“Okay, Tom,” Terrell said. “Now, you get off and have a good vacation.”
Sergeant Beigler came in.
“Report. There’s a nut with a rifle, shooting the lights out in a highrise. The squad cars are down there. Should Tom take a look?”
Terrell nodded.
“Okay, Tom, your last job. Take a look.”
This was meat and drink to Lepski. He threw himself into his car and belted down Paradise avenue, his siren screaming. He liked nothing better than to make a Rolls, a Bentley, a Caddy swerve out of his way.
Arriving at the scene, he found ten uniformed cops staring up at a distant window of a 17-storey highrise.
“He’s up there,” one of the cops said. “Shooting.”
Lepski patted his gun.
“Let’s go,” he said.
Aware of a big crowd watching, aware too that a TV crew had arrived, Lepski took his time, walking slowly and purposely towards the entrance to the highrise, hoping the TV creeps were filming him.
With three cops and a shivering, elderly janitor, Lepski rode up to the 11th floor.
“That’s the door to his apartment, sir,” the janitor said as they stepped out into the corridor. “It’s Mr Lewishon. I reckon he has bats in his attic.”
Lepski, gun in hand, waved the three cops into position, then raising his foot, he slammed it against the lock of the door and the door flew open.
It came as an anti-climax as they rushed into a well furnished room where a fat, elderly man was sitting before an open window with a .22 rifle in his hands.
“Hold it!” Lepski bawled in his cop voice, his gun pointing at the elderly man.
“Ah! The police! How right!” The man laid down his rifle. “Come in. Come in. Look at this disgrace! In broad daylight, people over there have their lights on. It is an utter disgrace! Our good President is continually asking us to save energy, but no one heeds. Lights! Lights! Everywhere are lights!”
When Lepski turned in his report, Beigler and Jacoby laughed themselves sick.
“Okay, you two jerks,” Lepski shouted. “I’ll be on TV, so laugh that off!”
It so happened, after inquiring, Lepski was told by the Paradise City TV people that the shot of him walking to the highrise had been blacked out by a kid who thought it smart to put his grimy little hand before the lens of the TV camera.
In a sour mood, Lepski, pounding into his bungalow like a fire engine on emergency, bawled, “I’m home! What’s for dinner?”
Carroll had just replaced an elegant scent spray in her vanity box. The sound of Lepski’s voice jarred her from the dream of how millionaires’ wives live down to the sordid reality of how a First Grade detective’s wife lives.
“Hi, baby!” Lepski bawled, rushing into the living-room. “What’s for dinner? I’m starving!”
Carroll closed her eyes. Her dream evaporated. Back into the reality of life, she stood up.
“Tom! Look at our luggage. Look! There’s a suitcase with your initials. Isn’t it marvellous?”
Lepski gaped at the suitcases.
“For me? What the hell do I want with a new suitcase? I’ve already got a suitcase!”
“Your grandfather owned it,” Carroll said coldly.
“What’s wrong with my grandfather?” Lepski demanded aggressively.
“This is the suitcase you are going away with!” Carroll said slowly and firmly.
Lepski approached the suitcase and examined it. He sucked in his breath.
“Jesus! This must have cost a bomb! Have you gone spending crazy, honey?”
“Look at this!” Carroll pointed to the vanity box.
Lepski stared.
“You bought this?”
“Mr Maverick gave it to me.”
Lepski peered at the contents of the box. He picked out a perfume spray and squirted his face.
Carroll snatched the spray from him.
“Hmmm... sexy,” Lepski said. “You mean he gave it to you.”
“Yes, and the two suitcases were only a hundred dollars.”
“Man! You must have sexed that fag into a real man,” Lepski said and grinned. “Trust my baby. What’s for dinner?”
“Lepski, can’t you really think of anything else but food?” Carroll demanded as she made her way to the kitchen.
“We’ve gone over all that before,” Lepski said, following her. “Let’s eat.”
As Carroll looked into the refrigerator and realized where those succulent chicken and ham sandwiches had come from, she released a wail of despair.
Lepski, recognizing the sound, released an expletive that made Carroll’s ears burn.
The news of the audacious theft of the Catherine the Great icon hit the TV news screens at 18.00. The telecaster said that already the President of the United States had talked to the Premier of the Soviet Union. He had assured the Premier that the icon would be recovered. He was offering a $200,000 reward that would lead to its recovery. The Premier of the Soviet Union had ordered the exhibits at the Fine Arts Museum to be packed and returned to the Soviet Union immediately under close guard.
The President had told the Premier that all exits had been shut and there was no way the icon could be smuggled out of the country. It was now only a matter of time before the icon was found.
All security forces, the Army and the Navy had been called in for the hunt. The thieves would be found and punished.
It wasn’t reported what the Premier had replied.
Kendrick, with Louis, listened to the broadcast and exchanged uneasy glances.
Ed Haddon listened in his suite at the Spanish Bay hotel and grinned.
Lu Bradey, in New York, also listened and also grinned. Even if one of the Vietnamese was tempted by the reward, he had completely covered his tracks. Whatever the possible Vietnamese said, it would only confuse the issue.
Bradey nodded to himself. He felt confident that with the help of First Grade Detective Tom Lepski, the icon would arrive in Switzerland.
five
It was unfortunate that the Miami-Paris flight was scheduled to leave at 18.00. This meant that Lepski had all the morning and afternoon in which to fidget. Soon after 08.00, he began to prowl around the small bungalow while Carroll remained in bed, reading the morning’s newspaper.
Having made coffee, Lepski, finding it unrewarding to fidget on his own, entered the bedroom.
“Honey, have you the flight tickets?”
Carroll sighed.
“I have everything. For heaven’s sake, go for a walk! I’m taking a bath, then I’m going to the hairdressers. I won’t be back until three o’clock.”
“What’s for lunch?” Lepski asked anxiously.
“Go buy yourself a cheeseburger or something. The kitchen’s closed for the vacation.”
Lepski moaned softly, then asked, “Have you packed everything?”
“Lepski! Go away!” Then as Lepski moved reluctantly to the door, she asked, “Have you packed everything?”
Lepski gaped at her.
“I thought you were doing the packing.”
“I’ve done my packing. I am certainly not doing yours! Now, take the paper and leave me to dress. When I have gone, you can pack. Read about this icon that’s been stolen. There’s a two hundred thousand dollars reward for its recovery.”
“Icon? What the hell’s an icon?”
“Go away and read!”
Muttering to himself, Lepski went into the living room, sat down and read the two-page spread about the theft of the icon. He was impressed. Every cop in the country was on the alert. The Army and the Navy had been called in. The President was livid with rage and heads were already beginning to roll. What impressed Lepski more than anything was the big reward offered to anyone giving information that would lead to the recovery of the icon.