Not My Thing

‘Is that right? Now look, sonny, I’m busy. What do you call a serious crime?’

‘Kidnapping,’ the fat boy said.

Lepski gaped at him.

‘Kidnapping? What are you talking about?’

‘That’s a serious crime, isn’t it?’

‘Sure. Kidnapping, huh?’ Lepski lifted his hat, scratched his head and replaced his hat. ‘Now listen, sonny, if you’re wasting my time, I could make it rough for you. Are you serious or are you trying to be smart?’

The fat boy regarded Lepski with bored eyes.

‘Do you want my statement or don’t you? I have to get home for dinner. If I’m late, my father moans. If there’s one thing I hate more than another it’s when my father moans.’

‘Okay. Sit down and tell me,’ Lepski said, pushing his hat further back. ‘Who was kidnapped, when and where?’

The fat boy looked around, pulled up a chair, settled his bulk on it and rested his chubby hands on his still more chubby thighs.

‘To save time, shouldn’t you get out a form, know who I am, where I live, and then take my statement?’

Lepski made a noise like a buzz-saw hitting a knot of wood.

‘My father makes noises like that,’ the fat boy said. ‘He has digestive problems.’

‘Yeah.’ Lepski produced a pad from his desk drawer. ‘Okay, sonny. What’s your name?’

‘Frederick Whitelaw, and I would be glad if you didn’t call me ‘Sonny’. My friends call me Fat-ma, but you’re not a friend.’

Lepski began to drum on his desk.

‘That’s right, Freddy Whitelaw, huh?’

‘Yes. My father is Hubert Whitelaw who owns the Whitelaw chain of self-service stores,’ the fat boy said complacently.

Lepski became attentive. Hubert Whitelaw was one of the more important citizens of Paradise City.

‘Yeah,’ he said, and wrote on his pad. ‘You live at Villa Verbena, on Ocean road… right?’

‘That’s where I live.’

Lepski wrote the address down.

‘Okay. What’s this about kidnapping.’

The fat boy stuck his forefinger up his right nostril, moved it around, but found nothing to interest him.

‘I am a bird-watcher, Mr Lepski.’

Lepski leered.

‘I’d have thought you were a bit young to start that.’

The fat boy sighed.

‘Feathered birds, Mr Lepski. The ones that fly. Not those who would interest you.’

A real smart little alec, Lepski thought, drumming his fingers on his desk.

‘So you’re a bird-watcher, huh?’

‘Yes. Every morning at seven, I climb a tree in our garden. I’ve built a hide up there, and I watch birds. I see all kinds of birds: mocking-birds, cardinals, painted buntings…’

‘Okay, okay,’ Lepski interrupted. ‘I have the photo. What’s this about kidnapping?’

‘This morning, at a few minutes to eight o’clock, I was in my hide and saw Mrs Sherman Jamison kidnapped.’

Lepski reacted as if he had been goosed by a red-hot iron.

‘Mrs Sherman Jamison?’ he bawled, half starting out of his chair.

The fat boy nodded complacently.

‘That’s right. They live across the road. Snobs. I’ve no time for them. They’re too rich.’

‘You saw Mrs Jamison kidnapped at eight o’clock this morning?’ Lepski said, speaking slowly and distinctly.

‘That’s correct.’

‘How do you know she was kidnapped? Now listen, Freddy, if this is your idea of a joke, you’ll be sorry.’

The fat boy stuck his forefinger up his left nostril and still found nothing to interest him.

‘I can’t do more than tell you, can I?’

Lepski’s mind began to race. Sherman Jamison’s wife kidnapped! Jesus! This would set Paradise City right back on its rich heels!

‘Okay, Freddy. So what happened?’

‘I was in my hide. Looking across the road, I saw a car pull up right outside the Jamisons’ gates. A man got out and lifted the hood as if the car had broken down. This interested me, so I watched.’ The fat boy regarded Lepski. ‘Are you getting all this down?’

‘Not yet,’ Lepski said, controlling his temper. ‘Keep going.’

The fat boy shrugged.

‘Okay. So I saw Mrs Jamison drive down to the gates. She always goes to church at this time. Because this other car was blocking the gates, she got out of her car and walked to the driver to ask him, I guess, to move his car out of the way. While they were talking, a little guy came out of the stalled car and caught Mrs Jamison around the throat. She collapsed. This little guy carried her to the stalled car, threw her in the back, and the two of them raced off. It took less than half a minute.’

‘Right,’ Lepski said. ‘The time, according to you, was before eight in the morning. Now here you are reporting this incident at 18.00. Ten hours after this happened.’

The fat boy nodded.

‘Yes. I was sitting for an important exam. I couldn’t get to you before. I spent all day in the exam room, then I had to walk to you.’

Lepski suppressed a snort.

‘Okay, Freddy. Exams are more important to you than a kidnapping, huh?’

‘They sure are. I have to look to my future.’

‘I get the point. So you saw two men kidnap Mrs Jamison. Tell me about these men.’