The Body Lovers Read online

  I spent five more minutes with the old guy before I left but there wasn’t any more he had to offer, so I thanked him and crossed the street to a bar and went in the back to a pay phone. I finally reached Pat at his apartment, told him I was coming up and to put the coffee on.

  We sat there at the kitchen table of his bachelor digs and he listened while I gave him the bit at the Midway Hotel and the follow-up at the Pinella. When I got done he glared at me across the table and tossed his spoon halfway across the room in disgust. “Damn, when are you going to learn, Mike?”

  “Jones wouldn’t have told you any more.”

  “You know we have ways to handle guys like that.”

  “Balls. Those girls wouldn’t file a complaint anyway.”

  “They don’t have to. You think we couldn’t get a witness to go against him?”

  “So some judge would throw thirty days at him and let him go back into the business? Come on, Pat, you’re smarter than that. He won’t be operating in this town any more.”

  “Neither will you if the D.A. hears about it.”

  “Who’s to tell?” I grinned. “Anyway, how about checking with Interpol to see if they have anything on All Duval.”

  “And then what?”

  I finished my coffee and slid my chair back from the table. “Let’s put the pieces together, Pat. You have three dead women who might have had some mutual relationship. I had one live one who’s tied into the picture. We have a guy named Theodore Gates who knew at least three of them. I go looking for Greta Service and the lead took me to the Proctor Group. Dulcie said I caused a lot of talk up there... It was right after the big spread they had on me in the papers, so supposing this Gates gets the word?”

  Pat nodded agreement and rubbed his eyes.

  “Okay,” I said, “so he remembered the file he had on Greta listing her with the Howell dame. Who knows what kind of photography he was doing? Half the pornography made is done in those joints. He got up to his office but the damage had already been done. He lifted the card out of the rotary file too late. Greta didn’t want to be found, Gates didn’t want her found, and when I did, Greta cut out. She could have contacted Gates and he took off when he saw things coming apart.”

  “I can punch holes in that,” Pat said.

  “But at least it’s a place to start. And it gets us back to Mitch Temple. He was interested in the Delaney and Poston deaths too. He recognized somebody and followed him, somebody who was buying a white negligee.”

  Pat held up his hand. “That hasn’t been proven.”

  “Screw the proof. Let’s guess a little and see what we have. Now two things could have happened. Either the person Mitch saw and followed recognized him and backtracked Mitch to his apartment, or Mitch pulled a stupid trick. We know he tried to call Norm Harrison and missed him. We know he poked around in the morgue looking for a photo to confirm his suspicions. Supposing he decided to make a direct inquiry to the one he was after to bring him out into the open?”

  “That’s pretty damn dumb.”

  “Not if he thought the guy was too big to try the direct approach. He underestimated the opposition, but it could have paid off. Don’t forget, he was waiting to see Norm Harrison. He could have expected it to be him at the door that night.”

  “And what have you got so far, Mike?”

  “Everything’s related so far. From the girls, to Mitch, to Greta, to Gates, to Jones, to Ali Duval. It’s stretching it pretty thin, but one thing holds it together... the thing that started the whole ball rolling ... those negligees. If that one factor was removed, if those girls had been dressed differently, we never would have been where we are. That is, until Harry Service got into the act.”

  “Mike,” Pat said seriously, “do you realize that we haven’t anything tangible to go on? Take the guy you so nicely knocked off... ”

  “And you get the other part of the picture,” I said. “He had a contact with somebody in a big car. A chauffeur-driven one. Ali has a contact with someone in a big limousine. Now there’s one thing that’s been running throughout this business since I first got on it. I keep hearing the word gook kicked around. They told me that in the Village about Greta Service being seen with one. Jones calls Ali a gook. They called Orslo Bucher a gook. We have a foreign ship in port, Ali spotted by Jones as working some kind of racket and if it weren’t for a couple of plain old American girls involved I’d say we had some kind of international intrigue going.”

  “You’re going,” Pat said. “You’re not happy until you make a mess of everything.”

  “Yeah, then explain your interest in the way those girls died, old buddy. You were pretty sure you had something, or are you still on the sex-fiend kick?”

  “It seems a little more logical than the web you’re trying to weave.”

  “Does it?”

  Pat grimaced and filled the cups again. “Let me tell you something else, Mike. This afternoon we get another possible. You remember the Coming case about three years ago?”

  “No.”

  “Well, it was kept pretty quiet. He committed six sex murders, all mutilations and pretty messy. He was caught and sent to a state institution for the criminally insane. After two and a half years of being a vegetable, he suddenly regained his senses and escaped. They got him in an abandoned house, but rather than surrender he burned the place down around himself. That’s what they thought. There wasn’t much of the corpse left to get a positive identification. This afternoon we get a call from someone who knew him well who said he saw Corning right here in the city. Now... if you want to know if I’m on a sex-fiend kick, maybe I am.”

  “You’ll still keep Gates on the wanted sheet, though?”

  “We can do that.”

  “What about the poison angle on the Poston kid?”

  “The M.E. is making that his project. He’s tracing sources. If something shows we’ll follow that line too. Just so you can’t say we’re not covering every route I’ll see what Interpol has on Ali Duval and have them pick up anybody in a fez who isn’t a Shriner.”

  “What’re you so nervous about, kid?” I grinned.

  Pat gave me a pointed stare and said, “If you had those papers breathing down your neck the way I’ve had you would know why.”

  “You do it when a cop gets killed,” I reminded him.

  “That’s different.”

  “Not for those guys. Besides, nothing’s been printed yet.”

  “Only because they haven’t turned up something either, but it’s coming. If something doesn’t break damn soon they’Il cut loose at the department, then the action starts.” He put his cup down on the table and tilted back in his chair. “Incidentally, your buddies with the papers put a squeeze on the D.A. All you’ll be required to give in court is a reasonable explanation.”

  “Nice of them.”

  “Maybe they’re just saving you to be a goat too in case it all falls apart.”

  “One goat’s enough. I’ll let it be you.”

  “Great. Thanks.”

  I grinned at him, slapped my hat on and said good night. He had enough troubles for one day.

  When I got back to the hotel there were four messages in my box to call Velda at a number in Bradbury. I got up to the room, shucked my coat and had the operator put me through. The place was a motel outside of the town and her room didn’t answer, so I said I’d call back and hung up. I waited an hour and tried again. She still didn’t answer so I lay back on the bed and snapped the light off.

  At two-thirty she called me back, jarring me out of a sleep.

  “Mike?”

  “Here, kid. Go ahead.”

  “Look, I don’t know whether this means anything or not, but this morning I made a contact in the bus station.”

  “Who was it?”

  “Just a girl. She was in the ladies’ room crying and I tried to find out what was wrong. When she finally got past the tears and started talking, she said she was stranded in town and had no way back to
New York.”

  “Hell, that’s a sucker story, honey. How many times ... ?”

  “Will you listen!” I lay back on the bed and told her to go ahead. She was always picking up wet birds in the street anyway. “I took her outside and bought her some coffee and let her spill it She was brought out here last night by some man she met in a bar downtown when she was a little high. He said he was going to take her to a real party that would make New York look like a playground. On the drive out he said he worked at one of the embassy retreats and knew how they could look in on the whole show.

  “Driving out she started to sober up and her new friend didn’t look so good to her any more. His talk scared her to death. Twice he stopped the car and tried to make a play for her, but both times other cars coming made him drive on. She fought him off, but couldn’t get away. He kept telling her his boss really knew how to make a woman come around. All you had to do was hurt them enough and there wasn’t anything they wouldn’t do, anything at all. By this time she was nearly hysterical. He got to Bradbury, stopped for gas, but didn’t have money to pay the attendant so he left his watch for security and said he’d pick it up tonight. That was as much as she heard. While he wasn’t watching she got out of the car and ran for it, but she left her purse in the car and had no way to get it back.”

  “Didn’t she ever hear of the Travelers Aid Society?” I said.

  “Quit being funny,” Velda told me. Her voice had an angry bite to it. “Anyway, I gave her fifteen dollars so she could get cleaned up—she spent the night sleeping in the bushes—and she was to meet me at the bus station later and point out the man when he came to reclaim his watch.”

  I nodded in the dark and said, “So you waited and waited and the little doll never showed up.”

  “No, she didn’t.”

  “Kiss your fifteen bucks off, kitten.”

  “But I found the gas station she had mentioned. The guy had already reclaimed his watch. The attendant didn’t know him, but verified the fact that he stopped there occasionally and apparently did work for one of the embassies because he used one of their cars on occasions.”

  Velda could have stumbled over something. I said, “What are the schedules out of there?”

  “Three buses and two trains daily. I checked both places, but nobody answering her description bought a ticket. There was very little outbound traffic and she would have been spotted.”

  “Maybe she walked out a ways and flagged a bus down.”

  “I asked about that. They don’t stop except for their regular stations.”

  “She could thumb,” I suggested.

  “DoubtfuL There’s an enforced law about that around here. Besides, after that one experience I don’t think she’d want to lay herself open to another. My guess is that’s she’s still here in town. I’m going to canvass the resort area motels where they have off-season rentals and see if she checked into one of them. She was still shaken up and might not have wanted to travel in that condition. She had enough money for both her room and her fare besides.”

  “You get her name?”

  “Certainly. Julie Pelham. I called the phone at her address and her landlady said she hadn’t come in yet. She gave me a description that fit this girl but didn’t seem too concerned about what had happened.”

  “Okay, check it out. Maybe you’ll get your money back yet.”

  “One more thing, Mike,” she said. “I asked around the local stores about the activities around the embassies. One of them has started laying in the usual supplies they get when a party’s in the making. They spread it around trying to cover it up, but the signs are there.”

  “Which one?”

  “I don’t know yet. It isn’t easy to get near those places. Besides their own security there are a lot of men in unmarked cars riding double around the area.”

  “They’re our people.”

  “Yes, I know. They don’t seem to like their jobs. What can you do with a crowd having diplomatic immunity?”

  “Not much,” I said, “so you forget that part and see if you can run down the girl. I’ll check back with you tomorrow, so leave word for me. If you can’t get to me, reach Pat or Hy.”

  “Suppose ...”

  “Don’t suppose anything. Just do as I tell you to.”

  “Or what?”

  I laughed into the phone. “I’ll punch you right in the mouth with my lips.”

  “Hit me, man,” she said and hung up.

  I picked up the morning paper at the desk and flipped through the pages. There was a short piece inside about the police researching Mitch Temple’s files to see if he had uncovered anything that might have led to his death and a short recap of his murder. Another mentioned that Maxine Delaney’s death was still unsolved, but the police were expecting a break momentarily. Nothing was said about Corning being at large, so Pat was probably keeping it squashed until it could be confirmed or the man apprehended. Most likely he had all available manpower out trying to track the guy down, but didn’t release the information to the press to avert any panic. Most of the news was still political, split between the current foreign crisis and the last minute moves at the U.N. before the Assembly paused for a recess.

  Hy’s column mentioned that Dulcie McInnes had returned to town after a successful invasion of Washington and was resuming her position as unofficial hostess of New York’s. society set.

  I tossed the paper down and called Hy’s office. His secretary said he wasn’t expected in for an hour, so I tried Al Casey, told him I wanted to see him and he said to come on up.

  Al was curious about why I wanted to know the details of Gerald Ute’s grand gesture of giving up his property in the Bradbury area to the various legations for recreational use, but didn’t try to quiz me on it. He took me to the section smelling of old newsprint where they kept their clippings, found Ute’s file and dragged it out.

  Besides the news reports of the transaction, several of the columnists had discussed it, both pro and con, but nothing unfavorable went against Ute. The transfer did give him a tax break, but he was wealthy enough so that it didn’t matter one way or another. Publicity wise, it gave him good coverage. His philanthropies covered a lot of angles and this was just another. There didn’t appear to be any direction to his giveaway program, except that most of the causes seemed to be good ones and the grants justified.

  The town of Bradbury wasn’t pleased entirely—their local paper resented the intrusion of iron curtain members in their midst, but since other friendly members were represented in the grant, it could have been an all round show of good wilL

  I said, “Al, you been up to Bradbury?”

  “When Ute opened the places I was. After that most of the places closed their gates. You know how these foreigners are. They don’t want anybody prying around. As far as I know, everything’s peaceful up there except when they bring in that jazz festival, but that’s over on the beach section anyway.”

  “No rumors?”

  He squinted at me, trying to fathom my meaning. “What are you getting at?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Then there’re no rumors. If there were any, we’d sure know about it. The locals up there will pick up any kind of gossip.”

  “Al,” I said, “this Belar Ris ... he’s with the legation that uses one of those places up there, isn’t he?”

  “You know, Mike, that’s the second time you brought that guy into it. Why?”

  “Mitch took off on him in his column.”

  “I know. The guy’s a modem day pirate, but so what? He’s not the only one. That’s the way they operate over there. The money boys run things so they can make more money. Mitch rapped him and others like him in his column, but that had been going on for a year. If Ris was going to move in on Mitch he’d buy the paper and fire him. Frankly, I don’t think Ris gave a damn. He’s still got diplomatic immunity.”

  Why was it that every time I heard those words something crawled up my back?


  Al fingered through the file and pulled out an aerial photo of Gerald Ute’s former estate. “Here’s what interests you so much. Ten years ago he bought the old Davis-Clendenning property. It takes in about a thousand acres. What those fieldstone monstrosities represented to those two old men, I don’t know, but they built a half dozen mansions around, rarely used them, then they were sold after they died. Ute picked it up, did some minor developing, couldn’t find a use or a buyer for it and rather than let taxes chew him up, gave the place away. Over here is another section he donated to be used for civic affairs. That’s where the jazz bash is held. He got a few others to chip in to build the amphitheater and practically finances the rest of the venture alone.”

  I wasn’t interested in the jazz site. I said, “Which legation building is Ris associated with?”

  Al scowled, looked at the photo and tapped the one in the northeast comer. “This one, I think. Hell, I don’t remember.” His eyes caught mine. “You got a lead on something?”

  “An idea maybe,” I said.

  “Something we can help with?”

  “Not yet.”

  “If it’s got to do with Mitch, I’d like it now.”

  “You’ll know about it if it does.”

  I left Al sitting there puzzled, then went downstairs and found a pay phone, dropped in a dime and dialed the Proctor Group number and asked for Dulcie. Miss Tabor let out another one of those horrified gasps, but put me through.

  Dulcie Mclnnes came on with a pleasant laugh and said, “Mike, how nice. I was hoping you’d call.”