Mike looked at him. "I'm going to go see about my wife," he said. "Maybe you got the story wrong, but I want to make sure."
Tim nodded, relieved that he had finally found someone to help Judy and himself, that there was something that he could do too. This cop was all right, he thought, really ready to help, not like those other bastards who were only interested in you when you'd done something wrong.
Just then the phone behind the bar started to ring. The bartender picked it up, said, "Hello, Ambassador Hotel," then, "Just a minute, please; I'll see if he's here." He turned around to face the bar, cupping his hand over the receiver. "Lieutenant Kramer?" he said.
"Right here," said Mike.
The bartender handed him the phone. "Yes?" said Mike.
"Lieutenant," came the voice of his receptionist, "I'm sorry to bother you, but someone just called from your house, said he was a doctor or something. It was something about your wife, I didn't catch it all…"
"Thanks," said Mike hurriedly. He slammed down the receiver, dialed his home phone number, his hand trembling slightly. The phone rang once, twice, then came a click as someone picked up the receiver on the other end.
"Hello?" said a cautious male voice.
Mike's heart jumped with fear. "This is Lieutenant Kramer," he said.
"Why, hello, Lieutenant," said the voice. "Nice to hear from you. This is Jay Snyder speaking."
CHAPTER NINE
Lisa Kramer stood naked in front of the full-length bathroom mirror, admiring the graceful curves of her body. She had been considered a pretty girl ten years before, when she first met and married Mike, and now, she knew, she was prettier still. The youthful leanness of her body had slowly and subtly disappeared during those ten years, to be replaced by a luxuriant voluptuous fullness that was far more mature, far sexier. Yes, Lisa thought as she ran her hands along her sides and over her ample hips, I'm in good shape. Now if only Mike could appreciate me for what I am and handle me gently, the way a woman should be handled, then maybe our sex life would be a little more exciting. It was the only complaint she had against her husband, besides his lack of ambition: his crude and muscular manner with her when they were in bed. Over the years she had tried to accustom herself to his pantings and squeezings, the rough way he treated her when it was time for sex, but it had been no use. Eventually she found him coming to her less and less often: they had put the double bed in storage, switched to twins, and finally had agreed to sleep in separate bedrooms, Lisa using Mike's snoring as an excuse.
Oh, well, she sighed as she turned away from the mirror, he's a good man anyway; a good husband and provider, loving and considerate in every way. Besides, there was more to life than just sex, much more. She had her gardening to attend to, her bridge club, her tennis. Really, she thought, I hardly have time for sex, hardly have time for anything any more.
Tomorrow, she vowed as she went to answer the doorbell, putting on her housecoat as she walked downstairs, tomorrow I'm going to relax all day long, maybe go out to the beach and collect some driftwood, or go hiking in Topanga Canyon, all by myself with no chattering women around to distract me.
She opened the door, saw three strange men standing there smiling at her. The shortest of the three, the one in the middle reminded her of Mickey Rooney, but besides his resemblance to the movie star, there was something else about him that was vaguely familiar, as if she'd met him once a long time ago, at some long-forgotten meeting or party. The other two men were big and mean-looking despite their attempts at friendly smiles; she disliked them immediately.
"Mrs. Kramer?" said the one in the middle. "Lisa Kramer?"
"That's right," said Lisa. "What can I do for you?"
"Forgive me for coming without letting you know in advance," said the short man, flashing Lisa a charming smile, "but it's really quite important that I talk to you. It concerns your husband, you see."
It concerned her husband? Mike? Why on earth would these strangers want to talk to her about Mike? Lisa began to be afraid. "Who are you?" she said. "What do you want?"
"My apologies," said the short man. "You can see how preoccupied I am. My name is Jay Snyder; these gentlemen are my associates, Mr. Dixon and Mr. Carstairs."
"How do you do," said the two men almost in unison, making a graceless and comical attempt to bow.
Jay Snyder! she thought. The wealthy businessman, the philanthropist, the same Jay Snyder whose picture was always appearing in the newspaper? What could Jay Snyder want with her? She remembered having once written him a letter, thanking him for his donation to the charity drive she had chaired; had he come to return his respects. No, she thought immediately, of course no rich and famous people don't go around responding personally to mail from anonymous housewives. What could it be, then? He had mentioned her husband, how on earth did he know Mike?
Then she remembered the conversation that had taken place the previous evening, remembered how Mike had gone on and on about Snyder, claiming he was a gangster and the head of a huge prostitution ring. And now here he was, with Mike's name on his smiling lips; what did it mean? Was he in truth a gangster and not the respectable businessman he claimed to be, was Mike closing in on him, getting so close that he had come to warn him through Lisa? She looked at him closely. He seemed quite charming, not at all like a gangster, although she didn't care for the looks of those other two, Dixon and Carstairs. Still, she thought, he couldn't be a gangster, not him. She would sooner trust her woman's intuition than Mike's wild theories.
"Mrs. Kramer," said Snyder, "may we come in?"
"Oh," said Lisa, "I'm sorry. I was just surprised. Yes, of course, please come in."
"Thank you," said Snyder. He followed her into the living room, the two bigger men trailing after him.
"Won't you sit down," said Lisa, pointing at the couch. "I've got some coffee on, if you'll just excuse me a moment. Would you like some?"
"Yes, thanks very much," said Snyder as he plopped down on the couch. "We appreciate it. It's been a rough morning already, and it's not even eleven o'clock yet."
"I can imagine," said Lisa as she walked toward the kitchen. "You must be a very busy man, with all your businesses and charities and what-not."
"It does keep us moving," he agreed.
Lisa went into the kitchen, poured out four cups of coffee, placed them on a silver serving tray with a creamer and a sugar bowl. She brought the tray back into the living room, bending over as she placed it on the coffee table. "Here you are," she said. "Help yourself to cream and sugar."
"Thanks again," said Snyder, staring at the bulge of Lisa's breasts as her housecoat opened slightly. Wow, he thought, big ones. This is going to be even more fun than I thought.
Lisa sat down in a chair, facing the three men. "Now," she said, smiling, "what can I do for you?"
"It's not what you can do for us, Mrs. Kramer," said Snyder, "it's what we can do for you. What would you say if I told you that your husband spent last night with a whore; excuse me, a prostitute?"
Lisa laughed. "Mike?" she said. "With a prostitute? That simply isn't possible."
"The girl's name is Cindy," said Snyder. "She works for me. We have the whole thing on tape, if you'd care to hear it." The man named Dixon produced a reel of recording tape from his coat pocket, held it up in front of her.
Lisa was stunned. So it was true, she thought, so Jay Snyder was the head of a prostitution ring, just as Mike had said. But what was this about Mike and some girl named Cindy, what was this tape the man was showing her? Mike had always been faithful to her, she had absolutely no doubts about that, so why were they saying these awful things.
"Let me see that," she said, reaching out for the tape.