Spiced to Death (17 page)

They weren’t the greatest of words but they were the best I could manage upon hearing this startling revelation.

I asked the big question. “Who offered it to you?”

“That’s the funny thing. I don’t know. Well, maybe that’s not so funny—he wouldn’t want to identify himself, would he?”

“When did this happen?”

“About two weeks ago. I thought he was some kind of crank. I didn’t know that Marvell was bringing the stuff in—he didn’t announce it till the last minute. I expected Marvell to call me and ask if I wanted to buy any. He didn’t, though, so naturally I started to wonder what was going on after I heard about the stuff being stolen.”

“This means that the person offering it to you planned on stealing the Ko Feng,” I said slowly. “To approach potential buyers after the theft wouldn’t carry any conviction—all kinds of weirdos claim to have committed major crimes. But by offering it before the theft …”

“That’s what I thought.” Professor Willenbroek nodded briskly.

“If you’re offered it again, will you buy?”

“Don’t believe I will.” He rapped his cane sharply on the floor. “Don’t hold with encouraging wrongdoers—especially murderers to boot.” He eyed me. “I suppose there’s no doubt that the man who stole the Ko Feng also killed your friend Renshaw?”

“It looks that way.”

“Can’t say it isn’t a temptation, though,” he said ruminatively.

“Ko Feng would be a valuable ingredient in some of your health foods, wouldn’t it?”

“Certainly would. Maybe you know this but a couple of thousand years ago, spices weren’t used that much for cooking. Their main uses were in ointments, curatives for whatever ailed you, pick-me-ups and drugs and medicines of all kinds. They were the ingredients that cured people and helped them live happier lives.”

“Just as you’re doing today with your health foods.”

“Precisely,” he snapped. “I’m not one of those old fogies who doesn’t believe in trying things. When I heard about this Ko Feng, I thought to myself, Here’s something I’ve got to have. And if it’s only ten percent as good as its reputation, then it’s something I want.”

I didn’t like his implication when he said that Ko Feng was something he had “got to have” but I took it to be a figure of speech.

“They used Ko Feng in Babylon—did you know that?” he asked.

“Yes, I did.”

“And China, and Egypt, and naturally in Rome.”

“Yes. All of the pre-Christian civilizations made extensive use of it. Alexander the Great is said to have taken it regularly and made it a part of the diet of his officers. The Emperor Charlemagne was a firm believer in it too and so was King Roger when he led the Normans in that amazing invasion of Sicily around 1000
A.D.”

“You’ve done your homework, I see.” He nodded approvingly.

“Which products do you plan adding it to?”

“Don’t know that there’s any of them wouldn’t benefit from it. Take breakfast cereals for instance.” He snorted indignantly. “These lists that some outfits show on the box—all those vitamins and minerals! Why, they’re a joke! Wouldn’t be surprised if one part per million of Ko Feng didn’t do far more good!”

I smiled.

“You’re certainly a believer in Ko Feng.”

“Belief,” he said. “Belief—it’s a wonderful thing, belief. I’ve always believed in it!”

“Because,” I reminded him, “we don’t have any knowledge of Ko Feng that is the result of scientific research.”

“No. But don’t think that those ancients didn’t know a thing or two about nutrition. They had to—did you know that every work battalion that built the pyramids had its own nutritional expert?

“I didn’t know that,” I admitted, “but I’m not surprised.”

“The ancients had a lot of extremely valuable herbs—ginseng, yohimbe, gingko biloba—now there’s a good example for you! Five thousand years gingko biloba’s been around and people have sworn by it all that time. Scientific research has only just proved that it contains heterosites, the most powerful energizers known to man.”

“I don’t doubt that Ko Feng is going to prove one of the greatest nutritional benefits to mankind. First things first, though—and top of that list is to get the Ko Feng back from whoever stole it.”

“You’re the detective,” he said, though I could have wished that he’d put more conviction into the statement.

“Actually, I’m not.” And I launched into my explanation of what I was.

He was looking more and more disappointed as I went on. I tried to reverse that trend. “I’m working actively with the police on the case. They feel that a knowledge of food may prove to be very important in solving this crime—well, both crimes. Two of the finest detectives in the Unusual Crimes Unit have been assigned and between us, we’re confident of success.”

“Hmph.” It wasn’t an overwhelming vote of support and I hurried on to catch him before he cooled any further.

“Can I ask you to tell me immediately if you’re offered the Ko Feng again?”

“I’ll do that.”

“Or if there are any other developments that you think I ought to know about?”

“Right. And I’ll expect you to tell me as soon as you’ve found it.”

“Deal,” I said.

We shook hands and I walked outside with him. A sleek gray Rolls-Royce materialized and pulled to a smooth stop. I watched him go.

B
ACK IN THE HOTEL
room, I phoned JFK airport and after being advised to try various numbers, I got Karl Eberhard. He didn’t ask about the Ko Feng case and I supposed that was because his position gave him access to any information on it. He offered his condolences on Don Renshaw’s death.

“Were you in security at the airport five years ago?” I asked him.

“I was, yes.”

“There was a robbery in May five years ago. Do you recall it?”

“No, I don’t believe I do.”

“A shipment of birds’ nests from China disappeared after being cleared through customs.”

There was a pause. “Ah, yes, I think I recall it,” he finally said.

“You said you were there then.”

“Yes.”

“Did it strike you—the similarity between that theft and the theft of the Ko Feng?” I asked.

There was another pause. “Now that you mention it—yes, they are similar,” he admitted.

I waited for him to elaborate.

“You see, I was just a security patrolman then. I wasn’t involved in that case at all. I remember hearing about it, seeing it in the files, but I had nothing to do with it. I have had many promotions since that time,” he went on proudly.

It sounded feasible. I wondered if he was going to ask me how I had heard about the earlier case but he didn’t so I didn’t volunteer anything.

“Perhaps you can look through the files on it again,” I suggested. “Any similarities between the two cases might be helpful in this one.”

“I will do that,” he promised.

I thought of asking him to transfer my call but decided it might be a problem and furthermore there was no need for Eberhard to know who I was going to talk to next. So I hung up and redialed. This time it was easier and I was promptly connected with Michael Simpson.

“Still with us?” he asked in surprise. “Oh, I guess the police want you to stick around … That Ko Feng didn’t show up yet, eh? Nasty business about that fellow Renshaw. I didn’t know him that well, only met him a couple of times. Is there something I can do for you?”

I picked my words carefully. “Someone was telling me about a theft there at JFK about five years ago—you were there then, weren’t you?”

“Yes, I’ve been here twelve years now.” He hesitated. “What theft was it? I don’t recall.”

Eberhard hadn’t recalled either. Must be all that engine noise affecting people’s memories.

“A shipment of birds’ nests.”

“Birds’ nests?” He sounded astonished.

“From China. Hijacked—either at the airport or on the way to their destination. As a matter of fact,” I added as if I had just thought of it, “the shipment disappeared in a very similar manner to the Ko Feng.”

There was a long pause.

“Yes,” he said slowly. “Yes, now it comes back … birds’ nests. I wasn’t involved in the clearance of it myself,” he hastened to add, “but I recall seeing it in the files and I know that the police were here investigating.” There was another pause. “It was similar, you say?”

“There were a number of similarities,” I said. “Did you ever hear any more about the case? Did they recover the shipment?”

“Not that I ever heard.”

I hardened my tone. “I’d appreciate it if you could check the files on it for me.”

“Well, I don’t know …”

“There may be more similarities to the Ko Feng case than we realize,” I said, introducing a ring of authority. “Which, as you know, is now a murder case.”

“I—er, well, I’ll be glad to cooperate any way I can, of course. I’ll call you back.”

I didn’t place much hope in Eberhard calling me back as it was unlikely that he would run across anything even if he made the effort. With Simpson, I needed some facts.

“I’ll wait,” I said firmly.

“It may take some time.”

“I won’t be near a phone for some time. I’ll wait.”

He didn’t sound too happy about it but he agreed. It was some minutes before he returned. “I have the file right here.”

“Can you give me the classification number it came in under when customs cleared it?”

He did so.

“And it was described as what?”

He read off the Chinese names, letter by letter.

“Translated into English as …”

“White birds’ nests.”

“Good,” I said. That was what I had been hoping for.

The phone rang again, almost immediately after I hung up. I noticed that the hotel operator’s manner was more deferential than before. A visit from the famous professor, veteran of a thousand TV commercials, had boosted me up the ratings chart.

A deep male voice confirmed my identity, then said, “Please hold the line. This is Paramount Pharmaceuticals. Our Vice-President, New Products, Research and Development Division, wishes to speak with you.”

I waited. A woman’s voice came on the line, rich and melodious, just husky enough to be exciting.

“This is Gloria Branson speaking, Vice-President, New Products, Research and Development Division, Paramount Pharmaceuticals.”

“What can I do for you?” I asked.

A rough idea of what I might do was already in my mind. After the conversation with Professor Willenbroek, a call from a woman who was in a new products division for a pharmaceutical company wasn’t likely to have too many bombshell surprises.

“I’m calling because I’m sure we have a great deal in common.”

It was a sensually attractive voice, full of promise and allure. Many women are able to project such a vocal image but few are able to sound completely natural and sincere. This one did. I wanted to meet her and drink in more of that marvelous voice.

I reminded myself sternly that I was a professional and did not intend to be influenced by anything as inconsequential as a woman’s voice, no matter how fascinating.

“I was hoping we could get together over lunch—perhaps today?”

“That would be great,” I said promptly.

“Do you like intrigue?”

It was a question that caught me without an immediate answer.

“Vienna Intrigue. It’s on Fifty-second Street near Second Avenue,” she explained, a touch of exasperation in her voice. Then she turned on the full power of her oral intimacy. “Oh, I’m sorry. Of course, you’re a stranger to New York. It’s one of the better of our new restaurants. I know you’ll love it. Ernst-Erich Vogeler from the Goldener Pferd in Salzburg took over the kitchen only a couple of months ago and already he’s doing wonders.”

“What time?” I was trying not to sound too anxious.

“Noon. I’ll reserve a table. It’s not much notice but they know me.”

We had hung up before I realized that she hadn’t even said what we were going to talk about. Nor had she elaborated on what it was we had in common. Not that I had much doubt on that score …

I went up to my room. It wasn’t very large and I wondered if my raised status in the eyes of the manager would get me a larger one. It would be worth a try. In the meantime, I phoned Gabriella.

“Do you know Paramount Pharmaceuticals?” I asked her.

“I know the name. Nothing specific. Why?”

“Are they big?”

“Huge. Are they involved?”

“They may be. I just had an invitation from their vice-president in charge of new products. Lunch.”

“Did he say what he wanted to talk about?”

I saw no reason to correct her. After all, it was only results that counted.

“No but it can’t be anything except Ko Feng, can it?”

“I suppose not. Where’s the lunch at?”

“Vienna Intrigue.”

There was a low whistle.

“Know it?”

“Not on my salary,” she said promptly. “From what I’ve heard, it’s pretty ritzy. Well, it should be safe anyway. Just to be sure, stay away from dangerous people.”

“Absolutely,” I assured her. “I just had an interesting chat …” I told her about Professor Willenbroek. “You might want to talk to him, perhaps he’ll recall something he forgot when talking to me although there’s absolutely nothing wrong with his memory.”

She agreed and I asked, “Anything new?”

“A lot of work and not much to show for it. We’ve checked out the New York and Asian Bank—clean. We’ve checked the route that you took, all the way from the bank back to JFK. We’ve talked to a dozen police officers who were on that route—not one of them saw anything unusual. We’ve covered the airport itself. We’ve run a thorough check on Arthur Appleton and Michael Simpson—no prior convictions. We even checked Karl Eberhard, the security man—squeaky clean.”

“Eberhard’s clean, is he?” I asked, interested.

“Yes. The only one we don’t have a handle on is Sam Rong.”

“Why’s that?” I asked.

“We’re waiting for an answer from Bangkok. The time difference may be the holdup there, not necessarily any other reason. We’ve talked to staff in the entire cargo area—nothing.”

“It’s baffling,” I said. “It’s too ridiculous for words. How could the Ko Feng disappear like that? Even Houdini couldn’t have done that.”