‘Louis.’ Kendriek’s voice turned quiet. ‘You are forgetting yourself. Once an informer, always an informer. Have you forgotten Kenny? How old was he... seven? The police are still hunting for his ravisher, Louis. Kenny could pick this man from a lineup. Once an informer, always an informer.’
Blood drained out of Louis’s face.
‘Behave yourself, cheri,’ Kendriek said and smiled. ‘No more hysterics. If necessary you will lie to Lepski.’ He took off his wig and handed it to Louis. ‘Comb it, cheri.’
With a shaking hand, Louis took out his pocket comb.
Ken Brandon found Mary Goodall, his previous head office secretary, waiting outside the Secomb office of the Paradise Assurance Corporation. To say he was pleased to see her would be an understatement. Middle aged, plump and utterly efficient, Mary Goodall, to him in this present mood, was a gift from the gods.
They greeted each other, then Ken unlocked the office door, and they entered.
‘How is Judge Lacey?’ Mary asked as she surveyed the outer office.
‘It’s miraculous. We really thought he was gone, but he has made a remarkable recovery. The doctor says, with care, he could last sometime yet.’
‘I’m so glad. And Betty?’
‘She came back with me last night. Her sister is staying with Mrs. Lacey.’ He saw Mary’s expression as she looked around the office. ‘I’m afraid this dump isn’t what you are used to, Mary, but I can’t tell you how glad I am to have you here.’
‘Mr. Sternwood’s secretary phoned me yesterday, telling me to take over.’ Mary grimaced, then smiled. ‘It’s not quite as bad as I had imagined.’ Then her smile faded as she went on, ‘What a terrible thing to have happened! Poor Mr. Sternwood! He was so proud of his daughter!’
Ken flinched, then he walked to Karen’s desk and looked at the letters and papers she had left.
‘They must find this dreadful maniac,’ Mary went on. ‘This enormous reward Mr. Sternwood is offering. Two hundred thousand dollars! Surely someone will come forward.’
Ken couldn’t bear to think of Karen and her dreadful end.
‘I hope so,’ he muttered, picked up the letters and papers and moved to his office. ‘I’ll deal with these, Mary. Suppose you go through the files and get the photo of what we have been doing.’ Leaving her, he went into his office, closed the door and sat at his desk.
What a nightmare Sunday had been! He had read in the paper that Lu Boone had been murdered. Shocked, yet relieved that there would now be no blackmail threat, he turned on the radio. He then heard of Karen’s murder. This news shattered him, and he was scarcely civil to his sister-in-law who had said, ‘She asked for it, living in a hippy cabin. I wouldn’t be surprised if she was no better than a whore.’ He had telephoned Jefferson Sternwood but he was unavailable. Sternwood’s secretary thanked him for his call and said she hoped he would be at the Secomb office on Monday, adding that Mary Goodall was to replace Karen.
Now that Judge Lacey was out of danger, Ken couldn’t wait to get home. Betty had been contacted by Dr. Heintz who asked impatiently when he could expect her. They decided to leave on the afternoon plane.
As they sat side by side in the plane, the mystery of the missing golf ball button was solved. Betty looking in her bag for a cigarette, gave a little laugh and produced the button.
‘Look, darling. I carry this around as my talisman.’ She put her hand on his. ‘It’s something that belongs to you.’
Ken, remembering his panic, remembering how Karen had got him another button, remembering how drunk he had been, and remembering he had taken Karen into Betty’s and his bed, had trouble in forcing a smile.
Now, sitting at his desk, he thought back on that Sunday. Karen was dead. Lu Boone was dead. This disloyal, disgraceful episode in his married life was now behind him. Clenching his fists, he swore to himself that it would never happen again.
On the other side of the city, Lepski parked his car within a few yards of Kendriek’s gallery. He walked in to be met by Louis de Marney, pale, but with a false smile of welcome.
‘Mr. Lepski! How nice! Mr. Kendriek is expecting you.’ He led Lepski into Kendriek’s reception room.
Kendriek, beaming like an amiable dolphin, rose from behind his desk and offered a fat hand, but Lepski was in no mood for this kind of greeting.
Ignoring the offered hand, he said in his cop voice, ‘What have you got for me?’
‘Please sit down, Mr. Lepski. Let us conduct this conversation in a civilized manner,’ Kendriek said, losing his smile. He sat down.
After hesitating, Lepski took the visitor’s chair, facing Kendriek.
‘Mr. Lepski, please understand that I have to protect my clients. You are asking for the name of the artist who painted this picture. That, of course, is a fair question from the police, but this artist made me promise not to reveal his name. Many artists ask me for anonymity. This may seem strange to you, but I assure you it often happens.’
Lepski glared at him.
‘So you know who he is?’
Kendriek took off his wig, stared at the inside of it as if he expected to find in it an ant’s nest, then he replaced it, askew.
‘Yes, Mr. Lepski. I know the name of the artist.’ He leaned forward, his little eyes like stones. ‘If you will explain to me why you think this artist has something to do with these murders, and if you can convince me that you have definite evidence against this artist, then, of course, I will reveal his name.’
Lepski shifted in his chair. How the hell could he tell this fat queer about this rum-dum Mehitabel? How could he even tell Terrell about her? A red moon! A black sea! An orange sky!
Seeing Lepski hesitate, Kendriek moved into the offensive.
‘Perhaps, Mr. Lepski, it would be better if Chief Terrell talked to me. I have always found him understanding.’ The dolphin smile was back. ‘Suppose, if I may suggest, you speak to your Chief, then he could, if he feels it necessary, speak to me.’
Realizing he was defeated, Lepski got to his feet.
‘Okay, Kendriek,’ he snarled. ‘So you don’t give us information. I’ll remember this. When you are in trouble, you’ll be in real trouble,’ and he stormed out of the gallery.
Kendriek took off his wig and threw it up to the ceiling.
As Louis, who had been listening, came in, Kendriek beamed at him.
‘You see, cheri, this stupid cop was bluffing!’
By 10.30, Ken Brandon had cleared his desk, had talked over the telephone to his sales director, and now decided, he would go on a hunt for new business.
As he was pushing back his chair, Mary Goodall came in.
‘There’s a detective wanting to speak to you, Ken. Detective Lepski.’
‘Send him in, Mary,’ Ken said, his heart beginning to race.
Lepski came in, wearing a wide, friendly grin that didn’t reach his hard cop eyes.
‘Hi there, Mr. Brandon!’ he said. ‘I’ve brought your jacket back.’
Ken gulped, forced a smile as he said, ‘Thank you. I hope no further trouble.’
Lepski put the jacket on Ken’s desk.
‘The spare buttons are in the pocket, Mr. Brandon.’
‘Thank you.’
‘No problem now,’ Lepski went on. ‘I’m sorry to have worried you.’
‘Well, you have a job to do,’ Ken said.
‘Yeah. This news about Miss Sternwood must have been a shock.’
‘Yes. Is that all, Mr. Lepski? I’ve just got back and I have a work load.’
‘I’m hoping you can help me,’ Lepski said. ‘This won’t take long. Does the name Cyrus Gregg mean anything to you?’
Ken stared at him.
‘Of course. He was one of my clients. He died some months ago.’
‘You handled his insurance?’
‘That’s right.’