Mike Shayne Mystery Magazine, Vol. 46, No. 9, September 1982
- Автор: Холлидэй Бретт, Moore Arthur
- Год: 1982
- Язык: английский
- Год: Renown Publications
- ISBN: 0026-3621
- Жанр: Криминальные детективы
Электронная книга - «Mike Shayne Mystery Magazine, Vol. 46, No. 9, September 1982». Краткое содержание книги:
Dear Mr. Lake, I have decided that it would be wrong to let my sister and her companions escape the consequences of their violent actions. Therefore, I have notified the authorities of the proof of their crime. I trust that this meets with your approval and that you will cooperate with the police in their investigation. I am enclosing a check which I hope will cover your services on my behalf. Yours truly, Victor Kemidov.
Inside, Lake paced back and forth furiously. He had been used. He knew it now, and he hated it. The payoff was just added insult. He let his anger boil for a moment more, then picked up the phone, dialed a number, and said, “Mr. Kemidov, Suite 4, please.”
The voice of the hotel operator came back, “I’m sorry, sir, Mr. Kemidov checked out an hour ago.”
Let down, cheated of a target for his wrath, Lake said, “Thank you,” and hung up. After a moment’s thought, he decided that there was one more thing he could do.
He went out and grabbed his hat, saying to Florence, “Those kids will need a good lawyer. Call Ned Flanagan and have him meet me at the jail.”
She said, “Right, Nicky.” But by that time, he was gone.
Anna Kemidov, Allen Cunningham, and Thomas Rowe sat on one side of the table, Lake and white-haired Ned Flanagan on the other. Lake began by saying, “My name is Nicholas Lake; I’m a private investigator. Your brother hired me, Miss Kemidov, to recover some property of his that he thought you had stolen.”
Anna glared and said, “We didn’t steal anything! I didn’t even know the trunk was missing.”
Lake went on, “That’s not the point. You’ll still need a good lawyer, not only to face the theft charges, but there will probably be a murder charge, or at least manslaughter, because of Mikhail’s death. Mr. Flanagan here is one of the best attorneys in the country, and I’m going to hire him on your behalf.”
The three young people were still trying to digest Lake’s statement about murder charges. They looked aghast and terrified at the thought. Allen Cunningham stammered, “B-but we didn’t have anything to do with it, man.” Anger came onto his face. “Hey, it was you turned us in to the cops, wasn’t it?”
Lake clasped his hands together on the table. “No. I found the trunk in the storeroom last night, and I reported it to my employer, Victor Kemidov. He expressed no interest in contacting the police at the time; all he wanted to do was recover his goods. He changed his mind, though. It’s possible that he planned to turn you in all along, as soon as he knew for sure that you had the trunk. I got a check from him this morning that smelled of payoff and a guilty conscience. Now if you’ll just tell the whole story to Mr. Flanagan, I’m sure he’ll be able to prepare a good defense.”
Anna looked puzzled. “Why are you doing this, Mr. Lake?”
“Because I have the inescapable feeling that your brother used me,” he replied in a level voice. “I don’t like the feeling.”
“So now you try to make up for it with your money?”
“I don’t blame you for being bitter, but I’m just trying to help.”
Anna stared down at the table for a long minute, then raised her eyes to meet Lake’s. “If you really want to help, there is something I must tell you. Alone.”
“Anything you can tell me, you can tell Mr. Flanagan.”
“No. You helped get us into this trouble. Now you can get us out.”
Lake’s features grew taut, but he said evenly, “All right, if you feel that way, I’ll do whatever I can.” He nodded to Flanagan.
When the lawyer had left the room and the two boys had been taken back to their cells, Anna Kemidov looked intently at Lake and said, “My brother and I have never been close, but still I hate to say this about him...”
Ten minutes later, Lake came out of the room and found Flanagan in the hall. He asked, “Has bail been set?”
“Yes. They said they couldn’t raise it.”
“Take care of it. Then take them to my house and keep them there. I’ll be relying on you to keep them out of trouble while I’m gone, Ned.”
“You going somewhere?”
“Yes, I’m going to take a little trip.” He went over to a public phone, dropped coins into it, and called the office. “Florence? Listen. Kemidov’s address is on that check, isn’t it? Good. Call Alex and tell him to get the jet ready. Then call Chief Wilkins here and tell him I’m going to need to talk to the chief of police there. See if he knows him and can put me in touch. And I need to talk to Harvey at DMV. Got all that?” He paused for a moment. “Good. But don’t call me Nicky. You’re not Nora Charles, for God’s sake.”
As he said that, a strange expression came onto his face. He had finally caught a glimpse of the elusive thing that had been bothering him. He thought he knew where he had heard the name Kemidov before. As he hung up the phone, he shook his head and muttered to himself, “No, it couldn’t be. Too far out. No chance.”
But somehow, he wasn’t convinced.
In the next nine hours, Lake talked to his friend Harvey Cooper at the State Department of Motor Vehicles, paid a visit to Chief of Police Joseph Wilkins, flew across several states in his private jet while he reread sections of one of his favorite books, talked to another chief of police and several vice squad officers, and drove a rented car down a dark street lined with huge trees and old mansions.
Lake brought the car to a stop in a particularly dark stretch of road, next to a high brick wall. He had killed his lights and motor a block earlier, and the car made little noise as it coasted to a halt. He eased the door open, slid out, and eased it shut. He was wearing the same black outfit he had worn the night before, and it made him almost invisible as he glided through the darkness beside the wall.
A gate with iron grillwork marked the entrance to the estate behind the wall. It was padlocked, but Lake had to try only three of the keys he had on the ring in his pocket before it snapped open. He swung the gate back carefully, trying to minimize the squealing of rusted hinges.
Once he was inside, he left the gravel drive and padded silently across the lawn. The grass was long and unkempt, and Lake figured that in the daylight, the whole place would look rundown.
It was too dark to make out much detail about the house. He could tell that it was huge and rambling and had two or three stories. A light was burning in an upstairs window, but the bottom appeared dark and deserted.
The penlight proved useful again in locating a door. Like most old houses, this one had an entrance directly into the cellar. The lock on it was old and brittle, and Lake opened it easily. The light showed him a flight of wooden steps which he descended carefully. Unseen cobwebs brushed against his face.
When he reached the concrete floor, he moved the beam of light around rapidly. He saw an old furnace, some gas cans, a pile of cardboard boxes, and a lot of dust and cobwebs. It looked like a normal cellar.
Somewhere in it was a fortune.
There were only a few places to look, and Lake started with the boxes. The first four he opened were empty. When he lifted the lid of the fifth, the light was bounced and refracted back in myriad patterns by the jewels within. Lake whistled softly between his teeth.
He reached into the box and came up with a handful of necklaces and bracelets that were dripping with precious stones. He sifted them through his fingers and let them trickle back down into the box. He played the light around over the dazzling display.
Suddenly, when the light reached a far corner, it picked up a different reflection. Something underneath a jewelled tiara was giving off a dull black gleam. Lake’s breath caught in his throat as he reached for the object.