James Chase - You Must Be Kidding

Lepski refrained from crumpling up the pad and throwing it across the room.

‘Let’s take this step by step,’ he said in a low, strangulated voice. ‘A man walked by, and you saw he was wearing the golf ball jacket... right?’

‘That’s absolutely correct.’

‘This was around lunchtime of the fifth?’

She nodded.

‘You didn’t see this man’s face, but you saw something of him?’

‘Yes.’

‘Okay. This is important, Doroles. Was he tall, medium, short?’

‘He was tall. I like tall men. Short men, to me, are a drag, you know?’

‘So he was tall.’ Lepski stood up. ‘As tall as I am?’

She surveyed him as a butcher surveys a prime side of beef.

‘Even taller: not much, but taller.’

Lepski sat down again.

‘Was he heavily built, thin, normal, fat?’

‘He had wide shoulders. I noticed that. I like men with wide shoulders, tapering away to slim hips. He had that.’

‘Did he wear a hat?’

‘No. I liked the look of his hair: fair, you know? Really fair: call it corn and cut close. I get bored with guys with long hair.’

‘Doroles, you saw a man with corn coloured hair, tall, broad shouldered and around six foot tall... right?’

‘Absolutely correct, Mr. Detective.’

‘What else did you notice about him?’

‘He was wearing light blue slacks. They went well with the jacket, you know? And he wore Gucci shoes. I notice shoes, and I think Gucci’s shoes are a real ball.’ She again shifted, and her breasts again did a little jig.

Lepski released a soft sigh. It wasn’t fair for any detective to talk to her, he thought.

‘How did he walk?’

‘Well, he walked, you know? Like a man who knows where he is going... big strides.’

‘He didn’t limp?’

‘Oh, no.’

‘Doroles, this is important. This is the first lead we have to the man who killed Janie Bandler and Lu Boone. You’ve read about that, huh?’

‘That’s why I’m here. I always listen to Pete Hamilton when I’m not busy. He’s a doll.’

Lepski had other names to describe Hamilton, but this wasn’t the time.

‘We want as much information about this man you saw as you can give us. What else did you notice about him?’

She thought as she stubbed out her cigarette. She thought as she lit another.

‘His hands!’ She surveyed Lepski, giving him her sexy smile. ‘Hands mean a lot to me, Mr. Detective, you know? I have men friends, you know? Their hands... well, you know?’

Lepski nodded. He could well imagine a man’s hands were important to a high price hooker.

‘So, I noticed his hands as he passed. They were artistic: long fingers, the hands of an artist: a painter, you know?’

‘He could have been a surgeon, something like that, couldn’t he?’

‘Maybe. He had artistic hands.’

‘From your description, it sounds to me as if he is in the money.’

Doroles wrinkled her pretty nose.

‘He could be one of these cheapies who live on expenses, you know? No money, big deal, but charging everything on credit cards for whoever he works for to pick up. There was a cheapie who actually wanted to pay me by credit card... can you imagine?’

‘Yeah. Well, let’s see if we can get something more.’

‘I’d like you to hurry it, Mr. Detective. I guess by now, Jamie wants to visit a tree.’

But after asking more questions, Lepski decided she had nothing else of importance to tell him.

‘Well, that’s fine, Doroles. You’ve been a great help. If you saw the back of this guy, would you recognize him?’

‘Sure, I would.’

‘Even if he wasn’t wearing the jacket?’

Doroles nodded, then got to her feet. Her whole body gave a little dance. Jacoby who hadn’t taken his eyes off her, caught his breath in a despairing sigh.

‘One thing,’ Lepski said as he stood up, ‘say nothing to anyone about what you have told me. This is important. Up to now, you’re the only one out of hundreds who has given us constructive information. This man is dangerous. If it got around you could recognize him... you dig?’

Her big black eyes widened.

‘You think he would come after me?’

‘He could.’

‘You think he would cut me up like that poor girl?’

‘He could.’

‘I hope you get him fast, Mr. Detective. I won’t feel safe until you do.’

‘Just say nothing.’

‘Do you think I should have a bodyguard?’

Jacoby half started out of his chair, then meeting Lepski’s scowl, he sat down again.

‘If the Chief thinks you should have a bodyguard, I’ll fix it,’ Lepski said.

‘ ’Bye for now.’ She flashed him a smile, flashed another to Jacoby, then flowed out of the room.

Jacoby wiped his hands on his handkerchief.

‘What did she say her address was?’

‘A minimum of two hundred dollars,’ Lepski said. ‘Be your age, Max. Since when has a third grade cop have two hundred bucks to spend on a hooker?’ He gathered up his notes and went into Terrell’s office.

Reynolds switched off the Pete Hamilton’s ten o’clock programme and looked hesitantly at Amelia who sat in a fat heap in her chair. They had listened to the details of Lu Boone’s killing. Hamilton, who liked to shock, had spared no details. He described the severed head and the horrifying mutilations of the body.

‘There can be no doubt that this homicidal maniac is still in the city,’ he concluded. ‘Be on your guard. No one is safe until he is apprehended. You might well ask what the police are doing!’

‘I don’t believe it! I won’t believe it!’ Amelia exclaimed wildly. ‘Crispin wouldn’t...’

‘I think a little brandy, madam,’ Reynolds said.

‘Yes...’

As he moved unsteadily to the liquor cabinet, through the window, he saw Crispin walk briskly to the Rolls. Crispin was on his way to the Kendriek Gallery.

‘He is leaving, madam,’ Reynolds said as he watched the Rolls drive away.

‘Go to his studio!’ Amelia said. ‘Look!’

But first, Reynolds went to his room, poured himself a treble Scotch, swallowed it, then paused until the spirit steadied him. Then finding the length of wire to pick the lock on Crispin’s apartment door, he slowly climbed the stairs.

Amelia sat and waited. She was sure that Crispin had committed another gruesome murder. She could be wrong, she told herself desperately. This time there were no blood stained clothes to get rid of. She laid a fat hand against her floppy bosom, feeling her heart thumping. He must have done it! She closed her eyes. The disgrace! Her life would come to an end! Who would want to entertain the mother of such a monster? This evening, she had been invited to join a party at the Spanish Bay hotel restaurant in honour of the French ambassador. This was her life! But who would ever invite her again to such dinners if it became known that her son was a homicidal lunatic?

She heard a sound and looked towards the door. Reynolds stood there, his face as white as cold mutton fat, sweat on his forehead. They looked at each other, then he nodded.

‘What?’ Amelia exclaimed, leaning forward. ‘Don’t nod at me! What?’

‘He is painting the head of a man, madam,’ Reynolds said, his voice a half whisper. ‘A severed head in blood.’

Although she had been sure, what Reynolds had said was like a blow in her face. She sank back, closing her eyes.

‘Brandy, Reynolds!’

He went slowly to the liquor cabinet and picked up a glass. As he reached for the cognac, the glass slipped from his shaking hand and dropped onto the carpet.

‘Reynolds!’ Amelia screamed.

‘Yes, madam.’

He found another glass, slopped spirit into it, then brought it to her. She seized the glass and drank.