The Maltese Duck: A Lisette Rivers Case
by
Brian Sands
Portrait in Terror (1965), Anna Pavane, DIDDVDs 42, now defunct
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Chapter Two: Flax Pierpont’s Fakes
Lisette pressed the buzzer at the door to Pierpont Artistic Consultants. The Manager himself answered. He was a heavy-set man dressed in dark trousers, a light grey jacket, grey shirt and dark tie. His hair was so black that she suspected it was dyed. Lisette estimated Pierpont to be in his mid-forties. It seemed to her that the man’s dyed hair had greater significance than mere vanity. It was a metaphor of self that befitted a dealer in fakes.
The man led her through into the room. He closed the door behind them in a conspiratorial fashion, beckoning her on without a word. They were in a narrow storeroom cheaply furnished as an office. It had very little appearance of having been used. A narrow desk stood against one wall below a bookshelf supporting several dark green bottles with cork stoppers, their labels indecipherable. A clutter of faded brochures lay beside them. There was no computer, no typewriter. The light touch of a secretary was nonexistent. Lisette felt uneasy. But she noted an old fashioned telephone on the ledge almost hidden behind a yellowing newspaper, so the office must see some activity.
Flax Pierpont broke the silence. “Stella – Lady Sampling – phoned and told me the purpose of your visit. She describes you as a restorer of antiques, but did not mention your name or how exquisite you are.”
Reasoning that Stella Sampling thought it advisable to hide her real identity as a private investigator, and ignoring the heavy-handed compliment, Lisette took the subterfuge a step further by giving her alias. She wondered at the same time whether the name of Flax Pierpont was not itself false.
“Lisa, Lisa Watt-Rivers,” replied Lisette, extemporizing.
“Miss, uh, Watt-Rivers?” repeated Pierpont in a cadence that sounded like that of a schoolboy parroting his teacher without fully understanding.
They shook hands, the man’s palm, warm and moist, stayed in Lisette’s hand longer than for a normal handshake. He suspects. I must be careful.
Lisette sat in the wooden chair indicated by Pierpont, arranged her full skirt around her knees and folded her hands demurely in her lap. To do this she had to place her handbag on the floor beside the chair. That was her first mistake.
Flax Pierpont paced the room in thought. He came to a stop, sighed, and spoke: “State your business, again, for my benefit, in your own words.”
“Lady Sampling asked me to make an inventory of the items she has sold recently. She gave me a list of names, and yours is the first on the list. She wants to track down the piece named the Maltese Duck. It’s priceless. It’s gone missing.”
This was a bold move. If Pierpont had shady dealings in the art world the belief that the Maltese Duck had disappeared, and might therefore be available on the black market, could flush him out where other business dealings were concerned. But the ploy was Lisette’s second mistake.
“I see,” said Pierpont heavily.
The man walked to a briefcase that stood on the table, laid it flat and manipulated the lock. The clasps opened with a snap. Flax Pierpont reached inside and turned over a number of documents. Their stiff covers crackled. He rummaged further beneath them until he found what he was looking for, sighed with satisfaction, and turned. A small revolver appeared in his hand.
.357 Smith & Wesson
“This is a light caliber, Miss Rivers, a .357 Smith and Wesson, but it is quite accurate at close range. Oh yes, I know your real name. I know you are a private investigator. You are trying to make me believe that the Maltese Duck is gone and so might be available for private collectors such as myself. You are correct in one respect. I am interested in possessing that bird, and your interference has given me an idea.”
With one hand the man reached to the shelf behind him and lifted down a dusty coil of sash cord from where it lay beside the row of bottles. He walked across to Lisette and gathered her arms behind her around the chair. With the gun at her head Lisette acquiesced without a struggle. The man began to tie her using one hand. When several turns of cord had been drawn tightly around Lisette’s wrists, Pierpont dropped the revolver into a side pocket of his jacket and with both hands unimpeded completed the task of securing Lisette to the chair. The cord was passed several times around Lisette’s body, and her ankles were lashed neatly together with its end which was then knotted to a leg of the chair.
Pierpont stepped back and surveyed his captive dispassionately. “Suppose I suggest certain changes to your, ah, little scenario about the missing Maltese Duck,” the man said with a nasty smirk splitting his face. “You are a private investigator, yes. But I suspect that like many of your kind you have fallen into temptation and somehow acquired that statue for yourself. And you are canvassing for a bidder whose offer will make your deepest dreams of wealth and luxury come true.”
Sois Belle et Tais Toi(2005), Mylene Demongeot. Beatrice Altariba is tied up in the same room. Courtesy “Dean 1,” c3c Yahoo Group contributor. Free translation: “Be Beautiful and Shut Up” (or “Be Good and Shut Up”). Picture originally from the defunct Mulhusa Yahoo Group
Lisette allowed a feigned pucker of consternation to pass across her face. It had not been part of her plan, but the man’s suspicious nature offered an alternative means of escaping the trap she had got herself into.
“All right,” said Lisette reluctantly. “I’ll tell you where the Duck is. But first untie me.”
Her adversary gave a sharp laugh. “You are in no position to bargain, Miss Rivers. I have only just put you in restraints and have no immediate intention of freeing you until this business transaction between us has been completed to my satisfaction. My first task, however, is to confirm from Lady Sampling herself that the Maltese Duck is missing. It will not take long, merely a short visit to her studio. But first, what do we have here?”
The man retrieved Lisette’s handbag from the floor and upended it so that its contents poured out onto the bench top.
“It was wise of me to take this precaution,” the man observed in a flat tone as he held up Lisette’s small pistol.
He placed the weapon beside an assortment of compact, notebook, pencils, a bunch of keys, business cards, several neatly folded handkerchiefs of fine linen, and two silk scarves, also neatly folded.
“I’ve drawn your teeth, little cat.” He picked up one of the silk scarves and turned towards Lisette. “Time to inconvenience you some more before I go on my errand.”
The scarf, a plain white one, was shaken from its folds, made into a triangle, and rolled into a narrow strip of layered silk that was then tied across Lisette’s mouth. Pierpont stepped behind Lisette, bent over her and tied a single knot at the back of her head over her hair. He adjusted the scarf so that most of it slipped between Lisette’s jaws and completed the job of gagging her by tying it off very tightly before doubling the knot to prevent slippage. Lisette knew better than to struggle. Bound as she was, there was nothing she could do about the unpleasant precaution.
The man grunted in satisfaction. “That should do the trick. Putting a gag around your pretty mouth will make sure you have no ideas about screaming or calling for help. You won’t get away. I’m very good with knots.”
Sergeant Preston of the Yukon, Dell Comics, Comic Book Cover of the Day
Lisette returned his gaze steadily, anger at herself for walking into such an obvious trap overcoming her fear. She was not going to give Flax Pierpont the satisfaction of seeing her cry. She sat motionless, watching as the man left the room. As a further precaution against her escape, a key rasped and Lisette heard the sharp double snap of tumblers. This door was equipped with a deadlock.
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Lisette waited several minutes before gingerly testing her bonds. Her wrists had been tied proficiently. The future hours would have looked bleak if she had not several fallback gambits. Her fingers felt the reassuring pressure of the thin blade in the wide belt around her waist. With patience she would extract the blade and cut the wrist bonds. The Browning automatic and her mobile phone had been taken from her handbag, pocketed by Flax Pierpont. So they were gone, and the bugging device and miniature mobile phone were out of reach in her shoes. But they were still there. So also was the GPS chip in one of the pearls of her necklace, but it too was out of reach. She kicked herself mentally for not having activated it before entering Pierpont’s office.
Portrait inTerrorMajor John, Vol. 5, No. 106
The burning decision Lisette had to make was whether to get free and escape or to stay put. On one hand she needed to know more about Flax Pierpont’s criminal activities, and to do that it would be better to play the part of his captive. On the other hand, it was very uncomfortable, not to say painful, to sit in the chair bound as she was. The cords were agonisingly tight and tied so that their knots would not slip a fraction. Her ankles burned from the cord pressed into their soft flesh and her hands and fingers sparked with pins and needles. The gag, cutting into the corners of her mouth and holding her jaws open, was quickly becoming unbearable. She attempted to call for help but all that came out was a strangled croak.
A thin ray of light from the dusty window-slit above the door slanted across Lisette’s brow. It’s feeble luminosity served only to plunge the rest of the room into gloomy shadows. Helpless and unable to call for help, the situation would be hopeless if it were not for her gadgets and the indispensable blade in her belt. The strongest argument for not staying where she was and instead to make an escape was uncertainty about what her captor might do. She could hardly extract the blade and cut her bonds after the man’s return and, if Flax Pierpont became desperate enough, he might take measures to remove her permanently from the scene.
She sat still and listened intently for sounds of the man’s return. The building was silent. It was, she considered, a perfect place to hold her. It appeared to be largely untenanted and what office denizens there were had clearly left for the day in preparation for the night’s festivities. Her own modest office party would commence in a few hours. They would miss her, but she could not tell Sophie and Chèrie where she was until she got free. She had left no note.
In the end, curiosity won out over her natural inclination to escape. Lisette sat quietly in her bonds to see what might unfold. She had at least the satisfaction of knowing it would be easy enough to cut herself free when the time came.
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Surprisingly, Lisette drifted off to sleep in the airless room until she was jerked into wakefulness by the sound of the key grating in the lock. She raised her head. Pins and needles shot through her neck and were communicated to her arms and shoulders. There was no longer any feeling in her hands. She heard voices as the door swung wide: a plaintive question from a woman, an impatient rejoinder from a man.
“Why are you being so secretive? What do you want to show me?”
“Quit chattering! You’ll know soon enough.”
They entered the room. The woman was Stella Sampling, the man Flax Pierpont. Stella Sampling wore a slim dark skirt and a matching jacket. A polka dot silk top relieved the severity of the business suit. The woman came to an abrupt halt when she saw Lisette.
“My god, what have you done?”
“I think that’s obvious, Lady Sampling. I am holding the girl until we get to the bottom of the little scheme you two have cooked up.”
“But- but there’s no scheme!”
“Oh come on, Lady Sampling! You hired this private investigator to look into my affairs as plain as the nose on my face. Miss Rivers claims your priceless statuette has been stolen and she knows where it is.”
“Well, it has so disappeared!”
“In which case you suspect me?”
“You were the last person to see it, Flax. What other conclusion must I come to?”
“But the girl says she knows where it is. If Miss Rivers has the Duck how is it possible I have it? Your suspicions are unfounded. This is the little thief, not me.”
There was an awkward silence, then Stella Sampling spoke: “I- I hired the girl today. Until then I never set eyes on her. She must be pretending she has the Duck. Oh!”
Stella Sampling’s hand flew to her mouth as she realised what she had blurted out. Lisette, gagged, was unable to join in the conversation. That’s done it! The silly woman’s blown both our covers!
The same thought must have come to Stella Sampling. The woman panicked. The door was still ajar. Lady Sampling turned and bolted through it and disappeared down the corridor.
Flax Pierpont chuckled: “She won’t get far.”
At that instant Lisette heard a sharp scream, just as suddenly cut off.
Pierpont lounged back against the display table. He was still chuckling when two people appeared in the doorway. Stella Sampling walked into the room. She was helpless in the arms of a man who was holding her wrists together behind her in one huge hand. His other hand covered the lower half of Lady Sampling’s face, stifling the faint cries she continued to make.
One Monday We Killed Them All detail from book by
“I advise you not to struggle. My associate Mr Howard Goon is a professional wrestler. He can break your slender neck like a match stick.”
Lady Stella Sampling’s eyes fell upon Lisette and she became still.
“Bring her on in,” said Pierpont. “Lady Sampling, Howard will take his hand off your mouth. When he does, I strongly advise you not to attempt to scream or call for help, or he will be forced to gag you, as I have done with Miss Rivers.”
Lady Sampling nodded faintly and Goon removed his hand. But the henchman kept his grip on the woman’s arms. It was plain to Lisette that Lady Sampling was as helpless as a puppet in those giant limbs. Flax Pierpont chuckled and levered himself away from the table to stand in front of the two women.
“Now we will continue the conversation that you so impetuously interrupted.”
Lady Sampling licked trembling lips: “What are you going to do with us?”
Nice of her to include me, thought Lisette.
Pierpont nodded gravely. “I haven’t decided,” he admitted, “but if the thief is not the Rivers woman the obvious person hoarding the bird is you, and I suspect you persuaded this naïve private detective to investigate my affairs in order to throw suspicion off yourself when the real bird is found missing.”
“That- that’s not true!” Lady Sampling cried, but her flushed face seemed to give the game away.
It was hard for Lisette to judge because the woman could be responding to the dangerous situation, her blush revealing fear rather than guilt.
“Hmm. I think the only way we shall find a solution to the issue is to go through the storage basement of your gallery, accompanied by your fair presence. Howard, tie Lady Sampling’s hands. She will be less trouble if restrained. As for you, Miss Rivers, we will hold you below in our own cellar. When the situation is resolved I will know what to do with you.”
Against Lady Sampling’s protests, the henchman Howard Goon began tying her wrists tightly together behind her back.
Rip Kirby (1953), courtesy c3c Yahoo Group
Flax Pierpont was not idle while this was going on. With another coil of sash cord he bound Lisette’s legs together at the knees and thighs, untethered her ankles from the chair and retied them.
Leaving Stella Sampling to watch on helplessly, Goon turned to assist his employer. Between them the two men unfastened the cords from around Lisette’s body, lifted her clear of the chair and retied her, trussing her arms against her back. Pierpont then rearranged Lisette’s gag, making it tighter.
“That should hold the little fool,” said Pierpont. “Lock her in the cellar and join me at the car. Come on Lady Sampling. Needless to say, you shall be gagged as well if you make any attempt to call for help.”
As Flax Pierpont marched Stella Sampling from the room, Howard Goon picked Lisette up in his arms and carried her effortlessly into the corridor. They followed flights of stairs through the silent building until they reached a narrow passage with doors to either side. When one of the doors was unlocked Lisette was carried into a narrow cell no larger than six feet by four feet.
The small space looked like something from a prison or perhaps a medieval dungeon. Evidently each business in the building had been allocated one of the cells for storage purposes. Now it was Lisette’s turn to be stored. She was laid upon a bank of cardboard boxes that filled the area from wall to wall. Goon ran his hand appreciatively over Lisette’s thighs before he left so that when the door closed and the key grated in the lock, plunging the cell into complete darkness, Lisette’s chief emotion was one of relief.
A few minutes later Lisette managed to sit up with her back against the wall, straining uselessly at her bonds. Who’s telling the truth, the Pierpont fellow or Lady Sampling? Her fingers came to rest against the faint ridge of her belt where the metal blade lay sheathed. Time I used this and got myself out of here. There was nothing more she could accomplish by remaining Pierpont’s prisoner.
© Brian Sands 2009.
The Bondage Fiction of Brian Sands