6
I remember the next day very well, since it had such an impression on what was to follow. It was the first Saturday of March, a gruff, blustery day with steely light coming from a phlegmy sky. The air had the sharp smell of snow, and I hurried through my round of weekend chores, laying in enough food so that I could enjoy a quiet, relaxed couple of days at home even if the city was snowed in.
I took care of laundry, drycleaning, and shopping. I bought wine and liquor. I cleaned the apartment. Then I showered and shaved, dressed in slacks, sweater, sports jacket, and carpet slippers. A little after noon, I settled down with the morning Times and my third cup of coffee of the day.
I think I was annoyed when the phone rang. I was enjoying my warm solitude, and the jangle of the bell was an unwelcome reminder of the raw world outside my windows.
'Hello?' I said cautiously.
'Josh!' Detective Percy Stilton cried. 'My main man!
I'm sitting here in my drawers, my old lady's in the kitchen doing something to a chicken, and I'm puffing away on a joint big as a see-gar and meanwhile investigating this fine jug of Almaden Mountain White Chablis, vintage of last Tuesday, and God's in His Heaven, all's right with the world, and what can I do for you, m'man? I got a message you called.'
'You sound in fine fettle, Perce,' I said.
'Fine fettle?' he said. 'I got a fettle on me you wouldn't believe — a tough fettle, a boss fettle. I got me a sweet forty-eighter, and nothing and nobody is going to pry me loose from hearth and home until Monday morning. You want to know about that crazy elevator — right? Okay, it was on the sixth floor when the first blues got to the Kipper townhouse. They both swear to it. So? What does that prove? Sol could have taken it up to his big jump.'
'Could have,' I said. 'Yes. It's hard to believe an emotionally disturbed man intent on suicide would wait for an elevator to take him up one floor when he could have walked it in less than a minute. But I agree, yes, he could have done it.'
'Let's figure he did,' Stilton said. 'Let's not try jamming facts into a theory. I've known a lot of good men who messed themselves up doing that. The trick is to fit the theory to the facts. How you doing? Any great detecting to report?'
'Two things,' I said.
I told him about those bills from Martin Reape I had found at Kipmar Textiles. The bills that had been approved for payment by Sol Kipper. And the cancelled cheques endorsed by Reape.
I awaited his reaction. But there was only silence.
'Perce?' I said. 'You there?'
He started speaking again, and suddenly he was sober. .
'Josh,' he said, 'do you realize what you've got?'
'Well, yes, certainly. I've established a definite connection between Sol Kipper and Marty Reape.'
'You goddamned Boy Scout!' he screamed at me.
'You've got hard evidence. You've got paper. Something we can take to court. Up to now it's all been smoke. But now we've got paper. God, that's wonderful!'
It didn't seem so wonderful to me, but I supposed police officers had legal priorities of which I was not aware. I went ahead and told Detective Stilton what I had learned about Tippi Kipper and the Reverend Godfrey Knurr, that they were having an affair and it had existed prior 263
to Sol Kipper's death.
'Where did you get that?' he asked curiously.
I hesitated a moment.
'From the maid,' I said finally.
He laughed. 'Miss Horizontal herself?' he said. 'I'm not going to ask you how you got her to talk; I can imagine.
Well, it could be true.'
'It would explain the Kipper-Reape connection,' I argued. 'Sol got suspicious and hired Marty to find out the truth. Reape got evidence that Knurr and Tippi were, ah, intimate. That's when Sol called Mr Tabatchnick and wanted to change his will.'
'Uh-huh. I follow. Sol gets dumped before he can change the will. Maybe the lovers find and destroy the evidence. Photographs? Could be. Tape recordings.
Whatever. But street-smart Reape has made copies and tries blackmail. Goodbye, Marty.'
'And then after he gets bumped, his grieving widow tries the same thing.'
'It listens,' Stilton admitted. 'I'd be more excited if we could figure out how they managed to waste Sol. And come up with the suicide note. But at least we've got more than we had before. When I get in on Monday, I'll run a trace on Knurr.'
'And on Tippi,' I said. 'Please.'
'Why her?'
I told him what the Kipper sons had said about her Las Vegas background and how she had originally come from Chicago, which had also been Knurr's home.
'May be nothing,' Stilton said, 'may be something. All right, I'll run Tippi through the grinder, too, and we shall see what we shall see. Hang in there, Josh; you're doing okay.'
'I am?' I said, surprised. 'I thought I was doing badly.
As a matter of fact, one of the reasons I called you was to ask if you could suggest a new approach. Something I 264
haven't tried yet.'
There was silence for a brief moment.
'It's your baby.' he said at last. 'But if I was on the case, I'd tail Tippi Kipper and the Reverend Knurr for a while.'
'What for?' I asked.
'Just for the fun of it,' he said. 'Josh, my old lady is yelling and I better hang up. I think she wants to put me to work. Keep in touch. I'll let you know what the machine says about Knurr and Tippi.'
'Thank you for calling,' I said.
'You're perfectly welcome,' he responded with mock formality, then laughed. 'So long, Josh,' he said as he rang off. 'Have a good weekend.'
I finished the Times and my cold coffee about the same time, then mixed a weak Scotch-and-water, turned the radio down low, and started rereading my notes on the Stonehouse case. I went back to the very beginning, to my first meeting with Mr Teitelbaum. Then I read the record of my initial interviews with Mrs Ula Stonehouse, Glynis, and Mrs Effie Dark. I found something interesting. I had been in the kitchen with Mrs Dark, and the interrogation went something like this:
Q: What about Glynis? Does she work?
A: Not anymore. She did for a year or two but she quit.
Q: Where did she work?
A: I think she was a secretary in a medical laboratory.
Q: But now she does nothing?
A: She does volunteer work three days a week in a free clinic down on the Lower East Side.
I closed the file folder softly and stared into the cold fireplace. Secretary in a medical laboratory. Now working in a clinic.
It was possible.
But Mr Teitelbaum had given me only another week.
I put in some additional hours reading over the files and planning moves. After a solitary dinner I went out to get 265
early editions of the Times and News. It was around 8.30, not snowing, sleeting, or raining, but the air was so damp, I could feel icy moisture on my face. I walked rapidly, head down. The streets were deserted. Very little traffic. I saw no pedestrians until I rounded the corner on to Tenth Avenue.
