The Girl Hunters

"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.--"

"Hammer. Michael Hammer." I tried on a smile for her too. "And you are Laura Knapp?"

"Yes. Do I know you from somewhere, Mr. Hammer?"

"We've never met."

"But there's something familiar about you."

"I used to get in the papers a lot."

"Oh?" It was a full-sized question.

"I was a private investigator at one time."

She frowned, studying me, her teeth white against the lushness of her lip as she nibbled at it. "There was an affair with a Washington agency at one time--"

I nodded.

"I remember it well. My husband was on a committee that was affected by it." She paused. "So you're Mike Hammer." Her frown deepened.

"You expected something more?"

Her smile was mischievous. "I don't quite know. Perhaps."

"I've been sick," I said, grinning.

"Yes," she told me, "I can believe that. Now, the question is, what are you doing here? Is this part of your work?"

There was no sense lying to her. I said, "No, but there's a possibility you can help me."

"How?"

"Do you mind going over the details of your husband's murder, or is it too touchy a subject?"

This time her smile took on a wry note. "You're very blunt, Mr. Hammer. However, it's something in the past and I'm not afraid to discuss it. You could have examined the records of the incident if you wanted to. Wouldn't that have been easier?"

I let my eyes travel over her and let out a laugh. "I'm glad I came now."

Laura Knapp laughed back. "Well, thank you.

"But in case you're wondering, I did go over the clips on the case."

"And that wasn't enough?"

I shrugged. "I don't know. I'd rather hear it firsthand."

"May I ask why?"

"Sure," I said. "Something has come up that might tie in your husband's killer with another murder."

Laura shook her head slowly. "I don't understand--"

"It's a wild supposition, that's all, a probability I'm trying to chase down. Another man was killed with the same gun that shot your husband. Details that seemed unimportant then might have some bearing now."

"I see." She came away from the chair, leaning toward me with her hands hugging her knees, a new light of interest in her eyes. "But why aren't the police here instead of you?"

"They will be. Right now it's a matter of jurisdiction. Very shortly you'll be seeing a New York City officer, probably accompanied by the locals, who will go over the same ground. I don't have any legal paperwork to go through so I got here first."

Once again she started a slow smile and let it play around her mouth a moment before she spoke. "And if I don't talk--will you belt me one?"

"Hell," I said, "I never hit dames."

Her eyebrows went up in mock surprise.

"I always kick 'em."

The laugh she let out was pleasant and throaty and it was easy to see why she was still queen of the crazy social whirl at the capital. Age never seemed to have touched her, though she was in the loveliest early forties. Her hair shimmered with easy blond highlights, a perfect shade to go with the velvety sheen of her skin.

"I'll talk," she laughed, "but do I get a reward if I do?"

"Sure, I won't kick you."

"Sounds enticing. What do you want to know?"

"Tell me what happened."

She reflected a moment. It was evident that the details were there, stark as ever in her mind, though the thought didn't bring the pain back any longer. She finally said, "It was a little after two in the morning. I heard Leo get up but didn't pay any attention to it since he often went down for nighttime snacks. The next thing I heard was his voice shouting at someone, then a single shot. I got up, ran downstairs and there he was on the floor, dying."