Lawrence Block - The Topless Tulip Caper

“Well now,” he said. “Haskell Henderson. What can I do for you?”

“My name is Harrison,” I said, “and I work for Leo Haig.”

“Leo Haig. Leo Haig. Let me see. Dew-Bright Farms? Over in Jersey? I’ve heard good things about your vegetables.”

“Leo Haig the detective,” I said.

“Detective?”

I nodded. “Mr. Haig is working for Tulip Willing. Or Thelma Wolinski.”

He looked at me suspiciously. “Why would Tulip need a detective? She’s not jealous. Wait a minute. Just wait a minute now. You’re not working for Tulip.”

“Mr. Henderson—”

“You’re working for my wife,” he said, pointing his finger at me. At least it didn’t come as close to my me as Gus Leemy’s finger. “You’re working for my wife,” he said again. “Well, get this straight, fella. I don’t know any Tulip Willing, or whatever you said ta name was, whoever she may be, and—”

“Shut up.”

I don’t know why I said that. As far as that goes, I don’t know why it worked. Maybe nobody had ever told Haskell Henderson to shut up before, and maybe he didn’t know how to relate to it. He opened his mouth, and he closed it, and he stared at me.

I said, “Cherry Bounce was murdered last night.”

“Oh, Christ. Yeah, I heard about that. Somebody killed her in the middle of her act. They get the guy yet?”

“They made an arrest. But they didn’t get the killer and the person they got isn’t a guy. It’s Tulip.”

“They arrested Tulip? Jesus, that’s ridiculous. I don’t get it.”

“Well, that’s why Tulip hired a detective,” I said “She doesn’t get it either, and she’s not crazy about it. I want to ask you some questions.”

“Why me?”

“Because you’re Tulip’s boyfriend, and because—”

“Whoa!” He displayed his teeth again and the light glinted on them. “Tulip’s boyfriend? You gotta be kidding, fella. I’m a happily married man. Oh, I see Tulip from time to time, no question about that. When a man keeps himself in good physical shape he’s got all this energy, he has to find an outlet for it. But Tulip’s just one of the girls I see from time to time. It’s nothing heavy, you understand? Just a friend, that’s all. A casual friend with whom I have an enjoyable physical relationship. You don’t want to make a whole big deal out of it.”

What I wanted to do was play a tape of this speech for Tulip. Why was she wasting her time on this playboy when I was available? I said, “Look, your wife didn’t send me. Honest.”

“So?”

“So don’t make speeches about how you relate to Tulip like a sister. That’s not the point. You’re her friend, and you were at the Treasure Chest last night, and—”

“The hell I was!”

I did my best to look confused. I even scratched my head, mainly because I’ve seen so many people do it when they’re confused, especially in movies. The only time I normally scratch my head is when it itches. That’s funny,” I said. “According to the information we have, you were at Treasure Chest until just before fee time of the murder.”

“Well, that’s bullshit,” he said. He reached into a jar on his desk and stuffed a handful of things into his mouth. They looked like newly hatched fish, little spherical bodies and long stringy tails. (I found out later that they were alfalfa sprouts.) He munched them and said, “I don’t know where the hell you heard that. Where did you hear it, anyway?”

“You got me. Mr. Haig said that was his information, but I don’t know who told him. Where were you last night, then? Because when I tell Mr. Haig his information was wrong, he’ll want to know where you were.”

He told me what I could tell Haig to do. It was something I’ve often wanted to tell Haig to do, as a matter of fact. “I don’t have to account for my movements to Leo Haig,” he said. “That’s for damn sure.”

“You don’t have to,” I agreed. “But, see, the police don’t really know anything about you, and if Mr. Haig doesn’t have any other way of finding out where you were, he’ll let them know about you and let them ask you the same question. If Haig is satisfied, he wouldn’t have any reason to mention your name to the police. After all, they’re not his clients. Tulip is his client.”

I watched his eyes while I delivered this little set piece. There was a moment when he contemplated a show of righteous indignation, but then his eyes shifted and I could tell he knew it wouldn’t wash. “Oh, the hell with it,” he said. “I have nothing to hide. As a matter of fact, I was home last night. I was watching television. Do you want to know what programs I saw?”

“Not particularly, but maybe the Neilson people would be interested. Well, that’s no problem, then. You were home watching television so that lets you off the hook.”

“What hook? You don’t suspect me of killing Cherry, do you?”

“Of course not,” I said. “How could you? You were home watching television.”

“Right.”

I started toward the door, then turned around. “While I’m here,” I said, “could you tell me a little about Tulip and Cherry? There’s a lot I don’t know, and since I know you’re not a suspect I would be able to rely on what you tell me. It won’t take too much of your time.”

He wasn’t tickled with the idea but he liked the notion of not being a suspect. I asked him a lot of questions and he answered them and I made some notes in my notebook. His chief slant on both of the girls was nutritional. Tulip ate a lot of garbage, he said. Nature had given her a spectacular physique and she was taking a chance of ruining it because she actually ate meat and fruit that had been sprayed and a lot of other no-nos. He had tried to interest her in nutrition but so far it hadn’t taken. Cherry, on the other hand, was far more open to new ideas. The impression I got was that he liked Cherry more than he liked Tulip, probably because she was dumb enough to pay attention to him, but he didn’t like having Cherry around that much because when he stole over there for an afternoon all he really wanted to do was crawl into the feathers with Tulip, who turned him on something wonderful.

No, he didn’t know anyone who would want to kill Cherry. No, he didn’t know anyone who had anything against Tulip, either. I slipped in an oblique reference to Tulip’s fish and he didn’t seem to have strong feelings about them one way or the other. Instead he turned them into nutritional propaganda.

“She knows nutrition is the secret of conditioning,” he said. “That’s how she gets the breeding results she does. Plenty of live foods. Everything raw. Nothing cooked. She even knows to mix kelp and wheat germ into their formula. My God, they eat a better diet than she does! If she ate what she gives the fish, she’d be in fantastic shape.”

If she were in any better shape, I thought, she’d be capable of turning on statues. I was beginning to understand why Tulip had offered me a bourbon and yogurt. It was probably Haskell Henderson’s favorite cocktail.

“I guess that’s it,” I said finally. “Thanks very much for your cooperation, and I’m glad to know you were home watching television last night. That’s one name off the list.”

“Well, it’s not the kind of list I’d want to be on.”

“I don’t blame you.” I gave him my no. 3 warm smile. “Mr. Haig will just ring up your wife and confirm your story, and then we’ll be all set.”

I would probably respect myself a lot more if I didn’t get such a kick out of doing things like that. I mean, I couldn’t feature old Haskell as the killer. If he wanted to do somebody in he’d probably poison them with refined sugar and synthetic vitamins, not strychnine or curare. But we still had to know what he was doing last night, and anybody who’d believe the television story has probably already bought the Brooklyn Bridge several times over.