Читать книгу Kisses of Death - Henry Kane - Страница 9

SIX

SHE WAS seated at a corner of the long library table. A magazine was open before her but she was not turning any pages. When I sat down beside her she did not look at me. She said, “Bad?”

“They have intimate pictures of you and Richard Robinson Jackson.”

She said, “Oh my God.”

I said nothing.

She closed the magazine and opened her pocketbook.

“I have three hundred dollars—”

“They’re not selling.”

“Then it’s for you, your fee.”

“Not now. Not yet.”

She closed the pocketbook. She spoke quite calmly but she bit on each word as though it had a bad taste. “How much and I hope I can afford it but you must make certain—”

“They’re not selling. They’re giving.”

That brought her face to me. She was perspiring and her brows were contracted. “What’s this all about?”

“They’ve been instructed to give you those photos.”

“Who’s the they?”

“Miss Trent has an associate, a Mr. Winkle.”

“Who instructed them?”

“Your husband.”

She stood up. I stood up. For a moment she leaned against me. Then she straightened. “I want to know exactly what this is all about, if you please.”

“This way,” I said and took her to the office.

Wee Willie, legs crossed, was submerged in an armchair out of the way. Marla was standing. She had on a loose black jacket now, buttoned, which, hanging over the prominent ledge of her breasts, made her look pregnant. Pregnant or no, loose jacket or no, she was a tax upon the libido, a surtax. She smiled gently at Valerie Kiss.

“Mrs. Kiss—my partner, Mr. Winkle.”

Willie nodded. Valerie nodded.

Marla said, “Mr. Chambers has acquainted you with the facts?”

“I don’t understand any of this.”

“I shall try to be brief.”

“I’d appreciate that.”

“There’s nothing personal involved, Mrs. Kiss.”

“Would you come to the point, please.”

Put two attractive women together and it is like putting two fighting cocks into a pit: at once their wattles are up. Kiss’s voice was like ice and her nostrils were tight. Marla’s jacket was heaving, which did me no good.

“Your husband retained us in January to obtain evidence of your adultery. We did. On March 1, we turned over a tape-recording to him which we obtained by devices installed at an apartment at 222 East Sixty-second Street. We also turned over a series of photographs obtained by other devices at that apartment. Under instruction, we kept no duplicate of the tape-recording. Under instruction, we did keep one set of duplicates of the photographs. They are in that big yellow envelope on my desk. You may examine them if you wish.”

Valerie went to the desk. Willie studied the ceiling. I turned my back on Valerie Kiss and went to Marla Trent who had turned her back on Valerie Kiss. Embarrassment is the enemy of diplomacy. I heard myself say in a low confidential voice, “Marla, the Saturday morning miasma has dissipated. I think you’re a beautiful woman and I’ve had a yen for you so long it’s criminal. Saturday night is the night for squares but how’s about you and me—”

In a low confidential voice she said, “I have a date for tonight.”

In a low confidential voice I said, “There are other nights, like tomorrow night. As long as I’ve shot off my big fat mouth—”

“Thank you,” said Valerie Kiss. She tied the strings to the clasp of the yellow container and laid it on the desk. “Now just what is it you want of me?”

Marla went to her. “I don’t want a thing.”

“Then why have you sent for me?”

“I was instructed to send for you. I’m in a business where I follow the instructions of my client.”

“And just what were the instructions of your client?”

“That I give you the photographs, and that I give you this.” She took up the sealed letter and handed it across without flourish. “That finishes my business with you, Mrs. Kiss.”

Valerie Kiss held it as though it were contaminated. At arm’s length she looked at it, turned it over and looked at it. For a moment her stringent control loosened, and her face showed emotion. Perplexity was displaced by curiosity which was displaced by frowning pique which was then displaced by the bland frigid mask which perplexity had at first displaced, as control surged back. She inserted a long red fingernail into the slit of the flap and tore open the envelope. She withdrew a sheet of paper, unfolded it and read it, and her gasp brought Willie off the ceiling and on to his feet.

Valerie handed it to Marla who read it quickly and handed it to Willie who read it quickly and handed it to me who read it quickly.

My Beloved Wife: When you read this I shall be dead. It was either you or I and I decided in my favor and against you. Jonathan.

I dropped it to the desk.

I said, “Let’s go.”

“You bet,” said Willie.

Three strangers and one wife were galvanized to action by reason of a possible emergency. Peter Chambers, who had never even heard of the guy, was running. Marla Trent, to whom the guy had been only a casual client, was running. Wee Willie Winkle, who had spied on the guy’s wife, was running. The wife was running too but the wife had stopped long enough to pick up the yellow envelope because the yellow envelope contained sprightly photos in color of her off-color entertainments.

We raced through the halls, we were impatient in the elevator, and we caught a cab that was discharging passengers in front of the building. In the cab I looked at my watch as Willie urged speed and the driver grumbled about not being a magician. It was twenty-five minutes to twelve and the driver, grumbling, was not bumbling: he was accurately maneuvering along the shortest route. On Saturday before twelve New York traffic is not yet impossible glue and our pilot used the transverse through the park to Central Park West and in ten minutes he had us spilling out of the cab in front of the Brentwood Apartments.

There was no doorman in sight.

It was a fine tall rich house on the last of the rich boulevards on the West Side. The lobby was the usual three-story tomb of marble, and the gold carpet was thick and spread wall to wall, and the self-service elevators, all glinting gilt-and-mirror, were in the rear, and one was open and waiting, and Valerie tapped the top button, and during the swift noiseless upward journey, she developed a packet of keys from her handbag.

On the twenty-fourth floor she inserted key into lock but before she could turn it the door was pulled open from within.

By a uniformed policeman.