"Hammer. Mike Hammer."
She took my coat and hat, slipped them on a rack, then led me into the spacious living area of the apartment. She didn't walk. She had a gait all her own, a swaying, rolling, dancing motion that put all her muscles into play. Unconsciously, she flipped the lovely tousle of ash-blonde hair over her head, spun around with her arms spread in a grand theatrical gesture and said, "Home!"
It might have been home to her, but it looked like some crazy love nest to me. It was all pillows, soft couches and wild pictures, but it sure looked interesting. "Nice," I said.
She took a half jump into one of the overstuffed chairs and sank down into it. "Sit, Mr. Hammer. May I make you a drink? But then, policemen never drink on duty, do they?"
"Sometimes." I didn't trust the couch. I pulled an ottoman up and perched on the edge of it.
"Well, they never do on TV. Now, are you the one who found my compact?"
"Yes, Ma'am." I hoped it was the proper TV intonation.
Once again she gave me that nervous little smile. "You know, I never even realized I had lost it. I'm so glad it has been recovered. You're getting a reward, you know."
"I'd appreciate it if you'd just make a donation to the P.A.L."
"The Police Athletic League? Oh, I did a benefit for them one time. Certainly, if that's the way you want it. Do you have it with you?"
"No, you can pick it up from the property clerk after you've identified it. It's a Tiffany piece so they'll have a record of it and your insurance policy will have it described. No trouble getting it back."
Her shoulders gave an aggravated twitch, then she ran her fingers through her beautifully unruly hair and smiled again. "I don't know what I'm impatient about. I've been without it all this time, another day won't matter. I guess
it's just the excitement. I've never really been involved with the police except to get my club permit and that was years ago. They don't even do that any more now, do they?"
"No more. Look, maybe I will have that drink. Show me where the goodies are."
"Right behind you." She pointed. "Ill have a small Scotch on the rocks."
I got up, made the drinks, and when I got back she had changed from the chair to the couch looking like she was half hoping she was going to get raped. I hated to disappoint her, but I handed her the Scotch and took the ottoman again to try my tall rye and ginger. She toasted me silently, tasted her drink and nodded approvingly, then: "You know ... since you didn't bring my compact, and you won't accept any reward, was there something you wanted to talk to me about?"
"Not many of us get a chance to see a luscious actress in the flesh. So to speak," I added. Her navel was still looking at me.
"You're sweet, but you're lying," she smiled. She tasted her drink again, leaned forward and put it on the floor between her feet. The halter top strained uncertainly, but held.
I said, "I was hoping you might remember when and where you lost that thing."
"Oh, but I do. I didn't think about it at first, but when I put my mind to it I remember quite well."
I took another pull at my drink and waited, trying to keep my eyes off her belly.
"I went to the theater to catch Roz Murray in the opening of her new show. During the intermission I went to the powder room and found it gone. I never suspected that it had been stolen, but I'm always misplacing things anyway, and I supposed I had left it at home. I was sure of it when I found that two fifty dollar bills and some singles were gone too. I thought I had scooped some out of my drawer before left, but I was in such a damn rush to meet Josie to make curtain time I could have pulled a boo-boo."
"How did you get to the theater?"
"Josie picked me up downstairs in a cab and paid the bill."
"And you never bothered checking for it later?"
"Oh, I kind of looked around. I always keep a few hundred dollars loose in the drawer and the rest was still there and I didn't bother to count it. I figured the compact was simply tucked away someplace else."
I rattled the ice around in the glass and tried the drink again. "One more thing. At any time that evening do you remember being crowded?"
"Crowded?"
"Hemmed in with people where somebody could make a pass at your handbag."
She looked thoughtful a moment, then reached down for her drink again. It was a very unsettling move. Over the glass her eyes touched mine and her tongue made that nervous gesture again, passing quickly over her lips. "No ... not really ... but, yes, while we were going in there was this one man ... well, he sort of cut across in front of us and had to excuse himself. He acted like he knew somebody on the other side of us."
"Can you describe him?"
She squinched her eyes and mouth shut tight for a good five seconds, then let her face relax. Her eyes opened and she nodded. "He was about average height ... smaller than you. In his late forties. Not well dressed or anything . .. and he had funny hair."
"What kind of funny?"
"Well, he should have been gray but he wasn't and it grew back in deep V's on either side."
I knew it showed on my face. The drink turned sour in my mouth and that strange sensation seemed to crawl up my back. She had just described Lippy Sullivan.
"Is ... something wrong?"
I faked a new expression and shook my head. "No, everything is working out just right." I put the glass down and stood up. "Thanks for the drink."
Heidi Anders held out her hand and let me pull her up from the depths of the cushions. "I appreciate your coming like this. I only wish ..."
"What?"
"You could have brought the compact. Police stations scare me."
"Get me your insurance policy, a note authorizing me to pick it up for you, and you'll have it tomorrow."
For the first time a real smile beamed across her face. "Will you?" She didn't wait for an answer. She broke into that wild gait, disappeared into another room and was back in three minutes with both the things I asked for.
She walked me to the door and held my coat while I slipped into it. When I turned around her face was tilted up toward mine, her mouth alive and moist. "Since you wouldn't take the reward, let me give you one you can keep."
Very gently, she raised herself on her toes, her hands slipping behind my head. Those lips were all fire and mobility, her tongue a thing that quested provocatively. I could feel the hunger start and didn't want it to get loose, so just as gently I pushed her away, letting my hands slide down the satin nudity of her back until my fingertips rested on the top of those crazy hip buggers and my thumbs encircled her almost to those exotic areas where there is no turning back. I heard her breath catch in her throat and felt the muscles tauten, her skin go damp under my palms, then I let her go.
"That was mean," she said.
"So is painting that eye around your belly button."
The throaty laugh bubbled up again and she let her hands ease down from my neck and across my chest. Then the laugh stopped as she felt the .45 under my coat, and that nervous little glint was back in her eyes.
"Tomorrow," I said.
"Tomorrow, Mike." But she said it like she really didn't mean it at all.
The afternoon papers were still splashing the death of Tom-Tom Schneider all over their pages. The D.A.'s office was running a full-scale investigation into all his affairs and connections, the State Committee on Organized Crime had just been called into executive session for another joust at the underworld and anybody with a political ax to grind was making his points with the reporters. Everybody seemed agreed that it was a contract kill and two columnists mentioned names of known enemies and were predicting another gangland war.
Someplace there would be another meeting and the word would go out to put a big cool on activities until the heat had died down and someplace else a contract was being paid off and spent.