Killer's Payoff полностью

“The Good Earth,” Hawes said.

“Yes,” Kramer answered, surprised. “How about this one?” Again he thought for a moment. Then he quoted, “ ‘Whether I shall turn out to be the hero of my own life, or whether that station will be held by anybody else, these pages must show.’”

Hawes was silent.

“It’s an old one,” Kramer said.

Hawes was still silent.

“David Copperfield,” Kramer said.

“Oh, sure,” Hawes answered.

“I know thousands of them,” Kramer said enthusiastically. “I can reel them-”

“What about those pictures of Lucy Mitchell?”

“What about them?”

“Did she say why she wanted them?”

“She said only that she was sure someone had them. She thought that person might be me. I told her I was not the least bit interested in her or her pictures. In short, Mr. Hawes, I played Taps for her.” Kramer’s face grew brighter. “Here’s a dozy,” he said. “Listen.”

“I’d rather-”

“ ldquo‘When he finished packing, he walked out on to the third-floor porch of the barracks brushing the dust from his hands, a very neat and deceptively slim young man in the summer khakis that were still early morning fresh.’” Kramer beamed. “Know it?”

“No.”

“From Here to Eternity. Jones packs a hell of a lot into that first line. He tells you it’s summer, he tells you it’s morning, he tells you you’re on an Army post with a soldier who is obviously leaving for someplace, and he gives you a thumbnail description of his hero. That’s a good opening line.”

“Can we get back to Lucy Mitchell?” Hawes said impatiently.

“Certainly,” Kramer said, his enthusiasm unabated.

“What did she say about Sy Kramer?”

“She said he had once had the pictures, but she was now certain someone else had them.”

“Did she say why she was certain?”

“No.”

“And you’ve never seen these pictures?”

“Mr. Hawes, I veritably cut my way through a cheesecake jungle every day of th-” Kramer stopped, and his eyes lighted with inner fire. “Here’s one!” he said. “Here’s one I really enjoy.”

“Mr. Kramer…” Hawes tried, but Kramer was already gathering steam.

“The building presented a not unpleasant architectural scheme, the banks of wide windows reflecting golden sunlight, the browned weathered brick facade, the ivy clinging to the brick and framing the windows.”

“Mr. Kramer…”

“That’s from The Bl-”

“Mr. Kramer!”

“Sir?” Kramer said.

“Is there anything else you can tell me about Lucy Mitchell?”

“No,” Kramer said, seemingly a little miffed.

“Or Sy Kramer?”

“No.”

“But she did seem certain that someone else now had those pictures?”

“Yes, she did.”

“Had you ever met her before today?”

“Never.”

“Okay,” Hawes said. “Thank you very much, Mr. Kramer.”

“Not at all,” Kramer said. He shook hands with Hawes, and Hawes rose. “Come again,” Kramer said.

And then, as Hawes went through the opening in the partition, Kramer began quoting, “‘Last night I dreamt I went to Manderley again. It seemed to me I stood by the iron gate…’”

IT SEEMED TO HAWES that several things were obvious at this stage of the investigation.

To begin with, there was no doubt-and there had never been any-that Sy Kramer had been extorting five hundred dollars a month from Lucy Mencken. It was obvious, too, that Kramer extorted the money on the threat of releasing the cheesecake photos that had somehow come into his possession. Lucy Mencken had stated that her husband was a politician who would be running for the state senate in November. In the hands of the opposing party, or even in the hands of a newspaper campaigning against Charles Mencken, the photos could be used with deadly results. It was understandable why Lucy Mencken wanted to suppress them. She had come a long way from the farm girl who’d taken off her clothes for Jason Poole the photographer. Somewhere along the line, she’d married Charles Mencken, acquired an exurban estate, and become the mother of two children. Those pictures could threaten her husband’s senatorial chances and-if he, too, did not know about them-could even threaten the smooth fabric of her everyday existence.

There were thirty-six pictures, Patrick Blier had said.

The $500 payment came every month, as did the $300 payment from Edward Schlesser, and the $1,100 payment from a person or persons unknown. Whenever Schlesser had delivered his check, Kramer had in turn sent back another photostated copy of the letter. Schlesser had hoped the photostated copies would eventually run out. Perhaps he had not realized that it was possible to make a photostat of a photostat and that Kramer could conceivably have milked him for the rest of his life. Or perhaps he did realize it, and simply didn’t give a damn. According to what he’d said, he considered the extortion a bona fide business expense, like advertising.