5 I parked the car a half block down from SmileyÒs Automotive, got out and took a look around. Lower Manhattan had a lot of areas like this, old buildings eroding away from lack of maintenance, homes to run-down shops dealing in out-of-date or surplus goods. The smell of Butyl rubber came from a tire-recapping place that had opened early. Outside their doors two guys were unloading casings from a pickup truck. One place had a TOOL-AND-DIE sign in the window, but didnÒt look as if it did any business at all. There was a plate-glass shop that looked stable and another garage, just opening, that specialized in TUNE UP AND REPAIRS. A few other places looked like they were closed for good. When I passed SmileyÒs I thought it was closed, but there was a light in the back and somebody was moving around. I gave the door a bang with my fist, waited, then did it again. A voice yelled, ÓTake it easy, IÒm coming, IÒm coming.Ô A little old guy opened the door and said, ÓWe ainÒt open.Ô I stuck my foot in the door and put my hand against it. ÓYou are now, buddy.Ô I shoved it open, reached in my pocket for my wallet and gave it an empty flash and put it back. The gesture was enough. ÓYou doggone cops, why donÒt you just come down and live here?Ô ÓNo TV,Ô I said. ÓWhere do you live, Pop?Ô ÓThe same place I lived when the other cops were here. I already told Ñem.Ô ÓYou didnÒt tell me.Ô ÓRight around the corner. Over the grocery store. What do ya think youÒre gonna find? There ainÒt nothing here.Ô ÓItÒs a followup call, Pop. You know what a followup call is?Ô ÓI know youÒre gonna tell me, thatÒs what.Ô ÓItÒs in case you remembered something you forgot.Ô ÓWell, I didnÒt forget nothing.Ô I reached in my coat pocket for a note pad and let him see the gun in the shoulder holster. ThereÒs nothing that impresses people more than seeing a gun. ÓWhatÒs your name?Ô ÓJason.Ô I looked at him. ÓMclntyre,Ô he added. ÓAddress?Ô He gave that to me. ÓWho do you work for?Ô ÓI told you guys.Ô ÓNow tell me.Ô ÓWhen Smiley wants things done, I work.Ô ÓWhat things?Ô ÓClean up. Sometimes run errands. Hell, IÒm too old for anything else. Had to come in after the cops shoved everything around. What in hell were they looking for anyway? They said somebody beat up on a guy in here. There was some bloody spots on the floor and you know what?Ô ÓNo, what?Ô ÓI found a tooth, a whole tooth, by damn. It was right there on the waste pile in a glob of bloody spit. Wires and all still right on it.Ô ÓYou show that to the police?Ô ÓNah, theyÒd already went.Ô ÓLetÒs see it.Ô He gave me a glance as if it were none of my business and I said, ÓGet it.Ô It was a tooth, all right, a single partial plate holding what seemed to be a lower canine. Part of the plastic holding the tooth had been snapped off, but the wire bracings that attached to adjacent teeth were intact. I asked him, ÓWhat were you holding on to this for?Ô The old guy threw up his hands. ÓShoot, mister, them things cost money. If that guy came back looking for it, I could work a fiver out of him.Ô I shook my head as if I didnÒt believe him. ÓYou think IÒm kidding? Last year I had a pair of glasses that got under the hydraulic rig somehow. Glass was broke, but the rims was real gold. I got six bucks for it.Ô ÓWhen was that?Ô ÓI dunno. It was winter. Cold as hell out.Ô ÓWhere was Smiley?Ô ÓHe took that week off. I came in before he got back to make sure the heat was up. Smiley donÒt like to waste no money.Ô ÓWhenÒs he coming back this time?Ô ÓTomorrow,Ô Jason told me. ÓHe donÒt like all this crap going on here.Ô ÓThen IÒll come back tomorrow.Ô ÓWhat about my tooth?Ô ÓTell you what,Ô I said. ÓIf I canÒt find who it fits, IÒll give it back to you.Ô ÓCops donÒt give nothinÒ back.Ô ÓYouÒre probably right,Ô I told him. One block over I found the neighborhood coffee shop. I expected it to be the usual dilapidated slop chute that you come across in these areas, but the little old Italian lady who ran the place had it as neat as her own kitchen. When I walked in I must have had a pleased look on my face because she laughed and said, ÓSurprise, eh. You are surprise. Everybody new here is surprise.Ô I slid onto a stool and ordered an egg sandwich and coffee. ÓBacon?Ô ÓWhy not? Sounds good.Ô She nodded and turned to her stove. ÓAnd the big eggs I got. No little mediums. For the men who work hard, I got extra large.Ô ÓSounds great.Ô ÓYou donÒt work here, no?Ô ÓNope. I had something to do at SmileyÒs, but heÒs not there.Ô ÓAh, fancy man Smiley. I used to tell my Tony, Smiley was a fancy man.Ô She poured my coffee and I asked her, ÓWhatÒs a fancy man?Ô She shrugged and wagged her head. ÓLittle man, too big pants. Likes to make a big show. He wants change for a twenty for a doughnut. You want your egg over?Ô ÓReal easy. DonÒt break the yolk.Ô She buttered the bread, laid four slices of bacon on it and deftly put the egg on top. She watched me tap the yolk with my knife, spread it over the bacon and slap the lid on it. When I took my first bite I could feel the yolk roll down my chin. She laughed. ÓOnly the sexy men, they eat like that.Ô ÓDelicious,Ô I told her. Then: ÓGuy over there said Smiley would be back tomorrow.Ô ÓSure, he come back,Ô she agreed. ÓHeÒll buy coffee, give me a twenty. Big shot. Him and the ponies. I told my Tony he was a no-good fancy.Ô ÓDoesnÒt he ever lose?Ô ÓSmiley the fancy man? Never. HeÒs the big shot who never loses.Ô I finished my sandwich, gave her the right change with a dollar tip and said, ÓJust so you donÒt figure me for a fancy man.Ô For another hour I walked around SmileyÒs block talking to the guys who worked there. Nobody seemed to care much for Smiley at all. He got some odd jobs in his shop, but nothing that would mean big bucks. It was the track that kept Smiley a step above everybody else. One of the guys didnÒt even believe that. ÓShit, man, he goes to the track when there ainÒt no track running. He likes to make like he takes a plane somewhere, but shit, heÒs broke before he goes. When he gets back he has a bundle.Ô ÓSo he goes to OTB.Ô ÓYou kidding? Smiley goinÒ legal to Off Track Betting? A bookie, maybe, but no OTB.Ô ÓHeÒs got some great luck,Ô I said. ÓBalls. You know what I think? I think heÒs got an in with somebody. Guys what can move the odds around and tell him who to pick.Ô ÓWhere would he get clout like that?Ô I asked him. After he thought about it, he nodded. ÓYeah. So heÒs still a phony. So heÒs got money sometimes.Ô He spit on the ground and went back to work. There was nothing more here to see. When tomorrow came IÒd come back to talk to Smiley. Him I wanted to see.
* * *
Burke Reedey finished with his patients, washed up and came into the office. He sat down and rubbed his face with his hands. ÓFeel like a drink?Ô I shook my head. ÓNot now.Ô He opened a bottom drawer, found a mini-bottle of Scotch and poured it into a glass. He toasted me with ÓSouvenir of the airlines,Ô poured it down and wiped his lips. ÓVeldaÒs doing fine, you know.Ô ÓThey told me when I called. When will she be free to talk?Ô ÓIf you donÒt overdo it, you can go anytime. Her face is going to be a mess for another week, but sheÒll get back to normal. That blow she took was so massive we want to make sure that there is no permanent injury.Ô ÓAnd what would that be?Ô ÓFor one thing, a possible memory loss. So far thereÒs no indication of that. When are you going up?Ô ÓTonight.Ô ÓGood. SheÒll be glad to see you.Ô He grinned and added, ÓYou know, of course, sheÒs in love with you.Ô ÓWeÒve been working together quite a while,Ô I said. ÓQuit working and get married. Man, you canÒt see the forest for the trees. ThatÒs some woman.Ô ÓIn my business the longevity factor is pretty lousy, Doctor. It makes business for you and a mess out of marriages.Ô I changed the subject and handed him the broken partial plate from the garage. He took it, turned it around and looked at it from all angles. ÓWhat am I supposed to say about it?Ô ÓWhat are the chances of having this identified?Ô ÓI assume you mean by the police?Ô ÓRight.Ô ÓWell, they send dental X rays, photos of partials and full dental plates and patientsÒ charts around the country. I donÒt know what percentage results in an accurate identification by the technicians who did the work, but I know there have been numerous successes.Ô He reached out and dropped the partial in my hand. ÓA display this small wouldnÒt be easy to track. Its very simplicity is the trouble.Ô ÓDamn,Ô I said. ÓThe police are pretty resourceful, Mike. Their modern technology is awesome.Ô ÓSure, when it can be concentrated.Ô ÓCanÒt you narrow this down any?Ô I gave him a nice grin. ÓBurkey-boy, you
are one hell of a smart medicine man.Ô I flipped the partial in the air, caught it and dropped it in my pocket. Burke reached in the drawer and pulled out a small pill-sample envelope. ÓLetÒs be neat with that thing.Ô He watched me drop it in, seal it shut and put it away again. I told him thanks for his trouble, went down to the street and waved at a passing cab. Pat rolled the tooth between his fingers before he laid it on top of the desk. ÓYou come up with the damnedest things, Mike.Ô ÓYour guys didnÒt do a good sweep on that garage.Ô ÓMaybe if you had come right in that night the guys wouldnÒt have been so loose about it.Ô I nodded. He was right on that. ÓWhat am I supposed to do with this anyway? And donÒt say try to trace it. WeÒre not dealing with a dead body or a missing person, so whatÒs the priority? ThereÒs probably been a million of these partials×Ó ÓHold it, Pat,Ô I interrupted. ÓJust go to a pair of sources on this one. Check it out with the dental charts on FBI and CIA agents.Ô ÓAre you nuts!Ô Pat exploded. ÓYou think our guys are going to pull a stunt like that?Ô ÓWhy not?Ô He scanned my face. ÓGive me a reason. And not that bullshit about having a feeling.Ô ÓThere was a finesse to the situation,Ô I said. They were after one answer, nothing more. They didnÒt even try to kick the crap out of me for getting in a couple of good shots where they hurt. They left my rod alone. They had access to sodium Pentothal, they swabbed my arm with alcohol before injecting me. This is stuff guys with training will do automatically.Ô ÓSuppose it doesnÒt pay off?Ô ÓYou wonÒt know until you try, will you?Ô ÓInquiries like this can raise a few eyebrows.Ô ÓPat,Ô I said, Óyou know and I know that all of us have strange connections in odd places. The New York Police Department is a powerhouse, baby, and when they ask, everybody listens. Just go to your connections, kid.Ô The hard look on his face softened into an annoyed frown and he nodded agreement. ÓOkay, itÒs a possible, so IÒll put it through.Ô ÓGood.Ô I started to get up and he said, ÓWait.Ô He found a message slip under his desk blotter and handed it to me. ÓHere is a connection for you to go to, old buddy. Good luck.Ô Candace Amory had left a number for me to call. ÓBut letÒs keep our priorities straight first, Mike. You have something going for you, havenÒt you?Ô ÓLike you said, a possible. Nothing concrete.Ô ÓOkay, letÒs hear it, and cut the garbage about it just being an idea.Ô ÓNo problem, but tell me ... how many guys you got working on my abduction?Ô ÓGuess.Ô ÓOne.Ô ÓRight on.Ô ÓAnd what did he come up with?Ô PatÒs expression was a little shrewd. ÓI think weÒve been friends too long. You go first.Ô ÓSmileyÒs a middleman for somebody. That garage of his might make money, but itÒs a damn front.Ô ÓCan you prove it?Ô This time it was my turn to grin a little. ÓI might be able to do it better than you can. My rules are different. Now, what do you know?Ô ÓWeÒre on the same track, I think. Trouble is ... if heÒs on some kind of a payoff, he isnÒt leaving any tracks. He lives in a cheap apartment, has an old car ...Ô ÓAnd says he plays the ponies,Ô I put in. ÓWhoÒs to say he doesnÒt? This time he did leave town ... we checked him out.. . and probably did hit the track to keep his cover straight.Ô ÓYouÒve been working, Pat.Ô ÓNew YorkÒs Finest on the job,Ô he said. ÓMy guy tells me youÒve been nosing around the area down there.Ô Just trying to help. In this case, IÒm my own client if thereÒs any controversy about legitimacy.Ô ÓSo far, no squawks. If there were it would have hit the fan by now. The Terrible Trio have been prowling around here all day going through mug shots and burning up the phones.Ô ÓWhat trio?Ô ÓColeman, Bradley and your candy lady,Ô he said. ÓI donÒt get StateÒs involvement in this thing, Pat. Why would they want a rep on the ground floor? WeÒre dealing with a killer, not international intrigue. So Penta nailed one of their guys overseas ... and got an ex-mobster here ...Ô ÓHe was looking for you.Ô ÓBalls. I donÒt buy it. IÒm no damn motive.Ô ÓMike ... somehow youÒre in this up to your ears.Ô ÓYeah, great,Ô I said. ÓCover your ass, pal. You prowl around like you own the city and somebody is sure as hell going to take you out.Ô I looked at my watch and stood up. ÓI wonÒt make it easy for him.Ô They knew me at the hospital, but wanted to see my ID anyway. A new cop on the door scanned my PI ticket, driverÒs license, checking my face against the photo, before letting me into VeldaÒs room. ÓHey, kid,Ô I said softly. In the dim light I saw her head turn slightly and knew she was awake. They had propped her up, the sheet lying lightly across her breasts, her arms outside it. The facial swelling had lessened, but the discoloration still put a dark shadow on her face. One eye still was closed and I knew smiling wasnÒt easy. ÓDo I look terrible?Ô I let out a small laugh and walked to the bed. ÓIÒve seen you when you looked better.Ô I took her hand in mine and let the warmth of her seep into me. Inside, I could feel a madness clawing at my guts, scratching at my mind because some-body did this to her. They took soft beauty and a loving body and tried to smash it into a lifeless hulk because it was there in the way and killing was the simple way of moving it. ÓMike, donÒt,Ô she said. I sucked my breath in, held it, then eased it out. I was squeezing her hand too hard and relaxed my fingers. ÓEverything okay, kitten?Ô ÓYes. TheyÒre taking care of me.Ô She tilted her head up. ÓI miss you.Ô ÓI know.Ô ÓWhatÒs been happening?Ô I filled her in with some general information, but she stopped me. She wanted details, so I gave them to her. Finally, after thinking a few minutes, she said, ÓThe one you call the ÑwalkerÒ ... it was him all right.Ô ÓItÒs not much of an identification.Ô ÓMaybe ... I can add something,Ô she said. ÓIf that caller ... the one who made the appointment to see you ... is the walker, or the one you call Penta ...Ô ÓWhat about him?Ô ÓI taped that incoming call. You could get a voice-print off that and keep it for a match-up.Ô ÓDamn!Ô It was beautiful, all we needed was a suspect to tie into, but at least it was a plus. Generally, incoming calls arenÒt monitored so the caller wouldnÒt be wary about leaving his voice recorded. ÓHow come you had it on?Ô ÓI was getting ready to call Byers for those figures you wanted. HeÒs always in a hurry, so IÒd tape him and transcribe everything later.Ô ÓWhereÒs the tape, honey?Ô ÓI put it... in the Byers file.Ô ÓVelda doll, I could kiss you.Ô ÓWhy donÒt you?Ô I grinned at her. ÓWill it hurt?Ô ÓNot that much.Ô I put my hands on the mattress and bent down so my face was close to hers. Her tongue slipped between her lips, wetting them, and as my mouth touched hers she closed the one eye. A kiss is strange. ItÒs a living thing, a communication, a whole wild emotion expressed in a simple moist touch and when her tongue barely met mine, a silent explosion. We felt, we tasted, then satisfied, separated. ÓYou know what you do to me?Ô I asked her. She smiled. ÓNow IÒm horny as hell and I canÒt go out in the hall like this. Not yet.Ô ÓYou can kiss me again while youÒre waiting.Ô ÓNo. Ill need a cold shower if I do.Ô I stood up, still feeling her mouth on mine. ÓIÒll be back tomorrow, kitten.Ô Her smile was crooked and her eye laughed. ÓWhat are you going to do with ... that?Ô she asked me. ÓHold my hat over it,Ô I told her. The night watchman at the desk told me hello and added, ÓWorking late tonight?Ô I signed the entry list. ÓJust picking up some things.Ô ÓHowÒs Velda doinÒ?Ô ÓComing along fine.Ô ÓDamn shame, that. The cops got anybody yet?Ô ÓNo, but theyÒre working on it.Ô I gave him back the form and headed for the elevator bank. Only at night do you realize that an office building is almost alive. Suddenly there is no movement and what sound there is has a hollow ring to it and seems to be amplified far beyond normal. The lighting has changed and you get to thinking about funeral parlors and look for coffins in the darkened corners. What was alive during the day is dead at night. I pulled the .45 out, threw the safety off and cocked it. I tried the door handle first, making sure it was locked, then slipped the key in and turned it soundlessly. I gave it a full ten seconds, then knelt down, shoved the door open and went in fast, hit the floor in a roll and came up against the cabinets on the far side with the gun in my fist ready to fire. There still was no sound or movement after thirty seconds, and I felt for the light switch above my head and flipped it on. The room was empty. So was my inner office. Had anybody been watching it would have been a good show, but I wasnÒt taking any chances at this
point. I closed and locked the door, went to the smaller of the filing cabinets and opened the drawer with ByersÒ file in it. The miniature spool of tape was in the folder. At VeldaÒs desk I flipped open the recorder and slipped the spool in, then punched the play button. Three brief messages came on before VeldaÒs voice said, ÓMichael Hammer Investigations.Ô The manÒs tone was muffled, as though he held the phone a little away from him and spoke through a handkerchief. ÓYes,Ô he said. ÓWould it be possible for me to see Mr. Hammer today? Noon today would be best.Ô ÓIÒm sorry, but Mr. Hammer doesnÒt come in on Saturday.Ô ÓIs it... is it possible to contact him?Ô ÓWell, that all depends. Can you tell me who is calling and the nature of your business?Ô There was a brief moment of thoughtful hesitancy before he said, ÓMy name is Lewison, Bruce Lewison ... and my business is extremely urgent.Ô Velda persisted with: ÓWho recommended this agency, sir?Ô Politely, the other voice said, ÓIÒm afraid my business is a little too confidential to discuss. However, if you would relay to Mr. Hammer the urgency IÒm sure he would understand. And I can pay for his services in advance if need be.Ô I could almost hear VeldaÒs mind working. ÓIn that case, sir, IÒm sure heÒd be glad to see you. IÒll have him here at noon.Ô ÓI appreciate that, madam. Thank you.Ô The conversation ended. The voice was nobody I could recognize, nor could anybody else, most likely, but in this age of electronic technology the experts could pull a voiceprint off that tape that would make identification as exact as if he had left his fingerprints behind. I rewound the tape, took it from the case, put it in a plastic holder and dropped it in my pocket. I got a fresh reel from the drawer and put it on the machine. When I closed the top my fingers froze to the plastic. There was no way Velda would have left the answering machine without a tape in it. A fresh one would go on before she even filed the old one. The son of a bitch had come back. He had figured out the remote possibility of having been recorded, did a highly skilled job of opening the door locks and searching the place, the way a real enterprising reporter might. But he had already gotten what he came for ... the tape from the recorder. Too bad, sucker, I thought, too bad. He wasnÒt up on efficient office procedure at all. He never figured Velda would file his taped message and insert a new reel before he got there. But then, he didnÒt know VeldaÒs sensitivity level at all. Bruce Lewison my ass. She knew it was a phony name and red-flagged it for me in an off-file. I got out of the cab at the rear of my apartment building and went down the garage ramp. I took the service elevator up to my floor, stepped out at the far end of the corridor where I had a good view of the whole area, then went to my door. The splinter I had inserted between the door and the jamb was still there, so nobody had tried to bust in. The late news was on. I built a drink and sat in front of the TV watching everybody go through the motions of laying the city naked. Local politics was still a mess, but the mayor did his funny bit and made a joke of it. There was a street killing, a multicar accident on the East Side Highway and a tenement fire on One Hundred Twelfth Street. Almost the same as the news last night. When I was putting some more ice in my drink the phone rang and I picked it up and said hello. A voice in an echo chamber with a British accent said, ÓMr. Hammer, is that you?Ô ÓRussell?Ô ÓYes, right. This is he. I have some news for you.Ô ÓGreat.Ô ÓI must say, it was a bit of a go, yÒknow. Very difficult to get any information from the authorities except that the case was still under investigation. The people here knew that an American was killed, but didnÒt know why. The thing that was gruesome was the way he died. A knife in his throat was the murder weapon, but his fingers had been cut off his right hand.Ô ÓDid the press carry that?Ô ÓAfraid not, old boy. The only one here who knew about it was the man who discovered the body. Getting him to talk wasnÒt easy at all. The constabulary had explicitly forbidden him to mention it to anyone.Ô ÓThen howÒd you manage it?Ô ÓVery simply, Mr. Hammer. I offered him twenty-five pounds and my vow of silence.Ô ÓRussell,Ô I told him, Óyou did fine. IÒll send you a check at the going rate of exchange.Ô ÓDonÒt forget my football tickets and the story.Ô ÓYou got it, friend.Ô I hung up and sat back with my drink. Now Penta had an MO. He liked to chop off fingers. He took five off the agent in England and ten off the poor slob in my office. The numbers seemed to have a significance. And the chances were, Penta had left his trademark in other places as well. There was always a pattern to mutilations, always a reason for them. The big ones that hit the news generally had sexual overtones, breasts and bellies being targets for a deviateÒs knife, or male castration and on into animal and sometimes human sacrifices. Crazy. They were all crazy . . . but every one of them had a reason for happening. Penta. Was there a reference to five? Five fingers? But there were ten cut from DiCicaÒs hands. It was crazy, all right, but that was what was going to trip up Penta. I finished my drink, took a shower and went to bed. I set the alarm for six and set the switch. At seven thirty I parked two blocks away from SmileyÒs Automotive and walked back on the opposite side of the street. Outside the tire-recapping place a lone truck loaded with used casings was parked, the driver asleep behind the wheel. An old van rattled by and turned the corner up ahead, and that was the end of the traffic. Nobody seemed to be anxious enough about business to open early. SmileyÒs Automotive was just another place on the block. It was there. Nothing was happening. Behind the dirty windows in the door was the dull glow of a night bulb. After ten minutes nothing had changed and I walked across the street, and only when I got up close I saw the quarter-inch gap in the personnel door where it hadnÒt been closed all the way. When I nudged it with the tip of my toe it swung open, and I went in fast, the .45 in my hand, and flattened out against the wall long enough to get my bearings, then took four steps to the steel lift and crouched down behind it. Nothing moved. I inched my way to the other end of the lift and paused there, listening. The tiny scratching noises I heard were coming from the small office in the rear off to my left, minute hurried noises that stopped and started, then were joined by others, and when I heard the brief whistle sound I realized what I was hearing. I got up, moved to the door quietly and the rats that were running all over the place saw me and dashed across the desk. When I flicked the light switch on with my elbow I saw all the tiny paw prints and tail streaks from the blood they had been gorging themselves on, a thickening deep red pool that oozed out of the balding head that had been smashed open with a two-foot-long Stilson wrench. The body was still in the swivel chair, the head and arms flopped forward on the desk. Apparently that single blow had taken him out so fast he hadnÒt moved a muscle afterward. The eyes were still open, half a dead cigar was in the corner of his mouth, extinguished by the blood that puddled around it. Under the right arm were two bills from a Las Vegas hotel and a used airline ticket. I could see the name on one bill and the ticket. It was Richard Smiley. I draped a tissue around the phone, dialed 0, and when the operator came on told her I couldnÒt see without my glasses and gave her PatÒs office number. He had just gotten in and I was about to ruin his whole day for him. ÓYeah, Mike. Now whatÒs happened at this time of day?Ô ÓSomebodyÒs polished off Smiley.Ô ÓWhat?Ô ÓIÒm at the garage now.Ô ÓShit. You stay right there and damn it, donÒt touch anything.Ô ÓCome off it, pal. All IÒve done was dial 0 on the phone.Ô ÓYou alone?Ô ÓTotally. Whoever did this had time to get away. The blood is congealing enough to make him dead for at least an hour. Consider that an unofficial opinion.Ô ÓYou sure itÒs Smiley?Ô ÓHis papers indicate it.Ô Before he could ask I said, ÓThey were lying on the desk.Ô ÓOkay,Ô he told me, Óhang in there. WeÒll be right down.Ô I cradled the phone and looked around. I had probably five minutes before a squad car got there, and if there was anything to know I wanted it firsthand. For a few seconds I studied the way the body was positioned, as if he had been doing something on the desk. The blow had come down at an angle, carefully placed and forcefully delivered. The killer had been in close, standing there until the right moment, then he came down with the weapon on SmileyÒs bald skull and demolished him with one terrible whack. The Stilson wrench was simply
dropped beside the body and the killer walked out. He didnÒt even have to bring his own bludgeon. There were enough wrenches, crowbars and lengths of pipe in the office to handle the matter. Whoever the killer was, Smiley had known him. Had a predawn meeting been set for a payoff? It sure looked that way. Smiley could have had the money in his hands, counting it, probably the way he had before. No reason to be apprehensive. It was a regular business deal and he was just making sure he got what was coming to him. And he got that, for sure. The killer simply retrieved the money and walked out into a lonely night that didnÒt even have street people to watch him go. As professional kills go, it was a nice clean one. Just a big bang on the head and it was over. No fancy work, no revenge or bloody messages like the one in my office. Smiley still had all his fingers. The first squad car got there in four minutes. I held up my ID for the two uniforms to see, but the driver recognized me and nodded. ÓYou call this in?Ô ÓYeah. The bodyÒs in the back office. I left everything clean. All I touched was the phone under a Kleenex and the light switch with my elbow.Ô The officer took out his pad while the other one went inside. ÓLetÒs get the paperwork done first.Ô ÓSure.Ô I gave him all the personal information he needed, detailed my entry, the discovery of the body and subsequent events. As I was finishing, two more squad cars pulled in with an unmarked sedan right behind them. Pat was at the wheel, his face tight and drawn, and when Candace Amory and her boss got out, I could see why. Pat told them to stay right there until the investigation was completed inside, spotted me and came right over. ÓMike, what is this penchant you have for being around dead bodies? To hear the DA sound off youÒre a walking menace.Ô ÓI didnÒt kill anybody. Not yet, anyway.Ô ÓGiven time, you will, you will. And thatÒs from the mouth of our eminent district attorney. Now what happened?Ô I gave it to him the same way I did to the first cop on the scene. ÓAnd you came down here on a hunch?Ô I shrugged. ÓWe had a surveillance unit on SmileyÒs house last night. He never went home.Ô ÓIf he came in on the red-eye he could have come right here.Ô ÓWhy?Ô ÓBecause he was one of those greedy bastards who wanted his money as fast as he could get it. The office was as good a place as any for a payoff and the time was right.Ô The police photographers arrived and went inside. Pat looked at his watch and said, ÓYou stay put.Ô ÓWhere can I go?Ô ÓGo talk to the wheels over there,Ô he said. ÓPat ... how come the DA isnÒt giving you a hassle right now? He usually likes to be right underfoot.Ô ÓI think the Iceberg Lady has a leash on him,Ô Pat said sourly. No introductions were necessary. The district attorney and I had met before, and if ever there was an adversarial situation, it was the one between us. He had come up out of the ranks and was in his first term of office, and to him, people like me were legislative errors in licensing who had no business in police work. He was the type who disapproved of using informers or sting techniques or anything that might open a legal case to any type of defense. I said, ÓHell of a way to start the day.Ô ÓYou seem to have a knack for this sort of thing,Ô he told me. ÓCare to recite the details again?Ô I said no and went through the routine. He took it all in, filing away every detail mentally. ÓYou have a strange position here.Ô ÓYouÒd better believe it, counselor. IÒm a principal, a finder of bodies, an authorized investigator and if the reporters get here soon, source material for a good story.Ô Another car drove up and parked in the middle of the street. The medical examiner got out and walked past me. With an amused smile he said, ÓYou again, eh?Ô I nodded. ÓSome people have all the luck.Ô Candace was watching the exchange closely and waited until the ME had gone inside. ÓI think we have things to talk about, Mr. Hammer.Ô She didnÒt use my first name this time. ÓIÒm sure we have.Ô Pat called to the pair of them and waved them inside. He pushed his hat back and wiped his face with his hand. ÓI guess you got the picture,Ô he said to me. ÓUnless your guys turn up something else.Ô ÓSmiley wouldnÒt keep records of anything like this going down, but someplace thereÒs a paper trail.Ô I made sure nobody could overhear me and said, ÓThere might be something better than that.Ô He watched me out of the corner of his eye. ÓLike what?Ô ÓIf the first killer, Penta, was the one who made the appointment to make sure I was in the office, then I may have his voice on tape.Ô ÓWhere is it?Ô I took the cassette out of my pocket and handed it to him. ÓWho else knows about it?Ô ÓJust Velda.Ô He stuck the tape in his jacket pocket. ÓIÒm going to keep this in my own department for a while.Ô The way he said it, I knew something was irritating him. Before I could ask him what it was, I saw Jason Mclntyre sidling past on the other side of the street, his eyes wide with curiosity, but his actions reflecting the nervousness he couldnÒt hide. I said, ÓThereÒs a guy who can identify the body, Pat.Ô ÓWhere?Ô I pointed Jason out and Pat called a patrolman over and told him to pick him up. The old guy almost fainted with fright when the cop took his arm, but he went along, was taken inside and came out a minute later shaking, his face a ghastly white. But he had made the ID. It was Richard Smiley, all right, Jason went to the curb and puked. Candace and her boss came out together. He seemed to be a little glassy-eyed, but she was taking it right in stride. For a moment she looked toward me, but two trucks, remote TV units from rival networks, were coming down the street, swerved in hard and disgorged their crews with military precision. In seconds they had targeted on Candace, switched to her boss, sought out other high-priority subjects while one cameraman was trying to edge inside the building. ÓHow are you going to call this shot when youÒre on camera, Pat?Ô ÓUsual. The investigation continues, we have a suspect, we expect an arrest shortly.Ô ÓMotive?Ô ÓApparent robbery will do for now. His wallet was open, empty and lying on his lap. A crumpled ten-spot was on the floor as if the killer had dropped it pulling the money out of his wallet.Ô ÓThink itÒll stick?Ô I asked him. ÓNo reason why not. HeÒd just come back from a good day at the track, he was alone, somebody knew heÒd be loaded and jumped him. Smiley might have been squirrelly to come in at that hour of the morning but thatÒs the way he always was.Ô ÓIf they buy it,Ô I said, Óthe heatÒll come off for a couple more days.Ô ÓBut whatÒs your explanation, Mike?Ô I grinned at him and he frowned. ÓAll I have to do is make a statement to the police. Speculation isnÒt my game.Ô Without us seeing her, Candace had come around the back and said, ÓBut if you speculated, Mr. Hammer, what would you say?Ô Pat said, ÓGo ahead and tell her.Ô I reached out and straightened the lapels of her jacket. ÓIÒd say somebody just didnÒt want old Smiley in a position to identify him or his pals.Ô I paused for a second before adding, ÓAnd thatÒs pure speculation.Ô ÓCaptain?Ô she queried. ÓMiss Amory, speculation is what no cop does out loud. When the statements are made, the reports are in and IÒve analyzed the lot, an official announcement will be made.Ô She gave both of us a very speculative look, nodded, then walked away. ÓMike, old buddy,Ô Pat said, Óthat broadÒs got a look in her eye like she wants to clean your plow.Ô ÓThatÒs a career womanÒs defense mechanism,Ô I told him. ÓBalls.Ô ÓSheÒll get them too if you donÒt watch out,Ô he said. ÓYou want me to stick around or not?Ô ÓWhere you going?Ô ÓDonÒt worry,Ô I said. ÓI wonÒt leave town.Ô
Mickey Spillane - [Mike Hammer] Page 5