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“Did you give him the book?”
“No way. Oh, he’s got a satchel full of copies. I only took the Hitler specimen from his room at the Gresham. I left him some Haggard copies and a few that hadn’t been tampered with, so he can cook up another Hitler copy if he’s got the time and patience. If he forged all of that once, he can do it again. But I’m holding onto the copy I swiped from him.”
“You’re not going to sell it?”
I may have managed to look hurt. “Of course not,” I said. “I may be a crook in my off-hours, but I’m a perfectly honest bookseller. I don’t misrepresent my stock. Anyway, the book’s not for sale. It’s for my personal library. I don’t figure to read it very often but I like the idea of having it around.”
The Maharajah, I told her, was on his way to Monaco to unwind with a flutter at roulette or baccarat or whatever moved him. The whole experience, he told me, had been invigorating. I was glad he thought so.
And Jesse Arkwright, I added, was in jail. Jugged, by George, and locked up tighter than the Crown jewels. They’d booked the bastard for Murder One and you can’t get bailed out of that charge. Doesn’t matter how rich you are.
“Not that he’ll be imprisoned on that charge,” I explained. “To tell you the truth, I’ll be surprised if the case ever comes to trial. The evidence is sketchy. It might be enough to convict a poor man but he’s got the bread for a good enough lawyer to worm his way out. He’ll probably plead to a reduced charge. Manslaughter, say, or overtime parking. He’ll pull a sentence of a year or two and I’ll bet you even money he won’t serve a day. Suspended sentence. Wait and see.”
“But he killed that woman.”
“No question.”
“It doesn’t seem fair.”
“Few things do,” I said philosophically. Move over, Immanuel Kant. “At least he’s not getting off scot-free. He’s behind bars even as we speak, and his reputation is getting dragged through the mud, and he’ll pay a lot emotionally and financially even if he doesn’t wind up serving any prison time for what he did. He’s lucky, no question, but he’s not as he thought he’d be before you nailed him with the bookend.”
“It was a lucky shot.”
“It was a perfect strike from where I stood.”
She gri
“What the Mets could use,” I said, “is divine intercession. Anyway, lots of things aren’t fair. The Bli
“It may not be fair,” she said, “but I’m glad anyway. I like Gert and Artie.”
“So do I. They’re good people. And that reminds me.”
“Oh?”
“I had a call from Artie Bli
“Did you? This mint tea’s terrific, incidentally. Sweet, though. Couldn’t you get it without sugar?”
“That’s how it comes.”
“It’s probably going to rot my teeth and my insides and everything. But I don’t care. Do you care?”
“I can’t get all worked up about it. There was something Artie wanted to know, to get back to Artie.”
“There are things I’ve been wanting to know,” she said. “Things I’ve been meaning to ask you.”
“Oh?”
“About Rudyard Whelkin.”
“What about him?”
“Was he really drugged when he set up the appointment with you? Or did he just sound that way?”
“He just sounded that way.”
“Why? And why didn’t he show up at Porlock’s place?”
“Well, it was her idea. Her reason was that she was going to sandwich in a meeting with the Maharajah so she could sell him the odd copy of the book. She certainly didn’t want Whelkin around while all that was going on. The way she sold it to him was to leave things open so that I wouldn’t know he was involved in double-crossing me. He could always get in touch with me later on and explain that he’d been doped, too, and that was why he missed the appointment. Of course, all of that went sour when Arkwright gave her a hole in the head. But that’s why he sounded groggy when I spoke to him-he was putting on an act in advance.”
She nodded thoughtfully. “I see,” she said. “A subtle pattern begins to emerge.”
“Now if we can get back to Artie Bli
“What happened to your wallet?”
“Arkwright took it and stuck it under a cushion where the cops would be sure to find it. I told you, didn’t I? That’s how they knew to suspect me.”
“But what happened to it since then?”
“Oh,” I said. I patted my pocket. “I got it back. They had it impounded as evidence, but no one could say exactly what it was evidence of, and Ray talked to somebody and I got it back.”
“What about the five hundred dollars?”
“It was either gone before the cops got it, or some cop made a profit on the day. But it’s gone now.” I shrugged. “Easy come, easy go.”
“That’s a healthy attitude.”
“Uh-huh. Speaking of Artie-”
“Who was speaking of Artie?”
“Nobody was, but we’re going to. Artie wanted to know what happened to the bracelet.”
“Shit.”
“He said he asked you about it when you were over there with the photographs, but you said you’d forgotten to bring it along.”
“Double shit.”
“But I seem to remember that I asked you about it just before you got out of the car, and you said you had it right there in your pocket.”
“Yeah,” she said. She drank some more of the mint tea. “Well, I lied, Bernie.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Not to you. To Artie and Gert. It was in my pocket but I told him it wasn’t.”
“I’ll bet you had a super reason.”
“As a matter of fact I had a shitty reason. I kept thinking how nice it would look on a certain person’s arm.”
“The certain person wouldn’t be Miranda Messinger, I don’t suppose.”
“It’s your intuitive brilliance that makes me love you, Bernie.”
“Here I thought it was my engaging smile. Does she like the bracelet?”
“Loves it.” She gri
“And you’re back together again.”
“Well, last night we were. I wouldn’t want to make any long-range projections. I’ll tell you, the way to that woman’s heart is through her wrist.”
“Whatever works.”
“Yeah. ‘You wouldn’t want to go and wear it on the East Side,’ I told her. ‘Because it’s just the least bit hot.’ ”
“Did you talk like that when you told her? Out of the side of your mouth?”
“Yeah. It really got to her. I swear the next time I buy her something I’m go
“I’ll think of something.”
“I was go
“I could tell you were eager to discuss it. The way you were so anxious to talk about the Bli
“Well, I-”
“It’s cool,” I said. “Relax and eat your hummus.”
A little later she said, “Listen, Randy’s got a dance class tonight. You want to come by after work? We can have di
“I’d love to,” I said, “but tonight’s out.”
“Heavy date?”
“Not exactly.” I hesitated, then figured what the hell. “When we meet for drinks tonight,” I said, “I’ll make mine Perrier.”
She sat forward, eyes wide. “No shit. You’re going on a caper?”
“That’s not the word I’d use, but yeah, that’s about it.”
“Where?”
“ Forest Hills Gardens.”
“The same neighborhood as the last time?”
“The same house. The coat I described to Ray Kirschma