James Chase - You Must Be Kidding

‘Lepski, City police,’ a voice growled and Ken stiffened, nearly dropping the receiver.

‘Yes, Mr. Lepski?’ He was aware his voice was husky.

‘Did you find those buttons?’

Ken drew in a long, deep breath.

‘I’ve been thinking about them,’ he said, forcing his voice to sound steady. ‘Mr. Levine must have made a mistake. I am quite sure he didn’t give me a duplicate set. I am sure I would have remembered.’

‘No duplicate set, huh?’

‘No.’

‘Are you quite sure, Mr. Brandon? As I told you, I am investigating a murder case. I repeat... are you quite sure?’

Ken gripped the telephone receiver so tightly his knuckles turned white.

‘Yes, I am sure.’

‘Thanks, Mr. Brandon,’ and Lepski hung up.

Ken sat for a long moment, staring into space. He was now committed to a dangerous lie. He must warn Betty. Anyway, it was time to telephone her and inquire about her father. He dialled. After a brief delay, Betty came on the line.

‘Betty, darling! How’s your father?’

‘Oh, Ken, he’s really bad, but he’s putting up a wonderful fight. The doctors say he has a fifty-fifty chance.’ Betty sounded distracted. ‘This could take time. I don’t know when I can get back. It’s mother who is so difficult. I was up all night with her.’

They talked for a while. Betty was worried that Ken wasn’t eating properly, but he reassured her, then as he began to edge the conversation towards the golf ball buttons, not knowing what he was going to say, the ground was cut from under his feet.

‘Oh, Ken! I nearly forgot. I had an extraordinary telephone call about a couple of hours ago from the Paradise police. They were asking about those golf ball buttons on your jacket. They said they had talked to you.’

Ken’s heart skipped a beat, then began to race. He opened and shut his mouth, but no words came.

‘They are asking about a duplicate set,’ Betty went on. ‘I told them they were in my button box. What is all this about?’

‘I... I’ll tell you later,’ Ken croaked. ‘Nothing important. I’ve got someone waiting. I’ll call you later. Bye, darling. I think of you,’ and he hung up.

His hand went into his jacket pocket and he fingered the eight buttons. He felt so sick, he was ready to throw up. As he sat, ashen faced, panic gripping him, Karen came in. She paused and stared at him.

‘So now what’s happened?’ she demanded, her voice sharp. ‘You look like the kiss of death.’

Because he had to tell someone, he spilled out the story of the buttons. Karen sat on his desk, swinging her long legs and listened.

‘There is one goddamn button missing!’ Ken concluded, his voice croaking. ‘They could arrest me for murdering this girl! Lepski will want to see the duplicate buttons now Betty has told him!’ He wiped the sweat off his face with the back of his hand. ‘I don’t know what to do! Then this blackmailer will be here tomorrow!’

Karen regarded him, Her eyes contemptuously amused.

‘Never mind him,’ she said. ‘Tomorrow is another day. Leave this to me.’ She slid off the desk. ‘I’ll fix it.’ Then with a snap in her voice, she went on, ‘Get hold of yourself! Don’t lose what guts you have — if any,’ and hip-swishing, she returned to her desk.

Lepski, itching for action, reported to Chief Terrell.

‘Brandon’s lying his head off. How about bringing him in and giving him the works?’

Terrell shook his head.

‘So he’s lying, but that doesn’t mean he killed the girl. We could be opening a can of worms if we force him to admit he was with Karen Sternwood. Max has checked the Salvation Army. Craddock is positive the jacket wasn’t among Gregg’s clothes. I want to find out more about this. Before we do anything about Brandon, I want you to talk to Mrs. Gregg. From what I hear, her butler is a lush. He could have given the jacket to someone. Take it easy with Mrs. Gregg. She draws a lot of water, but make sure you talk to her, and not to her butler.’

Lepski drove to Acacia Drive. When he rang the front door bell, Reynolds, his eyes glazed, opened the door.

‘Police business,’ Lepski said in his cop voice. ‘I want to talk to Mrs. Gregg.’

Listening, out of sight, Amelia braced herself. She walked from the lounge to the lobby.

‘What is it, Reynolds?’ she demanded in her most arrogant tone.

Reynolds turned.

‘A person is here, madam, from the police. He is asking to speak to you.’

‘The police?’ Amelia’s fat face was a stoney mask. ‘Show him in.’

Reynolds stepped aside and motioned Lepski to enter. Lepski moved into the lobby and looked at Amelia. What an old bitch! he thought. Imagine having her as a mother-in-law!

‘Come in!’ Amelia snapped, her voice harsh and she led the way into the lounge. ‘What is it?’

Moving into the lounge, pausing for a moment while Amelia sat down, Lepski said, ‘Sorry to trouble you, Mrs. Gregg. We are checking on a jacket with golf ball buttons. It is to do with a murder investigation. Your man told me last night the jacket was sent, with other clothes, to the Salvation Army. I understand Mr. Gregg owned this jacket. Mr. Craddock, who handles all gifts, tells us this jacket was not with your husband’s other clothes. We need to know what has happened to this jacket.’

Amelia glared at him.

‘Of course the jacket was with my late husband’s other clothes!’ She looked at Reynolds. ‘That is right, isn’t it Reynolds?’

Reynolds, who had spent some hours in the boiler room the previous night, burning the bloodstained clothing nodded.

‘I have already told this officer that, madam.’

Amelia glared at Lepski.

‘I know all about Craddock. He is an unscrupulous person! Probably he purloined my husband’s jacket for his own use or for the use of his brood of sons. I resent being bothered with this. Now, leave me!’

‘This is a murder inquiry,’ Lepski said. ‘You are making a serious allegation against Mr. Craddock. Am I to understand that you are saying this jacket was included with Mr. Gregg’s other clothes and Mr. Craddock has stolen it for his own use—’

Reynolds had a mild coughing fit, and Amelia saw the red light. Still glaring at Lepski. she said, ‘All I can tell you is the jacket was given to the Salvation Army. What happened to it is not my affair. The men who made the collection could have stolen it. Anyone could have stolen it. That is your business. All I know is the jacket was given away.’ She drew herself up. ‘If I am bothered further, I will complain to the Mayor who is a good friend of mine.’

Lepski gave her his wolfish smile.

‘Okay, Mrs. Gregg. Thanks for your time,’ and he walked by Reynolds and back to his car.

He reported to Terrell.

‘Get Max to check out the men who collected the clothes,’ Terrell said. ‘You check on Craddock again. We don’t want a run-in with that old bitch.’

Lepski and Jacoby spent the rest of the day, checking.

Jacoby got nowhere with the two collectors. They spent their fives collecting throw-out clothes and they said they couldn’t remember anything about any particular article of clothing.

Lepski got nowhere with Craddock.

‘I assure you,’ Craddock said, ‘this particular jacket was not among the clothes I disposed of.’

Lepski believed him. He reported back to Terrell.

‘Okay, Tom, leave it for the moment,’ Terrell said. ‘Give the boys a hand, checking out these hippies.’

Lu Boone lay on his bed, sipping a cup of instant coffee. He had slept late, having spent half the night on the beach with a slim, coloured girl whose technical sexual expertise had surprised him. Today was Thursday, he told himself. Tomorrow, he would call at the office of the Paradise City Assurance Corporation, Secomb. He had little doubt that he would collect, in cash, ten thousand dollars. Wearing dirty jeans, naked to the waist, he scratched his ribs. What would he do with the money? This problem had been puzzling him. He could, of course, return to college and complete his law training, but that didn’t appeal to him: too much grind and too boring. Anyway, a nine-to-five just wasn’t on.