Liz’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “I must say I suspected him too. Oh, I didn’t say anything about it but I had a hunch … you know how it is. Especially that night at Evans’ party, right after he killed his uncle … his eyes were set too close together.”
“Eyes?”
“You can always tell: eyes and hands … set too close together means a criminal.”
“His hands were set too close together.…”
“Now don’t be maddening! He shot at you, didn’t he?” I nodded calmly.
“Then you threw him to the ground and used judo to make him confess.”
“A somewhat highly colored version of what happened,” I said. “I was very brave though. Since he has the build of a somewhat frail praying mantis, you might say I had the edge on him.”
“Even so he had a gun. I suppose he’ll get the chair.” She sounded matter-of-fact.
“Never can tell. They’ll probably plead insanity … especially after they read those notebooks of his. He gives the whole thing away … writes about a perfect crime which resembles the one he committed. I think he was a kind of maniac.…”
“Oh you could tell that just by looking at him. I knew the first time I ever laid eyes on him. Not that I ever thought he’d done it … I won’t say that.…”
“Yet.”
“No, I won’t say that but I did think him peculiar and you see how right I was. I’ve never seen so much space as the Globe gave you … that Mr. Bush must’ve been livid.”
“I think he was distressed.” It made me feel good, thinking of Elmer’s column being all chopped up because the issue which had contained my story had had a particularly well-displayed “America’s New York” telling how Elmer himself had helped gather the evidence which was to send Brexton to his just reward. “Where’s Brexton now?”
“I don’t know. I think he’s gone off somewhere to hide … also to marry Allie when this thing dies down.” I got up and went over to a corner of the office where, face to the wall, was a large painting. “Brexton, with tears in his eyes, said he would give me anything I wanted: money, paintings … anything. I asked him for this.” I turned the canvas around and there, triumphantly nude, reveling in her own golden skin was the young Mary Western Lung, not yet a penwoman, not yet the incomparable, fertile source of “Book-Chat.”
Liz shrieked with pleasure. “It’s Miss Lung! I can tell. You know she wasn’t at all bad-looking.”
“I intend to keep this in the office for all to see. I shall collect a small but useful sum each month to keep it out of the hands of her competitors and enemies.…”
“Her breasts were too big,” said Liz critically, that sharp slanted mean look on her face that women assume when examining one another.
“Many people like them that way,” I said, turning the picture back to the wall.
“Shall I go?”
“No, as a matter of fact there is an exercise which I’ve only just submitted to the patent office: it will make a pair of water wings out of the most nondescript.…” I was heading purposefully toward Liz when the little box on my desk spluttered, exactly like Miss Flynn. I answered it.
“That Mr. Wheen who has been trying to contact you … he is on the Wire.” Miss Flynn’s voice dripped acid … she knew what was going on in the Inner Office. “I’ll talk to him,” I said.
Liz came and sat on my lap, her hands were busy and embarrassing. “Stop that!” were the first words of mine Mr. Wheen heard.
“Stop what?” The voice was harsh, gravelly. “I just now got you, Mr. Sargeant.…”
“I didn’t mean you, sir,” I said smoothly. “I understand you’ve been trying to get in touch with me.…”
“Yeah, that’s right. I think I got a job for you. It’s about Muriel Sandoe.”
“Muriel Sandoe? I don’t think.…”
“She was an associate of mine. You know her maybe by her professional name in the circus: ‘Peaches’ Sandoe. Well, you see this elephant.…”
ALSO BY GORE VIDAL AS EDGAR BOX
DEATH IN THE FIFTH POSITION
In Death in the Fifth Position, dashing P.R. man Peter Sargeant is hired by a ballet company on the eve of a major upcoming performance. Handling the press seems to be no problem, but when a rising star in the company is killed during the performance—dropped from thirty feet above the stage, crashing to her death in a perfect fifth position—Sargeant has a real case on his hands. As he ingratiates himself with the players behind the scenes (especially one lovely ballerina), he finds that this seemingly graceful ballet company is performing their most dramatic acts behind the curtain. There are sharp rivalries, sordid affairs, and shady characters. Sargeant, though, has no trouble staying on point and proving that the ballerina killer is no match for his keen eye and raffish charm.
Crime Fiction/978-0-307-74142-4
DEATH BEFORE BEDTIME
In Death Before Bedtime, Peter Sargeant is invited to the home of a venerable senator to help strategize his imminent run for president. On the night before he’s to announce, though, the senator is murdered in his bed. No longer needed as a political publicist, Sargeant finds himself helping the police find the killer. He deftly navigates an eccentric cast of characters, all of whom are suspects: the rebellious daughter; the sycophantic aide; the grieving widow; and the power-hungry governor with his eye on the senator’s job. Somehow, between charming the senator’s daughter and glad-handing Washington’s elite, Sargeant still manages to methodically put the pieces into place and sees that politics truly is a cutthroat business.
Crime Fiction/978-0-307-74143-1
VINTAGE CRIME/BLACK LIZARD
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Gore Vidal, Death Likes It Hot
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