buttons and none of the buttons are missing. That leaves you, Mr. Brandon, so let me know.’
‘I’ll do that,’ Ken said. ‘I’ll call you if I find them.’
As soon as Lepski had driven away, Ken went into the living room. Betty kept a big button box. She never discarded anything that might prove useful. His heart hammering, Ken found the box and lifted the lid. Some three hundred assorted buttons were in the box. He turned cold as he saw one of the golf ball buttons among the other buttons. So Levine had given him a duplicate set!
Leaving the box on the settee, he ran into his bedroom and took the jacket from the closet. How he now hated the sight of it! He counted the buttons: three on each sleeve, three on the front: nine buttons! Tossing the jacket on the bed, he returned to the living room and began to hunt through the various buttons. He unearthed eight of the golf ball buttons. One missing! Grabbing hold of the box, he upended it, pouring the various buttons on the carpet. Feverishly, he searched, but couldn’t find the missing button.
He sat back on his heels, staring at the mass of buttons spread out before him.
Jesus! One missing!
If he told Lepski that one of these goddamn buttons was missing, there would be an inquiry. He might even be suspected of killing this girl! Even if the police didn’t arrest him for murder, he would be forced to tell them of his affair with Karen. He shut his eyes, thinking now only of Betty.
With shaking hands, he gathered up the buttons and returned them to the box, then he put the box back on the shelf. He looked at the eight buttons on the settee. He must get rid of them, he told himself. He would swear that Levine had never given him a duplicate set. It would be Levine’s word against his! He would have to tell Betty in case the police asked her, and she must support his lie! But what was he to tell Betty? He had to think of some lie to convince her. He tried to think, then the Swiss clock in the lobby chimed nine. He was already late for the office. A lie must come that would convince Betty, he told himself, without hope. Then putting the golf ball buttons in his pocket, he locked the front door and drove to Secomb.
He wasn’t to know that as soon as Lepski returned to his desk, he called the Atlanta police. Betty’s father, who handled many of the city’s court cases in the past, was well known.
‘Mrs. Betty Brandon,’ the desk sergeant said. ‘Sure . . . she’s Mr. Lacey’s daughter. He’s a good friend of ours. He’s pretty sick right now . . . heart. Mrs. Brandon is with him.’
‘I need a word with her,’ Lepski said. ‘Let me have the telephone number.’
‘Something wrong?’
‘No . . . just routine,’ Lepski said airily.
The desk sergeant gave him the number.
‘Don’t bother her unless you have to,’ he said. ‘Mr. Lacey is real bad.’
Lepski grunted, hung up and dialled the number. In a matter of minutes, he was talking to Betty.
‘Mrs. Brandon, I’m sorry to trouble you at this time,’ he said, ‘but we are trying to trace a set of golf ball buttons. I understand Mr. Brandon has a jacket with golf ball buttons. I’ve already talked to him. He can’t remember if there was a duplicate set of buttons with the jacket. He said you would know.’
Betty had been up all night coping with her parents. Her father seemed to be sinking and her mother was hysterical with grief. This call from the Paradise City police was the last thing she wanted.
‘There is a duplicate set,’ she said curtly. ‘What is all this about?’
‘Just a routine inquiry, Mrs. Brandon,’ Lepski said smoothly. ‘Would you know where the duplicates are?’
‘In my button box at home. I don’t understand. What is this?’
‘Thank you, Mrs. Brandon. Sorry to have disturbed you,’ and Lepski hung up. He looked at Max Jacoby who had been listening in on an extension.
‘Now let’s see if Brandon dreams up a lie,’ Lepski said with his wolfish
‘I’ll do that,’ Ken said. ‘I’ll call you if I find them.’
As soon as Lepski had driven away, Ken went into the living room. Betty kept a big button box. She never discarded anything that might prove useful. His heart hammering, Ken found the box and lifted the lid. Some three hundred assorted buttons were in the box. He turned cold as he saw one of the golf ball buttons among the other buttons. So Levine had given him a duplicate set!
Leaving the box on the settee, he ran into his bedroom and took the jacket from the closet. How he now hated the sight of it! He counted the buttons: three on each sleeve, three on the front: nine buttons! Tossing the jacket on the bed, he returned to the living room and began to hunt through the various buttons. He unearthed eight of the golf ball buttons. One missing! Grabbing hold of the box, he upended it, pouring the various buttons on the carpet. Feverishly, he searched, but couldn’t find the missing button.
He sat back on his heels, staring at the mass of buttons spread out before him.
Jesus! One missing!
If he told Lepski that one of these goddamn buttons was missing, there would be an inquiry. He might even be suspected of killing this girl! Even if the police didn’t arrest him for murder, he would be forced to tell them of his affair with Karen. He shut his eyes, thinking now only of Betty.
With shaking hands, he gathered up the buttons and returned them to the box, then he put the box back on the shelf. He looked at the eight buttons on the settee. He must get rid of them, he told himself. He would swear that Levine had never given him a duplicate set. It would be Levine’s word against his! He would have to tell Betty in case the police asked her, and she must support his lie! But what was he to tell Betty? He had to think of some lie to convince her. He tried to think, then the Swiss clock in the lobby chimed nine. He was already late for the office. A lie must come that would convince Betty, he told himself, without hope. Then putting the golf ball buttons in his pocket, he locked the front door and drove to Secomb.
He wasn’t to know that as soon as Lepski returned to his desk, he called the Atlanta police. Betty’s father, who handled many of the city’s court cases in the past, was well known.
‘Mrs. Betty Brandon,’ the desk sergeant said. ‘Sure . . . she’s Mr. Lacey’s daughter. He’s a good friend of ours. He’s pretty sick right now . . . heart. Mrs. Brandon is with him.’
‘I need a word with her,’ Lepski said. ‘Let me have the telephone number.’
‘Something wrong?’
‘No . . . just routine,’ Lepski said airily.
The desk sergeant gave him the number.
‘Don’t bother her unless you have to,’ he said. ‘Mr. Lacey is real bad.’
Lepski grunted, hung up and dialled the number. In a matter of minutes, he was talking to Betty.
‘Mrs. Brandon, I’m sorry to trouble you at this time,’ he said, ‘but we are trying to trace a set of golf ball buttons. I understand Mr. Brandon has a jacket with golf ball buttons. I’ve already talked to him. He can’t remember if there was a duplicate set of buttons with the jacket. He said you would know.’
Betty had been up all night coping with her parents. Her father seemed to be sinking and her mother was hysterical with grief. This call from the Paradise City police was the last thing she wanted.
‘There is a duplicate set,’ she said curtly. ‘What is all this about?’
‘Just a routine inquiry, Mrs. Brandon,’ Lepski said smoothly. ‘Would you know where the duplicates are?’
‘In my button box at home. I don’t understand. What is this?’
‘Thank you, Mrs. Brandon. Sorry to have disturbed you,’ and Lepski hung up. He looked at Max Jacoby who had been listening in on an extension.
‘Now let’s see if Brandon dreams up a lie,’ Lepski said with his wolfish
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