Hit Parade

“Absolutely true,” Bingham said. “I was always interested in Germany, but when I started out I collected Vatican City. Don’t ask me why. I’m not Catholic, but then I’m not German, either. It didn’t take me long to complete the collection, varieties and all, and it sat there in an album, and I never looked at it. I haven’t sold it, though I probably should, for all the pleasure I get out of it. Like a shark, eh? I never thought of it quite that way, but I like it, because I can picture a collection swimming along, devouring everything in its path.”

A little later he said, “You have a family, Jackie? No? Well, I’ve got a few stray cousins myself, but nobody I’ve had any contact with in years. Way my will’s drawn, I’m leaving everything to Wayne State University.”

“Is that where you went to college?”

“No, but they gave me an honorary degree a few years ago. You could call me Dr. Bingham, but don’t you dare. That degree’s going to turn out to be bread upon the waters, and they might as well have the money as anyone else. God knows what they’ll do with the stamps.”

“You could require that they keep the collection and display it.”

“What the hell for? Let ’em auction it off, so some other collectors can grab up chunks of it and have some fun with it.”

“Well,” Keller said, “that’s not going to happen anytime soon.”

Bingham just looked at him.

46

“I was thinking natural causes,” he told Dot the following day.

“And why not? One of your subspecialties, Keller. You’re about as natural a cause of death as I’ve ever known.”

“Cyanide’s always good,” he said, “and I don’t think it would be hard to get my hands on some. It looks like a heart attack.”

“And it’s every bit as fu

“But you find it,” he said, “if you look for it. In a tox screen. And they’d look for it. The local cops might not know who he is, but they’d find out, and when the full story came back from Detroit they’d order a full workup, and they’d find it. Or anything else I can think of.”

“And if they look at it, they’re looking at you.”

“Whatever happens to him,” he said, “they’re going to be looking at me. We’ve been hanging out all over the place. I made sure I paid cash for our di

“You want to come home, Keller?”

“I’ve thought about it.”

“We can give back the money. You’re out the cost of your flight, but you were going there anyway, weren’t you? So we’ll just write it off and let somebody else figure out how to kill the son of a bitch.”

“He’s actually a pretty nice guy.”

“Oh, terrific. Just what I wanted to hear.”

“Out here, that is. He may not be such a nice guy in Detroit.”

“So do you want to follow him to Detroit and kill him there? Along with all his bodyguards?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Well, I’m glad to hear it. What do you think, Keller? Should I make a phone call, and you can just write off the airfare?”

“It’s not just the airfare.”

“And the hotel, I suppose. But you were in for the airfare and the hotel anyway, weren’t you? You already had the room and the flight booked, if I remember correctly.”

“Besides the hotel.”

“What, a couple of meals? I don’t see how…oh, I get it, Keller. Stamps. But weren’t you going to buy stamps anyway?”

“Up to a point,” he said.

“And you sailed right past that point, didn’t you? Because you had the money from Detroit, burning a hole in your pocket.”

“I didn’t lose control,” he assured her. “I spent pretty much what I intended to spend. I had all this money coming in, so I figured I could afford for some of it to go out. But if I have to give it back…”

“There’s a reason why giving money back goes against the grain. Once I’ve got it in my hand, it’s my money. And giving it back is like spending it, and what am I getting for it?” She sighed. “Other hand, anything happens to him and somebody with a badge is going to want to talk to you. And you’ve made a very good career out of so arranging your life that you never have to talk to anybody with a badge.”

“There ought to be a way.”

“How old is the guy, Keller? Sixty, sixty-five?”

“Sixty-seven.”

“Even better. Maybe you’ll catch a break. He’s up there in years, he’s under a lot of stress and strain. Maybe nature’ll help you out. It wouldn’t be the first time.”

“He seems pretty healthy, Dot.”

“Never sick a day in his life, and then pow! The old ticker blows out, and next thing you know he’s approaching room temperature. Who’s to say it couldn’t happen?”

“It would have to happen within the next twenty-four hours.”

“Makes it a little less likely, doesn’t it? Suppose he wins one of those blue ribbons? Maybe the excitement’ll do it.”

“He’s got a whole wall full of them back home. I don’t think it would be all that exciting.”

“Well, maybe he’ll lose, and he’ll be so disappointed he’ll kill himself…Keller? Where’d you go?”

“I’m here,” he said. “But I’d better get back to the auction room. I’ve got a couple of lots coming up.”

The last lot he bid on was from St. Pierre amp; Miquelon, a couple of French islands off the coast of Newfoundland. He had strong competition from a determined telephone bidder, and went higher than he’d pla

He went to his room, picked up the phone, then changed his mind and went downstairs to use the house phone in the lobby.

“It’s Jackie,” he said, the name sounding strange to him. But it evidently sounded fine to Bingham, who said he’d just gotten out of the shower, and had he lost track of the time? Because he didn’t think they were meeting for di

“No, this is something else,” he said. “Are you alone? Can I come to your room?”

“I’m always alone. And yes, give me five minutes to put some clothes on, then come on up.”

Bingham supplied the room number, and seven or eight minutes later Keller was knocking on the door of 617. Which was fine, he’d decided. Room 1217 would have been better, but 617 would have to do.

And it was certainly spacious enough. Keller’s room three floors down was comfortable enough, if a little on the small side, but Bingham had a suite. “More space than I’ve got any use for,” he told Keller, “but when you spend a little more you get treated a little better. And if I fart in one room I can go in the other until the air clears. You want a drink?”

He didn’t, but said he did. Because that way Bingham would take a drink-although his breath already held the bouquet of good whiskey.

Bingham poured, and they touched glasses, and Keller wet his lips while Bingham drank deeply. “Just as well you came up here,” he said. “I’ve got something for you, and I was going to bring it along to di

The clear plastic sheet held a cover, postmarked 1891 in Martinique’s capital city of Fort-de-France, and backstamped in Paris and surcharged here and there, bearing several different stamps from the island colony’s first issue.

“It’s a beauty,” Keller said. “What do I owe you for it?”

“It’s a present.”

“Oh, come on,” he said. “You’ve got to let me pay for it.”

“Nope. You can’t buy it, Jackie. It’s not for sale. It’s a gift.”

“But-”

“It’ll cost you plenty in the long run,” Bingham told him, and paused to top up his own drink. “All the covers you’ll buy. But you’ve got to feed the shark, don’t you?”

“Well, I’m very happy to have it. I wish I had something for you in return. And maybe I do.”

“Oh?”

“The reason I came up here,” Keller said. “You really expect to be killed, don’t you?”