“Got a few minutes?”
“All right,” I said.
He didn’t even have to consult the files. All he had to do was light that damn cigar again and sit back in his chair, then he sucked his mouth full of smoke and said, “Leo Knapp was another McCarthy. He was a Commie- hunter but he had more prestige and more power. He was on the right committee and, to top it off, he was this country’s missile man.
“That’s what they called him, the
“Big,” I said.
Hy nodded. “Then some louse shoots him. A simple burglary and he gets killed in the process.”
“You sure?”
Hy looked at me, the cigar hard in his teeth. “You know me, Mike, I’m a reporter. I’m a Commie-hater. You think I didn’t take this one right into the ground?”
“I can imagine what you did.”
“Now fill me in.”
“Can you keep your mouth shut?”
He took the cigar away and frowned, like I had hurt him. “Mike—”
“Look,” I said, “I know, I know. But I may feed you a hot one and I have to be sure. Until it’s ended, it can’t come out. There’s something here too big to mess with and I won’t even take a little chance on it.”
“So tell me. I know what you’re angling for. Your old contacts are gone or poisoned and you want me to shill for you.”
“Natch.”
“So I’ll shill. Hell, we’ve done it before. It won’t be like it’s a new experience.”
“And keep Marilyn out of it. To her you’re a new husband and a father and she doesn’t want you going down bullet alley anymore.”
“Aw, shut up and tell me what’s on your mind.”
I did.
I sat back and told it all out and let somebody else help carry the big lid. I gave it to him in detail from seven years ago and left out nothing. I watched his face go through all the changes, watched him let the cigar burn itself out against the lip of the ashtray, watched him come alive with the crazy possibilities that were inherent in this one impossibility and when I finished I watched him sit back, light another cigar and regain his usual composure.
When he had it back again he said, “What do you want from me?”
“I don’t know. It could be anything.”
Like always, Hy nodded. “Okay, Mike. When it’s ready to blow let me light the fuse. Hell, maybe we can do an interview with the about-to-be-deceased on the TV show ahead of time.”
“No jokes, kid.”
“Ah, cheer up. Things could be worse.”
“I know,” I quoted, “ ‘So I cheered up and sure enough things got worse.’ ”
Hy grinned and knocked the ash off the stogie. “Right now—anything you need?”
“Senator Knapp—”
“Right now his widow is at her summer place upstate in Phoenicia. That’s where the Senator was shot.”
“You’d think she’d move out.”
Hy shrugged gently. “That’s foolishness, in a way. It was the Senator’s favorite home and she keeps it up. The rest of the year she stays at the residence in Washington. In fact, Laura is still one of the capital’s favorite hostesses. Quite a doll.”
“Oh?”
He nodded sagely, the cigar at an authoritative tilt. “The Senator was all man and what he picked was all woman. They were a great combination. It’ll be a long time before you see one like that again.”
“Tough.”
“That’s the way it goes. Look, if you want the details, I’ll have a package run out from the morgue.”
“I’d appreciate that.”
Two minutes after he made his call a boy came through with a thick manila envelope and laid it on the desk. Hy hefted it, handed it over and said: “This’ll give you all the background on the murder. It made quite a story.”
“Later there will be more.”
“Sure,” he agreed, “I know how you work.”
I got up and put on my hat. “Thanks.”
“No trouble, Mike.” He leaned back in his chair and pulled his glasses down. “Be careful, Mike. You look lousy.”
“Don’t worry.”
“Just the same, don’t stick your neck out. Things can change in a few years. You’re not like you were. A lot of people would like to catch up with you right now.”
I grinned back at him. “I think most already have.”
You drive up the New York Thruway, get off at Kingston and take the mountain route through some of the most beautiful country in the world. At Phoenicia you turn off to the north for five or six miles until you come to The Willows and there is the chalet nestling in the upcurve of the mountain, tended by blue spruces forty feet high and nursed by a living stream that dances its way in front of it.
It was huge and white and very senatorial, yet there was a lived-in look that took away any pretentiousness. It was a money house and it should have been because the Senator had been a money man. He had made it himself and had spent it the way he liked and this had been a pet project.
I went up through the gentle curve of the drive and shut off the motor in front of the house. When I touched the bell I could hear it chime inside, and after a minute of standing there, I touched it again. Still no one answered.
Just to be sure, I came down off the open porch, skirted the house on a flagstone walk that led to the rear and followed the S turns through the shrubbery arrangement that effectively blocked off all view of the back until you were almost on top of it.
There was a pool on one side and a tennis court on the other. Nestling between them was a green-roofed cottage with outside shower stalls that was obviously a dressing house.
At first I thought it was deserted here too, then very faintly I heard the distance-muffled sound of music. A hedgerow screened the southeast corner of the pool and in the corner of it the multicolor top of a table umbrella showed through the interlocking branches.
I stood there a few seconds, just looking down at her. Her hands were cradled behind her head, her eyes were closed and she was stretched out to the sun in taut repose. The top of the two-piece bathing suit was filled to overflowing with a matured ripeness that was breathtaking; the bottom half turned down well below her dimpled navel in a bikini effect, exposing the startling whiteness of untanned flesh against that which had been sun-kissed. Her breathing shallowed her stomach, then swelled it gently, and she turned slightly, stretching, pointing her toes so that a sinuous ripple of muscles played along her thighs.
I said, “Hello.”
Her eyes came open, focused sleepily and she smiled at me. “Oh.” Her smile broadened and it was like throwing a handful of beauty in her face. “Oh, hello.”
Without being asked I handed her the terry-cloth robe that was thrown across the tabletop. She took it, smiled again and threw it around her shoulders. “Thank you.”
“Isn’t it a little cold for that sort of thing?”
“Not in the sun.” She waved to the deck chair beside her. “Please?” When I sat down she rearranged her lounge into a chair and settled back in it. “Now, Mr.—”
