Spiced To Death Part 19

"That's not the point." She put down her fork to concentrate on her words. "This was my suggestion, my idea. If it doesn't succeed, I've failed. That is important to me."

"I can understand that. Still, you can't have much to worry about-it seems like an infallible notion from a marketing viewpoint. Aphrodisiacs will surely sell like-well, I don't suppose 'hot cakes' is exactly the right metaphor ..."

She smiled and took a hearty swallow of wine. "The concept is right, that's true. Even if our marketing forecasts are off by fifty percent, we should still do very well."

"Isn't it odd that no one has thought of this before?" I asked.

"A number of products are on the market but the FDA doesn't permit describing them as aphrodisiacs, and we can't advertise them as such. Yohimbine, avena sativa, and gotu kola are all herbs which have some effect as s.e.xual stimulants. Some claims are made for ginseng while others swear by gingko biloba. Then among the chemical stimulants are bromocriptine and acetylcholine."

She stopped eating and drinking temporarily and I knew she must have something important to say. "With Ko Feng, it's different. Ko Feng offers us our first clear chance of marketing a substance that can be accurately described as an aphrodisiac."

"How do you know?"

"Robert Barker's book The History of Spices, published in 1911, John Arthur Evans's earlier work, s.e.xual Stimulants and Erika Farber's The Venus Factor deal with the subject in general and make numerous references to Ko Feng. Rabd-Al-Manah's books in Arabic contain extensive mentions of natural products effective as aphrodisiacs and Ko Feng is described as the most powerful of all. A lot of other t.i.tles have acc.u.mulated in our library since I began this project and Ko Feng is mentioned frequently."

We finished our meal. We drank another gla.s.s of wine.

"The FDA will hardly accept the authority of deceased writers, will they?"

"We will, of course, have to do a considerable amount of research," Gloria said carefully. Her lovely eyes were on me, calm and yet inviting.

"Rats, guinea pigs, fruit flies, you mean?"

"No matter how much laboratory work of that type is done, it will still be essential to make tests with humans."

"Do you have a staff for this or-?"

"We sometimes use volunteers."

"I suppose with any work this vital, you have to partic.i.p.ate yourself?"

"Of course," she murmured demurely. She sipped more Spatburgunder and the dark red wine left drops on her lips. She dabbed at them delicately. "I could hardly ask my staff to undertake any research work that I am not prepared to risk myself."

"Management has its responsibilities," I agreed.

"Tell me who else is interested in recovering the Ko Feng," she said softly.

It took me a few seconds to switch subjects. I had been immersed in her plans for testing the Ko Feng and was still at the stage where I was speculating on exactly how results would be judged ...

"Other potential buyers are on the scene, of course," I said, being as noncommittal as I knew how.

"Compet.i.tors?"

"No, not compet.i.tors of yours. Different areas of business. I don't know that there are any others working in your, er-more sensitive area."

I wasn't absolutely certain that was true. There might be a shading of overlap, although putting aphrodisiacs into breakfast cereals did strike me as being too innovative to be likely.

"Are you making any progress in recovering the Ko Feng?" she asked me anxiously.

"Several promising leads have shown up," I said. "They are all being pursued."

"Do you have any idea of when you expect to get it back?"

"We operate on the basis that we have to succeed in ten days," I said, quoting Lieutenant Gaines but not crediting him for it.

"That means only about another week left." She looked concerned and I looked noncommittal. It was easy to do.

"I could use your help on this," I said.

She looked at me, inquiring but cautious.

"Let me know immediately if you're approached by anyone offering to sell."

"Do you think I will be?"

"It's possible."

When we left, she simply gave a nod to the maitre d. It was an impressive way to pay the bill but out of a twenty-three-billion-dollar turnover, I suppose she had a generous expense account.

After such a delightful lunch, I had a lot to contemplate. An investigator's life is tough and a food investigator is no exception. But I was prepared to do what an investigator has to do and when I got back to the Framingham Hotel, I decided to walk over to nearby Central Park and get some fresh air to stimulate my thinking processes. It was a pleasant afternoon with a light breeze and if I stayed with the crowds, I should be safe.

The nuts and the kooks were out in strength. A young man with a propeller on his hat was being pulled along on a skateboard, the power being provided by eight cats, all on strings like huskies pulling a sled. A group of monks in yellow robes were ringing bells and chanting. All had begging cups and a poster carried by one stated that the proceeds would go to building a temple on Staten Island. Bicycle messengers were using the park as a shortcut across town, and life and limb were being threatened in order to deliver office memos ten minutes sooner.

Two women went by, talking. "Know why the animals in the zoo are behind bars?" one asked her companion. "It's for their safety." The other sniffed as they pa.s.sed an overflowing garbage can with a particularly offensive odor. "I wish this city would collect its garbage as often as it does taxes."

On the way back to the hotel, I stopped and bought a fifth of Jack Daniel's, some limes and a bottle of ginger ale. Some bourbon purists throw up their hands in horror at such a mixture but I find it a delicious combination-so delicious it deserves a name. At the Fairway Market near Seventy-fourth Street, the day's specials were chalked up and I made a few purchases.

While enjoying the first drink, I watched television, still with an air of disbelief. On one channel, an uptight, egotistical, bombastic white male was the anchorman on a fict.i.tious television news station while a gruff producer with a heart of gold was avoiding complimenting a competent white female a.s.sistant. On another channel, a gruff talk-show producer was avoiding complimenting his a.s.sistant, an unappreciated white female and trying not to fire his bombastic, fatuous, uptight white male sidekick. A third channel seemed to have the same characters but now they were in a newspaper office. A fourth channel had the same characters only now they were all black.

The lunch had been satisfying but by eight o'clock, all the food commercials on television had made me hungry again. I peeled and sliced a large potato and put the slices in an ovenproof dish. I added salt and pepper and put the dish in the oven. Ten minutes later, I took out the tenderloin steak I had bought and pounded it thin. I heated a skillet really hot, added a little b.u.t.ter and as soon as it melted, added the steak. I swirled in some sherry, added an ounce or so of brandy and ignited it. I turned up the temperature on the oven to brown the potatoes, then put another piece of b.u.t.ter and some chives in the skillet.

This quick and easy version of Steak Diane is one of my favorites when I don't feel like really cooking. A second bourbon came and went during the cooking process. I should have been stimulated into brilliant hypotheses of the case but I wasn't. Watching Columbo, Jessica Fletcher, Perry Mason and Jim Rockford didn't help either-they made it look so easy. I had a third bourbon and made it an early night, not looking forward at all to tomorrow.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE.

THE INQUEST WAS A somber affair. It was held in a grim, high-ceilinged room somewhere in the rear of the County Court complex. Voices echoed eerily and the dark green walls were oppressive. The court recorder's machine clicked away remorselessly and from outside came the frequent howl of a police siren.

I gave my evidence and so did Peggy. Lieutenant Gaines gave the police report and the medical examiner said death had been instantaneous and the result of a single gunshot. It was over as quickly as if it had been carefully planned.

The verdict of murder by person or persons unknown was not a surprise to anyone. Peggy was pale but controlled and her sister-in-law was brisk and energetic with a very matter-of-fact view. Her husband, Don's brother, was a pragmatic north of England type, already thinking of early retirement from the brokerage business. We talked for a while and I was as optimistic as I could be about our chances of finding the killer. Peggy told me that the funeral was to be in Connecticut and apologized that it would be for the family only. I told her that I understood, not adding that I was confined to New York anyway.

I said, "There's a question I want to ask you. I'm sorry to do it now but it might have some bearing on the investigation."

"Go ahead," she said, "you know I want to help all I can."

It was a point that had slipped to the back of my mind. It didn't seem relevant and yet ...

I described the woman I had talked to at the Spice Warehouse just before Don had been killed. We had talked about ginger, she had told me that she had an appointment with Don, then she had headed toward his office shortly before we had heard the shot.

Peggy looked alarmed. "You don't think she killed him!"

"No, I don't. I talked to her for a few minutes and got an impression of her that doesn't fit with her being a murderess. But it was only a few minutes and impressions can be wrong. I thought you might know something about her."

"I don't think so. Describe her again."

"Early thirties, light brown hair, brown eyes, blue suit with a white blouse."

"Did she say she was a regular customer?"

"No. Perhaps she had only been in a few times. I don't know."

"She doesn't sound familiar to me," Peggy said, "but I'll tell you what I'll do-I'll talk to Maisie when I get back. Maisie works on checkout mostly but she's a real chatterbox and she helps out in the shop too. She loves to talk to people and if this woman is known to anybody, it'll be Maisie."

Minutes after arriving back at the Framingham Hotel, the phone rang.

"I'm here with Maisie," Peggy said. "She's seen the woman you were asking about."

"That's great! Does she know her name?"

"I asked her. She doesn't."

"Has she bought anything there?"

There was a brief discussion, then Peggy came back on. "Yes. She bought some tarragon not too long ago."

"Does Maisie remember how she paid for it?"

Another discussion took place.

"No, she doesn't," said Peggy when she picked up the phone again.

"Tarragon doesn't cost much," I said, disappointed. "She probably paid cash."

"Why does that matter? Oh, I see, if she used a credit card there'd be a receipt in the file."

"Right."

"We don't seem to have any way of finding her, then," Peggy said glumly.

"If you think of any way, call me."

"I will." She hesitated.

"Is there something?" I asked her.

"Well, it may be silly-I mean, it's so trivial ..."

"What is it?" I urged.

"Well, when Don and I came in to the warehouse that morning, as I left him he snapped his fingers and said, 'The most obvious ...'"

"Go on," I urged.

"That's all. I thought he was going to say more but he didn't."

"Thanks for telling me," I said.

"Doesn't help, does it?" Her voice was bleak.

"You never know. Give me a call if you think of anything else-no matter what."

She promised she would and we hung up.

I called Gabriella.

"Special Spice Operator checking in."

"All in one piece?"

"Yes. Why?" I asked, alarmed.

"You've been the subject of a lot of attention lately," she said rea.s.suringly. "Just a routine query."

I was relieved. "I thought maybe you'd heard something."

"As a matter of fact, I have."

"What is it?"

"Tell you in a minute. What happened with your vice-president?"

"Ah," I said, "yes, the vice-president... Well, Paramount is striking out in some novel areas of research. They are extremely anxious to get hold of some Ko Feng."

"How anxious?"

"I can't say. But the vice-president's job is on the line. This new research has to produce some startling results or this VP is out of a job."

"What impression did he have on you?"

"I-er, pretty impressive, I'd say."