Not My Thing

Something was cooking, he told himself. Years of experience to smell out scandal sent red lights flashing in his shrewd, cunning brain.

Why was this stupid gigolo in such a panic? Why had he reacted so violently when Shannon Jamison’s name was mentioned? Who was this tough-looking man Lucan had been talking with?

Loose threads, but Drysdale was an expert at knitting loose threads together.

He started his car and drove back to his office.

***

Jamison arrived at his villa in Paradise City at 17.45. He had been met at the airport by Conklin. Jamison, his face hard and set, got into the Rolls and snapped to Conklin to get him home fast. He wasn’t talking to a bird-brain like Conklin.

Smyth was waiting in the lobby and, with a jerk of his head, Jamison indicated he was to follow him into the study.

Jamison sat behind his desk while Smyth, looking old and pale, stood before him.

‘Give me this kidnap note!’ Jamison barked.

‘It is on your desk, sir.’

Jamison looked around, found a scrap of paper, studied it, then pushed it aside.

‘You have followed my instructions? You have said and done nothing?’

‘Yes, sir. I have said nothing about this terrible kidnapping,’ Smyth said, his voice trembling. ‘I have had six telephone calls from Mrs Jamison’s friends. They were all asking if she was going to the concert tonight. I told them she had migraine, and couldn’t be disturbed.’

Jamison nodded.

‘That was efficient of you, Smyth.’

‘Thank you, sir, but Mrs Clayton has been twice on the telephone. She wanted to come here, but I managed to persuade her that Mrs Jamison didn’t want to be disturbed.’

Jamison scowled.

Meg Clayton, Shannon’s best friend! Always a bloody nuisance!

‘These kidnappers could be amateurs, Smyth,’ he said. ‘They could panic and murder Mrs Jamison. They say their ransom demand will be made at eight o’clock tonight. In the meantime, I will handle any telephone calls for Mrs Jamison, and there is to be no leak about this damnable situation. Understand?’

‘Of course, sir.’

‘Can Conklin be relied to keep his mouth shut?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Very well. Leave me!’

‘Sir, I am very sorry about this. You can rely on me…’ Smyth began, but Jamison waved him away with a savage gesture of impatience.

When Smyth had left the room, Jamison sat at his desk for the next twenty minutes, staring into space, his mind active. He kept thinking of Tarnia. Not for a moment did he think of his wife. He couldn’t be bothered about her. She had been kidnapped. Well, people, these days, did get kidnapped. Even if he had to pay and pay, he must be rid of her.

The soft buzz of his telephone bell on his desk disrupted his thoughts.

He lifted the receiver.

‘Yes?’ he snapped.

‘Sherry? This is Meg.’ A woman’s voice.

Jesus! Jamison thought. This bloody woman again!

Softening his voice, he said, ‘How are you, Meg?’

‘What’s this about Shannon suffering from migraine? She’s never had migraine before. What is this, Sherry? Shannon is the guest of honour at the Mozart recital tonight.’

‘Yes, I know,’ Jamison said, who didn’t. ‘I’m sorry, Meg. She won’t be able to attend. I am worried. The doctor has given her a sedation, and right now she is asleep. She developed this blinding headache while I was in New York. The doctor assures me she will be all right in a few days.’

‘Is that Doctor Macklin?’

Knowing that Macklin was Meg Clayton’s doctor, he avoided the trap.

‘No. I had my own specialist to take care of her. I’m sorry, Meg, but I am desperately busy. As soon as Shannon feels well enough, she will call you. My best to you and Jay,’ and he hung up.

By tonight, the news that Shannon wasn’t well would be all over the goddamn musical circles of the city, he thought. He had forgotten that Shannon was not only popular, but a talented cellist.

For the next quarter of an hour, his telephone rang with people asking after Shannon. He dealt with them politely and curtly, asking them to let Shannon rest.

He kept looking at his watch. In another half hour, Kling would contact him, and he would know the conditions of the ransom. Once he knew that, he would put the plan he had in his mind into action to defeat Kling.

Getting to his feet, he walked from his study, through the big living-room and out onto the terrace to stare at the rising moon and to feel the hot breeze against his sweating face. He drew in several deep breaths, then, seeing Smyth hovering uneasily, he said, ‘Get me a double Scotch and lots of ice.’

Returning to his study, he sat at his desk. He looked at the desk clock. The time now was 19.35. Soon, Kling would be telephoning him, and he would know what ransom he would be demanding.

Smyth entered and placed the Scotch that Jamison had ordered on the desk.

‘You will be needing dinner, sir,’ he said. ‘What may I prepare for you?’

‘Oh, sandwiches!’ Jamison snapped. ‘But later!’

‘Very good, sir,’ and Smyth, looking sorrowful, withdrew.