Part 7 (2/2)

I said, ”Maybe it's nothing to get excited about - yet. But it could lead to a break. There's a guy who works for Quinn, very close to him, knows plenty about the creep. If I could get that guy to talk freely, cooperate - cooperate eagerly with me, let's say, I might get enough from him to really put the squeeze on Quinn himself. It depends on what this guy can tell me, or do, but I'm pretty sure I can . . . win his cooperation.”

Two small creases formed between her blue eyes as she looked at me. ”You can? How, Sh.e.l.l?”

”Well, I . . .” I paused, wondering how to phrase it. ”Put it like this. I've worked out a way to put plenty of - of pressure on this character. If he becomes giddily cooperative, fine. But if not, it's a pretty sure thing he'll get suddenly murdered.” I added hastily, ”Not by me. But nonetheless speedily dead. So I've a hunch he'll tell me whatever he can.”

Doris nibbled her smoothly curving lower lip. ”But what if he can't tell you anything that will help? What if he doesn't know anything?”

Scowling slightly I said, ”Then I'll think of something else, for Pete's sake.”

”Oh, I didn't mean - ”

She was all contrite, breathing deeply, bending forward, breathing, and pressing one contrite hand against her breast, and breathing. This gal spoke volumes, not only with her eyes and mouth and lungs but with a great deal more of her, and they were the kind of volumes that come in plain wrappers. Well, I could have bitten out my mean old tongue. This poor kid had been suffering agonies of suspense and fear and worry, while I had merely been hit over the head, and shot at, and such.

So I said, my voice throbbing warmly, ”Doris, dear, I didn't mean. What I mean is, probably this character can tell or do plenty that will help us. But even if he can't, well there's another possibility.”

I didn't like thinking about it, much less talking about it, but I went on. ”You see, Frank Quinn is throwing a very private party tomorrow night. At his ranch. If all else fails there's just a chance I can get in as one of the guests, and not get caught, and find info in his private safe that will wrap him up. And clear your brother.” My voice was sort of limping. ”In fact, if I can somehow do it, it should clear your brother and eighteen other people.” I paused. ”Of course, this is only as a last resort.” I paused again. ”Well, it's not exactly an ace in the hole, but it's . . . at least a deuce.”

”I see,” she said, sounding as if she didn't.

”Anyway, there really are some avenues left,” I went on. ”I'll know more about how it looks later tonight. And I'll either come by here, or at least call you, tomorrow.” I grinned, trying to brighten the atmosphere a bit. ”And I'll give you eight to five everything is much, much better tomorrow.”

”Oh, I hope so!” Her lovely face had some of that sparkle and hope in it again, at least for the moment, and she was leaning toward me. ”I want to believe you, Sh.e.l.l, I do. I want to . . .” She lifted one hand and let it fall gently against the lapel of my coat, and with the movement, unconsciously leaned even closer to me.

At least I guess it was an unconscious movement, but mine was plain old conscious, and when I stopped moving, her mouth was pressed against mine. Her lips were parted and moist, and so charged with heat and life that kissing her was almost like puckering in a light socket.

It seemed as if approximately two hundred and twenty volts zigzagged from my lips down to my heels and back, wreaking havoc in both directions, and when Doris pulled her lips from mine it would not have surprised me greatly if the house had been on fire.

”Oh . . . you'd better go, Sh.e.l.l.”

”What?”

She said it again. This was the big difference between us. One kiss and I was ready, and she was ready for me to go. I put up a pretty good argument, but she was adamant, which is Harvard for ”No.”

It was just as well, actually. I was looking forward to my imminent and important meeting with Jay. So I sighed and got to my feet. It was time I got back to work. Work, that's the stuff, I thought. None of this fiddling around when there's a job to be done. Man of steel, that's me. I was proud of myself. I stood a little taller.

”Sh.e.l.l.” Doris was on the couch, looking up at me, eyes half lidded, mouth moist and slack.

I sat down again.

”No,” she said. ”Don't . . . don't get close to me.”

”But you said . . . 'Sh.e.l.l,' you said. I mean, I know that's not so much, but - it was the way you said it. Or maybe it was the way I heard it - ”

”I just didn't want you to leave thinking . . . I mean, I'd like for you to stay. I really would - if things were different. But I'm, well, all in a jumble.” She paused. ”And there's so little time.”

She was right. I stood up again. Work, that's the stuff.

At the door, she kissed me again. You may not believe it, but it was even better than the first two times - yeah, I was keeping track. This was the third time that was the charm, an osculatory torch to cremate resolutions and inhibitions, a kiss that could melt cheap fillings and make a eunuch's voice change overnight - and what it did to me, as the door gently closed in my face, was make me realize that if one of Doris Miller's kisses could do all this, anything more than energetic puckering could be dangerous. Gad, it could be fatal, I thought. And then I thought: So what?

But the door was closed. And I am not a guy who breaks doors down. At least I'd never done it before. Anyway, I didn't do it. Instead I walked back to my Cad muttering, ”Work, bah, fooey, work, that's a lot of baloney . . .”

Next on the agenda was the problem of getting Jay alone somewhere, showing him my pictures - or rather his pictures - and discussing with him the various aspects of this photographic calamity. I'd learned he seldom left Quinn's fenced-in estate until well after seven p.m., so there was still time to pick him up on his way out.

I was driving fast toward the ranch when the shock hit me.

The shock was physical. It rammed through my nerves, stiffening my muscles, clamping my hands on the steering wheel. The car skidded, and I realized I had, in unconscious reflex, hit the brake pedal.

Earlier, when I'd found the squawk box on my Cad, I had reviewed the places I'd gone today, but there had been something else teetering on the edge of my mind. Suddenly I knew what it had been. I realized that the little transmitter might have been on my car all day, but I hadn't throught back far enough. It could have been on my Cad last night. Last night, when I had so carefully avoided being tailed, driving to the Was.h.i.+ngton Hotel - with Lolita.

The car slid to a stop and for long seconds I didn't move, sweat suddenly forming on my forehead, cool on my body. Then I slapped the gear s.h.i.+ft into reverse, backed up and swung around in the street, kicked the gas pedal down to the floorboards. I didn't let myself think, tried to keep my mind blank while I drove as fast as I could through the streets.

I parked in a loading zone before the hotel, jumped out and raced through the lobby, up the stairs to Lolita's room and hammered on the door. There was no answer, no sound. I stepped back, kicked at the door, slammed it open and stepped inside the room.

”Lolita,” I called. ”Lolita!”

Nothing. No answer. And right then I knew there wasn't going to be an answer, knew there was no need now for hurry.

I found her in the bathroom.

She lay crumpled in the tub, her face beneath the water, long black hair loose and wet and still. For what seemed a long time, strange out-of-focus seconds, I didn't move. I noticed my hands were balled into fists, nails cutting into my palms. My throat was tight. Then I stepped toward her, touched the skin of her white shoulder. She was cold. Her flesh had the unreal chill of death. She'd been dead a long time, for many hours.

I stepped toward the door, then turned, looked for the last time at Lolita. Crumpled, still, that thick black hair hanging in the long-cold water, like lines of ink. Then I went out and closed the door behind me, sat in a chair and smoked a cigarette. Words and movements were there with me. Smiles and shadowed eyes. I sat, and smoked, and thought about Lolita.

Than I got up and walked to the phone, feeling very tired. I called Homicide.

Nine.

For twenty minutes I had been parked across the street from the Sand Dunes Motel.

The police had taken Lolita's body to the morgue. There had been no tangible evidence of what is euphemistically called ”foul play.” She could have slipped and fallen in the tub. I knew she hadn't. The police probably didn't believe it was an accident either, but there was no evidence upon which they could act.

Enough for me, however; enough for me.

I was over the worst shock and I slowly, deliberately forced my thoughts away from Lolita's death. It was simply part of the case now; that was the way it had to be. The knowledge would stay with me, under the surface - but that's where I meant to keep it, had to keep it. I couldn't let thoughts of her murder interfere with the other things I had to do - at least until I could find the man who'd killed her.

With Lolita's death it became even more important that I get help from Jay. By the time the police had let me go it had been too late to pick up Jay leaving Quinn's ranch. So, figuring that if history was repeating itself tonight I had a good chance of finding him anyway, I had driven here to the Sand Dunes Motel. And, as I had hoped, the course of true love, or whatever it was, had led Jay and Mrs. Quinn straight to the motel again.

At least I'd spotted Mrs. Quinn's big Caddy nearby, though I didn't know what kind of car Jay might be driving. However, I figured that after Mrs. Quinn left I could easily spot Jay - or go over and brace him in the motel room. I could, I suppose, have gone over there right then and knocked on the door. But there are some things I won't do. Besides which, as far as I knew, Mrs. Quinn hadn't personally shot or knifed or poisoned any citizens, and there was no real need to embroil her in the upcoming indelicacy. All I wanted was to get my chance at Jay, alone, with no other eyes or ears around us. And, too, once Mrs. Quinn left, I might not only catch Jay in a weakened condition, but right at the scene of the crime.

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