‘Go ahead, Mr. Brandon,’ he said, looking through the open car window. ‘Just remember, don’t go into the villa. Tell the butler you want a quick word with Mr. Gregg. If he invites you in, tell him you’re badly parked and it won’t take a minute. All you have to do is take a long look at Gregg. Okay?’
Ken began to read the message. His hands, resting on the steering wheel, turned clammy.
‘Gregg could be dangerous?’ There was a sudden quaver in his voice.
Lepski shifted impatiently.
‘Take it easy,’ he said. ‘There’s a butler. Maybe Mrs. Gregg is there. You have nothing to worry about. You stay right on the doorstep where we can see you, and there’s no problem.’
Ken began to sweat.
‘But suppose I have to go inside?’
‘You don’t!’ Lepski barked in his cop voice. ‘If Gregg is our man, he won’t start anything with the butler and his mother around. You could be picking up two hundred thousand bucks!’ Reaching through the open car window, he patted Ken on his shoulder. ‘You have no problems, Mr. Brandon. We are right behind you.’
Ken hesitated, then he thought again of the reward. He forced an uneasy smile.
‘Okay... I’m on my way.’
He drove to the entrance of the Gregg villa, looking in his driving mirror to make sure Lepski and Jacoby were following him on foot. He was self-conscious about wearing the golf ball jacket, but Lepski had insisted he should wear it. Then parking outside the villa, he left the car and walked slowly up the drive. He glanced back, and was in time to see the two detectives had entered and were ducking out of sight into a vast clump of flowering shrubs.
He walked up to the front door of the villa, then, bracing himself, he thumbed the bell. He heard the chimes of bolls somewhere inside the villa. He waited, feeling the hot sun on his back, his heart thumping. Nothing happened. He looked uneasily behind him, but there were no signs of the two detectives. He felt frighteningly alone. He thumbed the bell again. Apart from the sound of the bells, a heavy silence brooded over the villa.
He took out his handkerchief and mopped his sweating face. He began to relax. Maybe, he told himself, no one was home. He felt a disappointed letdown. The dream of two hundred thousand dollars began to fade.
After waiting another long moment, he took a step back. Then almost relieved, he turned to walk back to his car. At this moment, the front door of the villa opened.
Watching, Lepski and Jacoby, concealed behind flowering shrubs, saw Ken start down the steps, pause and turn around. They saw the front door open, but that was all they could see. Ken, moving back to the top step, blotted out their view. All they could see was his broad back.
The first thing Ken saw was a pair of highly polished black Gucci shoes. Then looking up, he found himself confronted by a tall, blond man who was smiling at him.
Tall! Blond! Gucci shoes! This was the man the police were searching for! Ken’s mouth turned dry. His instincts screamed to him to turn and run, but he remained motionless, like a rabbit hypnotized by a stoat.
‘Yes?’ Crispin said, his voice gentle.
Ken pulled himself together.
‘Excuse me for disturbing you,’ he said. ‘Are you Mr. Gregg?’
‘That’s a nice jacket you are wearing,’ Crispin said. ‘My father had one just like that. What did you want?’
Ken licked his dry lips.
‘I am sure I am disturbing you. Some other time. I won’t bother you now.’
He took a step back, then paused as he found himself looking at an automatic pistol Crispin was pointing at him.
‘Do exactly what I tell you,’ Crispin said, an edge to his voice. ‘If you don’t want to be shot, come in.’
Although Ken had often read in newspapers and in detective stories of people held at gunpoint, it wasn’t until this moment, he understood the terror of a pointing gun.
Crispin moved back into the lobby.
‘Come in,’ he repeated.
Ken thought of the two detectives, hidden and watching.
Lepski had told him not to enter the villa, but the threatening gun gave him no alternative. Moving with leaden feet, he crossed the threshold and walked into the lobby.
‘Very wise of you,’ Crispin said. ‘Now shut the door.’
His heart pounding, Ken paused and looked down the drive, but saw nothing of the two detectives. He closed the door.
‘Now shoot the bolts,’ Crispin said.
Ken found two heavy bolts: one at the top of the door, the other at the bottom. His hand shaking, he did as he was told.
‘Now go upstairs,’ Crispin said.
Supporting his shaking legs by holding onto the banister rail, Ken mounted the stairs. Crispin followed him.
‘To your right,’ Crispin said. ‘Go in.’
Ken entered Crispin’s luxurious living room.
‘Sit down.’ The gun pointed to a chair, away from the picture window.
Ken sat down, resting his sweating hands on his knees.
Crispin perched himself on the edge of the big desk.
‘You must excuse the gun,’ he said. ‘I am nervous of being kidnapped. I always take precautions. Who are you?’
Maybe, Ken thought, this is going to work out all right. He could understand a man of Gregg’s worth being nervous about being kidnapped.
‘My name is Brandon,’ he said, trying to steady his voice. ‘I represent the Paradise City Assurance. I’ve called to see if you would be interested in insuring your paintings. I assure you, Mr. Gregg, I am quite harmless.’
Crispin stared at him for a long moment.
‘Insure my paintings? How do you know I paint? Did Kendriek tell you?’
Again Ken felt a sick feeling of fear. Lepski had asked him to verify that Gregg was a painter. The fact that he was now saying he was, plus the description Lepski had given, told Ken this tall, blond man who was staring at him was without any doubt the lunatic killer who had so horribly murdered Karen Sternwood. He felt the blood drain out of his face.
Watching him, Crispin asked again, ‘Did Kendriek tell you?’
Ken had had business dealings with Kendriek, insuring some of Kendriek’s treasures.
‘In confidence, Mr. Gregg,’ he said, his voice husky, ‘Mr. Kendriek did mention you had valuable paintings.’
‘Yes, they are valuable.’ Crispin dropped the gun into his pocket. ‘Again, I apologize for scaring you, Mr. Brandon, but in these days, unknown callers can be dangerous.’
‘Of course.’ Ken again began to relax. ‘Would it interest you, Mr. Gregg for us to cover your paintings?’
‘Would they have to be valued?’
‘Not necessarily. You tell us what you think they are worth, and we will quote.’
‘Perhaps you would care to see some of my work, Mr. Brandon?’ Crispin said and stood up.
‘I am no judge,’ Ken said and got to his feet. ‘I won’t waste your time further, Mr. Gregg.’ His one thought now was to escape from the villa. ‘Just tell me approximately what you want us to cover your work for, and I will write to you, quoting premiums.’ He started moving towards the door.
‘It won’t take a moment,’ Crispin said. ‘I am working on a particularly interesting study. I must show it to you.’ As he stared at Ken, he fingered the Suleiman pendant, and he smiled.
‘I have another appointment,’ Ken said desperately. ‘Some other time, Mr. Gregg. Suppose I call and see you tomorrow? You can tell me the value of your paintings and I can quote you.’
‘As Ken opened the door,’ Crispin his opal coloured eyes suddenly alight, moved towards him.
Crouching behind the flowering shrubs, Lepski, with Jacoby by his side, watched Ken move forward and enter the villa.
‘The stupid jerk!’ Lepski exploded. ‘He’s gone in! I told him to stay outside! You heard me, didn’t you?’