Mickey Spillane - The Body Lovers

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 a 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 given 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 modern 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 a 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 corner. "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 McInnes came on with a pleasant laugh and said, "Mike, how nice. I was hoping you'd call."

"Me?"

"Yes, you. For some reason you seem to bring a little excitement into an otherwise staid life." Then she turned serious a moment with, "Mike...the girl we saw..."