lepski snorted, and shoving open one of the gates, he peered at the immaculate garden, ablaze with flowers, then looked at the two storey villa, painted white and blue, that stood at the end of the drive.
Together, the two detectives walked up the drive and paused before the white painted front door. Lepski thumbed the bell, then paused to look right and left. To his right he saw a big swimming pool. To his left a four car garage. One of the garages contained a Rolls-Royce Silver Shadow. The other three garage doors were closed.