The Kubla Khan Caper (The Shell Scott Mysteries) Read online

  It took a minute or two for me to get Sergeant Torge-sen, and when I told him it was Shell Scott calling, he said icily, “Good of you. Where in hell you been?”

  “Why at the Kubla Khan, where else? But I think I’m right now on my way down to see you, as agreed. Of course, I should probably change my clothes first—”

  “I didn’t mean you should come in any day you felt there was nothing else to do, Scott. I ought to—Skip it. No sense your coming downtown now; I won’t be here. On my way to the Khan.”

  “Well, I can see you there if that suits you.”

  “You’ll still have to come in and sign your statement, but the Khan would suit me. I want to talk to you.”

  “Something up?”

  “Yeah, something’s up, all right.” He paused. “It’s a little after nine-thirty now. I’ll be out before ten. Meet me at the entrance.”

  “Ill be there.”

  I hung up, wondering what was cooking. The way Torgesen had sounded, maybe it was my goose. Well, I’d soon know. At the Khan I parked the Cad myself and stood outside the entrance long enough to smoke two cigarettes, then the black-and-white car pulled up and Torgesen climbed out.

  He led me aside to a spot where we were alone and said, “Consider this official, Scott. Friendly, but official.”

  “OK.”

  “When I talked with Mr. Monaco last night, he said he’d hired you to do a job for him, but he didn’t go into detail. You want to fill me in? Not only what you’re doing, but what you’ve found out.”

  I thought about it. “Yeah, I guess so. I’ll naturally inform Monaco, but I don’t see how he could object to my cooperating with the law. If he’s got nothing to hide.”

  A quick quirk moved Torgesen’s lips, but I couldn’t tell if it was the start of a smile or a frown. “What did he hire you for?”

  “Originally, to find Jeanne Jax, who was then missing.”

  “Yeah. But what’s he paying you to do now?”

  “Well, for one thing, to judge a beauty contest—”

  Torgesen laughed. He could laugh pretty good when he wanted to. “And for another,” I went on, “to find out who killed Miss Jax, and Sardis; wrap everything up.” I paused and added glumly, “Preferably by noon.”

  “Noon when?”

  “Noon today.”

  Yeah, he could laugh real good. When tears started rolling out of his eyes and he appeared to be on the verge of a crippling attack, I said, “All right. Look, I think it’s funny, too. Will you shut up?”

  “Whoo,” he yodeled. “That’s a real knee-slapper. Well, hell, I’ll go on home—”

  “Sergeant—”

  “Whoo—”

  “Look, you want to hear what I’ve got to say or don’t you?”

  “OK, OK,” he said. “Sure. Hell, I nee—nee—” He was off again. At length he finished it. “—need all the help I can get.”

  “Funny.”

  I told him what I’d been doing and also what I’d learned, or thought I’d learned, hitting the high spots. But I was kind of mildly burning, and Torgesen almost but not quite snickered a time or two, so I hit it pretty fast.

  When I finished he was quiet for several seconds, and his heavy face got sober. And when he spoke there was no amusement at all in his voice.

  “I suppose you know about the Sardis money in this joint, in the Kubla Khan?”

  “Sardis money? Ephrim Sardis?”

  “Yes, Ephrim Sardis. Don’t play dumb with me.”

  I squinted at him. “It’s news to me. Sergeant.”

  “Scott, if you’re lying to me I’ll take you apart—”

  “Hold it. If I knew what the hell you were talking about I’d tell you. Or, if I didn’t want to spill I’d just clam or tell you to shove it. So what are you yakking about? You mean Sardis had some money in this place?”

  He glowered at me for several seconds, then made up his mind. “If you don’t know, you will soon enough. Your client put three or four hundred thousand in, but that’s a drop in a big bucket. The real money was put up by Sardis.”

  I blinked at him. “You mean Monaco doesn’t own the Kubla Khan?”

  “Own it?” Torgesen grinned, muscles bunching at the corners of his mouth. “Hell, all he’s ever been is a front for Ephrim Sardis.” He paused and added, with emphasis, but still grinning, “The dead guy.”

  15

  I rolled that around in my head for a while trying to digest the news, but it nearly gave me indigestion.

  It seemed Ormand Monaco was something of a fraud. At least he was taking bows that should have been somebody else’s. And I had not forgotten Jeanne’s trip to his home; the fact that hed not been there to meet me last night; the further fact that he’d been seen near the Sar-dis estate at, or very near, the time of the murder; his phony reaction when told of Sardis’ death. Among other things.

  My client. That was nice.

  “How’d you find that out?” I asked Torgesen.

  “We went through ithe papers in Sardis’ safe looking for something that might turn up a motive for the homicide. Found an agreement between Sardis and Monaco, signed by both of them and witnessed by their attorneys. All it really means, so far, is that Sardis put up the millions but stayed in the background—he never did like personal publicity—and Monaco would be the front man, known to the public as the owner.” He paused. “You sure you didn’t know about this, Scott?”

  “Yes, I’m sure. I’m not going to tell you again, Torge-sen.” He grinned and I asked him, “Anybody else with money in the Khan?”

  “Not so far as we know.”

  “Well, now Sardis is dead, who becomes the owner?”

  “We’re not sure of that yet. Ordinarily it would be his daughter, although Sardis’ parents are still living, and there’s an ex-wife back East somewhere. We haven’t tamed up the will yet—seems he had a New York firm handle that for him But we should have a copy this afternoon.”

  “Any kind of partnership insurance between him and Monaco? You know, if one dies the other takes over, or winds up with a fat chunk of cash?”

  “Not so far as we know. We’re still checking, and going through the papers Sardis had in his safe—you should see the tons of junk. Not to mention thirty thousand bucks. I should have a safe like that.”

  “Thirty G’s? In cash?”

  “Yeah. Funny thing, though. Supposed to be fifty thousand. Mr. Vail told us about that while we were out there. Also, his wife corroborated it, said her father always had fifty thousand in the safe, for emergencies. Pocket money for a guy like him, I suppose.”

  “What happened to the other twenty thousand?”

  He pursed his heavy lips. “Nobody’s been able to tell us that.”

  I said slowly, “This thirty thousand clams. Was it by any chance in C-notes?”

  He smiled without joy. “All in hundred-dollar bills. You’ll make an investigator yet, Scott.”

  I thought about what he’d told me, then I said, “I suppose you’re here to have a chat with Monaco?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Mind if I sit in?”

  He pursed his lips, finally said, “OK.”

  “Incidentally, since Monaco is paying me to find out who knocked off Sardis—money, naturally, which should go to the Sergeant Torgesen Memorial Fund—it seems highly unlikely that he plugged Sardis himself.”

  “Unlikely, maybe. Not highly. Well, let’s see what the man has to say.”

  We found Monaco in his office, which was much like Jerry Vail’s but twice as big; after all, Monaco was the multimillionaire owner of the Kubla Khan. The sergeant and I sat near his desk and Torgesen simply told Monaco what he knew, what he’d just been telling me. He didn’t fancy it up, or start in with sly questions, just laid it out and then said, “What about it?”

  Monaco had been studying the top of his desk while listening, and it was a few more seconds before he raised his head. He glanced at me, then looked at Sergeant Torgesen.
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br />   “Nothing,” he said. “It’s all true, of course. Naturally I realized, as soon as I heard of Ephrim’s death, that this would have to come out. It’s unfortunate—though I suppose it doesn’t really make much difference now. Ephrim was a very close friend, and that makes a difference.”

  He was cool as a cucumber. Cooler. But undoubtedly, as he had just indicated, he’d been expecting something like this.

  “Is that all you want to say, Mr. Monaco?”

  “Yes, Sergeant. I see no reason for amplification. I have committed no crime.”

  Torgesen looked deliberately at me, then leaned back in the chair and crossed his legs. “Now that your—your partner is dead, who owns the Kubla Khan?”

  “Neyra, I presume. My interest is protected; that is, I shall suffer no financial loss. As for Ephrim’s investment, its disposal was entirely up to him.”

  “In other words, you don’t benefit at all by his death.”

  “Not at all. On the contrary, I’ve lost a friend.”

  “You still maintain you were just driving around out at the Sardis estate?”

  “Not at the Sardis estate. Past it. Yes, just driving; we’ve been through this many times already, Sergeant.”

  “You didn’t go into the house. You didn’t know Mr. Sardis was dead until I personally informed you. Is that right?”

  “That is correct.” Monaco didn’t fumble around with a pack of cigarettes this time, but I was no less convinced fhat he was still lying.

  Apparently Torgesen was thinking along the same lines, because he said, “Frankly, Mr. Monaco, when I informed you of Mr. Sardis’ death, I wasn’t completely satisfied that the information was a surprise to you.”

  “Your complete satisfaction is not my primary concern, Sergeant.” Monaco’s tone was chillier than a fan in the freezer, but then he seemed to relax somewhat and went on, “I might say that not only was news of Ephrim’s death a shock, but I could not help being reminded at the same time of—well, of the agreement between us which you’ve mentioned. It was immediately clear to me that, should the text of that document become public knowledge, not only might there descend some onus upon me, but it could have a most adverse effect upon the success of the grand opening of the hotel, even on the survival of the Kubla Khan.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Monaco was quiet for a few moments, then went on. “In fact, when I employed Mr. Scott I offered him a substantial consideration should he be able satisfactorily to conclude his investigation before—within a very short time.” He looked at me and continued, “My motive should be more clear to you now, Mr. Scott. It was my . . . rather forlorn hope that this matter could be laid to rest, and any possible onus removed from me personally, before discovery of the agreement between Ephrim and me.” He shrugged. “I knew it would be found within a few hours, a day at the most.”

  I wasn’t able to concentrate on his words much, because Sergeant Torgesen was making faint strangled noises, and his fat face was getting a little red.

  There was silence for a few seconds, then Monaco said, “Are you all right. Sergeant?”

  “Yes, I’m—whee—oh—I’m all right.” He got himself under control and said abruptly, “What about Jeanne Jax?”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “When did you meet her?”

  “I’ve told you that. Here at the hotel Wednesday morning.”

  “Not before then?”

  “Not before then.”

  “Never saw her before?”

  “Not to my knowledge.”

  “Now that you’ve had time to think about it, can you name anyone who might have wished Mr. Sardis dead?”

  Monaco shook his head. “I can add nothing to what I’ve already said.”

  “All right. Thank you, Mr. Monaco.”

  The interrogation was over, just like that. I wondered if Torgesen knew something I didn’t know. It was quite likely. He stood up, nodded at me, then went out.

  “Be nice if you’d told me,” I said to Monaco.

  “Don’t lecture me, Mr. Scott.”

  “Who’s lecturing? I repeat, if would be nice if you’d told me about the setup between you and Sardis. The more I know, the more chance I have of getting lucky. Sometime this year.”

  He brushed a hand along the thick gray hair over his temple. “Do you think Sergeant Torgesen actually suspects me of murder?”

  “Hell, I suspect you. He’d be a fool if he didn’t.”

  “Mr. Scott,” he flared up, “you speak entirely—”

  “Relax. You asked me. Tell me, was it really a big surprised to you to learn Sardis had been shot?”

  “You heard what I told the sergeant.”

  “Uh-huh. I’ll give you ten to one he didn’t believe you—either.”

  “Don’t you have anything else to do, Mr. Scott?”

  “Lots of things. I’m doing some of them right now. Like I wanted to ask you about a party you attended a few weeks ago. At the Beverly Hills Hotel. Some of the talent-search finalists, the ones already chosen, were there. You were with Sardis and the Vails, I believe.”

  “That is correct. What do you want to know?”

  “Why were you all there? Just for fun?”

  “Parties are no longer much fun for me, Mr. Scott. They are part of my business. Specifically, to reach agreement with Mr. Leaf on final details of the contest to be held here. The amount of moneys and other considerations, and especially the role or roles in his television series which would be awarded, and to whom they would be awarded.”

  “You mean which of the girls present would get the goodies?”

  “You are a cynic, aren’t you? The specific individuals were not then and are not yet known, since the contest here has not been judged. I meant it was necessary to decide whether only the first-place finisher would be awarded a role, or if some of the runners-up might also expect similar though less promising opportunities.” He sighed. “The information was necessary not only that we might advise the contestants themselves, but for our advertising and publicity. Does that meet with your approval?”

  I ignored the barb. “Would you mind telling me why Mr. Sardis didn’t want it known he was the real owner of the Kubla Khan?”

  “Yes. But I shall tell you anyhow. There really should be little mystery about it. For a number of years, as you may know, I lived and worked in Hollywood. I’m well known there, have many contacts, many friends. I am fairly intimate with numerous individuals, some wealthy, many of considerable influence, not only in Hollywood but in Washington, D.C., New York, Florida, Europe—much of the world. As the apparent owner of the Kubla Khan, I could expect a friendly and effective press, many famous guests, an enormous amount of free publicity. Does that not impress you as sensible?”

  “I guess so. A little crooked, but sensible enough,,I suppose.”

  He flushed a little. But he merely said, “Perhaps there is a slight deception involved, but nothing for which either Ephrim or I should be executed. And nothing which should occupy such an inordinate amount of your attention, Mr. Scott.”

  I shrugged. Maybe; maybe not.

  Monaco went on, “There was also this—perhaps even more important—motive. Ephrim was actually quite a shy man. He had a genius for making money, in varied fields, but he did not enjoy meeting people. I do.” He stopped, scowled and added, “Usually.”

  I grinned and stood up. “OK. I’ll get to work and crack this dizzy case. At least, I’ll get cracking—”

  “Mr. Scott . . . “ He let it die, and looked sadly at the distant wall.

  I got up and, in silence, went out.

  Sergeant Torgesen was nearby in the lobby. He spotted me and walked over. “Hey, Scott.”

  “Yeah?”

  “What’s a onus?”

  I grinned, remembering that several times Monaco had stressed his desire to have it removed from him. “Probably not what you’re thinking,” I said. “I imagine Monaco meant it in the sense of a burden, something else t
hat would be a bother to him—oddly, it’s a milder word than I’d expect a guilty man to use. On the other hand, it just might mean guilty as hell.”

  “You’re a big help.”

  “Well, this probably won’t be any help, either, but there’s something I forgot to tell you.”

  “Oh?” He looked suspicious.

  “Don’t jump to conclusions,” I said. “I just forgot. And you were doing most of the talking—and laughing—when we met here, anyway. The thing is, last night I saw a guy chinning with one of the beauty-contest gals, name of Carol Shearing, and when I talked to her she said he was asking her about Jeanne Jax.”

  “So?”

  “So that’s all. I figured you’d want to hear about anyone checking on the late Jeanne.”

  “You figured right. Nothing else about him?”

  “I don’t know his name. Saw nun in the Seraglio last night. Had a few words with him, but I don’t know who he is. Haven’t seen him since.”

  “Let me know if you find out anything else.”

  “Sure thing.”

  Torgesen looked at his watch, then away and back at it again in a very hammy double-take. “Goodness,” he said, “it’s after ten-thirty in the morning. Hadn’t you better get busy?”

  “Not yet eleven-thirty?” I said soberly. “Then there’s no hurry.”

  He said a short, highly expressive word, and it is a good thing he said it softly because there were ladies in the lobby. After a short silence he looked at me specula-tively as though wondering if I’d forgotten anything else he should know.

  Then he said, “See you around, Scott,” and walked off.

  I strolled through the lobby and outside, and blinked.

  Not from the sudden brightness of sunlight. But because the man I’d just been talking to Torgesen about was not ten yards away.

  The big beefy character I’d shoved back into his chair last night in the Seraglio, and later spotted talking to Carol Shearing, stood with his thick legs spread, hands in his hip pockets and his coat pulled back over that beer-barrel-size belly, talking to another man. The other man was Jerry Vail.