Too Darn Hot Read Online Free PDF Page A

the way. You,” he added.
    “Me?” Duff was pointing to himself like he had no idea who he was.
    “Can you identify this man?”
    “Me?”
    “Who d’ya think I’m talkin to?” Powell’s face was taking on a reddish hue.
    “I’d rather not.”
    “I don’t care what you’d
rather.
Come over here and look at this guy’s mug.”
    “I’ve never seen a dead person.”
    “Well, now’s your chance,” Powell said.
    “Do I have to?” It looked like he might bust out crying.
    “Look, mister—whatever your name is—ya gotta dead body in your hotel and we don’t know who it is.”
    “Duff.”
    “What?”
    “Wallace Duff. That’s my name.”
    “I don’t care what your name is. Get over here and look at this stiff.”
    “Why?”
    “I wanna see if ya can identify him.”
    “I’m the manager. I don’t check in guests.”
    “Who does?”
    “Clerks at the reservation desk.”
    “First take a look-see yourself, then get those clerks up here pronto.”
    Duff took baby steps across the room like it might be easier to look if he got there later rather than sooner.
    “C’mon. Get a move on,” Powell said.
    Duff stood above the body, his back to me. Powell was at the corpse’s feet.
    “Hey,” Powell said, “open your eyes, Duff.”
    I guess he did cause a few secs later he shook his head, then quickly turned and scrambled to the doorway.
    “I’ll send the clerks up one by one,” he said from there and beat it.
    Powell turned to the other detective. “Stevens. Empty out that duffel.”
    Stevens pulled it open and dumped everything on the rug. There were clothes, but no personal items. No wallet. No ID.
    Powell tapped a uniform. “Take this lady down to the precinct and get her fingerprinted.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    I didn’t know if I should tell them about the clothes under the bed. I knew they’d find the stuff themselves, but there might be an ID there and I’d know now who he was.
    “Let’s go,” the cop said to me.
    “Wait a sec.”
    “Yeah?”
    “There’s somethin under the bed.”
    “Another body?” Powell asked with a wicked smile.
    I didn’t take the bait. “Clothes.”
    “Look under the bed,” Powell said to the uniform.
    He got down on his knees, took off his cap, and shoved his head underneath. When he came up for air he said, “Yup. Clothes.”
    “Well, pull em out, you numbskull.” Then to me, “Why’d you wait so long to tell us?”
    I didn’t like this Powell. I played it dumb. “I forgot.”
    “Forgot?”
    “Yeah.”
    “Dippy dame.”
    Just what I wanted him to think. Sometimes I got more info that way.
    The cop started dragging out one item after another. Pants, shirt, undershirt, underpants, shoes.
    “These might belong to the victim,” Powell said.
    Or David, I thought. But let em find out about him themselves.
    “There’s nothin here to ID them,” the uniform said.
    Powell gave a big loud sigh. “Nothin’s easy. Take this broad outta here.”
    “Now, listen, Powell . . . there’s no reason I hafta go to the station.”
    “You gotta be fingerprinted and you gotta make a statement. What’s wrong wit you? You don’t know about procedure? What kinda shamus are you?”
    I wasn’t about to tell him I was the beginner kind.
    At the precinct Detective Bendix gave me a pad and pencil and told me to write my statement. After that they took my prints and I was free to go. But Powell came back as I was making tracks outta there.
    “Don’t leave town or nothin,” he said.
    “Ah, too bad. I was plannin to go to Iceland.”
    “Don’t crack wise wit me or I’ll lock you up as a material witness,” he said.
    This I knew he couldn’t do. I got the feeling Detective Powell didn’t like me as much as I didn’t like him. I left.
    Stepping outside, I felt like a lobster being dropped in a pot of boiling water. It was still a sizzler. I walked west, back toward my office. I needed to talk to Marty Mitchum, my personal friend on the force.
    My
most
personal