Chapter 2

"There's a young lady here to see you, sir," said Jackson. "She claims to be a cousin of yours, but-" The intercom hummed for a moment, and Garnett heard an exchange of voices in the background. Then Jackson said skeptically: "She claims to be your cousin Clara."

Garnett smiled. So there was a broad in the outer office. And she wanted to see him badly. Badly enough that she had resorted to a ruse so transparent that even Jackson could see through it. Any broad who was that desperate deserved a look-see. "Blond?" the devil's advocate asked, playing the law of averages.

"Brunette!" declared Jackson triumphantly, certain that he had intercepted an impostor, possibly one with a vial of acid or a pearl-handled automatic in her purse.

"Oh, my brunette cousin Clara!" Garnett laughed into the intercom. "Send her in!"

She was strictly from Hicksville. Her clothes were last year's, and her hair-do was older than that. The blush that came to her cheeks when Garnett greeted her suggested that she still found it a novelty to have a man rise when she entered a room.

Still, she was quite a looker. Pretty face, good breasts, a nice flat tummy and great legs. Exactly the sort of diversion a busy criminal lawyer needs after slaving for two hours over a brief.

"I'm sorry to break in this way, Mr. Garnett," she apologized, "but I just had to see you. It may be a matter of life and death."

Garnett took her hand and favored her with his professional, sure-to-con-a-jury smile. "I invariably see anyone who uses even the slightest ingenuity to get past that secretary of mine," he replied amiably. "But the cousin business is pretty lame. Next time think of something better." He motioned to a chair. "Won't you sit down?"

"I am sorry," she repeated. "But this really is urgent, and I couldn't think of anyone else to turn to. I do hope you'll help me."

Garnett made his way to this desk. "Tell me all about it, cousin Clara, and maybe I will."

She leaned back in her chair and tugged at the hem of her skirt. The "cousin Clara" had made her blush, and the crimson in her cheeks heightened her attractiveness. She had, Garnett decided, an extraordinarily good face. The hair-do was atrocious, but the eyes were very pretty. And the nose was cute. And the cheekbones were nice and high. And the mouth was super-sexy, especially at the crest of the lips, where she had bitten off most of her lipstick. She stared at the floor for a moment, then said quietly: "I don't know where to begin."

Garnett flashed another smile-Warmer-Than-Cordial Smile Number Three-reserved for pretty young girls with problems. "Suppose," he suggested, "you begin at the beginning. What's you name-I mean, your real name?"

"Clara. Clara Reeves. I'm not your cousin, of course. In fact, I'm not anybody's cousin. So far as I know, my older sister, Rita, is my only living relative. My parents are dead, and-well, I guess I'm just all alone."

"And now you're in trouble,"

She leaned forward in the turkey-red leather chair. Her frown deepened. "Not exactly. But I think Rita is. You see, she's-she's disappeared." She paused, as if expecting Garnett to produce the sister from his vest pocket. When her revelation resulted in nothing more than a professionally interested "Ummmm," she added: "She's been gone for more than a week."

"What's she running from?"

"I-I don't know. I mean, I'm-not sure-she-is-running."

"Then why did she go?"

"I'm not sure she did go-voluntarily."

"You think she's been kidnapped?"

Clara swallowed hard. "Maybe. Or else-murdered."

"What makes you think so?"

"I don't know. I mean, it's all so strange. I mean, she's gone away before without telling me where she was going. But never for this long. I mean, I think she's in trouble-or dead. Otherwise she would've phoned me."

"How long has she been gone?"

"Twelve days." Clara's eyes grew moist, and her lips quivered. "Twelve days, Mr. Garnett." The devil's advocate smiled reassuringly. "Well, that is a long time. But you yourself said that she's gone away before without telling you. Maybe you're getting all worked up over nothing."

"Maybe, Mr. Garnett. But I don't think so. I mean, I really think something has happened to her."

Garnett took a pencil from the top of his desk and examined the eraser. "Miss Reeves," he said slowly, "I can understand your concern. But, even if something has happened to Rita, I'm hardly the person to help you. Why don't you go to the police?"

Clara fidgeted with the hem of her skirt. "Oh, you know. They'd only ask a couple questions, then put her name on a 'missing persons' fist. But they wouldn't find her. I want to find her, Mr. Garnett. I've got to find her."

"But Miss Reeves, I'm a criminal lawyer, not a tracer of lost persons. What do you expect me to do? The police have a department that was created specifically to track down people who suddenly drop out of sight. I'd suggest that you contact them." Looking into her eyes and smiling slightly, he added: "Unless there's some reason you're afraid to go to the police-"

She blushed again. Her eyes were riveted to her knees. "I am afraid," she admitted softly. "Rita's been acting strangely lately. I think she's involved in something, but I don't know just what."

"What do you suspect?"

"I couldn't even guess."

Garnett studied her hands, which were folded into tight little fists. "Miss Reeves, if you expect me to help you, you've got to tell me everything you know. Suppose we go back to the beginning again. Where are you and your sister from? Where do you five now? What kind of work do you do?"

Clara took a deep breath and exhaled heavily. As she did, her breasts heaved, and Garnett couldn't help but notice their round, well-sculptured firmness. "We're from upstate originally," she said. "When Rita was eighteen and I was sixteen, our parents were killed in an auto accident. We came to the city and moved in with our Aunt Madge. She died last year. Then we took an apartment of our own. Rita was working as a secretary at the time, and I had a job as a cashier in a restaurant. I still have my job, but Rita quit hers six months ago."

"What has she been doing since?"

"Nothing."

"Where does she get money to live on?"

"I don't know. But she always seems-or seemed to have all she needed. She never was late with her half of the rent or food-money. In fact, she was always asking me if I wanted to borrow some."

"Very interesting."

"I know what you're thinking, Mr. Garnett. But it isn't true. Or, if it is true, it isn't Rita's fault. Somebody must've tricked her into it-maybe with drugs or something. She just isn't that kind of girl."

Gamett's eyes took another quick tour of Clara's body. He wondered just what kind of girl she was. Certainly not a swinger; all the evidence pointed away from that possibility. But it was hard to imagine her as a virgin, either. With a figure like hers, she was sure to have been propositioned a dozen times a day. Could she have said no to everybody? Un-likely. Or maybe not so unlikely after all. The subject merited further investigation.

"You say someone might have tricked her?" he asked. "Who?"

"I don't know. But she's been running around with a pretty funny crowd lately. I wouldn't put anything past them."

"Tell me more about them."

I'll tell you all I can, but it isn't very much."

"Every little bit helps."

She looked up at him and tried to smile. Then her eyes focused on the floor and she spoke in a soft, distant voice. "I don't know when it began, but I realize now that for a long time Rita was keeping a lot of things secret from me. It wasn't at all like her. Why, all our lives, we've always told each other everything. But, last year sometime, while she was still working, she began spending weekends away from home. She'd leave Friday night, and she wouldn't come back until Sunday. I never saw any of the people she went with. She always drove off in her own roadster and came back alone. When I asked if I could go with her, she only laughed and kissed me on the nose, as if I were a silly little kid."

"How old were you at the time?"

"Well, let's see, that was last year, so I was twenty. Anyway, after she quit work, she began staying away for longer than just a weekend. Sometimes she'd go on Thursday and not come back until Monday or Tuesday. I tried to find out where she went, but she never wanted to talk about it."

Garnett took a cigar from the humidor on his desk and peeled off the cellophane. His eyes darted from Clara's breasts, which rose and fell rhythmically as she talked, to her thighs, which were outlined provocatively against her tight-fitting cotton skirt.

She continued: "A week ago last Friday, Rita disappeared for good. She told me she was going away for a weekend in the country, and she drove off alone as usual. When she didn't come back by Tuesday or Wednesday, I began to worry. And? by Friday, I was petrified. Now here it is Wednesday again and I still haven't heard from her." She took a tiny handkerchief from her purse and dabbed at her red-rimmed eyes. "I'm scared, Mr. Gamett. I really am. I'm sure something has happened to her. Otherwise she would've called me." She covered her face with her hands, and her body shook with uncontrollable sobs. "Oh, Mr. Gamett, where can she be, where can she be?"

Garnett crossed the room and sat on the arm of her chair. Her body yielded to his touch, and she buried her head against his chest. "Now, now," he said, stroking the back of her neck soothingly with his fingers, "pull yourself together. Your fears probably are groundless. More-likely than not, your sister went away with these friends of hers and stayed a little longer than usual, that's all."

Clara lifted her head. As she did, her breasts came to rest against Garnett's thigh. He savored the feel of them. "Maybe you're right," she said, dabbing again at her eyes. "But I'm still worried. You see, I haven't told you everything yet."

"Then tell me," he urged, pressing firmly against her back. The action resulted in her breasts' being wedged tightly against him. He realized instantly that her brassiere wasn't padded.

"Well," she went on, "last Friday, when I really got panicky about Rita, I decided to try to find out something about those weekend parties of hers. I went through her drawers, and I found some pretty peculiar things."

"What kind of things?"

"Well-uh-that is-"

"Come, now. Why can't you tell me?"

"I-I'm embarrassed."

"But, my child, if you don't tell me, how can I help you?"

"Well-okay-I'll try." She stuffed her handkerchief into her purse and stared across the room. "You see, Rita had this one drawer that she always Kept locked. I pried the lock open with a kitchen knife. I mean, I know it's wrong to go through other people's private property, but, I mean, I love my sister, and I was only trying to protect her. Anyway, I opened the drawer, and I found all sorts of unbelievable things."

"For example?"

"This!" She took a large silver ring from her purse and thrust it into Garnett's hands. It held an enormous onyx, into the polished face of which, in fine gold, an exquisite figure had been wrought.

"A scorpion," he said, balancing the ring carefully on his palm. "Beautiful work."

"A man's ring," she pointed out. "Rita never showed it to me. And I'm sure that it has something to do with her disappearance. Can't you just feel it? That's not just a ring; it's something evil!"

He laughed softly. "My dear, a woman's intuition is a wonderful thing. But, if you expect me to believe that there's something sinister about Rita's disappearance, you'll have to produce more evidence than this."

"Well, there is more evidence. In the drawer with the ring were some books. Terrible books. With horrible pictures in them. And the bookplates all had the same scorpion design as the ring."

"What were the books about?"

"They were terrible. And the pictures were even worse. They showed men and women doing all sorts of horrible things. I couldn't believe my eyes."

"What exactly were the men and women doing?"

"I couldn't tell you, Mr. Garnett. It's too awful. I mean, it's really hideous."

"Were they being tortured and murdered and things like that?"

"Oh, no. Much worse. The pictures were-well, they were dirty pictures! Filthy pictures!"

"In other words, pictures of people having sexual intercourse?"

"Y-yes. And worse things, too. All sorts of terrible things."

During the conversation, Garnett's hand had slipped over Clara's shoulder and had come to rest casually alongside her breast. Apparently the girl had been so caught up in her narrative that she failed to notice it. But, Garnett realized, she soon would notice it, and, when she did, the result might be a lessening of the rapport which he presendy enjoyed. Accordingly he withdrew it. "Well," he said, returning to his desk and lighting his cigar, "what else did you find in the drawer?"

"A diary. Rita's diary. And it was just as bad as the pictures." Again Clara's eyes grew moist. "Oh, Mr. Garnett, you wouldn't believe it. Someone had to be influencing her-someone horrible-or else she never would have written anything like that!"

"What did she write?"

"I can't repeat it. I'd die of shame. But it was awful. Really awful. It told about this vile gang of people she's been mixed up with, and all the terrible things they did at their weekend parties. I was mortified when I read it. I couldn't believe that my sister would get involved in something like that. Still, I can't deny the facts. It was her handwriting. And, judging from the way she described things, she actually enjoyed what they were doing. That's why I was afraid to go to the police. I knew that these parties must be against the law, and, if Rita really hasn't been kidnapped or murdered, I wouldn't want her to get arrested. So I came to you. I figured that if anybody could help me, you could."

Garnett took a long drag on his cigar and blew a thin stream of smoke toward the ceiling. Through the corner of his eye he focused on Clara's breasts, the rhythmic rising and falling of which had accelerated proportionately to her mounting excitement. Suppressing a smile that begged for expression, he said gravely: "A wise move, Miss Reeves. This is a serious matter and can't be handled too carefully. But, as you may realize, my fees are not small. Do you think you can afford me?"

She reached inside her purse and withdrew a little wad of bills. "I have about fifty dollars. If you want more, I'll sign a paper authorizing my employer to deduct it from my salary."

He chuckled. "My dear girl, I normally get fifty dollars just for a conference like we've been having here this afternoon. To follow up on a case as complex as the one you've described would entail weeks of work, not only by me but also by private detectives and other people affiliated with my office. The absolute minimum I would charge is five thousand dollars."

Clara's face went pale. Slowly she stuffed the bills back into her purse and snapped it shut. "I'm sorry I took up so much of your time," she said quietly. "I guess I should've known that a famous lawyer like you would want more money than I ever could hope to pay." She started toward the door.

Garnett waited until her hand was on the knob. Then he said: "Don't go, Miss Reeves."

She turned, and again his eyes drank in the exquisite lines of her body-the marvelously sculptured breasts, the trim and flat tummy, the gently rounded hips, the long and lovely legs.

"Ordinarily," he went on, "I don't waive a fee under any circumstances. But, frankly, this case intrigues me-and, if I may be so blunt, I also find you a very engaging young lady. Therefore, I'm going to offer you a proposition."

A glimmer of hope shone in her eyes. She smiled hesitantly and waited for him to continue.

"Let me see these books and this diary that you found in your sister's drawer. If I'm persuaded that she has, as you believe, fallen prey to a band of scoundrels, I'll do everything in my power to help rescue her and to bring the knaves to justice. There'll be no charge for my services."

"Oh, Mr. Garnett! I knew I could count on you! I just knew it-"

"But," he interrupted, "I'll need your full cooperation. If there is in fact a band of scoundrels, and if Rita has in fact become their prisoner, the only way she can be saved-and the only way we can get enough evidence to foil her captors-is if you personally infiltrate the group. The mission would be dangerous, and, I expect, quite disgusting. You'd be required to undergo a great many risks and to make a great many sacrifices. The question is: are you sufficiently concerned about Rita's well-being and about seeing justice done that you'll do whatever is necessary?"

"Gladly, Mr. Garnett! Gladly!"

"Then," said the devil's advocate, motioning her back to the chair which she so recently had vacated, "let's review the basic facts in the case. First off, you say that you and Rita have no other living relatives, is that correct?"

'Yes, it is."

"And she hasn't had a job for approximately six months."

"Right."

"Then there's no one other than you who would have noticed that she's missing."

"Yes, that's right."

"No boyfriends, no girl friends, no other acquaintances."

"None I can think of."

"And you haven't mentioned this matter to the police or to anyone else."

"No; no one but you."

"No neighbors or. friends."

"No one, Mr. Garnett."

"All right. Now what about the diary and the erotic books? Are they presently at your apartment?" 'Yes."

"Under lock and key?"

"Well, Rita's drawer is unlocked; as I told you, I opened it with a kitchen knife. But the apartment itself is locked, and Rita and I have the only two keys."

"And you haven't shown the diary or the books to anyone?

"Not a soul I'd die of embarrassment if anyone saw them."

"Very well. Now, about your visit to my office: did you tell anyone you were coming here?"

"No. I got off work by pretending I had a dental appointment."

Gamett flicked the ash from his cigar and stared thoughtfully at the glowing coal. For a moment he was silent. Then, raising his eyes to meet Clara's, he said: "Miss Reeves, you've handled this whole affair quite admirably. If you continue to exercise the sound judgment which you've displayed so far, I'm sure we can bring matters to a successful conclusion. As concerns your sister's safety, I'm rather certain you have nothing to worry about; if she had been murdered, her body would have been found by now and you would have been notified: therefore, it's reasonable to assume that she's still alive and unharmed. As concerns her whereabouts, we're still in the dark; but perhaps there'll be a clue among the contents of that secret drawer of hers. In any event, it would behoove us to examine the drawer carefully, and as soon as possible; we can plot our next move from there."

Clara nodded. "Would you like me to bring everything to your office?"

"No, that would be too risky. I don't think you're being followed, but, if you are, you'd be tipping our hand if you came here again. A better procedure would be for me to come to your apartment. Not too many people know me by sight, and whoever is following you, if there is someone, might think I was just another one of your boyfriends."

Her smile suggested that she found the prospect of his being mistaken for her boyfriend a pleasant prospect indeed. "I can see why you're such a successful lawyer," she beamed. "You certainly think of all the angles."

He dismissed the compliment with a shrug. "Write your address on this," he said, handing her a pencil and a yellow legal pad. "I'll stop by this evening after dinner. Is three-thirty convenient?"

"Very," she replied, writing the address and returning his pad and pencil.

"Then three-thirty it is." He stood, signifying that the interview was over. "Now run along and try not to worry. I'm sure we'll get to the bottom of this in no time at all."

She rose, smiling. For the first time all afternoon the smile seemed both genuine and confident. "I don't know how to thank you, Mr. Garnett. I don't know what I would've done without you."

"Think no more of it," he smiled back. "I'll get my reward when the case has been solved."

She started toward the door. He followed, allowing himself enough room to ponder the niceties of her posterior construction before going forward to open the door for her. He scrutinized her hips and the tight press of her skirt over the outline of her rump. It wasn't hard to imagine her walking naked. He wondered what she wore under the cool summer suit, and he visualized a pair of sheer panties caught in the cleft between her luscious buttocks, their soft pink flesh showing through, a light edging of lace lending piquancy to the dish.

In the outer office, she turned to smile at him once more before she left. Standing in his doorway, he moved his lips in a final goodbye. She could not have realized it, but the words which his lips actually formed were: "Welcome to the club, sweetheart."

"Jackson," he said aloud after she had gone, "did you know that I have a criminal mind? What is it they say-it takes a thief to defend a thief?"

"Hahahahahahaha, you mean 'to catch a thief,'" Jackson replied, "hut the point is well-taken, sir, haha-hahahahahaha."

Garnett closed the door and returned to his desk. Well, Conrad Samuel, he told himself, Jackson has been given his little joke for the day; it remains now only to tip the waitress in the restaurant where you'll eat lunch, to run your hand under her dress and pinch her chubby little leg, and you'll have rounded out the morning and made a good start on the weak-minded idiocies that constitute the afternoon's dull routine