The Diehard Read Online Free PDF

patrol passed by here about eight-fifteen. They didn't see anything unusual. I put some of your precinct boys out on the street, door-to-door, talking to neighbors.”
    “Funny time for a house job,” Mulheisen said.
    McClain rocked on his heels, hands in pockets. “They must have had the place pretty well cased,” he said. “Except, how come they didn't know that somebody was home?”
    “You think that maybe they weren't expecting her to be here?”
    McClain shrugged. “Hard to say.”
    “Maybe they wanted her to be here,” Mulheisen said. “There are some bad men in this neighborhood. She must have been a pretty sexy-looking broad.”
    “Then how come they left the loot?”
    “Maybe it got rougher than they had planned, so they panicked and ran.”
    McClain shook his head. “I don't know,” he said. “But just look at all the blood, will you. Mul, I want you to work on this.”
    “Buchanan won't like it.”
    “Screw Buchanan. I'll take care of him. Anyway, that's not quite what I had in mind. Officially, and in fact, Homicide will handle the case. I'll be handling it personally. I'll handle the press and the prosecutor's office. What I want is two lines of investigation. The routine, standard approach plus your private investigation. This is going to be a hot case.”
    “Fine,” Mulheisen said. “Where's Clippert, by the way?”
    “His office says he flew to New York this morning. United confirms that he was on their eight-fifty flight.”
    “That lets him off the hook, then,” Mulheisen said. He fished a Dunhill Corona out of his jacket pocket. He clipped the end off with a little device and lit the cigar. McClain looked at him reproachfully. Mulheisen got out another one and handed it to him.
    “I'll get Clippert back here right away,” McClain said.
    Mulheisen told him about the inheritance problem.
    “Interesting,” McClain said. “Brings up the notion of a contract killing, eh?’
    “If Clippert inherits,” Mulheisen said.
    “Well, it's too early to think about. Thanks for the cigar, Mul. I'll go see the press boys now and then head back downtown. We should start getting the preliminary stuff this afternoon. Give me a call.”
    Mulheisen looked into the bathroom. Three lab technicians were bailing bloody water out of the tub. They carefully poured the water through paper filters into labeled jars. A young man with heavy dark-rimmed glasses looked up and pushed the glasses back up on his nose with one finger. “Hi, Mul,” he said.
    “How's it going, Frank?”
    “Too damn much evidence, Mul. Enough to keep us busy for weeks. And then what'll it amount to?” He gestured at the number of labeled jars, at a cardboard box that was full of small plastic bags that were also labeled and apparently held evidence. “Probably a lot of useless information. But we'll analyze it all. It looks like a hell of a lot of blood in this tub.”
    “So she must have been attacked in the tub, Frank.”
    “I'd say so,” Frank said. “And from the amount of dirt we've already filtered she would either have had to be the filthiest woman on record, or else someone was in there with her.”
    Mulheisen considered that one. He thought of Mrs. Mercer's recollection of Jane Clippert's last words. “Black blood,” or “black love.” Could Mrs. Clippert have been in the tub with someone at eight in the morning, with a lover, perhaps? A black lover? Why not? It was no stranger an idea than that she had been killed.
    “I think she probably got out of the tub,” Frank said, “and went into the bedroom. Somebody shot at her at least four times in there. The bullets are in the bed and the wall. If he had a six-shooter, the other two should be in the body.”
    “It could have happened in reverse order, couldn't it?” Mulheisen said. “Say they messed her up in there, then ran a bath and threw her in, maybe tried to drown her. They tried everything else.”
    “I doubt it,” Frank said. “For one thing,