Hard Case Crime: Blackmailer Read Online Free PDF Page A

a tremendous, old-fashioned town house, with libraries, picture galleries, billiard rooms, and even a gymnasium.
    I want to be careful not to make Walter Heinemann sound like the great Gatsby. There was nothing in the least sinister or mysterious about him.
    He was a skinny, bald, smiling little man who gave marvelous parties. He himself did not hover in the background, an untasted drink in his hand, looking inscrutable.
    He was usually in the middle of things, organizing parlor games and putting on women’s hats. Far from being sinister, he was inclined to giggle and he made everyone write something in his guest book.
    I left the hotel Friday evening, still shaky but feeling better, and arrived at Walter’s party a few minutes after six.
    Two serving bars and a tremendous buffet had been set up in the second floor dining room. Although it was still very early there were at least a hundred people there already, and I knew that the last few guests would wind up having eggs benedict and champagne as they watched the sunrise from Walter’s roof.
    I picked my way across the dining room to the serving bar. While doing so, I rubbed shoulders with an internationally famous motion picture actress, recognized a young man whose humorous book about hiswar experiences had earned him half a million dollars before he was twenty-one—a fact that had so astonished and bewildered him that he had not drawn a sober breath since—and I had bowed politely to an attractive young woman with a double martini in each hand whose divorce I had read about in Miss Dennison’s copy of the Daily News that morning.
    A white-coated barman gave me a martini with a twist of lemon peel, and during my second sip I heard Walter’s high-pitched giggle at my shoulder.
    “Richard! How are you? How good of you to drag your poor, pain-racked body so far uptown!”
    “I’m whole again, Walter,” I said. “I want to thank you for the flowers and champagne. It was very kind and thoughtful of you.”
    “Don’t speak of it,” Walter said. “You know me well enough to know that I am neither kind nor thoughtful.” He was holding a glass of champagne in his hand and his bald head was damp with sweat. He took my hand, giggled nervously again and said, “Richard, I confess I had an ulterior motive. There’s something I want from you.”
    “What’s that, Walter?”
    “You’ll hear about it in good time,” Walter said. “Good God, I do believe Myrna is drinking two double martinis at once. Mark my words, she’ll try to take off all her clothes again in a very few minutes.”
    I had something I wanted to ask Walter. I wanted to ask him if he had ever made the acquaintance of a bigagent named Max Shriber. But I never got a chance to do so.
    I suddenly became aware of the fact that Jean Dahl was standing across the room.
    I waved to her but she didn’t see me. I tried to edge past Walter. “Excuse me,” I said. “I’ve got to see someone for a minute.”
    As I watched her, she seemed to sway a little. “I’ll see you in a little while, Walter,” I said. I began walking slowly across the smoky room. Jean Dahl was walking rapidly out of the dining room toward the hall.
    I followed her, moving as fast as possible now, snaking my way against the stream of new arrivals.
    I caught up with her at the end of the corridor. I took her arm and she looked up blankly. Her eyes were glassy and she was pale under her healthy coat of tan.
    “Hey,” I said, “I’d like to talk to you.”
    She tried to jerk away from me, and lost her balance. She would have fallen if I hadn’t caught her.
    “Lady,” I said, “you don’t look so good. Maybe you better rest for a while.”
    I looked around, spotted the elevator, and guided her to it. “I’m going to park you on a bed someplace,” I said, “and then we’re going to talk.”
    Jean Dahl muttered something unintelligible.
    I pushed a button and the elevator began to rise. We rode up to the third floor.
    Her