“An orphanage, Mr. Reed. So was Tuck’s. If you read all those papers you should know that.”
He ignored the remark. “Do you have a will?”
“What for? Outside of that Mustang, I don’t have anything.”
Trusky tapped the table with a forefinger. “Old fighter plane, isn’t it?”
“You know it. You were there, weren’t you?”
The cop smiled and shrugged. “Practical to own?”
“For my purposes,” I told him.
Reed snapped the folder shut. “And what may those purposes be?”
I pointed toward his lap. “What do the papers say, buddy?”
“That you worked for a motion picture company. I can’t see where owning an airplane...”
“You don’t see much at all. Were you elected or appointed?”
“Appointed, but...”
“Then somebody’s pretty damn stupid.”
“Listen!”
“Aw, shut up.” I looked at Trusky and he was trying not to grin. I said, “I’ve worked with Demeret Pictures off and on for ten years. When they go on location, I fly the daily takes back to the lab for developing, then hustle them up to the location for screening the next day. But that’s beside the point. Let’s get to the business you’re trying to involve me in.”
Trusky said, “If you inherit the Capital K, what do you intend doing with it?”
“Run it... sell it... how the hell do I know. You got any ideas?”
“I might.”
“Then let’s hear them.”
“Let’s see what you do with it first.”
It started to come through then, even the bit with the blonde outside. “What was Tucker doing with it?” I asked them.
Trusky threw Reed a sidewards glance and when the attorney nodded he said, “There’s been some speculation in higher quarters that your friend might have been engaged in some illegal activities.”
“Like what?”
He shrugged again. “Florida’s close to enough places to make a lot of illegal things practical if you don’t mind getting killed for them.” They stood up and Trusky said, “See you tomorrow. We’re going through all of your friend’s papers, private and business. Everything. You can lodge a complaint if you feel like it.”
I gave him a grin that was all teeth. “Hell, why should I? Be my guest.”
Chapter 2
The wire services had never said much about it. Tucker had simply flown out in the Staggerwing Beech he had liked so well and never come back. He had told Charlie Traub, his chief mechanic, that he was going to do some preliminary work on an aerial survey job he was bidding on and headed for the southern tip of Florida. An hour after take-off, a line squall came up. It was supposed that Tuck tried to fly around it, couldn’t get through and ditched in the ocean. An air-sea rescue unit located pieces of wreckage that were unmistakably from his plane.
You get old but never bold. It just didn’t sound like Tuck.
Only the local paper played up the incident big. Tucker Stacy was a prominent character in Celada, a war hero who turned an old Air Force auxiliary field into the Capital K and promoted a couple of electronics plants to locate in the area. That, with a booming resort section, put Celada on the map and Tucker Stacy in the city council.
Old Tuck, how he had changed. He sure used to be the wild-assed one, ready to charge into anything. Nine confirmed kills on Me-109s. Tuck? Hey, remember that leave in London? That pair of Scot lassies! Crazy, man. What did they teach them on that farm? Remember? Remember, hell. When you’re dead you don’t remember anything.
I propped the scuffed jump boots on the end of the couch and looked at the ceiling. Across the room, the TV was giving the weather reports for tomorrow. Hot. Clear. Probably local thundershowers in the afternoon.
When the knock came I said, “Come on in,” and didn’t take my eyes off the ceiling. The door snicked shut. “I’ve been waiting for you,” I said.
Lois Hays tilted her head and smiled. “Sure of yourself, aren’t you?”
“Why not?”
She was prettier face to face than reflected in a plate glass window. Even though the suit was cut in an almost military fashion, she couldn’t hide the full thrust of her breasts or the rich sweep of her hips and thighs.
“You got pretty legs,” I said. “Pneumatic. Soft, cushiony.”
“I don’t know if I should thank you or not.”
“Never mind that. Just make the pitch.”
“What?”
“Honey,” I said, “you made the point clear in the lounge. I dug the bit with the legs and all. I appreciate the generosity. Now let’s hear the offer.”
For a moment she poised there, motionless, then her face flushed and the anger tightened her mouth. But only for a second. The pink left her cheeks and she laughed deep in her throat. “I think you’ve known too many hotel rooms and too many...”
“Whores?” I added for her.
She didn’t get mad. “Like you say, why not?”
I turned my head and grinned. I couldn’t have made a pretty sight. I still hadn’t shaved and the scar on my face always showed worse then. “Wrong, baby. I’m a funny sort of guy. I never buy it. It gets given to me or I take it.”
“Should I be frightened?” She laughed again and sat down.
“Not tonight, kid. I’m tired. It’s been a long day.” I closed my eyes and settled back. “What do you want?”
“A story.”
“Yeah, sure.”
I could feel her smiling. “My name is Karen Morgan. I’m with Barrett Syndicated Features and I’d like to get some background on Tucker Stacy, and, of course, you and your plans. You may not know it, but Mr. Stacy’s activities were of great interest statewide.”
“Honey,” I said, “cut the crap.”
I opened my eyes and she was watching me, the softness gone from her face. She was steady, studying me, waiting. “I don’t understand,” she said.
“Tuck’s death is only a local matter,” I said.
Her tongue touched her lips. “All right, I’ll come clean,” she said. “There’s been speculation.”
“How about that.”
“Aren’t you interested?”
“Kid, Tuck and I faced death plenty of times. You’re bound to gel it someday anyway. I’ve had a plane torn apart under me in a storm.”
“Have you checked the weather for the day he died? Several planes flew through that line squall without any difficulty.”
“Sugar, inside a thunderhead...”
“There weren’t any severe ones. I have verified pilot reports to that effect. So does Miami. The squall line was light. A Cessna 90 and two Tripacers passed through it.”
“So?”
“So there’s been some speculation...”
I twisted on the couch and propped my head in my hand. “What about?”
Her smile was almost disarming. “Were you ever a policeman?”
“No, but I’ve operated in their area of work.”
“Very well. Mr. Stacy, it was rumored, was not above turning a dishonest dollar.”
“With all his loot and his investment here it doesn’t sound reasonable, honey. As an airport, the Capital K is a going concern. Try again.”
She stood up quickly, frowning in concentration, and walked toward me. There was a “woman-with-a-mission” look spread right across her face. “A few years ago he had nothing except a few surplus airplanes. Somehow he managed all this. It came suddenly and expanded fast. The big question is why.”
“He was lucky, baby.”
“All right. Then the big question is how.”
I shrugged. Tuck’s business was no affair of mine. “Where do I come in?”