Give the Boys a Great Big Hand
- Автор: Хантер Эван
- Серия: 87th Precinct #11
- Год: 1960
- Язык: английский
- Год: Simon & Schuster
- Жанр: Полицейские детективы
Электронная книга - «Give the Boys a Great Big Hand». Краткое содержание книги:
“Hey!” he yelled after the bus. “You forgot your bag!”
Genera picked up the bag — a small, blue overnight bag issued by an airline. He unzipped the bag and reached into it. Then he gripped the bus-stop sign for support.
The bag held... a severed human hand.
The police lab gave both bag and hand a thorough examination and discovered next to nothing. Steve Carella, Cotton Hawes, Meyer Meyer and the other 87th Precinct detectives had a murderer to find, and they had to begin without even knowing who the victim was.
The Missing Persons Bureau files supplied two leads, both of which led nowhere.
Everything that looked even faintly like a clue was checked and double-checked and they all led to the same place — a dead end.
Then, when the break finally came and several clues turned up at once, they neatly contradicted each other. It was the toughest case the 87th Precinct detectives had ever faced.
Hawes went into the apartment. Standing next to Marla, he realized how tall she truly was. He tried to visualize her on a runway, but the thought was staggering. He followed her into the apartment instead.
“Don’t mind the underwear all over the place,” Marla said. “I live with another girl. Taffy Smith. She’s an actress. Legit. Would you like a drink?”
“No, thank you,” Hawes said.
“Too early, huh? Look, will you do me a favor?”
“Sure,” Hawes said.
“I have to call my service to see if there was anything for me while I was out. Would you feed the cat, please? The poor thing must be starved half to death.”
“The cat?”
“Yeah, he’s a Siamese, he’s wandering around here somewhere. He’ll come running into the kitchen the minute he hears you banging around out there. The cat food is under the sink. Just open up a can and put some in his bowl. And would you heat some milk for him? He can’t stand cold milk.”
“Sure,” Hawes said.
“You’re a honey,” she told him. “Go ahead now, feed him. I’ll be with you in a minute.”
She went to the telephone and Hawes went into the kitchen. As he opened the can of cat food under the watchful eyes of the Siamese who had materialized instantly, he listened to Marla in the other room.
“A Mr. Who?” she asked the telephone. “Well, I don’t know anybody by that name, but I’ll give him a ring later in the afternoon. Anyone else? Okay, thank you.”
She hung up and walked into the kitchen.
“Are you still warming the milk?” she asked. “It’ll be too hot. You’d better take it off now.” Hawes took off the saucepan and poured the milk into the bowl on the floor.
“Okay, now come with me,” Marla said. “I have to change, do you mind? I’ve got a sitting in about five minutes. I do modeling on the side. Cheesecake, you know. For the men’s magazines. I’ve got to put on some fancy lingerie. Come on, come on, please hurry. This way.”
He followed her into a bedroom that held two twin beds, a huge dresser, several chairs, and an assortment of soiled cardboard coffee containers, wooden spoons, and clothing piled haphazardly on the floor and on the top of every available surface.
“Forgive the mess,” Marla said. “My roommate is a slob.” She took off her suit jacket and threw it on the floor, slipping out of her pumps at the same time. She began pulling her blouse out of her skirt and then said, “Would you mind turning your back? I hate to be a prude, but I am.”
Hawes turned his back, wondering why Marla Phillips thought it perfectly all right to take off her clothes in a nightclub before the eyes of a hundred men, but considered it indecent to perform the same act in a bedroom before the eyes of a single man. Women, he thought, and he shrugged mentally. Behind him, he could hear the frantic swishing of cotton and silk.
“I hate garter belts,” she said. “I’m a big girl. I need something to hold me in. What’s supposed to be so damn sexy about a garter belt, anyway, would you mind telling me? What was it you wanted, Cotton?”
“Somebody told us you used to room with Bubbles Caesar. Is that right?”
“Yes, that’s right. Oh, goddamn it, I’ve got a run.” She pushed past him half-naked, bent over to pull a pair of stockings from the bottom drawer of the dresser, and then vanished behind his back again. “Excuse me,” she said. “What about Barbara?”
“Did she live with you?”
“Yes. Her name is still in the mailbox. There, that’s better. Whenever I’m in a hurry, I tear stockings. I don’t know what they make them out of these days. Tissue paper, I think. I’ll have to take her name out, I suppose. When I get the time. Boy, if I only had time to do all the things I want to do. What about Barbara?”
“When did she move out?”
“Oh, you know. When there was that big fuss. When Mr. Tudor reported her missing and all.”
“Around St. Valentine’s Day.”
“Yes, around that time.”
“Did she tell you she was going?”
“No.”
“Did she take her clothes with her?”
“No.”
“Her clothes are still here?”
“Yes.”
“Then she didn’t really move out, she just never showed up again.”
“Yes, but she’ll probably be back. Okay, you can turn now.”
Hawes turned. Marla was wearing a simple black dress, an off-shade of black nylon stockings, and high-heeled black pumps. “Are my seams straight?” she asked.
“Yes, they seem perfectly straight.”
“Do you like my legs? Actually, my legs are too skinny for the rest of me.”
“They seem okay to me,” Hawes said. “What makes you think Barbara will be back?”
“I have the feeling she’s shacking up with somebody. She likes men, Barbara does. She’ll be back. I guess that’s why I really haven’t taken her name out of the mailbox.”
“These men she likes,” Hawes said. “Was Mike the drummer one of them?”
“Not that I know of. At least, she never talked about him or anything. And he never called here. Excuse me, I have to put on a new face.”
She shoved Hawes aside and sat at the counter top before the large mirror. The counter was covered with cosmetics. Among the other jars and bottles, Hawes noticed a small jar labeled Skinglow. He picked it up and turned it over in his hands.
“This yours?” he asked.
“What?” Marla turned, lipstick brush in one hand. “Oh. Yes. Mine, and Taffy’s, and Barbara’s. We all use it. It’s very good stuff. It doesn’t fade out under the lights. Sometimes, under the lights, your body looks too white, do you know? It’s all right to look white, but not ghostly. So we use the Skinglow, and it takes off the pallor. A lot of strippers and actresses use it.”
“Do you know Mike’s last name?”
“Sure. Chirapadano. It’s a beaut, isn’t it?”
“Does he have big hands?”
“All men have big hands,” Marla said.
“I mean, did you notice that his hands were unusually large?”
“I never noticed. The only thing I noticed about that band was that they all had six hands.”
“Mike included?”
“Mike included.” She turned to him. “How do I look? What time is it?”
“You look fine. It’s—” he glanced at his watch — “twelve-fifteen.”
“I’m late,” she said flatly. “Do I look sexy?”
“Yes.”
“Well, okay then.”
“Do you know any of the men Barbara saw?” Hawes asked. “Any she might run away with?”
“Well, there was one guy who called her an awful lot. Listen, I’m sorry I’m giving you this bum’s rush act, but I really have to get out of here. Why don’t you call me sometime? You’re awfully cute. Or if you’re in the neighborhood some night, drop in. She’s always serving coffee, that goddamn screwy roommate of mine.”
“I might do that,” Hawes said. “Who was this person who called Barbara a lot?”
“Oh, what was his name? He sounded like a Russian or something. Just a minute,” she said, “I’ll think of it.” She opened a drawer, took a black purse from it, and hastily filled it with lipstick, mascara, change, and a small woman’s wallet. “There, that’s that,” she said. “Do I have the address? Yes.” She paused. “Androvich, that was the name. Karl Androvich. A sailor or something. Look, Cotton, will you call me sometime? You’re not married or anything, are you?”
“No. Did you say Androvich?”
“Yes. Karl Androvich. Will you call me? I think it might be fun. I’m not always in such a crazy rush.”