Even the Butler Was Poor Read online

  "Back off, Barry."

  Kathkart frowned at him. "Don't start talking to me like I'm one of those dogs you and your wife raise."

  He took the actor by the arm. "We're late as it is, so let's get going."

  Kathkart produced a few grumbling noises deep in his chest. "If you hadn't set up this half-assed appearance, I—"

  "The simplest thing to do, old buddy, is just to go and do it."

  "Okay, okay." He spun around, brushed by the advertising executive and went stomping into the hall.

  Beaujack smiled cautiously at H.J. "I'm sorry this happened. However, if—"

  "I know. If I don't cooperate, you'll turn him loose on me."

  "That exactly, I'm afraid, what will happen." His smile slowly faded away. "Think about it while we're gone."

  At three minutes before seven Ben said, "Finally." The day had begun to fade about a half hour before and the lights had blossomed inside the house a few minutes later.

  Now a grey Mercedes came rushing onto the circular front driveway of Kathkart's estate. It jerked to a stop a few feet short of the front door. Les Beaujack hurried out and up onto the porch. The big white door opened halfway, framing Beaujack briefly in a rectangle of yellow before he stepped inside.

  I don't think they have hurt her yet, Ben told himself. But that was more a hope than a conviction. H.J. might well be dead already. Maybe Joe was right. This was something for the police.

  "Too late for that now."

  What the hell was Beaujack doing in there? All he had to do was pick up Kathkart and take him over to Westchester.

  Twilight was closing in now. It would be difficult pretty soon to see what was going on.

  At nine minutes after seven the front door opened. Beaujack was the first out, followed by Kathkart in his full Chumley rig. The two of them seemed to be arguing, and as Beaujack started to get into the backseat, the burly actor caught his shoulder and yanked him around. Hands on hips, Kathkart continued facing him and shouting about something. None of their words got as far as Ben.

  Trinity Winters emerged from the house next. She was wearing white jeans and a hip-length mink.

  Behind her came a large, broad-shouldered man in dark clothes. He shut the door to the house and, tossing what might be a set of keys in his right hand, got in behind the wheel.

  "That must be either Leo or Chico," Ben muttered, narrowing his eyes and straining to see down through the gathering dusk Kathkart had mentioned the two names on the phone and it was safe to assume both were hired muscle. "So if that's Chico, Leo could still be at home and keeping watch on H.J."

  Shaking her head, Trinity started tugging at Kathkart's sleeve. He turned angrily, and yelled at her but climbed into the back seat. Trinity said something to Beaujack before joining Kathkart. The adman shrugged and took a seat in front next to the driver.

  A moment later the car's lights snapped on and it went roaring around the driveway onto the street.

  Ben, fingers drumming on the steering wheel, waited a long five minutes. "No sign of Arthur Moon, so this ought to work," he said as he started the engine.

  He drove quietly away from his observation post.

  Chapter 24

  The gas station he'd picked out earlier was on the Post Road, a little over a mile from Kathkart's. Ben swung his car off the street, parking a few feet from the phone stand. He slid out of his car and trotted over to it. Not until he was reaching for the instrument did he see the small sign, printed in pencil on an orange sheet of memo paper and taped to the phone—Out of order.

  "Shit," remarked Ben, looking around.

  There was a Chinese restaurant in the small shopping plaza next to the station. They'd have a phone.

  He hit the sidewalk, jogged along and pushed through the scarlet and gold door of Lee's Gardens.

  A slim waiter smiled at him in the foyer. "Table for one, sir?"

  "Do you have a telephone?"

  The man shook his head apologetically. "Have a telephone, but is out of order."

  Ben returned to the street. This was futzing things up. He had to make a call before he could proceed with the rest of his plan for rescuing H.J.

  "Ah, across the street." There was a kiosk on the other side of the wide twilit street, at the edge of the parking lot that bordered a shut-down discount appliance store.

  Dodging the heavy traffic, ignoring the honking and the shouts, he ran over to it.

  There was now a fat young man using the phone. He had somehow materialized there while Ben had been concentrating on avoiding the cars on the Post Road.

  ". . . be that way, is there, Jen?" the young man was saying pleadingly into the mouthpiece. "I'd only stay honestly, about a half hour or so tonight. What? I didn't intend to be disrespectful the other night, Jen, not at all. Yes, I did do that, but. . . You want something, mister?"

  "I'm Dr. Mackinson," explained Ben in his E.G. Marshall voice. "It's vitally important, young man, that I have access to this phone."

  "Don't you have a phone in your car? I thought all medical men. . . Hang on a second, Jen. No, honestly, I'm not ignoring you. Really I am sorry I tried to grab you the other night and I won't do that tonight if you'll only let me drop over. . . Doc, maybe you ought to find another telephone, huh? I may be here for—"

  "This happens to be the only working phone in the area. And a little girl's life hangs in the balance."

  That fat young man tugged at the front of his sweatshirt and turned his back to the phone. "Really? What sort of case is it?"

  "You probably heard about the accident on the Metro North track this afternoon. The poor child's toes were—"

  "No, I didn't. See, I've been arguing with my girlfriend from various telephones for most of the day and I missed the television news."

  "I must contact the hospital—"

  "Jen, hold on awhile longer, will you," he said into the phone. "No, I really do love you and I don't have another woman with me. You're not being logical, since I'm standing out here in the middle of the Post Road. And, hey, I didn't take off all my clothes in your living room the other night. Jen, a T-shirt isn't, by any stretch of the imagination, all of a person's wardrobe. What do you mean by that? I happen to dress very—"

  "The phone," interrupted Ben. "I really must—"

  "I'm winning her over, doctor. If I can just talk to her for a few more—"

  "I happen to be a specialist in feminine psychology and—"

  "I thought your specialty was sewing toes back on little girls?"

  "That, too. The point is, young man, that you aren't approaching your problem in the proper manner at all," said Ben, struggling to control his impatience. "What you must do is quit pleading and go over to her house and walk right in." He yanked out his wallet, grabbed out a ten dollar bill. "Get a pizza and a six-pack to take along."

  "You think that would work on Jen?"

  "It always works. It's basic feminine psychology."

  The young man snapped the bill from between Ben's fingers. "Jen, I have to go. There's an emergency here. I can't explain now." He hung up the phone. "Good luck, doctor, and thanks."

  As soon as the youth was trotting toward his car, Ben dropped a coin in the phone and punched out a number.

  "Kathkart residence." It was the same nasal voiced woman. One more person, in addition to either Leo or Chico, who was still at home.

  "This is Arthur Moon, my dear," he said in his Moon voice. "Let me speak to Barry if you would."

  "I'm afraid, Mr. Moon, that you just missed him."

  "I suspected I might," he said. "Very well, this then is what we'll have to do. Barry happens to be in possession of some recent Chumley statistics that I must make use of this evening and as soon as possible.

  "I wasn't aware that any new—"

  "Well, my dear you know how he can be, very cavalier at times. At any rate, I really need the material ASAP," he continued. "What I'd—"

  "If I can find it, I can fax it right to you."


  "Alas I'm not near any of my fax machines just now," he said. "Would it be all right if I sent a young man over there immediately to pick the material up?"

  "I suppose so, Mr. Moon, except that I don't know exactly where it is."

  "This young fellow will be able to identify the report in question. If you'll admit him to Barry's sanctum, I'm reasonably confident he'll find it without any trouble."

  "Well, yes, then. That would, I guess, be okay," she said. "What's his name?"

  "His name," Ben answered, "is Jennings Lee. A very likeable and efficient junior account executive at LM&L. Thank you very much for your help in this crisis, my dear."

  As he did some broken-field running back through the traffic, he allowed himself a gratified smile. So far everything was going fairly smoothly.

  He drove right back onto the estate grounds this time. Darkness had taken over, filling in everything all around the house.

  "Good evening, I'm Jennings Lee," he was saying aloud as he guided his car around the wide, white-graveled drive. He was trying out his William F. Buckley voice, but that didn't sound quite right for the part.

  No, what was called for was something more upbeat and likeable.

  "Hi, I'm Jennings Lee," he said in a Tom Hanks sort of voice.

  Much better. You'd trust a guy with a voice like that.

  "Greetings, gate, let's percolate. I'm Jennings Lee," he said in his Jerry Colonna voice. Very few people would recognize the voice of Bob Hope's one time sidekick. Unless like Ben they liked to listen to tapes of old radio shows to pick up new ideas for voices. But this last was entirely for his own benefit, because he was feeling increasingly uneasy.

  Parking in front of the row of garages, he turned off the lights and the engine. From the backseat he fetched his attaché case. It made a good prop in this situation, too. A clean-cut, sincere adman always carried at least one.

  "Good evening, ma'am. I'm Jennings Lee. Mr. Moon . . . um . . . telephoned you about me." Tom Hanks again and it sounded exactly right.

  He left the car and started swinging the case at his side in a lively, innocent Madison Avenue manner.

  He went hurrying up the three brick steps, pushed the doorbell and straightened the tie he'd chosen earlier.

  The door opened wide. Arthur Moon was smiling out at him, a .32 revolver in his hand. "Timing, as a gifted actor such as yourself well knows, Mr. Spanner, is everything," he said pleasantly. "I arrived five minutes after your very inventive call to Miss Spaulding. Had I not arrived until a half hour from now, whatever you have in mind would have had a much better chance of working. Please come in, won't you?"

  Chapter 25

  "It wasn't that serious, really, Ben."

  "The guy attempts to rape you and—"

  "I doubt Chico's capable of that."

  "That's Chico? The one out in the hall with the .45 automatic resting in his lap."

  "We weren't formally introduced, but that's what Kathkart called him." She was sitting on the narrow cot, watching Ben pace the blank room.

  "Okay, so in the house at the moment we have—far as I know—Moon, Chico and Miss Spaulding."

  "Who's she?"

  "I'd have guessed private secretary, except she's currently roaming around upstairs carrying what looks to be a sawed-off shotgun."

  "Then the whole household is in cahoots," observed H.J. "Guess that figures, since everybody will lose a cut of the pie if Kathkart ends up in the pokey."

  Slightly hunched, Ben was staring up at the low ceiling. "I haven't been able to spot any listening bugs, but we'd better go on the assumption that we aren't having a private conversation down here."

  "How far down are we, by the way—in the basement?"

  "Yep, Moon escorted me down from the ground floor. This room is part of a cluster of three or four alongside the furnace room."

  "You think Kathkart instructed his architect to add a few little out-of-the-way rooms where he could stick prisoners and torture people now and then?"

  "With enough money you can order anything," he said. "You sure you're okay?"

  "How so—physically or spiritually?"

  "I don't like the idea that they drugged you."

  "All things considered, that was probably better than a clout on the skull with a lead pipe." She rested her elbows on her knees. "What I can't understand, Ben, is how they knew I was at the inn at all."

  "They planted some kind of tracking gimmick in your car."

  "Then I shouldn't have gone back to my place to pick it up. When I didn't see anybody lurking around, though, I assumed—"

  "Why'd you try to phone me?"

  "Oh, you got the message? I wish I'd had the opportunity to scream or pass on some clever coded message."

  "I found you anyway, though this may not end up being a rescue mission."

  "How did you locate me?"

  After completing a slow circuit of the room, Ben seated himself on the cot close beside her and put an arm around her shoulders. "Up until I got here I'd been feeling fairly smart and smug," he began, and then gave her a concise, edited account of what he'd been up to since he'd awakened in the morning to find her gone.

  H.J. leaned over and kissed him. "Very commendable." He asked, "So what was the call about?"

  "Well, bright and early I sent a teasing fax to Beaujack, hinting that I had Rick's stuff and to stand by for my price list," his former wife told him. "But by early afternoon I'd pretty much concluded I wasn't cut out to be a blackmailer. It may also be that I had a premonition those two louts were about to catch up with me. Anyway, I was going to ask you to come and get me."

  "Timing," murmured Ben.

  "What?"

  "Our timing seems to have been off at several crucial points today."

  H.J. sighed. "I'm afraid you've had a rather negative effect on my criminal instincts. There I was, enjoying the idea that very soon I'd have so much money I'd never have to paint another godawful romance cover. Then my conscience—and since I didn't have one earlier, it must be something I caught from you—went to work on me. I knew it was time to call the whole thing off."

  "That proves you're capable of being salvaged."

  "I'm really worried that neither one of us is going to be salvaged this time," she said, taking hold of his hand. "We'll probably end up being recycled into plant food."

  "Maybe not."

  "C'mon, be realistic. We know that several very rich people, all of whom wish to continue to be rich, are involved in murder," she reminded him. "They killed poor Rick and that other gentleman and they're likely to kill us because we know about it."

  "The old gent's name was Zepperman."

  "How'd you find that out?"

  "Research. It may turn out that he was a blackmailer, too."

  "That would be ironic, huh? Kathkart kills a blackmailer and then finds out he's being blackmailed about that."

  Ben said softly, "Without giving any specifics, H.J., tell me about the photos."

  She replied, "They've got the prints now, since I was carrying them in my purse."

  "What about the negatives?"

  "Hidden," she whispered.

  Nodding, he said, "Then maybe we can still get out of this."

  "You think so?"

  "Yeah." He leaned closer, kissing her on the cheek. Next to her ear he said, "If I can get one of them in here alone, faint when I do my Ronald Colman voice."

  "Who is—"

  There was a knock on the door.

  Moon came into their cell, alone. Shutting the door, he leaned against it. He was holding his revolver in his right hand, with his left cupped under the handle.

  "I thought," he told them, "we might have a sensible talk before the others return."

  Ben stood up. "Somebody around here had better turn sensible," he said. "You folks might be able to get away with one or two murders, but three or four is going to be much trickier."

  "Perhaps we can avoid any further killing," said the agency head.

&nb
sp; "Your stooges haven't been especially bright," Ben said. "It should have been obvious, after H.J. sent her first message to Beaujack, that we're not in this to expose anybody."

  "You and the young lady are partners, is that it?"

  "What else would we be?" said H.J., picking up on Ben's bluffing.

  "She's been wavering on this," said Ben, "but now that I'm here we are definitely going ahead with it."

  "Interesting how you can work together even after a divorce."

  "For fifty percent of a million dollars," said Ben, "I'd work with a lot worse people than her."

  "Same here." Smiling sweetly, she rose slowly from the cot.

  "That's your price, is it, one million?"

  Ben answered, "Actually it's the down payment."

  "A million now," explained H.J., wandering over to the opposite side of the room from Ben, "and another million when we turn the pictures over to you."

  "As I understand it, my dear, we already have the photos. The negatives are what we—"

  "You have one set of prints," corrected Ben. "There are two others. One safely hidden and one with an attorney in a sealed envelope. That'll go directly to a friend of mine who's a cop if H.J. and I stay missing too long."

  "Then there are the negatives," said H.J. "Those are also hidden away, but not in the same place as the prints. Considering all you're getting, Mr. Moon, $2,000,000 is a bargain price.'

  "There's one other thing that's essential," he said, glancing from one to the other. "That, of course, is your silence."

  "We'll throw that in for nothing," Ben assured him, taking two steps in his direction. "As soon as we have the money, we guarantee we won't talk."

  "There's a much cheaper way," said Moon, smiling. "A more economical method of assuring that you remain silent."

  "The more people you kill, the greater the chances of your being caught," H.J. pointed out. "Keep in mind, too, that if we don't contact our lawyer by tomorrow—early—he's going to rush a full set of pictures to the police. Nice shots of you and your cronies getting rid of Mr. Zepperman."

  "You know his name, I see."

  "Sure, we know just about everything."