Chapter 7
Nanette winked at me and began to make the rounds of the room. She stopped at Kit, straddled the black girl. "Hungry, darling?" she asked, offering the turkey leg.
Kit moaned and shook her head.
Nanette went to Fran and Fran took a large bite out of the turkey leg. "It's cold," she complained.
"You can't have hot stuff every time, dear," Nanette grinned.
"The hell I can't," Fran laughed, turning Peter's face into her recess again. "This one's hot-and he has a mustache that tickles."
From somewhere down inside Fran's thighs, Peter Barry mumbled, "I'm hungry, too."
"Then eat," chorded Fran.
Nanette stopped and squatted at Hertha Garke. "Here, baby, let me cool you off." She moved Hertha's hand aside, fitted the bottle and poured champagne.
Hertha writhed on the carpeting as Nanette went to the bed. "How are you two doing?" she asked.
"Give me a drink," Sim said without breaking his rhythm.
Nanette turned the bottle up against his mouth. "I just took it from Hertha," she said.
"Tastes extra good," mumbled the Negro.
"Darling?" Nanette offered the bottle to Mrs. Oshman.
"Just pour some on my breasts," the woman rasped. "For Sim," she added.
Nanette doused her fat breasts, and then she came to me. "Well?" She offered the turkey leg and the bottle. I pushed both aside. "Crazy."
"Aren't we?" she chuckled. She dropped the turkey leg on Hertha Clarke's heaving stomach. "There, darling," she purred, "something extra for you to play with."
She took my arm and guided me out of the bedroom and across the corridor. We entered an empty and fresh bedroom. She took me to the bed and drank from the bottle, offered it again. "Not you?"
I zipped up my fly, but she shook her head and opened it again. "If you think I'm going to miss out on some of this, you're crazy as hell, darling."
Her hand went inside and she fondled. I responded instantly and she laughed at my oath.
She put the bottle on the carpeting and lifted the hem of the evening gown and held it against her middle. She was bare from her flat belly down. "Come on, big man," she said, sitting on the edge of the bed.
I started to turn from her, but her mouth closed on me. She stared up at me from under lifted brows and I could see the amusement in her eyes. She knew I could not turn now.
Suddenly she freed me and went back on the bed, keeping the gown high on her body. She lifted her knees and hooked me with one foot. "How 'bout us doing it just nice and normal for a change?" she suggested.
I went into her deep and she sighed as she hooked her arms around my shoulders. "You're nice," she breathed against my mouth. "So very thick-and nice."
And when it was finished, she lay relaxed and staring up at the pale yellow ceiling. I lay beside her, a leg remaining over her, my face buried in the crook of her warm neck.
"Good," she breathed.
"Better than doing it with a candle on a dining room table, huh?"
"Ahh," she said softly, "you've heard."
"I've heard."
"It wasn't difficult," she said. "Because William told you to do it."
"William has his quirks."
"And you don't?"
"Sure, I have mine, too. Tell me you don't."
"I don't."
"You ever had another man?"
"No."
"Ever want one?"
"No."
"I understand it isn't bad."
"Your husband tells you."
She shrugged. "He says it makes him feel like a woman who is being serviced."
"How would he know about women?"
"Oh, he likes women. It's just that he doesn't draw the line with them. He'll take a man, too."
"I've noticed."
"You have?" She sounded surprised.
"In a shower down the hall. He and Harold Boswell."
"Oh. Yes, William likes Harold."
"Who is he?"
"Harold? A friend of William's."
"I mean-"
"A wealthy importer. William and Harold have business together."
"Does Harold go for women, too?"
"I'm not sure. He has a cute maid, but what does that mean?"
"How did Harold act around Michelle?"
"I don't know. I don't think I ever noticed."
"How 'bout you and Harold?"
"He doesn't like me. Harold doesn't like anyone who takes William's attention."
"So maybe Harold killed Michelle last night."
"Absurd."
"Michelle was your husband's daughter. And even if they didn't like one another, she must have demanded some attention."
"None." Nanette shook her head. "Michelle never asked her father for a thing. She merely took."
"Like?"
"His money. She blackmailed him."
"Blackmailed?"
"She had photographs. Of her father and me. Of her father and other women. Of her father and men."
"And some taken at some of the ... er, parties here?"
"She had photographs," Nanette nodded. "She was a very ugly little girl."
"And where are these photographs now?"
"I've destroyed them."
"You knew where she kept them?"
"She made no secret about having them."
"So why weren't they destroyed long ago?"
"They were. But new ones replaced the old. I don't know where she hid the negatives. I'm still looking for them."
"Honey, you've opened a new door. Anyone in a photograph might have wanted Michelle dead."
"I suppose," she agreed.
"I'd like to see a set."
"So that's your quirk, huh? Dirty pictures."
"Yeah, I go ape over dirty pictures. And dirty books. And dirty movies. And ... For Chris' sake, grow up. What used to be dirty isn't dirty any more. Haven't you heard? Anyway, it wasn't dirty in the first place. Nudity is normal. Sex is normal."
"And the variations?"
"Normal."
"I wish you were a dictator and writing the laws of the country."
"The nation is coming around. Give it a chance. It built a cloak long ago. A thick coat. It takes time for thick walls to fall."
"Now you sound like you should be one of our gang."
"Everyone to his own taste. That's where the rub is, doll. You get yours where and how you want it, I'll get mine where and how I want it. Just don't tell me how I'm going to get it."
"But a minute ago you were knocking me for doing it with a candle on a dining room table."
"If I had been at the dinner, I'd have walked out. That was forcing sex on other people."
"Point: No one walked out."
"Point: Those there didn't feel as if they were being affronted."
"Matthew Law, sometimes you amaze me."
"Sometimes I amaze myself. But let's get back to the pictures and blackmail. Who's in the pictures?"
"Well ... everyone."
"Meaning those who have frequented this house."
"Meaning," she nodded. "Tommy Polar?"
"Sure."
"And Archie?"
"Yes."
"Harold Boswell, Bernard Oshman, Sim-"
"Everyone I said. Including me, Fran, Kit-"
"So who wouldn't want the pictures to be flashed around?"
"Well, I don't suppose anyone would exactly relish-"
"But who might be affronted?"
"My husband would be-in certain business quarters. Sim would be if he attempted to return to the stage. Harold Boswell is politically inclined. Bernard and Lillian Oshman have a daughter who is a nun. Fran's father is a mayor in a small Baptist town in Texas. Tommy Polar could lose his job at the tennis club. Even Archie-Archie's sister is a government agent working for the tax people."
"Incidentally, where are Tommy Polar and Archie tonight?"
"I don't know. They were invited, naturally."
"Do you suppose they could be cutting out?"
"I'm not sure I know what you mean," she frowned. "Maybe leaving the country."
"What for?"
"To escape prosecution."
"Oh, Matthew, you get so caught up in your police work you don't make sense. Neither Tommy nor Archie killed Michelle."
"I get tired of saying this, honey," I sighed, "but somebody did."
I left her. I sat up. And then I stared. Across the room, Hertha Clarke stood spread-legged against the wall, the neck of the champagne bottle out of sight between her thighs. She was perspiring and wide-eyed.
"You weren't ... using it," she panted.
I looked at Nanette. She was grinning. "Hasn't she got a husband, a boyfriend-"
"They're all out of town, darling."
"Crazy," I mumbled.
Diane Bowers opened her door as I pounded down the hallway. She wore an orange robe that was closed from neck to ankle. She was barefooted and looked freshly scrubbed and pink. Her blue eyes hung on me. But she remained expressionless.
"Well, hi...." I said, feeling a little at loss for words.
"Hi." Her tone was soft, the sound barely audible. "What are you doing here?" Her eyes flashed up and down the empty corridor.
"I'm still investigating Michelle's death," I said simply.
"Oh."
Her mother came out of the bedroom behind me and Diane's eyes changed. Confusion flashed in them for an instant, disbelief, and then they became hard.
I flicked Nanette Rivers a glance. She was smiling like a cat who had just emptied a bowl. "Hello," she said, looking straight at Diane. "Have you decided to join the party?"
Diane was instantly tight. "Would I be cutting anybody out if I did?"
"Not at all, darling," her mother chuckled. "The parties haven't changed overnight, you know. It's still everyone for herself."
"I can see that," Diane flashed.
"Now, darling," said her mother, "don't get uptight on me over a cop. If he was going to take care of you for the rest of your life, I might move along. But he isn't."
Diane's blue eyes were on me hard. She stared for a moment, and then she changed. A lazy smile curved her unpainted lips and her fingers flicked buttons on the robe. The robe fell open to her young nudity. She preened her breasts. "Some girls have to learn the hard way," she said. "You got any left for me, cop?"
"Diane...."
"Screw you," she snapped and slammed shut the door.
Down the hall, her mother laughed boisterously.
I pounded out of the mansion and wheeled too fast across town. I ran yellow lights and I cut from lane to lane, laughing without humor when I heard the tires squeal behind me. At my place, Cora was sprawled belly down and spread-legged on the front room floor. She was propped on her elbows, reading a magazine. Her head was twisted so she could see over her shoulder and she looked on me out over the top of the black-rimmed glasses. Her bare rump stuck up in the air about a yard.
"You look angry," she said.
I stripped. She started to turn on the floor. "No!" I rasped.
She went back on her belly, waited. I rammed into her hard. And she received me without a murmur, arching her buttocks. She took all of me, but she did not give. She was a receptacle. No more. And I pounded hard, not thinking about her. There was an image in my mind. The image had blue eyes and a fresh face and wore an orange robe that was pushed up high on her shoulder blades now as I used her. The image moaned and writhed in pleas sure, her buttocks lifting and falling in her own passion. And she cried out when I ejaculated into her. Then she turned slowly and took me into her arms and brought me down against all of her young front, and she cooed in my ear, and made soft sounds of satisfaction. The image was clean and fresh and giving-and never would turn to another man again. The image had found something she had never known: someone who would remain faithful to her, someone she was good with, someone who ripped all thoughts of others from her mind, someone who made her feel comfortable and relaxed and wanted....
The first time in her young life that Diane Bowers had found total satisfaction and sense of direction she had been shit upon.
"Did you get it all out of your system?" Cora asked from far away.
"I'm sorry, babe." And I was. I felt like a eunuch must feel when he is exposed to the one he loves.
"Cops have frustrations," she said simply.
"Do you want to hear about her?"
"No," she said after a long time. "But thank you for being honest. I didn't know there was another her."
"I'm a stupid fool," I said.
"You're a man," she replied.
"She's a kid."
"What's age when there is feeling?"
"A good kid-or could be."
"She's got a hang-up, huh?"
"Sex."
"She sounds perfectly normal to me."
"You don't know."
"And I don't want to hear about her, remember? You want me to cut?"
"No."
"So that's all I need to know. Rough day, I guess."
"Rough."
"Murder still unsolved."
"Still."
"I wish I could help you, Matt, but I can't."
"I know, honey."
She rolled into me then, She moved up on top of me and she cradled my head in her arms and brought my face into her breasts. "Kiss them," she said.
I kissed each of the nipples.
"Better," she nodded.
"Up."
"What?" She sounded puzzled.
I pulled on her hips and she got the message. "Oh." She got up on her knees and moved up on me. I kissed her public hairs.
"Good," she said. "So very good."
She wanted to remain, but I put her down and tugged her lips down to mine. It was a long and warm kiss, our mouths conveying all of the messages while our bodies blended.
When she finally lifted her head, she asked, "Do you think I could fall in love again-overnight?"
"I think it could be reaction," I told her truthfully. "What do you feel for me?"
"Plenty. I have for too long."
"So maybe it is not overnight. Maybe I have been aware of you for a long time even though I loved Fletcher."
"Maybe."
"I'd never lie about that, Matt. I loved the big lug."
"And I've had other women."
"But have you ever been in love with any of them?"
"I don't think so."
"What about this girl of yours?"
"She's a good kid. That's the only way I know to tell you."
"Have you hurt her?"
"I think I might have."
"And so you became angry."
"I thought we weren't going to talk about her."
"I'd be lying if I said I was not jealous. I feel as if every pore is filled. Is she attractive?"
"All women are attractive. Each in her own way."
"Did you go to bed with her?"
"Honey, you're prying."
"I'm asking."
"And if I said I did?"
"Then you did. And anyway, I know you did, Matthew Law. So you don't have to lie. Do you think women don't know when their man-"
"Okay, so I went to bed with her. Two days in a row."
"Since we found each other, you mean."
"Since."
"Now I am jealous."
"But she isn't like you, Cora. There's no depth."
"Still, you feel something for her."
"Something, yeah."
"I wish I knew her."
"No."
"Yes, I do. I want to know everybody and everything that affects you."
"She's just a kid."
"But you can't write her off that way, Matthew. There are lots of kids in the world. Some of them very pretty, some of them very aggressive, some of them-"
"She's on the wrong path."
"Now, finally, we're getting down to the nitty gritty."
"On the other hand, I can't change the world, can I?"
"No, you can't."
"I have to accept."
"Most of us do."
"You know, earlier tonight I was filled with philosophy. I was spouting philosophy as if I were a professor."
"And now?"
"I'm confused."
"I hope," she said, darting a quick kiss across my lips, "you are not confused about me. I'll sleep with you, I'll be in love with you, marry you, not marry you, I'll do anything you want me to do."
"Don't talk that way, Cora."
"I mean it, Matthew."
"Don't put me on."
"I never could. I'm merely being frank. Can't you understand?"
"Okay."
"No, not okay, Matthew. You have to feel. You have to understand inside."
"You're my girl."
"I'm your girl," she nodded. "No Fletch existed."
"Yes, a Fletcher existed, but I'm still your girl. Now."
"Cora?"
"What?"
"I want to make love to you."
"Thank god...." she breathed.
Our mating was mutual and natural. She spread on me. And I entered her. Slow and easy and deep. She took all of me as if I belonged. And then her lips were fastened on mine and we moved rhythmically together. Flowing. The lips never parting. The bodies never thrashing. And I was swept up in the naturalness of our lovemaking. And when it was finished and she had regained consciousness we lay side by side on the carpeting and stared at the ceiling, fingers interlocked between us, and there were added messages in the grip.
After a long while, she breathed, "What time is it?"
"I don't know."
"Four o'clock in the morning? Five?"
"Do you really care?"
"No. Do you?"
"No."
"I love you, Matthew Law."
"I love you, Cora Ayers."
We were still on the carpeting when I came awake. Our fingers were still interlocked. Sunlight bathed my chest and Cora's breasts. The sunlight made her nipples look golden. I kissed them. Softly. She stirred, crooked one leg. I kissed her pubic hairs, went deeper, And then her hand came to the back of my head and she murmured in content. I tasted her petals. She crooked a leg over my shoulders.
"So good," she breathed.
Later we stepped from the shower and she bubbled, "I have an idea. I'll cook breakfast. Do you have the ingredients?"
She brought eggs, sausage, potatoes, toast and coffee to the bed. She spread the plates on the bed and put the coffee on the floor beside the bed. Then she sat crosslegged opposite me, totally naked and at ease.
"Eat," she grinned.
I made a dip at her cervix.
"Food," she laughed.
The phone jangled while we were taking our second shower of the morning. Cora said nothing, merely looked at me.
"It could be a wrong number," I said. "It could be the Pope, too."
I left her in the shower. She didn't follow. I went out and grabbed up the receiver and growled, "Yeah?"
"Sergeant Law?"
I was instantly alert. It was my anonymous caller of the previous day. "Law, yes. Who is this?"
But he didn't tumble. "Tommy Polar killed Michelle Rivers, Sergeant Law. Why won't you believe me?"
"I do, friend, but I also have to be able to prove it."
"Make him confess."
"I gotta have witnesses."
"Witnesses?"
My caller seemed briefly puzzled, and then he said, "Well, you might interrogate Archie Table."
"Archie, huh?"
"He was there."
"Where?"
"He was ... he saw the girl die."
"Archie Table saw Michelle Rivers die?"
"But it was Tommy Polar who killed her."
"How?"
"With his ... you know."
"No, I don't know."
"With his thing."
"Thing?"
"His male organ."
"Hey, man, are you suggesting-"
"I'm not suggesting anything you don't already know, Sergeant. And it's time for me to hang up. Question Polar. That's all you have to do. Question him. hard."
"Pal, I'd like to-"
But there was a click in my ear, and I held out the receiver and stared at it for a couple of seconds; then I broke the connection, waited briefly, and dialed the number the phone company had given me.
"We're on it," a voice told me when I identified myself. "I think we've got him, but it's gonna take a couple of sees. Hang tight."
I was as jumpy as a bride while I waited. I squirmed and I shuffled my bare feet. Cora joined me. She was curious, but she remained silent. I covered the mouthpiece and told her, "Maybe the big break, doll."
She caught my mood and she changed immediately. She found a couple of cigarettes, fired them, and stuck one in my mouth. She got up on her tiptoes and kissed my cheek. She was smiling. "I hope, I hope, I hope...." she chanted.
I winked at her. "And why do you hope, wench?"
She flipped my penis. "I'd like to have you-and thatall to myself with no interruptions," she said.
I bent and kissed her nipples. She giggled.
I felt as if I'd just inherited a million tax-free dollars. And then my inheritance went to two million. The voice in my ear said, "You there, Sergeant? We've got him."
"Give, pal."
"The phone is listed for a Harold F. Boswell. Lives at 5400 Organdy."
"You've made my day, man."
Cora made no attempt to delay or stop me as I dressed. She seemed caught up in my enthusiasm. It was only when I bolted for the front door that she yelled at me: "Hey."
I looked back at her over my shoulder.
"Haven't you forgotten something?" she asked with a mischievous grin.
I was honestly puzzled until she moved toward me, undulating her hips in exaggeration and thrusting her pelvis forward. I got down on a knee and kissed her. Her hand against the back of my head kept me for a couple of extra seconds and then she said, "Obviously I'm not all you think about."
I gave her an extra kiss and chomped a little. She giggled and danced away. "Shall I keep the oven warm?" she teased.
"You can turn it on high in about an hour, hon."
"Promises, promises, promises...."
5400 Organdy was redwood and stone elegance spotted far back on a green knoll with pampered trees and flowers and vines almost hiding the house. I used a long, curving, concrete drive, and then I used a thumb on a tiny brass button. I got a young Oriental girl in a maid's outfit. The outfit was cute: black, short and fitted. It revealed good legs and was sculptured against flaring hips and prominent breasts. The girl also was cute-and protective. She said Harold F. Boswell was not in and would not be.
"He was called to Europe on business."
I lifted her out of the doorway and plunked her back on thick carpeting, driving her heels in about an inch. "And he didn't take you, honey? What is he, queer or something?"
I whirled off into a vast room. Harold Boswell stood far away. He was planted against a background of pale brown drapes and he looked as if he was about to be pitched into a grave. He wore a deep purple lounging robe, belted across his stout middle and his hands were thrust deep into pockets. For just a second, I wondered if he might have a small gun in one of the pockets, and then the maid was pawing at my arm and attempting to turn me.
I reached out and squeezed her left breast. She leaped back from me and snarled. She hissed, "Get out!"
"Up yours," I said calmly.
She launched a second attack, this one with fingers clawed, but Boswell stopped her. "All right, Flicka. He's in. You did your best."
"Flicka?" I arched an eyebrow.
"Pickle yours," she said and turned and disappeared from the room.
I turned to Boswell. "Flicka? An Oriental?"
He took his hands from the robe and lifted them in a gesture of helplessness. No gun. He said, "She was born in Chicago. Is it important?"
"Not today, pal," I admitted.
"I made a mistake this morning, didn't I? It was stupid telephoning you a second time. I should have known."
"Are you going to unload or do I have to pry it out of you?"
"I told you the truth, Sergeant. Tommy Polar killed Michelle."
"You saw it all, huh?"
"I saw."
"From where?"
"From ... behind a tree."
"You wanna explain that?"
"It's quite simple," he said, lifting the hands again. "I was at the pool. I became restless. I decided to take a walk around the grounds. I came upon Michelle and Tommy Polar. They were on the grass and Michelle was
"Was?" I pried when he hesitated. "You know."
"No, I don't know. I wasn't behind the tree."
"They were involved in a sexual act," he said, shuffling his feet and looking everywhere but at me. "I stopped and I ... watched."
"Michelle was going down on Polar, is that it?"
"Crudely put, yes."
"Was Polar forcing her?"
"Heavens, no!"
"Was she naked?"
"Totally."
"How 'bout Polar?"
"He was clothed."
"I think you said Archie Table was around."
"Oh, yes. He was there. He was involved."
"How?"
"Well ... he was sitting beside Tommy on the grass."
"Sounds like quite a picnic."
"He and Tommy were ... kissing."
"Just a couple of boys livin' it up, I guess."
"Archie was jealous. I could tell that much even if I was several feet away. He didn't like the idea of Tommy allowing Michelle-"
"One sec, Mr. Boswell. Michelle is dead, right?"
"Certainly she is dead. Why else would you be-"
"So she can't defend herself."
"Defend herself?"
"Who says Polar was allowing her to service him? I think maybe the bastard forced her into the act."
He seemed to digest it, and then he shook his head. "I doubt it, but either way, does it make a difference? She's dead. I saw it happen."
"But are you sure it wasn't you sitting on the grass with Michelle?"
He shuffled again. "I've been afraid you would think that. It wasn't me, Sergeant. It was Polar."
"You ever have sex with Michelle?"
"Twice."
"What kind?"
He fidgeted. "Like Polar had. The girl was-"
"I know," I broke in with a sigh. "An expert."
"You also might as well know: I didn't like her."
"Why?"
"We just didn't hit it off."
"Was she blackmailing you, too?" He looked genuinely surprised. "No."
"She has photographs, I understand."
"Oh. Those. I've heard about them, but I've never seen them."
"Where did you hear? From Rivers?"
"Yes."
"She was blackmailing him."
"Her own father?"
"Either by necessity, or she was a sadist," I said. "So you're calling Polar a killer, huh? That's a serious accusation."
"I'm telling you what I saw, Sergeant."
"And you're sure the girl was dead when Polar left her."
"I saw her fall away from him. I saw her choke."
"Didn't Polar and Archie try to help her?"
"Yes, but without success."
"And then what happened?"
"Polar sent Archie for his ear."
"And Archie hauled her away from the mansion."
"Yes."
"This is a pretty wild story, Boswell."
"But true."
"Why are you putting the thumb on Polar?"
"I ... don't like the man and ... well, he did kill th girl. I saw him do it!"
"Why don't you like him?"
"It's personal."
"All right. So he has been attempting to take William Darby Rivers from you in recent weeks. How's that for starters?"
Boswell looked downcast. "William belongs to me," he said. "I don't want Tommy Polar or anyone else poking his nose in."
"You mean his pecker, don't you?"
"You are a very crude man, Sergeant."
"Get dressed, Boswell. We're going downtown."
"I'm not going anywhere."
"Make it easy on yourself, okay?"
"Are you threatening me, Sergeant?"
"No."
"Arresting me?"
"No."
"My attorney is on his way here. Flicka has called him."
"So?"
"So I'm not going anywhere-unless he tells me to go. However, I will dress, if you'll excuse me."
"Make it snappy."
He made it twenty minutes. And I was restless and beginning to wonder about him when I heard the motor of a sports car roar past the house. I whipped the brown drapes apart and watched Boswell sail down the driveway in the top-down heap. Behind me, the maid laughed without humor.
I headed toward her and she disappeared into the back of the redwood. I went outside and stood fuming in the sunshine. Then I cut out for Tommy Polar's place. He didn't open his door to my ring. I found the building manager and got her to open Polar's door. He wasn't home. Nor was Archie around. I asked the manager if she had seen Polar. She had. That morning as he was leaving the building. I told her I'd wait for Polar's return. She said I couldn't. I went to Polar's phone.
"What are you doing?" she asked.
"Calling in some squad cars. We're going to seal off your building."
She was startled. "What have I done?"
"You may be obstructing justice."
"Me?"
"We'll try not to attract too much attention. Of course, there will be the cars on the street and flashing red lights and sirens and-"
"Hold it!"
"What?"
"I don't need all of that!"
"Then I can wait alone?"
"Well ... all right."
"Thanks."
I prowled Polar's place. I wasn't sure what I was looking for, but I was thorough. Obviously, Archie had pulled out. The apartment was neat, the bed made, no dust anywhere, not even a used cup in the kitchenette sink. I looked in the refrigerator and cupboards. Plenty of food on hand. I prowled the bedroom closet. It was stuffed with male clothing, and I found three empty suitcases. Gradually, I gathered that Tommy Polar had not skipped the country.
Then I found the tiny white boxes in the bottom bureau drawer. A christian name was printed neatly on the lid of each box. There were fourteen boxes. I opened the box labeled Michelle. Inside was a single neat hair. I found a box labeled Archie. Another hair. A box tagged Flicka caught my eye. The hair inside was black and curved like South Vietnam. There were boxes for Diane and Nanette and William and Kit and Sim and other names I didn't recognize. Finally, it hit me. I was looking at pubic hairs.
The sound of the door chimes startled me. I went to the door and yanked it open. Diane Bowers faced me. She looked as surprised as I felt. She attempted to look around my shoulder, see inside. I stepped out of her line of vision, held the door wide open.
"He isn't home," I said.
"So what are you doing here?" she asked stonily.
"Looking for souvenirs. You want to see? Come."
She followed me into the bedroom and then she stood away from me, looking unsure, as I dug out the box marked Dune. I displayed the contents for her. Her lips clamped and her blue eyes snapped.
"So?" she said.
"Fourteen Polar conquests, I do believe," I said sweeping the boxes with my hand. "Male and female. He's convinced me. He's a stud."
"Where is he?" she snapped.
"You had an appointment?"
"I don't need an appointment. Where is Tommy?"
"Ahh, you've got another itch. And so early in the morning."
She snapped around and started out of the bedroom. I caught her shoulders and pitched her onto the bed. She bounced. The hem of a blue skirt skidded. I saw bare buttocks. She flailed with her feet, but she did not scream. I caught her ankles, split her legs until she was quiet. She lay flat on her back, her belly and breasts heaving with her rapid breathing, her mons Veneris peeled open.
"Let me loose," she snarled.
"When you cool," I said.
She attempted to use her feet again. I kept a firm grip on her ankles, spread her wider. She arched slightly, but I could have split her all the way up her skull and she would not have given me the satisfaction of a protest.
"On the riverbank," I said. "That was special. Between us. But no more. Understand?"
She said nothing, merely seethed.
"You want a nice, clean-cut romance, head west, south, any place. I'm taken."
"You've got that twisted, haven't you?" she said angrily. "I think I was the one who was taken."
"Then you've conjured something in your mind that doesn't exist."
"I found out, Junior," she agreed. "Oh, how I found out!"
"Who asked me to take her to the park?"
"Goddammit, don't remind me!"
"You were on your way up here to go to bed with Polar, remember?"
"Forget it," she snapped. "And let me up."
"Not until you understand."
"I understand, all right. You're no different than any other male. One is company. Two is fun. And a roomful is what makes the world go 'round! Ah, I understand, Junior. A girl finds a guy who maybe she could go for, a guy who turns it on her, makes her think he's different, makes her ... goddamn you, let me up!"
The ankles flicked. I spread. She arched more. Her juncture widened.
And I felt the old feeling sweeping over me.
For an instant, I fought it. But only for an instant. And then I was hard and between her thighs. She battled me in silence, her legs pounding and her fingers clawed until I captured her wrists. She writhed under me, attempting to keep the target unavailable. I entered her and she arched, throwing back her head and biting down hard on her lower lip. I filled her and pumped savagely, waiting for the response from her. But there was no response. Suddenly she went flaccid. And she remained loose and unmoving and close-eyed, allowing me to use her. I kissed her. She did not respond. I bit the skin of her neck. She merely turned her head aside. And then the swelling was alive inside me and I didn't care if she was dead. I plunged and sent the swelling shooting far up into her interior. She remained unmoving.
When I left her she did not stir, did not open her eyes. She remained spread on Tommy Polar's bed, her thighs split, moisture leaking from her. I felt animal.
"There's nothing between us," I rasped.
She let me get to the bedroom doorway before she said, "There's one thing. You just raped me, and you're the only man who ever has. Anyone else I'd fuck until the end of time. Not you, you son of a bitch."
When I got downtown to headquarters, I was mentally finished with the investigation of Michelle Rivers' death. I had my resignation from the department prepared for dictation, I was already on a remote island with Cora Ayers, we were the island's lone inhabitants, and I never was to see another woman again. Cora was to be my lone bedmate. Forever. Temptation had been removed from my life.
The only trouble was, Lieutenant Crowder was uptight. Archie Table was dead. He had turned up a floater. He had been found in the river.