The Killing Man

She smiled when I walked past her toward the door and just as I was reaching for the knob, she said, 'Mike . . .'

I looked back and suddenly had one of those feelings that I had been here before in another time.

The Ice Lady had let her dress crumple at her feet in soft folds and she had been wearing nothing beneath it. She was nude rather than naked, not icy at all, but warm and beautiful and so alive I could see the gentle movements of her breathing. Very alive. The nipples of her breasts were proudly erect.

She smiled at me. I smiled back and opened the door.

The desk nurse at the hospital was glad to have somebody to talk to, even at midnight. Velda was still under sedation, but definitely improving.

The doctors had been in twice that day and were pleased with her progress. Yes, a police officer was still at the door and no, they never wandered off. Officers would relieve each other at regular intervals. I thanked her, hung up and dialed Petey Benson at his apartment.

As I expected, he was having a beer in front of the TV and when he recognized my voice, asked, 'How'd you make out?'

'Like brother and sister,' I told him.

'Yeah, I bet. What's up this time?'

'You have any connections in England?'

'Hey, England's a big place.'

'Manchester, England.'

'Well, there's a sportswriter on the Manchester Guardian I met in London at a football game. Not like our football, but like soccer . . .'

'I know what you mean,' I snapped impatiently. Don't steer him and Petey would go off into every odd angle. 'How can I reach him?'

'Got a pencil?'

'Sure.'

'Then I'll give you his number.' He rustled some pages in his phone book, then read the number off to me. 'I think we're five hours behind them over there. Call him a little later and you might get him in.'

'Okay. I'm going to use your name.'

'Be my guest. I don't suppose you want to tell me what this is all about.'

'Later,' I said.

Russell Graves was in and 'delighted indeed' to speak to someone in the colonies. Actually, in fact, it was the first overseas call he had ever gotten, as he put it. Petey was some sort of a hero figure to him, an American crime reporter who had a fat expense account and was assigned to the really exciting cases. When I told him I was a real American private eye who was working with Petey and needed an overseas connection he got so worked up I thought he'd cream his jeans. He made sure I knew he was only a sports reporter, but I told him that crime was everywhere, even in sports, so that shouldn't stop him.

'Well, then, Mr. Hammer, what is it you wish me to do?'

'Sometime back an American was murdered outside Manchester. I don't know his name and can't describe him, but he was a federal agent working over there.'

'That sounds awfully vague, Mr. Hammer.'

'Possibly, but murders in your country aren't all that frequent.'

'Times have changed somewhat, sir.'

'I realize that. But this is an American who was killed. If it happened in the countryside somebody would be aware of it. There's one other thing . . . this kill could have been a vicious one.'

'Vicious?'

'Not a clean kill. There might be something pretty nasty about it. You know what I mean?'

'Yes,' he said, 'I believe I do.'

'Now,' I went on, 'there's a possibility that our government and yours are playing this matter down, but we're looking for a killer who hit over there and here, and likely will try to hit someplace else too. That's why I suggest you look outside the normal channels for anything on the murder over there.'

'Is there any way I can get a story out of this? I'm sure my editor would see it in my favor . . .'

'Guaranteed, Russell. You and Petey can have it together if it works out.'

That was enough for him. I gave him my home and office numbers, told him to call person-to-person and if he could expedite matters any, I'd get him tickets the next time our pro teams staged a preseason football game in a British stadium.

When I hung up, I got a cold beer out of the refrigerator, drank it down in two long draughts, as the British would say, and went to bed.

5

I parked the car a half block down from Smiley's Automotive, got out and took a look around. Lower Manhattan had a lot of areas like this, old buildings eroding away from lack of maintenance, homes to run-down shops dealing in out-of-date or surplus goods. The smell of Butyl rubber came from a tire-recapping place that had opened early. Outside their doors two guys were unloading casings from a pickup truck. One place had a TOOL- AND-DIE sign in the window, but didn't look as if it did any business at all. There was a plate-glass shop that looked stable and another garage, just opening, that specialized in TUNE UP AND REPAIRS. A few other places looked like they were closed for good.

When I passed Smiley's I thought it was closed, but there was a light in the back and somebody was moving around. I gave the door a bang with my fist, waited, then did it again.

A voice yelled, 'Take it easy, I'm coming, I'm coming.' A little old guy opened the door and said, 'We ain't open.'

I stuck my foot in the door and put my hand against it. 'You are now, buddy.' I shoved it open, reached in my pocket for my wallet and gave it an empty flash and put it back.

The gesture was enough. 'You doggone cops, why don't you just come down and live here?'

'No TV,' I said. 'Where do you live, Pop?'

'The same place I lived when the other cops were here. I already told 'em.'

'You didn't tell me.'

'Right around the corner. Over the grocery store. What do ya think you're gonna find? There ain't nothing here.'

'It's a followup call, Pop. You know what a followup call is?'

'I know you're gonna tell me, that's what.'

'It's in case you remembered something you forgot.'

'Well, I didn't forget nothing.'

I reached in my coat pocket for a note pad and let him see the gun in the shoulder holster. There's nothing that impresses people more than seeing a gun. 'What's your name?'

'Jason.' I looked at him. 'McIntyre,' he added.

'Address?' He gave that to me. 'Who do you work for?'

'I told you guys.'

'Now tell me.'

'When Smiley wants things done, I work.'

'What things?'

'Clean up. Sometimes run errands. Hell, I'm too old for anything else. Had to come in after the cops shoved everything around. What in hell were they looking for anyway? They said somebody beat up on a guy in here. There was some bloody spots on the floor and you know what?'

'No, what?'

'I found a tooth, a whole tooth, by damn. It was right there on the waste pile in a glob of bloody spit. Wires and all still right on it.'

'You show that to the police?'

'Nah, they'd already went.'

'Let's see it.' He gave me a glance as if it were none of my business and I said, 'Get it.'

It was a tooth, all right, a single partial plate holding what seemed to be a lower canine. Part of the plastic