‘I can’t say I have,’ he said. ‘With white golf ball buttons?’
Lepski restrained his impatience with an effort.
‘Yeah.’
Heinie dug the pencil stub into his left ear, twisted it, removed it and flicked more wax.
‘Golf ball buttons, huh? Let me think.’ He rubbed the back of his neck. ‘Unusual kind of jacket, huh?’
Lepski made a soft growling noise.
‘Well, now I think of it, I did have a jacket with golf ball buttons.’
Lepski stiffened to attention. At last, a break!
‘You said blue, didn’t you?’ Heinie asked.
‘Yeah.’
Heinie shook his head.
‘This jacket was brown. I remember it. Must have been two years, maybe three years ago. Sort of jacket that sticks in the mind, huh?’
‘This jacket is blue!’ Lepski snarled.
Heinie thought some more.
‘No... I haven’t seen it.’
‘Look, Mr. Heinie, this is important,’ Lepski rasped. ‘This is to do with a murder investigation.’
‘Sure... sure.’ Heinie nodded. ‘No, I haven’t seen a blue jacket with golf ball buttons. A brown one... sure, back two, three years ago, but no blue one.’
‘Maybe one of your staff...’
‘I don’t have a staff,’ Heinie said. ‘Who wants staff these days?’
Police work! Lepski thought in disgust. ‘Gucci shoes?’
‘Huh?’
‘Have you sold a pair of Gucci shoes to anyone anytime?’
‘You mean those Italian shoes?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Don’t ever get them. You want a fine pair of shoes? I can show you...’
‘Forget it!’ Lepski snarled. ‘And watch it, Heinie! Your son could get into trouble giving you clothes intended for the Salvation Army.’
‘Not Joe... he’s too smart to get into trouble,’ Heinie said, and grinned.
Lepski stamped out of the store and made his way to his car. Then the thought struck him he had to buy a handbag for Carroll. He paused by his car. Where the hell was he going to buy a goddam handbag on Saturday afternoon? If there was one thing Lepski loathed it was shopping.
‘Hi, Mr. Lepski!’
Turning, Lepski found Karen Sternwood at his side. His eyes ran over her: some doll, he thought.
‘Hi, there Miss Sternwood. How are you doing?’
She pouted.
‘I am just grabbing a hamburger. Imagine! My boss has gone off for the weekend and left me a raft of work. I’ll be working all afternoon. Saturday! Imagine!’
‘Mr. Brandon away?’
‘His father-in-law’s sick. He won’t be back until Monday. How’s the murder investigation going?’
‘We’re working at it.’ Lepski had a sudden idea. ‘Miss Sternwood, you could help me if you would have the time.’
Her eyelashes fluttered. Sweet Pete! Lepski thought, if this babe hasn’t hot pants then I’m a monkey’s uncle.
‘For you, I have time,’ she said.
Lepski eased his shirt collar.
‘I have to buy my wife a handbag for her birthday. How do I go about it?’
‘That’s no problem. What kind of handbag?’
‘I wouldn’t know. Something fancy, I guess. My wife is pretty choosey.’
Karen laughed.
‘Most women are. The point is how much do you want to spend? Five hundred dollars? Something like that?’
‘Well, not that high. I thought around a hundred.’
‘You can’t do better than try Lucille’s boutique on Paradise Avenue,’ Karen said. ‘You can rely on her.’ She smiled, fluttered her eye lashes, thrust her breasts at him as she went on, ‘I’ve got to get this hamburger. See you,’ and she walked away, swashing her hips while Lepski stared after her.
Getting in his car, he drove fast to Paradise Avenue. The luxury shops kept open on Saturday afternoon, and the sidewalks were crowded with people, shop window gazing. Parking his car, Lepski set off down the long avenue, looking for Lucille’s boutique. He had got halfway down the avenue, cursing to himself, when he passed Kendriek’s gallery. It was only because he was looking desperately at every passing shop window that he saw Crispin’s landscape in Kendriek’s window.
He came to an abrupt halt as he stared at the painting, then he felt the hairs on the back of his neck bristle.
A red blood moon!
A black sky!
An orange beach!
He stepped up to the window and again stared at the painting.
‘Holy Pete!’ he thought. ‘That old rum-dum’s prophecy!’
He remembered she had been right when he had been hunting that killer last year. She had said he was to look for oranges, and the killer had been selling oranges!
Could she be right again?
Then he remembered what Doroles had said: the hands of an artist.
Could the man who had painted this landscape be the killer they were hunting for?
He hesitated for a long moment, then walked purposely into the gallery.
Seven
Louis de Marney was sulking. He considered Kendriek’s insistence to keep the gallery open on Saturday afternoon a drag. He also considered that Kendriek’s insistence that he, as head salesman, should remain, while the rest of the boys enjoyed themselves in their various ways, utterly unfair. Admittedly, some eight weeks ago, some doddery old cow had wandered in and bought a Holbein miniature (a brilliant fake) for sixty thousand dollars. Since then, no one had visited the gallery on Saturday afternoon, but Kendriek was optimistic.
‘You never know, cheri,’ he said to Louis, ‘the door may open and some sucker come in. After all, you have Sundays and Thursdays: what more can you expect?’
Apart from sulking, Louis was outraged that he had to drive to the Gregg villa and to receive a wrapped canvas from an obviously drunken butler. On removing the wrapping, back at the gallery, he found himself confronted by one of Crispin’s landscapes.
‘We can’t show this!’ he shrilled. ‘Look at it!’
In dismay, Kendriek studied the landscape.
‘Very advanced,’ he said, and took off his wig to wipe his dome with a silk handkerchief.
‘Advanced?’ Louis shrilled. ‘It’s an insult to art!’
‘Put it in the window, cheri,’ Kendriek said. ‘You never know.’
‘But I do know!’ Louis screamed. ‘It will lower the tone of our lovely gallery!’
‘Control yourself, Louis!’ Kendriek snapped. ‘Put it in the window! I said I would show it, and I have to show it.’ He tapped Louis gently on his shoulder. ‘Remember, cheri, he owes us forty thousand dollars. Put it in the side window by itself,’ then shaking his head, he returned to his reception room.
Louis cleared the side window and put Crispin’s painting on an easel and in the window. Then he flounced to his desk and sat down, seething with fury.
He was trying to divert his mind with a gay magazine when Lepski entered the gallery.
Louis looked up and stiffened. He knew by sight and name every cop in the city, and he knew Lepski was a renowned troublemaker. He edged his foot to a concealed button under the carpet and pressed it. Kendriek, who was going through an illustrated art book, looking for something he could fake, saw the red light gleam on his desk and knew at once that he was about to have a visit from the police. This didn’t bother him. There were no hot objects d’art in the gallery, but he was surprised. The police hadn’t visited his gallery for the past six months. He heaved himself out of his chair, went to the Venetian mirror, set his wig askew and then, moving like a cat, he opened his door a crack to listen.
Louis had risen from his chair. His rat-like face was wreathed in smiles.
‘Detective Lepski!’ he gushed. ‘Such a stranger! Let me guess! You are looking for a gift for your beautiful wife! An anniversary! A birthday! A special occasion! How right you are to come to us! I have the very thing! Detective Lepski! For you, we can make a very special price! Let me show you!’