'Yes, I think so.'
'Oh, boy,' he said. 'Bubble, bubble, toil and trouble.'
'It's 'Double, double toil and trouble,' ' I told him.
'Whatever,' he said. 'Got any idea who the model was?'
'Nope.'
'Could it have been his daughter? She ices him like she said in that letter and then swipes the painting because she's afraid it might incriminate her.'
'Could be,' I said. 'You reckon she had it in the car when she went in the drink?'
'A possibility,' Rogoff said. 'I'll send divers down to look around and see if they can spot it. Maybe it floated out of the Cherokee.'
'If it floated out,' I said, 'it would be on the surface, wouldn't it?'
'Yeah, you're right. That scenario doesn't wash. But I still think she had the 'Untitled' painting in her possession sometime during the evening she was killed.'
'And now someone else has it?'
'Sure,' he said. 'Unless she burned it or hacked it to splinters. That's what I like about my job: Everything is cut and dried.'
'I know what you mean. Al, did you hear anything from Michigan about Theodosia Johnson?'
'Not yet. Archy, tell me something: Do you think the Shirley Feebling kill in Fort Lauderdale has anything to do with Marcia Hawkin's murder?'
I hesitated. 'Yes,' I said finally.
'Uh-huh,' he said, 'that's what I figured. Are the Johnsons involved?'
'It's all supposition.'
'Sure it is,' he agreed. 'Like meat loaf; you don't know what's in it. We're tracing Marcia's movements the night she was killed and we've got what we tell the newspapers are 'promising leads.' Maybe they are, maybe they're not, but I'll keep working my end, old buddy, and you keep working yours. Eventually we may take the gold, though I'll settle for the bronze.'
'Me, too,' I said.
'See you,' he said shortly, and hung up.
I sat there, stared at my open journal, and decided I didn't want to labor on a Saturday night. So I pulled on a nylon golf jacket (Day-Glo orange) and clattered downstairs to my wheels. I headed south on Ocean Boulevard to eyeball the Hawkin home, Villa Bile. I didn't have to stop to see that Hector Johnson's white Lincoln was parked outside.
Then I made an illegal U-turn and sped off to the Pelican Club. I was in dire need of a plasma injection, for what I envisioned had happened to Silas Hawkin, Shirley Feebling, and Marcia Hawkin seemed too awful to endure without Dutch courage.
It was still early so it was no surprise to find the club relatively quiescent. I tested Simon Pettibone by ordering an obscure cocktail from my antique Bartender's Guide.
'I would appreciate a Frankenjack,' I stated.
He stared at me, rolled his eyes upward, concentrated a moment. Then he recited, 'Gin, dry vermouth, apricot brandy, Triple Sec.'
'You're incredible,' I told him.
'Served with a cherry,' he added. 'You really want one, Mr. McNally?'
'No,' I said. 'A double vodka-rocks will do me fine, Mr. Pettibone. The good stuff.'
'Sterling or Stoli?'
'Sterling, please.'
He poured and placed the tumbler before me.
'First of the night?' he asked pleasantly.
'First and last,' I said. 'I shall not be a problem.'
'You never are,' he assured me. 'Until you start reciting Shakespeare.'
'Dear old Willy,' I said. 'What would I do without him? Tell me something, Mr. Pettibone: Do you believe that money makes the world go 'round?'
'Not entirely,' he replied. 'I do not believe it is money itself. After all, that is just metal and paper. No, it is the power money confers that makes the world go 'round.'
'Power,' I repeated reflectively. 'Ah. As in comfort, people to serve you, no problems, the lush life?'
'You've got it, Mr. McNally.'
'No,' I said, 'but I wish I did. However, I wouldn't kill for it. Would you?'
'Kill? Another person?'
'Yes.'
'No,' he said, 'I would not do that. I enjoy my sleep too much.'
'Well put,' I said. 'But I suspect there are those who would kill for money and sleep as soundly as you.'
'Oh yes,' he agreed, 'there are those. But they will get their deserts on judgment day.'
'And when will that be, Mr. Pettibone? Next Tuesday?'
He didn't laugh or even smile, so I ordered another belt. I finished that and departed. The Pelican was beginning to fill up with a riotous Saturday night throng and I was in no mood for revelry.
I returned home, undressed, and donned a silk nightshirt. But before I took to the sheets I consumed a dollop of marc and smoked one cigarette. To insure a deep, untroubled slumber, you understand. I finally went to bed absolutely convinced I would awake the next day with a clear head, a settled turn, a sweet breath-and possibly five pounds lighter.
16
Of course my hopes were more than dashed on Sunday morning; they were obliterated. But I shall not weary you with a detailed account of my agonies. The only thing more boring than another person's dream is another person's hangover. Suffice to say that it was almost noon before the McNally carcass calmed to the extent that I ceased thinking of suicide as the only cure for my woes.
But my physical fragility was not the only reason I stayed at home that day; I was awaiting a phone call from Hector Johnson. I was certain his daughter had told him of our conversation during that luncheon at the Ocean Grand, and I was just as certain dear old Heck would gobble the bait.
A word of explanation is in order here. The reason for my scheming was that I had no proof. I had suspicions aplenty, but they might well have been skywriting, so ephemeral were they without a test of their validity and permanence. And the only way I could do that was by scamming the scammers. It may sound unnecessarily devious, but bear with me.
I was in my rooms and it was almost one-thirty before my phone rang. I grabbed it up.
'Archy?' he said. 'This is Hector Johnson.'
A surge of satisfaction dissolved the last remnants of my Katzenjammer. 'Heck!' I said cheerily. 'Good to hear from you.'
'Likewise,' he said. 'Listen, Arch, I think you and I should get together for a little man-to-man.'
'Oh? Concerning what?'
'I can't discuss it on the phone,' he said brusquely. 'It's about what you mentioned to Theo yesterday.'
'Ah,' I said, 'that. Yes, I agree you and I should have a chat. Where and when?'
'I'm leaving in a few minutes for Fort Lauderdale. I've got some business down there and I'll be gone all day. But I should be home tonight. Is, say, ten o'clock too late for you?'
'Not at all.'
'Suppose I come over to your place. I know the address. We can sit in my car and talk.'
'Surely you'll come in and have a drink.'
'No, thanks,' he said shortly. 'My car would be best. Private, know what I mean?'
'Whatever you prefer,' I told him. 'I'll be waiting for you.'
