The Mike Hammer Collection - Mickey Spillane [26]
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