Lawrence Sanders - Tenth Commandment

'I shall look forward to your progress,' Tabatchnick said sternly.

'I have every confidence,' Teitelbaum said in a more kindly tone.

Still stunned, I watched them move to the door. I was bewildered because I was sure they had told us something.

What it was I did not know.

Mr Teitelbaum had already opened the door to the corridor when he turned back to address me.

'Mr Bigg,' he said softly, 'is Tippi Kipper older than Glynis Stonehouse?'

'What?' I croaked. 'Oh yes, sir,' I said, nodding madly.

'By at least ten years. Probably more.'

'That might be a possibility,' he said pleasantly.

Then they were gone.

We sank back into our chairs. I waited as Percy lighted a cigarette, took two deep drags, and slumped down in his armchair. Clerks and paralegal assistants began to straggle into the library, heading for the stacks of law books.

I leaned towards Stilton. I spoke in a low voice.

'What,' I asked him, still puzzled, 'was that all about?

Those last things they said? I didn't understand that at all, I'm lost.'

Percy put his head far back and blew a perfect smoke ring towards the ceiling. Then, to demonstrate his expertise, he blew a large ring and puffed a smaller one within it.

'They're not lawyers,' he said, almost dreamily, 'they're pirates. Pi-rates! '

'What are you talking about?' I said.

'Incredible,' he said, shaking his head.

'Infuckingcredible. Teitelbaum and Tabatchnick. T and T.

Tnt. TNT. They're TNT all right. If I ever get racked up, I 336

want those pirates on my side.'

'Perce, will you please tell me what's going on?'

He straightened up in his chair, then hunched over towards me so our heads were close together.

'Josh, I think they're right. That's a hell of a plot you came up with about how Knurr offed Sol Kipper. Probably right on. But how are we going to prove it? Never. Unless we break Knurr or Tippi Kipper. Get one to spill on the other. And what have we got on Glynis Stonehouse? We can't even prove she tried to poison her father. She shacks up with Knurr on a houseboat. So what? It's not an indictable offence. Your bosses saw right away that the only way we're going to snap this thing is to get one of the main characters to sing.'

'And how are we going to do that?'

'Oh, T and T were so cute! ' he said, grinning and lighting another cigarette. 'You notice that not once did either of them say anything that could be construed as an order or instructions to do anything illegal. All they did was pass out a few vague hints.'

'But what did they say?' I cried desperately.

'Shh. Keep your voice down. They want us to run a game on Knurr. A scam. A con.'

I looked at him, startled.

'How are we going to do that?'

'Spook him. Him and the ladies. Stir them up. Let them know they're suspects and are being watched. Play one against the other. Work on their nerves. Wear them down.

Push them into making some stupid move. Guerilla warfare. Mousetrap them. You think Knurr and Tippi and Glynis are smarter than we are? I don't. They got some nice games running, and so far they've worked. Well, we can run plots just as clever. More. That's what T and T

were telling us. Run a game on these people and split them.

They were right; it's the only way.'

'I get it,' I said. 'Take the offensive.'

'Right!'

'And that last thing Teitelbaum said about Tippi Kipper being older than Glynis Stonehouse?'

'He was suggesting that we let Tippi know about Glynis.'

Before Perce and I took our leave of each other, we had decided on at least the first play of our revised game plan. I set about implementing it as soon as I got back to my office.

Mrs Kletz and I sat down to compose a letter which Mrs Kletz would then copy in her handwriting on plain paper.

The finished missive reads as follows:

Dear Mrs Kipper,

We have met casually several times, but I believe I know more about your private life than you are aware.

You'll see that I am not signing this letter. Names are not important, and I don't wish to become further involved. I am writing only with the best of intentions, because I don't want you to know the pain I suffered in a comparable situation.

Mrs Kipper, I happen to know how close your relationship is with the Reverend Godfrey Knurr. I hope you will forgive me when I tell you that your 'affair' is common knowledge and a subject of sometimes malicious gossip in the circles in which we both move.

I regret to inform you that the Reverend is also currently carrying on a clandestine 'affair' with a beautiful young woman, Glynis Stonehouse. Believe me when I tell you that I have irrefutable proof of their liaison which has existed for several months.

They have been seen together by witnesses whose word cannot be doubted. Their frequent trysts, always late at night, are held aboard his houseboat moored at the 79th Street boat basin. Were you aware that the Reverend Knurr owned a lavishly furnished houseboat and uses it for midnight meetings with this young 338

beautiful woman? And possibly others?

As I said, Mrs Kipper, I am writing only to spare you the agony I recently endured in a similar situation. I wish now that a concerned friend had written to me as I am writing to you, in time to prevent me from acting foolishly and deserting a loving husband and family for the sake of an unfaithful philanderer.

I have been able to obtain a photograph of the other woman, Glynis Stonehouse, which I am enclosing with this letter.

Forgive me for writing of matters which, I am sure, must prove painful to you. But I could not endure seeing a woman of your taste and refinement suffer as I suffered, and am suffering.

A FRIEND

When Mrs Kletz finished copying the letter, we sealed it with the snapshot of Glynis Stonehouse in a plain manila envelope. Mrs Kletz addressed it in her hand.

'Just ring the bell at the front gate,' I instructed her, as I prepared to send her out on this important assignment.

'The butler, a big man, will come out. Tell him you have a letter for Mrs Kipper, give it to him, and walk away as quickly as you can.'

'Don't worry, Mr Bigg,' she said. 'I'll get out of there fast.'

She put on her Tam O'Shanter and a loden coat as billowy as a tent and set out. A half-hour later I locked the Kipper and Stonehouse files securely away and left the office. Uncharacteristically I took a cab home, so anxious was I to find a message from Cleo. I found it slipped under my door: 'Miss Cleo Hufnagel accepts with pleasure Mr Joshua Bigg's kind invitation to dinner tonight in his apartment at 8.00 p.m.'

Smiling, I changed into parka and watch cap, and then checked my larder, refrigerator, and liquor supply. I made 339

out a careful list of things I needed and then set forth with my two-wheeled shopping cart. It was a cold, misty evening, and I didn't dawdle. I bought two handsome club steaks; baking potatoes; sour cream already mixed with chives; butter (should she prefer it to the sour cream); a head of iceberg lettuce; a perfectly shaped, plasma-coloured tomato; a cucumber the size of a tough, small U-boat, and just as slippery; a bottle of creamy garlic dressing; and a frozen blueberry cheesecake. I also purchased two small shrimp cocktails that came complete with sauce in small jars that could later be used as juice glasses. A paper tablecloth. Paper napkins. An onion.

I also bought a cold six-pack of Ballantine ale, two bottles of Chianti in raffia baskets, and a quart of California brandy. And two long red candles. On impulse I stopped at a florist's shop and bought a long-stemmed yellow rose.

She tapped on my door a few minutes after 8.00 and came in smiling. She bent swiftly to kiss my cheek. She had brought me a loaf of crusty sour rye from our local Jewish bakery. It was a perfect gift; I had forgotten all about bread. Fortunately I had butter.