Part 5 (1/2)

”What was it that gave him the boost? I know he suddenly started swinging more weight around.”

”Search me,” she said again. ”I knew him before then, but he never mentioned anything about it to me, he just got a lot of chips all of a sudden. We only been married three years.” She paused. ”And it seems like a hundred.”

I would have been willing to bet it hadn't seemed like a holiday weekend for hubby, either. I asked her a few more questions, but that was all she could tell me. It was, of course, enough. All she could guarantee was that Quinn would open the safe Tuesday night about nine p.m. Then I could sap him or shoot him or kick him in the seat of his pants, she didn't care.

She was fidgeting to leave, so we said goodbye and I thanked her for the cordial invitation. Not that I actually intended to use it. Going to Frank's party struck me as about as much fun as getting shot in the stomach.

Mrs. Quinn left. But when she left I was reasonably close behind her.

She wasn't difficult to tail, and she apparently had no idea that I was following her. She didn't look toward me once. She walked two blocks down to Fifth and continued straight ahead, so I turned left and ran the half block to my car, started it and pulled up to the stop sign at Fifth again in time to see her still walking ahead. I swung left and drove slowly toward her until she went into a parking lot and came out driving a cream-colored Cadillac. The car was easy to follow.

It was dark when she drove into the Sand Dunes Motel on Beverly Boulevard. I watched her park and go into the third unit in from the street, without knocking. Two minutes later I had parked and walked to the motel's entrance. I walked past it, continued on around to the rear of that third unit. I got there about ten seconds before they turned out the lights. There were a few inches of s.p.a.ce beneath a drawn shade, room enough for me to peer through. I peered.

”They” consisted of Mrs. Frank Quinn, and the guy I knew only as Jay. The guy I'd seen in the red-and-black room Sat.u.r.day with Frank Quinn. He was Frank Quinn's right-hand man, no doubt; but he was more than that to Mrs. Frank Quinn. He was even more than both hands.

The ten seconds before the lights went out were enough. It couldn't have been more than three minutes all told since she had walked in the front door. But the way they were acting, even a fool would have guessed that they were old friends.

Then the lights went out.

I walked back to my Cad, climbed in and lit a cigarette. It would probably be an exaggeration to say I was as happy about what was going on back there as were Jay and Mrs. Quinn. But I felt pretty good. Because this meant that undoubtedly Mrs. Quinn's offer of help to me made sense and was not merely a complicated way to get me knocked off. It explained who had told her some of the things she'd pa.s.sed on to me - the name she'd almost mentioned a time or two. And it meant there was a little undercover friction in the Quinn menage.

I dragged on my cigarette, thinking. Maybe it meant more than that - to me.

Clearly, Frank Quinn did not know what his ever-loving wife was up to. Clearly, he did not realize that his trusted, loyal lieutenant, Jay, had promoted himself to Colonel, at least. And obviously Jay, who was second-in-command to the boss, knew a great deal about the activities of his boss. Surely it was a situation I could turn to my benefit - and Ross Miller's.

There was a way. Yes, there was a way.

But I hesitated. It was not the kind of shenanigan I enjoy. But I was tempted.

I got out of the car and opened the luggage compartment, in which I do not keep any luggage. Instead I carry there equipment I have used, or may have occasion to use, in my work. A number of electronic items, an infrared snooperscope, walkie-talkie, about four thousand dollars worth of odds and ends, some quite odd indeed. I had to move a collapsible bamboo ladder and chest of burglar's tools to get what I wanted, but in two or three minutes I had the items.

Item: Yas.h.i.+ca Lynx 35mm. camera with an f-1.9 lens.

Item: Ca.s.sette of Kodak IR135 35mm. infrared film.

Item: Standard flash attachment for the Lynx.

Item: GE 5R flashbulbs.

In another couple of minutes I had the j.a.panese Lynx loaded with infrared film and the flash attachment fitted to the camera. With this film, and the lens set at f-4 .5, and a shutter speed of about 1/50 of a second, I could take very satisfactory pictures in the complete absence of visible light. Infrared film is sensitive to the near infrared or heat rays, lower in the electromagnetic spectrum than visible light rays. The flash attachment and 5R bulbs, when triggered simultaneously with the camera's shutter, would provide the quick burst of heat rays; the heat-sensitive infrared film would capture the picture. And there were three or four inches of s.p.a.ce beneath that motel-room shade; enough. It was possible, all right.

Still, I hesitated. You have to give me that.

Then a happy thought struck me. Maybe Jay felt like a winner at the moment, but I happened to know he was a two-time loser, ”two-time” in this case meaning he'd done two stretches in State clinks. And right now - I grinned to myself - Jay was breaking the law! In fact, he was energetically committing at least a misdemeanor.

Perhaps, even so, I wouldn't have done it if it had been for my benefit alone. Perhaps I wouldn't have done it if it hadn't been for the necessity of helping Ross Miller in a hurry.

But probably I would have.

Anyway - I did it.

Six.

After dropping off the fully exposed - possibly overexposed - roll of film with a photographer who'd done work for me in the past, I used a pay phone to call Lolita Lopez at the Whitestone.

She answered and I said, ”Lolita? This is Sh.e.l.l Scott again,” and waited to see what her reaction would be.

”Oh, h.e.l.lo, Sh.e.l.l.” She sounded quite friendly.

I said, ”Have you done any thinking about our last conversation?”

”What's to think about?”

”I guess that means you've nothing new to tell me.”

”Just the old things. And you already know them.”

”I'd still like to talk to you. All right if I drop by? I can be there in about fifteen minutes.”

”Sure. Fifteen minutes would be fine. I have to take a shower. But I'll leave the door open so you can come right in.”

One of those hot flashes. .h.i.t me again. ”Into . . . the shower?” I said, unbelieving.

”Goodness, no,” she laughed. ”You'd get all wet. I meant the front door, of course.”

”Of course. I don't know what I was thinking of. Yes I do - ”

”In case you get here sooner.”

”I probably will.”

”Then if I'm not ready, you can mix a drink or something.”

”I'll think of something.”

”'Bye.”

We hung up. Eight minutes later I tried Lolita's door. It was unlocked, all right. I went inside and looked around and heard the sound of shower water drumming on something - let's face it, drumming on Lolita. Then it stopped.

”Yoo-hoo,” I called. ”I'm here. Here I am.”

”That you, Sh.e.l.l?”

”Who else?”

”Mix me a gin and tonic, will you? I'll be right out.”