Lawrence Sanders - Tenth Commandment

'Talk business,' she said harshly.

We had her then, I knew, but Perce didn't change expression or vary his polite, solicitous manner.

'This is how I suggest it be done,' he said. 'We didn't come to you; you came to us. You called Mr Bigg at the law firm that represented your late husband, and Mr Bigg then contacted me. But you made the initial move. You volunteered. Mr Bigg and I will so testify.'

He looked at me. I nodded violently.

'What was my motive for calling in the cops?' she asked.

'You wanted to see justice done,' Stilton said.

She shook her head. 'It won't wash,' she said.

'Duress,' I said. 'Physical assault. Knurr threatened you. So you went along with his plan. But now you're afraid for your life.'

Percy looked at me admiringly.

'Yeah,' Tippi Kipper said, 'that's just how it was. He said he'd kill me if I didn't go along. I'll take off my makeup and you can get a colour picture of this.' She pointed at the puffy bruise on her cheek. 'He punched me out,' she said furiously. 'He has a wicked temper, and that's the truth. I was afraid for my life.'

'Beautiful,' Percy said. 'It fits.'

'You think the DA will believe it?' she asked anxiously.

Stilton leaned back, crossed his knees again, lighted another cigarette.

'Of course not,' he said. 'He's no dummy. But he'll go along. You're going to be his star witness, clearing up three homicides and probably four. So he'll play ball. We're giving him something.'

'What do you think I'll draw?' she asked him.

'Bupkes,' he said. 'Time suspended and probation.

You'll walk.'

'And the prostitution arrest?' she demanded.

'Buried,' Stilton said. 'Nothing to the press. You have my word on that.'

She took a deep breath, looked around that lovely room as if she might never see it again.

' W e l l. . ' she said, 'I guess we better get the show on the road. Can I get dressed?'

'Of course,' Percy said, 'but I'll have to go upstairs with you. I hope you understand.'

We all moved out into the entrance hall. Chester Heavens, Perdita Schug, and Mrs Neckin were gathered in a tight little group in the corridor to the kitchen. They watched, shocked, as their mistress and the detective entered the elevator. I retrieved my hat and coat and left hurriedly. I didn't want to answer their questions.

Lou, behind the wheel of the blue Plymouth, saw me coming. He leaned across to the passenger's side and rolled down the window.

'How'd it go?' he asked.

'Fine,' I said. 'They'll be coming out soon.'

'Is she going to spill?'

I nodded.

'It figures,' he said. 'That Perce, he's something. I'm glad we're on the same side. If he was on the wrong, he'd end up owning the city.'

Then we waited in silence. I didn't want to get into the car. I wanted to look at that pure sky, breathe deeply in the sharp, tangy air. I didn't want to think about what had just happened. I wanted to savour the wide, wide world.

They came out in about fifteen minutes. Tippi Kipper was wearing a belted mink coat that seemed to go around her three times. She was hatless, carrying an oversized black alligator purse. She had removed her makeup. The bruise was hideous. Percy Stilton was carrying a small overnight case of buttery pigskin.

He opened the back door of the Plymouth for her. She climbed in without looking at me. Perce put the little suitcase in the front seat. Then he took me by the elbow, led me aside.

'End of the line for you, Josh,' he said.

'Can't I — ' I started, but he shook his head regretfully and interrupted.

'It's all official from now on,' he said. 'I'll call you as soon as we get something. Where will you be?'

'Either at the office or home. Perce, promise you'll call.'

'Absolutely,' he vowed. 'I'll keep you up on things. You deserve all the credit.'

'Thank you,' I said faintly.

He looked at me narrowly.

'They were divorced, weren't they?' he said. 'Knurr and that Sylvia? And she and the old priest are a couple of whackos. Am I right?'

I nodded miserably.

He laughed and clapped me on the shoulder.

'You're good,' he said, 'but not that good. Never try to scam a scammer.'

I watched the Plymouth pull away, Stilton sitting next to Tippi Kipper in the back seat. When the car had turned the corner and disappeared, I walked over to Fifth Avenue and headed south. I decided to walk down to the TORT building.

I should have been exultant but I wasn't. It was the morality of what I had done that was bothering me. All that chicanery and deceit. I would have committed almost any sin to demolish Godfrey Knurr, but conniving in the escape of Tippi Kipper from justice was more than I had bargained for. And I had connived. I had worked almost as hard as Percy Stilton to convince her to betray Knurr. It had to be done. But as Perce had said, she was going to walk. An accomplice to murder. Was that fair? Was that justice?

I realized I didn't really know what 'justice' meant. It was not an absolute. It was not a colour, a mineral, a species. It was a human concept (what do animals know of justice?) and subject to all the vagaries and contradictions of any human hope. How can you define justice? It seemed to me that it was constant compromise, moulded by circumstance.

I would make a terrible judge.

The brisk walk downtown refreshed my spirits. The sharp air and exercise were cleansing. By the time I signed in with the security guard at TORT building, I had come to terms with what I had done. I was still regretful, but guilt was fading. I reckoned that if all went well, in a few weeks I would be proud of my role in bringing the Reverend Godfrey Knurr to justice — whatever that was.

Mrs Gertrude Kletz had left me a sheaf of notes and a stack of requests for investigations and research. I set to work with pleasure, resolutely turning my mind from the Kipper and Stonehouse cases and concentrating on my desk work.

I laboured all afternoon with no breaks except to rise occasionally to stretch, walk into the corridor to loosen my knees. I accomplished a great deal, clearing my desk of most of the routine matters and making a neat list of those that would require personal investigation.

Shortly before 5.00 p.m., after trying to resist the urge, I called Percy Stilton's office. I was told he was 'in conference' and could not come to the phone, so I assumed the interrogation of Tippi Kipper was continuing.

I put away the Kipper and Stonehouse files, emptying my cruddy briefcase. I considered buying a new one.

Perhaps an attache case, slender and smart. But that battered briefcase had been left to me by Roscoe Dollworth and I was superstitious enough to believe it had magical properties: good luck and wisdom.

I left the TORT building at about 5.50, remembering to take with me the wrapped red kite, string, and winder. I signed out, walked over to Broadway and took a bus down to West 23rd Street. I went directly to Woody's Restaurant, trying to recall how long it had been since I had enjoyed a decent dinner.

As usual, Nitchy was on duty, looking especially attractive in her exotic, gypsy way. I told her so and she tapped her fingers against my cheek.

'No princess tonight, Josh?' she asked.

'Not tonight,' I said, smiling tiredly.

I think she caught my mood, because she ushered me to a small table in a quiet corner and left me alone. I had two Scotch-and-waters, a club steak, baked potato, string beans, salad, a bottle of beer, coffee and brandy.

When I left, I was subdued, thoughtful, content. I carried the kite back to my apartment and settled in to wait. I tried to read but ended up with a copy of Silas Marner on my lap, staring into the cold fireplace and trying to make sense of everything that had happened in the last month.

I came to no great conclusions, was subject to no great revelations. I tried to understand what motives, what passions, might drive apparently sane men and women to commit the act of murder. I could not comprehend it, and feared the fault was mine: I was not emotional enough, not feeling enough to grasp how others of hotter blood, of stronger desires, might be driven to kill.