Donald Hamilton - The Menacers

"Hell, no!" Henderson said. "Don't you think I haven't been wondering about that, myself? Of course, we were parked some distance from the rest of the camp. Like Edie used to say, you don't go camping to live in somebody else's pocket. At least we don't… well, didn't." His face was angry. "And now maybe you can tell me just what the hell is going on around here. And just what the hell are you doing to stop it? If innocent American tourists can't come to Sonora for a weekend of fishing without being attacked by mysterious gizmos from the sky-"

"Mr. Henderson, we are doing our best to deal with the problem," Solana said smoothly. "And in the meantime I will make sure that you are supplied with suitable clothes as soon as possible. Now, if you are willing, Mrs. Lujan would like to get a few photographs."

We didn't actually have to twist his arm. In fact, despite his shock and grief, we had a hard time getting out of there with some film left unexposed. He wasn't exactly camera-shy, is what I'm trying to say.

Outside again, we followed Solana's eyeless Oldsmobile out of town. It had a big, blunt rear end derived from current racing practice: the two-hundred-mph boys have discovered some aerodynamic reason for sawing their cars off short these days, and Detroit has climbed right on the bandwagon. Well, it beats the fins we had waving behind us a few years back.

The campground was a few miles north of Puerto Peсasco. It was reached by an unpaved road through the coastal dunes that gave us no real difficulties; but I had a hunch it was no place to stray from the beaten track without a jeep or beach buggy. The place was called Bahia Choya, and it turned out to be a crowded community of pickup campers and house trailers- excuse me, mobile homes-situated on a blue, sheltered bay diagonally across which, far to the north, could be seen the shimmering white sands of what I guessed to be the real desert, the gran desierto at the head of the Gulf of California.

The bay itself was pretty enough, for that barren coast. The campground was something else again, cluttered and trashy. I have the old-fashioned notion that camping is something you do to get away from the crowd, and I could sympathize with the late Edith Henderson for preferring a location away from this outdoor slum.

We spotted the remains of the burned-out rig a short distance back in the dunes, and left the cars at the edge of the solid road, and went in on foot. The fact that Henderson's truck had made it didn't guarantee that our low-clearance passenger vehicles wouldn't bog down in the soft stuff. It had been quite an outfit, I saw; not just one of those little metal cabs you slip onto the ranch pickup after you've finished hauling hay to the horses, but a real traveling cottage mounted permanently on a one-ton chassis.

The interior of the camper unit was pretty well gutted, and the explosion had blown out the roof, door, and windows, and bulged the walls, leaving the blackened bed, stove, and refrigerator, and the half-consumed plywood cabinets, staring at the sky. I walked up thoughtfully and ran my finger along the ribbed aluminum of the side, where it was still bright and shiny. I was aware that Solana had come up beside me. His expression was masked by the large, dark glasses-shades, as we hippies call them.

"What is your opinion, Seсor Helm?"

"Where was the body found?" I asked.

"On the bed." I said, "Those little men from outer space are real ingenious, aren't they?"

"SI, Seсor. That is my thought. What conclusions do you draw?"

"I'm no detective, and if I were, I wouldn't admit it here." I threw a glance towards Carol, busy with her cameras. "To her, I'm just an innocent bystander, an old friend coming along for the ride. At least that's the idea I'm supposed to be selling her."

"I will keep it in mind. As an old friend, do you mind if I ask her to have dinner with me?"

I glanced at him quickly. "You're a fast worker, amigo."

"I haven't asked yet."

"Go ahead," I said. "I'll solace myself with the lady in lavender. If you don't mind."

"Of course not." He smiled. "Tastes differ, Seсor. Personally, I find American women in tight trousers rather unattractive. I merely gave her transportation as a matter of international courtesy."

It was a good joke on Priscilla, after the pains to which she'd gone to render herself seductive, but I kept my face straight, and switched the conversation back to business: "Do you have a medical report on the body?"

"Not yet," Solana said. "The medical facilities here are limited, but I had a specialist flown in. I had a feeling we might need him. He is working on it now. He has instructions to be very thorough. I'm afraid we have not been investigating certain aspects of these phenomena quite as carefully as we should have. Perhaps we have taken too much for granted." He glanced at his watch. "The doctor should be finished by the time we get back to town. I do not think there is anything else for us to learn here. I will see if Mrs. Lujan has all the pictures she wants."

He went over to where Carol was changing film. She looked up and asked him something, and he made a little bow of assent, and posed by the blackened wreckage of the truck while she worked around him with the cameras. Priscilla was wandering around kind of aimlessly, as if she wasn't especially interested in murder from the sky. She came over to me.

"Do you think there's anything significant in the fact that the victims were U.S. tourists, Matt?" she asked. "Remember, the same thing was true in Mazatlбn."

"With the addition of a couple of Mexicans running the fishing boat, who also got clobbered," I said. "Well, maybe it's a clue, but I think there have been plenty of incidents involving only natives. Ask Solana."

"Seсor Solana seems to be busy elsewhere," Priscilla said dryly.

"Sure. He's asking my girlfriend to dinner. He has my permission. I have his permission to ask you to dinner. All the formalities have been complied with. What do you say?"

She was studying me closely. "Are you being clever, Matt?"

"No," I said. "Not very. I'd just like to know what, besides the lady's undeniable charm, makes our moustached friend so eager for her company at just this point in the investigation. Okay?"

Priscilla was frowning. "You sound… you sound as if you weren't quite sure of your snooty blonde. Or Solana either."

I grinned. "The last time I was sure of somebody, really positive beyond a shadow of doubt, it cost me three weeks in the hospital…Well, well. It looks as if the Latin charm is working. I hope you don't mind riding back with me."

She watched Solana guiding Carol towards the Oldsmobile, and said a trifle grimly, "Well, it's obviously either that or walking, isn't it?"

I said, "Incidentally, I don't believe he really pinched your fanny. He says he finds American women in tight pants rather unattractive."

She stuck out her tongue at me, and got into the station wagon. We followed Solana's car back to town. When we arrived at the house doing temporary duty as morgue and laboratory, the doctor had completed his examination and tests. We were allowed to see the body, and it was no treat. We were informed that it was the body of a woman in her late thirties who had burned to death, all right-but only after ingesting enough chloral hydrate to knock out a horse.

While we were assimilating this information, a man came in, rather breathless, and reported to Solana in rapid-fire Spanish that came too quickly and softly for me to follow it. Solana gave him some orders and turned to us, looking grim.

"It seems that Mr. Henderson has disappeared, under circumstances that demand my attention," he said. "Will you be so kind as to escort the ladies to the motel, Mr. Helm?" He turned to Carol. "I am very sorry to have to withdraw my dinner invitation almost as soon as it was given, but you understand and forgive me, I hope."