It Depends On What You Pay

by Leslie Rampey

Lennie and Ed learn about a bizarre service that provides abductions for hire and renders the experiences into art, but there's nothing they can do about it until a dead body turns up. A very strange case indeed. Let me know how you like it!

3. Chapter Three

Chapter Three

            Judith was asleep beside him.  He shook her more roughly than he intended, and she woke with a start.  "Lennie?  What in the. . .   You scared me.  Is everything okay?"

            "The brochure.  Do you still have yours?"

            "What are you talking about?" she asked, rubbing her eyes.

            "The brochure from the exhibit.  Do you still have it from that night?"

            "I don't know.  Maybe."

            "Think!"

            "What's wrong with you?  What time is it anyway?"

            "Never mind that.  Just think – if you still have it, where would it be?"

            "Oh, goodness, I don't know.  Why?"

            "I need to look at it."

            "Where's yours?"

            "It's in the jacket I wore that night, and that's in my apartment."

            "And you need it now?"

            "Yes!"

            "Oh, um. . .   Hmmm. . .   I guess if it's anywhere, it's in the purse I used that night."

            "Get it."

            "Now?"

            "Yes!"

            She switched on the light on the bedside table and looked at him.  "Are you going crazy or something?"

            "No.  I just need to see it.  I. . .   I've thought of something."

            "Okay," she said resignedly.  "God, it's only 4am.  Do you know that?" she complained as she got out of bed and went to her closet.

            He didn't answer but waited impatiently as she looked through her closet and brought the purse back to the bed.

            "Is it in there?"

            "I don't know.  Let me look here in the light."  She rummaged some in the bag and pulled out the brochure.  "Bingo.  Are you happy now?"

            "Yes.  Turn off the light, and go back to sleep."

            He got out of bed and, brochure in hand, started for the living room.  She hurled his pillow at his back and said, "You are crazy, you know it!"

            By 5:30 Lennie was dressed for work, sitting at the kitchen table and sipping coffee and still looking at the brochure.  Judith in a robe and slippers padded sleepily in.

            He looked up.  "Did you get back to sleep."

            "No – yes.  I don't know.  Maybe I did.  What in the hell are you doing, Lennie?"

            "Just going into work a little early.  You go back to bed.  You've got plenty more time to sleep."

            Instead she sat down and looked at him curiously.  "What's going on with that brochure?"

            "Nothing.  I just had an idea about it."

            "In the middle of the night?"

            He shrugged.

            "You going to tell me what it is?"

            "Just something I need to talk to Ed about."

            "You're not going to tell me?"

            "Sorry, no."

            "Even if I'm dying of curiosity?"

            "You won't die.  Go back to sleep."

            She sighed.  "It's useless, isn't it?"

            "Yup."

            "What are you even going to do this early?  Everything's still closed."

            "The NYPD never closes.  You know that."  He stood and bent to kiss her.  "I'll see you tonight, okay?  I'm really sorry about waking you."

            At the 2-7, he retrieved the two evidence bags, glad that they hadn't yet sent them to the lab.  The newspaper-looking stuff he set aside but studied closely the other bag.  Then he pulled out the brochure and set it beside the bag.  Yes, it could be.  It definitely could be, but he was going to need the lab to tell him for sure.  And he was going to be on their doorstep and make sure they made it job one.  Hastily he left Ed a note and headed over there.

            Three hours later he was back in the squad room.

            "I'll be damned," said Ed.  "So, our guy could be one of the clients?"

            "It sure fits.  You get anything from Missing Persons this morning?"

            "Not a thing."

            "Well, there's only one obvious next step."

            "The gallery – I hear ya.  I'll call Carmichael to get a warrant."

            Lennie had a call of his own to make.  He wanted Judith out of that place before they executed any warrant.

            Learning that she and her assistant had gone across town to look at a piece of sculpture, he swore softly.  No, no one seemed to know the number where she had gone, but they figured she'd be back probably in a couple hours or less. 

            Oh, just great, he thought.  Probably she'd walk right in on it.  And what was she doing out wandering around the city without letting anyone know where she was.  He'd have to talk to her about that.

            "Okay.  Thanks, Abbie," Ed was saying and hung up.  "She says that if we're absolutely sure that mess in the bag and the brochure are the same thing, she won't have any problem getting a warrant, and she'll messenger it right over here."

            "She's springing for that?"

            "I think this abduction art thing has been bugging her as much as it has us.  Anyway, it'll save us a trip.  Listen, Lennie, I was thinking while I was on the phone that maybe you might want to call Judith and suggest she go home sick or something."

            "Way ahead of you.  I called, but she's out on some job."

            "And you can't reach her?"

            "Nope."

            "Well, maybe it'll be okay.  There's really no need to get rough.  Could be we won't even have to show them the warrant if they're willing to show us what we want."

            "Think it's going to be that easy?"

            "I don't know, Lennie.  You know more about these people than I do."

            "And that ain't a hell of a lot."

            Lennie tried a couple more times to reach Judith, but when the messenger arrived with the warrant, they had to leave for the gallery.

            There in the manager's outer office the secretary kindly told them that they were free to look at the guest book, of course, because that was a public item, but she declined to give them any further information, saying that it was "private."  Ed just as kindly explained to her that that wasn't the way it works.

            "Well, um, in that case, you are going to have to speak to Mr. Kirkpatrick."

            "So, please tell him we're here," smiled Ed.

            "Mr. Kirkpatrick never sees anyone without an appointment.  If you like. . . " and she opened a calendar, ". . . I can put you down for Thursday afternoon at. . . "

            Lennie sighed.  It was going to be the hard way.  "You can put us down for now," he said and placed the warrant on her desk.

            "Oh, um, well – I see.  I'll, um, see if he's free."

            "Yeah, you do that."

            "Mr. Kirkpatrick," she said into the phone, "There are two police detectives here to see you.  I think that their business is rather urgent."

            In just a moment the manager emerged from his office.  He and Lennie vaguely recognized each other from having seen each other in passing on Lennie's visits to the gallery.

            "You're the one who. . . " began Kirkpatrick.

            "Yes," interrupted Lennie, not wanting to bring Judith into this.

            "What can I do for you gentleman?"

            "Mr. Kirkpatrick," said Ed, "We're here regarding the 'Urban Experience' exhibit."

            "Ah, yes – a wonderful show.  It's been a big success for us.  Have you seen it?"

            "Yeah," said Lennie.  "We've both had the pleasure.  What we need is information regarding it."

            "Certainly.  I'll get Ms. Harris here to give you a brochure and catalog.  Now, if you'll excuse. . . "

            "No, sir – that's not gonna get it," Ed told him.  "We need to take your guest book with us, we need your invitation list, and we need the name and address of the artiste."

            "I'm sorry, but that is not the kind of information we can give out.  Our artists and guests expect privacy."

            "Oh, you ever hear of any artist-gallery privilege, Ed?"

            "Nope, I haven't."

            "You see, Mr. Kirkpatrick," Lennie explained patiently, "That's because there isn't any.  You don't have a choice about this."

            "Well, then, perhaps you'd care to step into my office," and he gestured them in.  He began to follow them but stopped and whispered something to the secretary.  All Lennie could hear was, ". . . call Tony. . ."        

            In the office, he invited them to take the chairs across from his desk.

            "Now, perhaps you gentleman could explain to me why you are looking for this information.  Maybe we can work something out."

            "Look," said Ed, "We don't even have to tell you this, but you might be interested to know that there is one very dead man in the morgue with one of the "Urban Experience" brochures in his pocket."

            "Well, that is certainly regrettable, but many, many people have viewed this exhibit.  Why, I saw you yourself here on opening night, didn't I, Detective, um. . . "

            "Briscoe.  Yeah, you did.  But I'm not dead."

            "Still. . . "

            "Still nothing," Ed told him.  "You're not getting it.  We're not here to debate this with you."

            Just then the secretary tapped on the door and opened it to admit Tony – and Judith.  Lennie jumped up when he saw her.

            "Lennie?  What are you doing here in Alan's office?  What's going on?"

            "What's she doing here, Kirkpatrick?" Lennie demanded.  "She's no part of this."

            "I asked her here.  Judith, I believe you know these two gentleman."

            "Yes, of course.  You know I do." 

            "Now, just a minute," said Tony who had been staring intently at Ed.  "I know you.  Yes, yes, yes, I do know you."  He began moving around the room nervously and pointed a long finger at Ed.  "I know this one, Alan.  He's been here before."

            "Judith, leave now," Lennie told her. 

            "Now, just a minute," said Kirkpatrick.  "You can't come in here and order my employees out of my office.  Judith, you stay until we sort this out.  I was hoping that maybe you could explain to your friend. . . "

            Tony was still dancing around the room and pointing at Ed.  "He's the one.  I'll bet all three of them are in this together."

            Lennie wasn't having any more of this.  He went to where Judith was standing, put his hands on her shoulders, and propelled her out the office door and shut it on her and the astonished secretary.

            "You have no right. . . "

            "Shut up, Kirkpatrick!" Lennie snapped.  "And you, Tony, you shut up, too, and sit down!"

            "Alan, I'm telling you – this is a plot.  It's Judith.  She must be out to get us."

            "Tony, what in the hell are you talking about?" asked Kirkpatrick.

            "This one here.  He showed up while I was mounting the exhibit.  He pretended to be interested, but now I know he was just nosing around.  Trying to make trouble, he is."

            "Yo, Tony, my man – you don't know how much trouble I can make if we don't get what we came here for, and I mean right now!"

            "Alan, what do they want?"

            Kirkpatrick was nervously running his hands through his hair.  "Fine.  Fine.  You want the guest book and the invitation list?  Fine.  You can take them.  Then please just leave.  And don't come back."

            "Apparently, you didn't hear my partner when he explained this to you the first time, Mr. Kirkpatrick," said Lennie.  "There was something else we came for, and we're not leaving without it."

            "Alan, what do they want?" asked Tony again.

            "Our 'Urban Experience' artist."

            "Well, they may not have him," sniffed Tony.  "You know that."

            "Hey, you don't get a vote!" Ed snapped at him.

            "Look, Mr. Kirkpatrick, we can tear this place apart.  Look in all your records.  See who you've written checks to since that damn exhibit opened.  You want us to do that?"

            Kirkpatrick shrugged.  "Do it.  But I'll save you a lot of trouble and tell you that you won't find any name."

            "Yeah?  And why is that?"

            "Goodness, Officer," sighed Tony impatiently, "I'm sure I explained all of this to you at the opening.  Genius. . . "

            ". . .'prefers to remain elusive    .'  Yeah, yeah.  So, how does this genius get paid?"

            Kirkpatrick and Tony looked uneasily at each other.  Finally, Kirkpatrick said, "Detectives, it's just as Tony explained to you.  This artist prefers to maintain his privacy.  We have, er, ways of being sure the proceeds from his sales are made available to him."

            "Oh, I'm sure the taxman is going to love hearing about that," laughed Lennie.  "Look, are you guys gonna cough up a name or not?"

            Kirkpatrick and Tony looked at each other again.

            "Let's be reasonable here, Detective.  Maybe we can work something out.  Now Judith. . . "

            "What about her?"

            "Well, I'd be prepared to look the other way about her part in this little. . . "

            That did it for both Lennie and Ed.  Lennie went and pulled Kirkpatrick to his feet, and Ed did the same to Tony.

            "Wait a minute!  What are you. . . "

            "What on earth?" squealed Tony.

            "You both are obstructing a criminal investigation, and we're arresting you for it."

            "Tony?" asked Ed.  "You have a last name?  I always like to know who I'm arresting."

            "You can't. . . "

            In short order the two men were in handcuffs and being marched out of the office.  Kirkpatrick told his secretary to call his lawyer.  Tony said, "Yes, call his lawyer."  Lennie was glad that Judith was nowhere to be seen.

            At the 2-7, Kirkpatrick's lawyer, Mr. Pancetti, already was waiting for them.  An incredibly nervous little man, he was informing everyone who would listen that this was the first time in his whole life he ever had been inside a police station.

            "Put him in the room with his two clients, would you please," Van Buren begged Lennie and Ed.  "This guy won't shut up."

            "And neither will Tony," groused Lennie.  "I wish some people would take the 'right to remain silent' literally."

            "Well, then they deserve each other," she said.  "Let 'em talk."

            They watched through the glass of the IR as the three of them conferred in what appeared to be a highly unsatisfactory conversation all around.  Mr. Pancetti, looking even more nervous than when he arrived, emerged from the room and said he had to go make a call.

            "Go play study hall monitor, Lennie," said Van Buren.  "I don't want these two to have a chance to concoct a coherent story."

            When Lennie entered the room, Tony jumped up with his arms flailing excitedly.  "You can't come in here!  You're not allowed to question us when our lawyer is not here.  I know my rights!"

            "Question you?" said Lennie wearily.  "I don't even want to talk to you."

            "Sit down, Tony," Kirkpatrick told him.  "Don't make things worse."

            "That's real good advice from your boss, Tony."

            A few minutes later, the lawyer returned, and Lennie exited.  And then Mr. Pancetti left again to make another call.  And then a third time. 

            When Pancetti, looking increasingly unhappy, returned that third time, Lennie asked Van Buren, "What do you think is going on with these guys?"

            "My guess is that they're not getting the answers they want from the lawyer, and he's probably going to call someone with more experience in criminal law to find out what to do."

            When Pancetti emerged a fourth time, Van Buren asked him, "Mr. Pancetti, how long is this little drama going to go on?  You know, I hope to retire in the next fifteen years or so."

            "My clients, um. . .   Lieutenant, I've advised my clients that now would be a good time to talk to your detectives."

            "Okay, guys, do you thing."

            Lennie and Ed entered the IR to find both Kirkpatrick and Tony looking extremely displeased and put upon.  They were glaring at both their lawyer and the two cops with equal distaste. 

            "This isn't fair," complained Tony.  "It's just like Nazi Germany, it is."

            "You think you'd'a gotten a lawyer in Nazi Germany, Tony?" Ed asked him.

            "Well, um, actually, Detective," the lawyer put in, "The German justice system did continue to function during. . . "

            "I'm sure that's fascinating, Counselor," Lennie cut him off.  "But right now we're more interested in the New York City justice system continuing to function – and it's your clients who are holding it up."

            "Alan," said Pancetti, looking meaningfully at Kirkpatrick.

            "I still don't see why we have to answer them," grumbled Tony.  "Journalists wouldn't have to.  Doctors wouldn't have to.  And this is so much bigger than any of that – this is art!"

            "Shut up, Tony," said Kirkpatrick.

            "Look," said Lennie, "Let's cut to the chase.  I'm sure Mr. Pancetti has explained to you that this is all pretty simple.  You have two choices: You'll tell us the name of the so-called artist, or you'll be spending at least the night on Rikers.  Personally, the first would make my life easier, but I'm really starting to enjoy the idea of the second."

            "That's a threat!  That's a threat!  Everyone heard him.  Isn't that police intimidation or something?"

            "No," said Pancetti.  "The detective was stating a fact.  We've been over this several times.  Alan, you and Tony know what you have to do."

            "Alan, I really think you should find someone more expensive than this shyster," Tony said, but everyone ignored him.

            "Gentleman," said Kirkpatrick, "You really cannot appreciate the incredibly difficult position in which this places me.  Perhaps if you could explain to me once more how your dead person. . . "

            "Lennie, what time that bus leave for Rikers?" Ed asked.

            "Alan," said Pancetti warningly, "I can't save you from this.  No lawyer could."

            "And if we tell you, we walk out of here?"

            "Yeah, but just keep yourselves real available until we find out for sure that you didn't have anything to do with it," said Lennie.

            "It's reasonable, Alan.  They could hold you for just what you've done already – or rather what you haven't done – even if you told them.

            "All right, all right," Kirkpatrick said resignedly. 

            "Oooooo, noooooo," squealed Tony.  "Alan!  You can't do that!  You simply cannot!"

            "Tony," said Ed.  "This is the last time anyone gonna tell you shut up.  Once more, and you will be on that bus to Rikers without your man Alan here."

            "The name, Kirkpatrick," Lennie demanded.

            "It's Coco Rapina."

            "Coco Rapina?" blinked Ed incredulously.  "Are we going to find this name in the phonebook?"

            "Of course not," sniffed Tony.  "You don't know anything at all."

            "So, where do we find Mr. Rapina?" asked Lennie.

            Kirkpatrick shrugged.  "I don't have that information.  The name is all I know."

He started to get up, but Lennie pushed him back in his chair.   

"Not so fast.  All this trouble for some cockamamie name that probably isn't even real?  You think we're going to let you go for that?"            

"That was the deal, wasn't it?"

"There you go again with that poor memory acting up.  Any deal was for a name and an address."

            "Be reasonable, Detective.  I can't tell you what I don't know."

            "But what you do know is how this Coco Rapina gets paid.  Look, I am getting really, really sick of waltzing around with you on this."

            "I only know the beginning of the process."

            "Well, we're waiting," said Ed.

            Kirkpatrick glanced at Tony who was looking positively green.  Finally, he said, "I write checks for cash, and. . . "

            Lennie pounded his hand on the table.  "And what?  Listen, Kirkpatrick, I am about ten seconds away from. . . "

            "I give it to Tony – okay?  I give it to Tony."

            "You give all of it to Tony?"

            "There's the commission for the gallery, of course."

            "And how about a commission for Alan?  You keep some of it, too?"

            Kirkpatrick was silent.

            "Look, Kirkpatrick," said Lennie, making a great effort to sound reasonable, "We're not the fucking IRS – okay?  We don't care what you're skimming.  We only want to know what the arrangement is so that we can find this guy."

            "It's not skimming – exactly."

            "What is it?"

            "It's all part of the agreement."

            "And now would be a really good time to tell us about that agreement," Ed pointed out.

            "Well, when Tony came to me with the idea for the show, I didn't want to touch it."

            "You know, that's the first thing you've said all day that's made any sense," said Lennie.  "Could be you might just be on your way to talking yourself out of this hole.  Keep it up."

            Tony slumped dramatically on the table with his head in his arms and wailed.  Ed cuffed him lightly on the head.  "We're gonna get to you in a minute, man, but right now I'm warning you that you better hush that screeching."

            "Police brutality," moaned Tony.

            "You were saying, Kirkpatrick?" asked Lennie, wanting to move things along.

            "Well, as I said, I wasn't at all interested, but Tony tried to convince me that it would be a huge hit – which, I might add, it has been – but I knew that I'd have real trouble selling it to the gallery owners.  Tony said that if I could do that, there would be something extra.  I didn't understand how that could work until Tony explained that Rapina would want to be paid in cash anyway.  I've. . .  I've never done anything like this before."

            "Well, don't feel bad, Alan.  Every great criminal was once a beginner," Lennie observed.

            "So, I can go now?" asked Kirkpatrick hopefully.

            "Oh, I don't think you're gonna want to miss the second act.  Okay, Tony – you're on."

            Ed pulled Tony upright by his collar.  "You hear him, bro?"

            "I have absolutely nothing to say.  And I'm firing this lawyer."

            "You never hired me in the first place," Pancetti pointed out.  "I was only trying to help you as a courtesy to Alan."

            "Nevertheless," said Tony, fussily straightening his shirt.  "I want a real attorney – someone who knows about these sorts of matters."

            "I'll give you some names," sighed Pancetti.

            "You do that.  And I'll call and interview them.  And you police persons should know that that might take quite some time because after this fiasco, I assure you that I am going to be pret-ty particular about who represents me."

            "I assume that Mr. Kirkpatrick is free to go?" Pancetti asked them as he rapidly jotted some names for Tony.  "It should be obvious that he's told you all he knows."

            "Just as long as he doesn't take any sudden trips.  We may be needing to talk to him again.  And, Kirkpatrick – just a personal word from me to you – Judith doesn't even imagine that anyone at that gallery even looks cross-eyed at her.  You got that?"

            "Is that a threat, Detective Briscoe?" asked Kirkpatrick, now regaining some of his composure.

            "No.  It's a personal understanding between you and me."

            "Let's go, Alan," urged Pancetti.  "My best advice is that there's no need in antagonizing anyone further today."

            The two men left and Tony glanced from Lennie to Ed.  "Oh, don't mind me.  Why don't the two of you just go on about your business – whatever it might be.  I'm perfectly content."

            "Listen, you creep. . . " Ed began, and Lennie could see that his partner was building up quite a bit of steam, so he put his hand on his arm and drew him back.

            "Don't, Ed.  It's not worth it.  Let's let the DAs sort him out."

            "I can make him talk, Lennie."

            "I don't doubt that, but I'm just not up to breaking in a new partner.  Come on – let's go."

            Van Buren, having observed the whole process, was waiting for them.  "Don't feel bad, Ed.  Lennie's right.  That strange little fellow is not going to talk.  You know, I think he's afraid."

            "Yeah, he oughta be," said Ed, disgruntled.

            "No, I mean of this Rapina character.  Did you see how he looked whenever his name was mentioned?"

            "I was concentrating on Kirkpatrick at the time," Lennie said thoughtfully, "But, you know, you could be right."

            "Well, we've still got nothing from Missing Persons – which is odd about a guy in a thousand buck suit – so, let's call Carmichael and see what she wants to do with Tony.  And, face it, guys, this one's gonna take a while longer than we'd like."

            And it did.  Lennie and Ed intermittently caught up on paperwork while they waited for Tony to find a lawyer, waited for the lawyer to show up, waited for Tony to talk to him, waited for Abbie to get out of court, and waited while she and the other lawyer negotiated a deal for protection of Tony at Rikers.  Finally, they were able to ask him some of the questions to which they really wanted answers.

            "Okay, Tony," said Lennie, very tired by now, "You ready to tell us about this Rapina?"

            "Anything you want to know."

            "Well, for openers, what's the deal with this abduction crap?"

            "That 'crap,' as you call it, Detective, happens to be a very lucrative venture, not to mention a marvelous source of the raw material of experiential art."

            "Let's skip the art part for now and get to the lucrative," suggested Ed.  "Exactly what does he get paid for?"

            "Well, for the art, of course, but you already know about that.  He also gets paid for the service he provides.  And, you see, this is what makes it all so wondrous.  He confounds and conflates his subjects with. . . "

            "Yeah, yeah – save that part for your memoirs.  Get back to the lucrative service stuff," Lennie urged.

            "Well, if you are really not interested in an analysis of. . . "

            "Trust me – we're not."

            "All right.  Well, if you want to be just as crass as you can be about the whole thing, Coco Rapina stages abductions."

            "My god, Lennie," Ed complained.  "We don't know anything more about this now than the first day we heard about it."

            "Don't worry, Ed.  Tony's going to tell us more – a lot more.  For example, Tony, why do people pay him to kidnap them?"

            "For the excitement, of course, silly."

            "Okay, scratch that.  I'm not even going to go there.  Tell us more about how he does it.  Obviously, he doesn't do it all himself because we saw various people on the tapes.  Who are they?"

            "Well, at first they were just other artists – you know, those not of Coco's genius who needed a little extra income, but that didn't work out very well."

            "Why not?"

            "I couldn't expect persons such as yourselves to fully understand this, but artists tend to be gentle, sensitive souls, and it's not really in their nature to do the kind of work Coco and his clients required in order to maintain the authenticity of the artistic production."

            "So, he went out and hired himself some authentic thugs?  Is that what you're saying?" asked Ed.

            "Well, I wouldn't have put it so bluntly myself, but, yes, he did recruit persons whose talents and backgrounds were better suited to the enterprise."

            "Hey, I guess if you want a job done right,. . . , eh, Tony?" commented Lennie.

            "Exactly."

            "Okay, Tony," said Ed.  "Explain this. . .   Kidnapping's a crime, so how is it that no one knows all these abductions took place?  What about all those people on the street we saw on the tapes."

            "What about them?" shrugged Tony.  "They see someone with a video camera, and they figure it's a movie or a TV show.  That was never a problem.  And I must correct you – there were no crimes committed."

            "Yeah?  And how do you figure that?" asked Lennie.

            "Because it's what the clients want, of course."

            "Well, we'll let Mr. Rapina sort that one out with the DA, but right now, why don't you tell us what happens to these people after they are kidnapped?"

            "Well, that depends."

            Lennie sighed and had a feeling he probably was going to be sorry he asked.  "Depends on what?"

            "It depends on what you pay."

            "Now you're talking about those ordeals, right?" asked Ed.

            "Yes of course.  If you want to do this on the cheap, you could just be grabbed off the street, fight back as much as you want, of course – that's in the basic package – but then you are released relatively quickly.  However, you can add on pretty much whatever you like, but that's where it gets expensive."

            "You talking about the chains and whips now?" Ed asked.

            "If that's your preference.  Some like the gothic dungeon.  On the other hand, one woman wanted a suite at the Plaza and an Arab prince.  That cost her a good bundle, but Coco got a lovely pastel out of it."

            "How about just your basic bound and gagged?" wondered Lennie.

            "Doesn't sound like much imagination there, but I suppose the cost would depend on the setting.  Really, Detectives, I don't have a price list or anything.  Those details were not my job."

            "What was your job?"

            "Arranging for the show.  You see, Coco was doing okay, but word of mouth wasn't quite getting him the exposure he wanted.  Yet plain garden-variety advertising didn't seem to be the way to go.  But if I could mount a show that would generate interest and customers. . .   Well, then, you see the possibilities."

            Lennie asked, "Well, did it work?"

            "Oh, Detective, you have no idea!  Demand for Coco's service has increased tenfold since opening night.  He has a waiting list.  And he has raised his fees through the roof!  You simply would not believe how much. . .   Well, um, I suppose you don't need to hear about that."

            "Well, actually, Tony, that does bring us around to what we do need to hear about," said Lennie.  "Rapina – where can we find him?"

            "Find him?"  Tony blinked.  "You mean right now?"

            Lennie closed his eyes for a minute and hoped he could keep control.  "Yes, we mean right now."  His voice rose.  "Just why in hell do you think we've been going round and round with you and Kirkpatrick ever since this fucking morning?"

            "You don't have to yell," said Tony, offended.  "Tell him he doesn't have to yell at me," he said to his lawyer.

            "Look, man," said Ed, "This guy's an artist right?  Artists have studios, don't they?  Doesn't Rapina have a studio?"

            "Oh, of course he does.  It's just that it floats."

            "Floats?" asked Ed.

            "Yes," said Tony, waving his hand around in the air.  "You know here, there.  Coco says it keeps his work fresh."

            "And where would he be freshening his work right now?" Lennie asked wearily.

            "I'm afraid I don't know that."

            "Well, then how in hell do you guys do the money thing?"

            "He will call me when he gets settled."

            "Where?  At the gallery or at home?"

            "Either.  But he may not call for a while because now he's making as much or more from his service as he does from the sales."

            "Okay, Tony, here's what we need you to do."  Ed slid a notepad and a pen across the table to him.  "You write down every place this floating studio has been.  And every place you know of where these 'ordeals' have taken place."

            "Oh, all right.  And then are we finished?  Because I'm getting very tired, you know."

            "Tony, I have a couple more questions for you," Lennie said seriously, "And you better, by God, tell the truth."

            "Okay, okay.  Whatever.  I am so sick of all this."

            "First, does anyone else at the gallery know anything about what you've told us or know Rapina?"

            "Alan knows most of it, but, no, absolutely no one else knows Rapina."

            "You're sure of that?"

            "Really, Detective, an artist of his caliber does not associate with just anyone, you know."

            "And, so, why are you afraid of him?" Lennie asked quietly.

            The hand Tony was writing with faltered, and he didn't look up.  "Afraid?  What an absurd idea."

            "The truth, Tony."

            "Well, it's not Coco as such.  At least I don't think so."

            "Who then?"

            "It's his associates."

            "The thugs on the tapes?"

            "Yes.  Well, not at first I wasn't.  There were only a few of them then, but since the show, Coco has had to – well, expand his operation, so to speak.  There's. . .   There's a lot of money involved now.  I think some of them won't like it if. . .   Well, you understand."

            Lennie did, and he didn't like it at all.

            Back in Van Buren's office, she asked, "Okay, so where are we with this?"

            "We know the details of the operation, we know where this Rapina character previously has hung his shingle, and we have Tony with a sketch artist – to which he objected because he said he didn't want to work with a 'hack,'" answered Ed.

            "But nothing that connects him to the well-dressed dead guy other than the brochure."

            "No.  That's still our only really solid lead," said Ed.  "That's why we've got to turn up this Rapina."

            "You know, Lieu, I still think that the fastest way. . . "

            "No.  I know what you're going to say, Lennie, and you are not going to get yourself or anyone else kidnapped.  Besides, I doubt the Department could afford the fee."

            "There's that," Ed agreed.  "Plus Tony said that there's now a waiting list, so there's no telling how long it might take to happen."

            "Well, you may as well go home and get some rest, gentlemen, because tomorrow commences some good old-fashioned pounding of the pavement."

            Lennie was not particularly looking forward to going home to Judith.  She'd have all kinds of questions, the answers to which wouldn't be good for her to hear.  He was afraid that if she heard about the bound and gagged victim she'd be upset for days.  Briefly he considered pleading tiredness, which certainly was more than true, and spending the night at his own apartment.  No, he really was going to have to talk to her about this.  There was just too much going on that he didn't like.

            He was surprised to find her not at home when he got there.  It was almost six-thirty, and she rarely worked this late.  He supposed she could have stopped to do some shopping, but he was feeling uneasy and started to consider going to the gallery to find out if she were still there or when she left.  Just then he heard her key in the lock.

            "Working late?" he asked as he helped her with her coat.

            "No."

            "Well, it doesn't look like you've been shopping."

            "I stopped by the library."

            "Why?"

            "To catch up on the newspapers.  Lennie, come sit down with me.  We've got to talk."

            On the couch in the living room, she asked, "You going to tell me what's happening?"

            "With what?" he stalled.

            "Lennie!  Don't treat me like an idiot, please.  You seemed very distracted all last evening, you wake up at four a.m. demanding to see that exhibit brochure, you and Ed show up in my boss' office, and I hear later that you actually arrested him and Tony?  And I'm not supposed to figure out something is happening?"

            Lennie sighed but didn't say anything.

            "Okay, fine," she said.  "I've been doing some very interesting reading about what's been going on in this city the last couple days."

            "Judith, you know that's only going to upset. . . "

            "And you know what I find out?  A dead body was found yesterday."

            "It's a city of eight-million people.  That happens every day."

            "Bound and gagged?  And in the water?  My god, Lennie!"

            "I really didn't want you to be having to think about this."

            "Well, I am thinking about it, and I don't have to be a genius to be thinking that you're thinking that it has something to do with 'Urban Experience.'"

            "Okay.  You're right.  And you're right that we do need to talk about this, but I just wanted to spare you the gory details."

            "Well, so, this dead man was bound and gagged I assume similarly to what we saw in that damned exhibit?  Is that what made you connect it?"

            "Partly.  Technically, I shouldn't tell you this because it's part of the investigation, but we found a wadded up exhibit brochure in the jacket pocket.  I didn't recognize it at first because it was soaked, but then. . . "

            "Then it came to you in the middle of the night.  Okay, I understand that part now.  Can you tell me who this man is – er, was?"

            "We don't know that.  That's what we were hoping Kirkpatrick and Tony would help us find out."

            "And you had to arrest them to do that?"

            "Hey, that was their choice.  They tried their damnedest to keep from telling us what they know."

            "Why on earth wouldn't they want to help?"

            Resignedly, he gave her the highlights of the interviews with Kirkpatrick and Tony – minus Tony's fears.

            "My god, Lennie," she breathed. "This is horrible!  Just horrible!"

            "Tell me about it."

            "I always thought Tony was sleazy, but for Alan to be involved in something like this!"

            "Some people just never can resist a little something under the table.  He knew the exhibit wasn't a good idea, but he ignored his better judgment and went for the bucks."

            "And you are sure that this Coco Rapina killed the man?"

            "Well, that gets a little complicated."

            "How?" 

            These were details Lennie really didn't want to get into because he was sure it was going to cause her to think once again about Stephen Campbell, but she knew too much for him to stop now, and there were some important things she was going to have to realize anyhow.

            "First of all, no one killed him.  He died of a heart attack."

            "Well, so would I if someone did that to me.  Wouldn't Rapina still be responsible?"

            "Probably, but we don't yet have any direct evidence that proves that.  We don't even know for sure that this has anything at all to do with Rapina."

            "But what do you think, Lennie?  You've got to have some sort of gut instinct about this, don't you?"

            He closed his eyes for a moment and then told her.  "Yeah, you're right – I am sure.  I just can't prove it yet."

            "What do you think happened?"

            "I think the vic signed up for the abduction, he had a bad ticker, Rapina's assistants went too far.  When they realize what happened, they panic and dump him."

            "Oh, God!" she said and went white.  She looked like she was going to be ill.

            He put his hands on her shoulders.  "Look, Judith, there is nothing you can do about the dead man.  But there is something I need you to do for yourself."

            "What?"

            "Go stay with your mother for a while."

            "For heaven's sake, why?"

            "By tomorrow, we're going to be circulating pictures of both the victim and Rapina, and I want you out of the way."

            "You're going to be spending a lot of time on the case – I get that.  But it's no reason to send me away.  And that would be so far for me to come and go to work."

            "No, you're not getting it, Judith.  You're not going back to the gallery."

            "Of course, I am.  It's my job."

            "You're on an indefinite leave of absence as of right now."

            "Lennie, this doesn't make any sense."

            "It makes perfect sense.  You're going to have to trust me."

            "No."

            "You don't trust me?"

            "Of course, I trust you.  That's not what I mean, and you know it.  I'm just not going to take this on trust."

            "You're going to have to."

            "What was Ed saying about a time warp?"

            "Oh, for God's sake, this doesn't have anything to do with that!"

            "It doesn't?  You tell. . .   No, you order me to practically quit my job and leave my own home?  You know, I can go check the calendar, but I'm pretty sure that the last time I looked this was the twenty-first damn century!"

            "Let's not fight, Judith.  This is the wrong thing to fight over."

            "Well, then, what's the right thing?  Because I'm not going anywhere until you give me a reason why I should."

            "I don't want to get into things that you don't have any reason to know."

            "No reason to know?  You are not making any sense, Lennie.  And until you do, I'm staying put right where I am."

            "Please don't be stubborn.  Now really isn't the time."

            "Me?  Stubborn?  ME?"  She reached for her purse and fished out a compact.  "Just take a look there, pal!" she snapped, flipping open the mirror and holding it up to his face.

            He pushed it away.  "Look, I'm too tired for drama – okay?"

            "Hey, I'm not the one who turned this conversation into a production of The Taming of the Shrew!"

            "That's not fair," he protested.

            "What's not fair is you treating me like an idiot," she said evenly.

            "I'm not doing that.  I just don't want to frighten you."

            "We've been talking about a man bound and gagged, dead of a heart attack, and dumped in the river.  What could be more frightening than that?"

            "It happening to you."

                                                                                                Go to Chapter Four --