Lepski dragged his tie loose.
‘The blood red moon? The black sky? The orange beach?’
‘I’m glad you are thinking about it,’ Carroll said. ‘How far have you got?’
Lepski moaned to himself.
‘It’s under control. Now listen, honey...’
‘What do you mean... under control? What kind of talk is that?’
‘Will you listen?’ Lepski bawled. ‘I’ll be on Pete Hamilton’s T.V. show at nine. Me! Do you hear! I will be...’
‘Oh, Tom!’ Carroll’s voice turned to honey. ‘How marvellous! You really mean it?’
‘I’m telling you! At nine o’clock! Listen, honey, alert the neighbours! Get moving! I want those finks to see me! Spread the news! Okay?’
‘Tom! Of course! Pete Hamilton’s show at nine?’
‘Yeah. I’ve got to move. Time’s running out!’
‘I can’t wait!’
Lepski cut the connection, then rushed down to his car and drove to the T.V. studios.
A pert chick at the reception desk gave him a sexy smile.
‘Detective Lepski? Sure, Mr. Hamilton is expecting you. Second floor, fourth door.’
‘Thanks.’ Thinking of his first appearance on a T.V. screen, he went on, ‘Do I have to make-up?’
‘They’ll fix it. You’ll have no problems.’
Lepski took the elevator to the second floor. He found Hamilton talking to two men in shirtsleeves.
Beigler had already cleared the way with Hamilton on the telephone, and Hamilton agreed to cooperate.
Lepski stood around, holding the jacket, shifting from one foot to the other until Hamilton came over.
‘Hi, Lepski!’ Hamilton said, regarding Lepski with his cold, cynical eyes.
‘Hi, Pete! I’m showing the jacket. We don’t want it out of our hands.’
‘No problem. Okay, let’s go.’
‘Don’t I want make-up or something?’ Lepski asked anxiously.
Hamilton looked him over.
‘You’ll be fine as you are. Let’s go.’
He led Lepski into a brilliantly lit studio where cameras were set-up and a small army of technicians was lolling around.
‘I’m putting you on the first spot,’ Hamilton said. ‘All you have to do is to hold the jacket. I’ll do the talking. Let’s have a quick run through.’ He pointed to a table. ‘Stand behind that, and hold up the jacket.’
‘Wait a minute,’ Lepski said. ‘Should I wear my hat?’
Hamilton released a sigh.
‘All cops wear hats. Sure... wear it.’
Lepski positioned himself behind the table. Two technicians showed him how they wanted him to hold the jacket. Cameras moved forward. Lepski braced himself. This was his moment!
Hamilton stared, then nodded.
‘Okay, relax. I’ll give you your cue.’ He looked at the wall clock. ‘Coming up.’ He went over to a chair and sat down. Another camera focussed on him.
Sweating slightly, Lepski waited. He was aware that Hamilton was talking, but his mind was elsewhere. He thought of Carroll, waiting. He thought of his fink neighbours also waiting. Boy! Wouldn’t he make a goddamn impression!
Then he heard Hamilton say, ‘This is the jacket the police want to identify.’
A bearded youth signalled to Lepski who wasn’t sure what expression he should wear. He decided the stern cop rather than the grinning cop was the thing. He turned on his ferocious expression as the camera zoomed in. The bearded youth signalled him to hold it, and Lepski changed his expression from ferocious to looking friendly.
‘Anyone recognizing this jacket,’ Hamilton was saying, ‘who has any information, no matter how trivial, about this jacket should contact the police headquarters.’
The camera moved away. The bearded youth signalled to Lepski it was over, and Lepski folded the jacket and drew in a sigh of satisfaction.
A girl touched his arm and motioned him to the door. Hamilton was still talking. Lepski couldn’t care less. He had had one minute of fame. As he walked, feeling ten feet tall, into the impressive lobby, he saw a row of telephone booths. He called home.
After a delay that made him hop from one foot to the other with impatience, Carroll came on the line.
‘Hi, baby! How did you like it?’
‘Like what?’ Carroll demanded, her voice shrill.
‘Come on, baby. How did I look?’
‘Let me tell you something. I invited the Lipscombs, the Watsons and the Mayfields to watch with me. Right now they are guzzling your Cutty Sark like thirsty camels, and they are already eyeing our last bottle of gin.’
‘To hell with them!’ Lepski shouted. ‘I want to know how I looked!’
‘How should I know?’ Carroll snapped. From the tone of her voice, he could tell she was in a raging temper.
‘For Pete’s sake! Didn’t you watch the Hamilton show?’
‘Of course we watched it!’
Feeling strangled, Lepski dragged at his tie.
‘Then you saw me, for Christ’s sake!’
‘Don’t be blasphemous, Lepski!’
‘Did you or didn’t you see me?’ Lepski bawled. ‘Were you all so stinking drunk on my Scotch you didn’t see me?’
‘We were not drunk and we didn’t see you! All we saw was a close-up of the jacket, held by hands. If they were your hands, you should have washed them. They looked grimy!’
Lepski gave a great start as if he had been goosed by an icy finger.
‘Just hands, huh?’
‘Yes! I’ve got to go before they get at the gin bottle. They are having a ball... that’s more than I am! The Mayfields are throwing hints they haven’t had supper! I could have them with me for the rest of the night!’
‘Just hands, huh?’ Lepski said, dazed. Then he understood why he hadn’t been made-up. Why Hamilton hadn’t cared if he wore his hat or not. He released a soft hissing sound. ‘Why the goddamn stinking creep!’
‘Get home as soon as you can,’ Carroll said. ‘I need help here.’
‘Yeah... yeah. I’ll be back as soon as I can,’ Lepski said, his voice low. A vast black cloud of depression settled over him.
Carroll suddenly softened, recognizing from the tone of his voice, his shattering disappointment.
‘Dear Tom, I am so very sorry. You come right home and I’ll try to make it up for you.’
‘Yeah. Okay, honey,’ and Lepski hung up. He walked, heavy footed, out to his car and headed back to headquarters. He felt as if his ambitious little world had come apart at the seams.
Entering the Detectives room, he paused to gape. Three men from Homicide were at desks. Jacoby and Dusty were also at their desks: all were talking on their various telephones.
Beigler took the jacket from Lepski.
‘Get moving, Tom,’ he said. ‘That broadcast really started something. The moment it was off the air, people started calling in. Everyone in the city seems to have something to say about the jacket. We could be here all night.’
Lepski heard his telephone bell start up. He plodded across to his desk, sat down, pulled a scratch pad and pencil towards him, then lifted the receiver.
‘Lepski. Police headquarters.’
‘This is Mrs. Applebaum. I’ve just seen that jacket on the Pete Hamilton show. Mr. Hamilton said to contact the police... right?’ She sounded a very aggressive lady.
‘That’s right, madam,’ Lepski said.
‘It is my husband’s birthday, next week. I find it very difficult to give him a present.’
Lepski dug his fingers into the surface of his desk.
‘You have information about the jacket, madam?’
‘No. I want information from you. The police are supposed to give information... right?’
Lepski pushed his hat to the back of his head and dragged at his tie.
‘I’m not following you, madam,’ he said in a strangled voice.
‘I want information! I want to buy a jacket just like the one I saw on the telly for my husband’s birthday present. Where can I buy it?’
Lepski made a noise that would have frightened a hyena and slammed down the receiver.