Lipstick and Lies Read Online Free PDF Page A

FBI.
    Countess Buchanan-Dineen’s picture, a glamour shot, appeared to have been lifted directly from the Society Page. She looked into the camera, smiling brightly, her chin resting on the heel of her palm, a cigarette clasped loosely between fingers loaded down with rings. An upswept hairdo and more posh jewelry, dangling at her neck and earlobes, completed the oh-so-sophisticated look. The stylized photo contrasted sharply with the others, mostly grim head shots, in the composite. It seemed especially odd alongside the photo of Mama Leonhardt’s husband, Carl Leonhardt, staring fiercely into the camera, the sleeve of his Nazi uniform ringed with a swastika-emblazoned armband.
    I returned the paper to the seat. “You’ve got a lot riding on this one. First case under the new Espionage Act, right?” The landmark statute had been cited in the article. “Two have pled guilty. Think the rest will follow suit?”
    “That’s our hope. And we need bullet-proof convictions. It’s been a long ordeal, nearly two years. Guilty pleas would save the government additional expense. Arraignment’s in a few days. We’ll know more then.”
    “Two years?”
    Dante shifted his weight, pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and blotted his forehead, damp from the heat. “Hoover’s adamant we build a solid case prior to arrest.”
    I nodded. Before the war, the FBI had engaged in guerrilla warfare against underworld gangsters, the unsavory tactics earning the agency a reputation for being overzealous and unsophisticated in its information-gathering techniques. Now the Bureau’s mission had shifted to domestic intelligence and Hoover had changed the FBI’s approach. Brute force and psychological intimidation were out; legal investigative methods and by-the-book conduct were in.
    Dante stuffed the handkerchief back in his pocket. “An informant came forward after we arrested Buchanan-Dineen and her gang. Identified a sleeper spy we missed.”
    “Who?” I felt an icy chill. “The corpse in the garage, Walter Blount?”
    Dante lifted an eyebrow. “Guess again.”
    Didn’t have to. I’d already uncovered the technical drawing in Blount’s pocket. Why would a guard have something like that on him unless he was a spy? Still, it was Dante’s game. I rolled again. “The man with the limp back at the factory?”
    “Bingo. Name’s Otto Renner.”
    Renner started as a draftsman at Consolidated Aircraft, the original manufacturer of the Lib. By the time Willow Run got underway he’d been in the field long enough to be considered an industry expert. Constructing a Lib involved more than the application of high-volume production principles, and the Ford team began drafting a pool of professionals from Consolidated, Renner among them. His current position, Supervisor of Tool Design, gave him access to top-secret blueprints. The FBI’s source claimed he took them home at night, copied them onto tracing paper, then returned them the next day. He’d been engaged in the subterfuge for several months.
    I stared, stunned. “But security is airtight these days. To get plans out of the factory, he’d have to bypass Plant protection. How?” I thought of Walter Blount. One way would be if you were quick with a knife.
    Dante offered more alternatives. “Trusting colleagues. Greedy guards. Payoffs…”
    Was he aware that Blount had been carrying a Top Secret document? Asking would mean admitting that I’d pried open the envelope. Why advertise? If he didn’t already know about the drawing, he would soon enough. Besides, at the moment, Renner was up to bat.
    “B-but still,” I protested. “You don’t just march out of a war plant with secret drawings. There are lots of checkpoints, lots of inspectors…”
    “Renner has a bum leg. Wears a brace. This part is working theory only, but we suspect he rolls up the drawings and carries them out wrapped around his leg under the brace. Or maybe inside the lining of his suit.” Dante rubbed