Terrell sat down with the address book. Beigler tossed the articles back into the case, closed it, then went out to see how the rest of the team was progressing.
Ten minutes later an ambulance arrived and two interns went into the murder cabin. They came out within a few minutes with the dead woman, covered by a sheet on a stretcher. The stretcher was loaded into the ambulance while the group of staring tourists watched from a distance. The doors were slammed and the ambulance drove rapidly away.
Dr. Lowis came into the cabin where Terrell was still studying the address book.
“I’m all through,” Lowis said, resting his bag on the table. “She was killed between one and three o’clock. I can’t get it closer than that. She was struck on the head while taking a shower. I’d say it was a flat, heavy weapon... like a tyre lever. The killer dragged her from the shower and threw her on the bed. Then he stabbed her with considerable violence. She was ripped after she was dead.”
“Okay. Doc,” Terrell said, getting to his feet. “Let’s have a detailed report as soon as you can get it on my desk. This is going to be a tricky one to solve. I’ll need all the help I can get.”
When Lowis had gone, Beigler came in.
“Nothing so far.” as Terrell looked at him inquiringly. “These cabins get cleaned once a month by the look of them. Dozens of finger prints everywhere, but so far they don’t mean a thing. Hess has got them all and he’s going back to check the files. We might be lucky, but I doubt it. No sign of a weapon. The boys are making a search, but it’s my bet the killer took the weapon with him. One of the occupiers of a cabin three away from the murder cabin says she heard a car arrive around one o’clock. It drove away again some twenty minutes later... could have been the killer.”
Terrell tapped the address book.
“Lots of work here,” he said. “Looks like this woman was a prostitute. The names of over two hundred men with their telephone numbers are listed in here. The only woman listed could be her sister or her mother: Joan Parnell. She lives on Le Jeune Road, near the airport. We’d better see her right away.” He tossed the address book to Beigler. “I guess anyone of the men listed in there could be the boy we want. It’s going to be some job, but we’ll have to check every one of them. Let’s go see Joan Parnell. She might give us a quick lead.”
Beigler put the address book in his pocket, then followed Terrell out of the cabin. Terrell had a brief word with Hess.
“See if you can get anything more out of Henekey.” he said. “Keep the boys searching for the knife. Check all gas stations to see if any car stopped between one and three this morning for gas. It’s pretty hopeless, but we might have a little luck. At that time, there isn’t much traffic. Talk to everyone here. Get their names and addresses. We’ll have to check them all... could be a sex killer is among them, but I doubt it. I’ll be back at headquarters in a couple of hours. Call me if you get anything. Take your time. This one isn’t going to be cracked in five minutes.”
Joining Beigler, Terrell got into the police car, letting Beigler drive.
They reached Le Jeune road just after half-past two, having stopped for a few minutes at a café for a sandwich and a cup of coffee.
Joan Parnell had a neat brick and plaster bungalow that stood in a row of similar bungalows. There was a tiny garden full of roses, a path that led to the front door over which climbed a flourishing Paul’s Scarlet.
Leaving the car, the two men walked up the path and Beigler dug his thumb into the bell push. There was a brief delay while Terrell looked uneasily up and down the long, empty road. This distressing business of breaking the news of violent death always worried him, but it was something he never pushed on to any of his men.
The door opened abruptly and a woman regarded them. She was dark, slim, around forty with a mannish haircut and her gaunt features revealed a strength of character Terrell had seldom seen in a woman’s face. She wore an open neck sports shirt and blue slacks. A cigarette dangled from her thin lips and a faint aroma of gin hung over her.
“Mrs. Parnell?” Terrell asked, lifting his hat.
“Miss Parnell?” the woman said and looked sharply at him. “You’re the police, aren’t you? What is it?”
“Terrell, Chief of Police,” Terrell said. “Sergeant Beigler. Could we come in?”
She gave both men another searching stare, then turned and led the way into a small lounge, comfortably furnished, but well used. There were books everywhere, and on the table stood a bottle of Gordon’s gin, a jug full of iced water and a used glass.
The woman went over to the table, poured a big shot of gin into a glass, added a little water before saying, “Well? What it is?”
“You are a relation of Sue Parnell?” Terrell asked.
She took a long thirsty drink, then hunched her shoulders.
“So that’s it... I might have guessed. Yes, she’s my sister.” She looked hard at Terrell, then her mouth tightened. “Is she dead?”
Terrell drew in a breath of relief.
“I’m afraid she is, Miss Parnell.”
To his surprise, she asked, “Murdered?”
“Yes.”
Joan Parnell stubbed out her cigarette. She covered her eyes with her hand for a brief moment, then she stiffened, reached for the glass and finished the drink. She lit another cigarette and then walked across to a big lounging chair and sank into it.
“Sit down,” she said. “Where did it happen?”
“The Park Motel at Ojus,” Terrell said, sitting down near her. Beigler took a seat at the table and opened his notebook.
“I’ve continually warned her,” the woman said in a cold, flat voice, “but that doesn’t help, does it. Do you know who did it?”
“Not yet,” Terrell said. “I’m hoping you could help me.”
“It could be anyone. My sister led the kind of life that must eventually end in violence.” Joan Parnell made an angry gesture. “People have got to work out their own destinies. She wouldn’t listen to me. Well, now she’s dead.”
“Will you tell me about her?” Terrell asked.
“You’ve guessed, haven’t you? She was a harlot. That’s all there is to it.”
“We found an address book among her possessions,” Terrell said. “It contains some two hundred names. I take it, these men were her clients?”
Joan Parnell shrugged.
“How do I know? All I do know is she made a lot of money and spent a lot of money. We didn’t meet very often.”
“It’s just possible,” Terrell said, “that the dead woman might not be your sister. I’d be glad if you’d come with us and identify her.”
Joan Parnell grimaced.
“I hate the sight of death. Oh, well, I’ll come.”
It was while they were driving to the City morgue that Terrell asked, “Did your sister have any particular boyfriend?” He was watching Joan and saw her hesitate.
“If you mean did she have a pimp, then she didn’t,” she said finally. “There was a man she lived with for a couple of years. She was crazy about him until he walked out on her. I had warned her about him, she wouldn’t listen, she never listened to me. I knew he would drop her in time.”
“Who is he?”
“Lee Hardy; he’s some kind of bookmaker.”
Terrell and Beigler exchanged glances.
Terrell asked, “How long ago was it since he dropped her?”
“About three months. He got himself another woman. Sue went on a bender when he threw her out. She didn’t sober up for three weeks.”
“Would he have any reason to murder her?”