The desk clerk saw me as I came in, and remembering the buck, smiled. “Your friend is waiting for you upstairs, Mr. Martin. He came in a few minutes after you left. He has your key.”
“Thanks,” I said.
The elevator was on self-service and crept up to my floor, the door opening as if it were getting tired of the job. I walked down the carpeted hallway to my room, knocked twice, out of habit standing back from the door jamb.
Inside a TV was softly reciting the news and sports. I knocked again, louder this time. Nobody answered.
I didn’t like it. There was something there I could smell and when the feeling started up my spine I knew it was all wrong somewhere. I yanked the .45 out, cocked it in my fist and tried the knob. The door opened, all right, and that was all wrong. Don Lavois never would have sat behind an unlocked door for anything.
With the nose of the gun I gave the door a shove and it opened almost soundlessly, swinging inward until a shaft of light flooded the hallway. I hated to take the chance but I had no choice. I went in in a crouch, the gun ready to spit if anything I didn’t know moved.
But it wasn’t necessary. Nothing was moving. There was nobody in the small bathroom or the closet. There was only Don Lavois on the floor dead with a small-calibre bullet hole directly between his eyes, lying on his back where the shot had thrown him when he had opened the door for a killer, thinking it was me.
Chapter 5
Don’s coat was draped across the back of one chair facing the TV set, the wallet still in the pocket. There were three one hundreds, two fifties and a five there, his expensive diamond-studded wrist watch dropped carelessly on the set.
Robbery wasn’t the reason for his murder.
He had uncovered something important he wanted to pass to me. He found out the reason for the narcotics Vito Salvi had hidden in his apartment and possibly the supplier of the stuff. A quarter pound of H at its highest purity factor was worth a hundred thousand dollars and that placed the action in the big league, big enough to make somebody keep his eyes open if someone was around asking the wrong questions.
Don Lavois had plopped himself right in a trap. Damn, I should have called in one of the others who knew their way around the junkman’s back yard, someone they would not have suspected of being inquisitive! One question too many in the wrong place and a killer tailed him home. It was plain enough now... he stopped at the desk in his own hotel, picked up his message and came to mine. The killer had to have a good break and an easy getaway and I supplied all the avenues of escape. If he overheard the desk clerk’s conversation with Don it would have made it even simpler. And Don, expecting me, took it head on.
I looked down at his body. His gun was still in the holster on his belt.
The desk clerk was glad to give me the information. Yes, there were several people at the counter when my friend picked up my key. No, Mr. Martin, he couldn’t remember any of them. Oh yes, just one. A nice old lady on the ground floor who had been a resident for ten years. I thanked him and hung up.
Newark Control answered my call on the first ring and after I identified myself, put Virgil Adams right on. I gave it to him quickly and in detail, knowing that everything was being taped for analysis later.
When I finished Virgil said, “Have you inspected the body yet?”
“No. I’ll let the police do that. They won’t want anything touched.”
“Take a chance. See if the bullet penetrated.”
“Hang on.” I laid the phone down on the table and knelt beside the body, turning the head to get a better look at the wound. There was an exit hole in the back of the skull no bigger than the one of entry. I felt myself grimace, looked up toward the far wall and saw the tiny black ring in the window sill where the slug had buried itself after passing through Don. Automatically, I went to the spot, took the filler out of my ballpoint pen and probed into the hole. The filler capsule was a good four inches long, but it never touched the slug deep in that hard wood and plaster.
I picked the phone up, said, “High-velocity slug, probably a .22 and steel tipped. It went through everything.”
“Then it fits, Tiger.”
“Spell it, Virgil. What the hell are you talking about?”
“Niger Hoppes, the Soviet agent who escaped the Canadian network three years ago and made it back to Russia.”
“I remember him.”
“He never stayed there. He came back and was planted somewhere in the U.S. and held in abeyance until they needed him. And they need him now. He works with a .22 Magnum silenced pistol and is an expert marksman. He’s the one who picked off Daniels and those two consulate employees in Madrid our people had tagged as spies. Got them inside a jail cell from a building two hundred feet away.”
“Damn it, Virgil...”
“Don’t play him down. He’s another assassin type. He and Vito Salvi worked as a team right after the war and he knows his business. Product of everything from the C.Y.O. up... a party member and damned dangerous.”
“What was Don’s last report?”
“He had found a contact who was willing, for a price, to point out a person who was reputed to have been involved in an extraordinary narcotics deal. There were no names. He was down on Canal Street at the time but headed someplace else and was supposed to call back. He intended to make contact with you first to see how you wanted it handled.”
“It was handled, all right.”
“What’s your next step?”
“I’ll bring in I.A.T.S. Let them shuffle it around.”
“You think you can make it work after the Salvi deal?”
“They’ll be spooked.”
“Then duck out. I’ve already contacted Martin Grady and this thing is too big for any delays. He’ll cover you in anything you’ll need. He wants you active, not hamstrung in an inquiry.”
“Will do, Virg. I’ll check out of here and into another place.”
“Better use our own premises... There’s a new place on Fifty-sixth off Seventh Avenue, first floor over Shigley’s. All utilities and a month’s stock of food with some booze on the side if you need it. Grady owns the whole building and the key is with Shigley. The code word is Hallmark. Don’t let anybody near you... We want to keep this spot in operation.”
“Who’s replacing Don?”
“I’ve already dispatched Mason to Detroit to pick up Dave Elroy if it’s all right with you.”
“Good choice. He knows the narcotics end.”
“That’s why I asked for him.”
“Get him right on Don’s assignment then.”
“Roger. Got a report?”
I brought him up to date, made sure it was recorded, and signed off. As quickly as I could I packed up, went downstairs to pay my bill and picked a dime out of my change to use in the phone booth. I dialed Charlie Corbinet’s number and said, “We lost another one, Colonel. Don Lavois... he’s in my room at the Salem. I’d suggest you get over here before they try to clean up the room and get a story ready for the city police.”
“You know what Hal Randolph is going to do.”
“Damn right, so I’m taking off.”
“You’d better stick around. This might be a stiff one.”
“Sorry, buddy.”
“Okay, I’ll see what I can do.”
“Anything from the teams in the field?”
“Only that the last trace of Agrounsky was in the Myrtle Beach area.”
“How about the Post Office Department?”
Charlie didn’t answer for a moment, musing over the question. “You sure about that letter?”
“Check it yourself. Well?”
“They went through every General Delivery station in New York, Jersey and Connecticut and didn’t turn up anything.”