The By-Pass Control

Chapter 8

The manager at the motel wouldn’t have been a bit happy about seeing me if a TWX from Martin Grady hadn’t arrived. It covered all his damages plus a substantial overpayment that could put a new wing on his establishment. Dave Elroy had been hard at it all night, smoothing things out even to the point of having another rental car waiting for me outside the office. It was from the same company who had supplied the first, so Grady had made his point with them too.

A work crew had already cleared away most of the rubble and I walked over and watched them a minute. I stared at them idly, then strolled past them to the clump of bushes thirty feet away where I had thrown the hand. It was still there, still grasping upwards stiffly at nothing. I wondered how many people it had killed before becoming a thing lying there in the grass, and I walked on down to my room.

The gun was still there, dusty now from the continuous stream of air blowing over it, so I pulled it down, disassembled the piece, cleaned it thoroughly, dropped it back together and put it on where it belonged. Then I lay back on the bed and picked up the phone.

Claude Boster still hadn’t returned, though he had called his housekeeper and told her he would probably be back in the evening. Vincent Small’s phone went unanswered completely, so I quit trying and stayed there, waiting. An hour later Dave Elroy rang, told me to meet him at the Rose Bar in fifteen minutes, and hung up.

It was a small unit built to accommodate the construction crews working at the space project, a combination bar and restaurant that had been added on to several times, primitive enough to keep down the overhead, but stocking enough liquor to account for heavy payroll tastes.

Dave was at a table in the back where he could see everything going on, next to a window so he could watch outside too. I walked up, ordered another beer, and slid in opposite him.

“Hello, jailbird,” he said.

“Drop dead.”

He grinned at me and sipped his beer. “Tell me something, Tiger, why didn’t you nail that guy who tried to disintegrate you beforehand?”

“Because he might have been too damn smart to get caught. Once away he would have stayed away and somebody else would have been brought in. At least this way we scratched one assassin and got an ID besides.”

Dave’s eyebrows went up questioningly.

I said, “I found the hand and got prints from it. Nobody else got anything. I should be getting a report from Ernie sometime today.”

“Clever, Tiger, clever. Excuse me for asking.”

“What about you? I got the double-talk, all right, but how about the details?”

Dave finished his beer and signaled for another. “There was some H flowing in here, all right. Not much, but enough to supply a couple dozen users. One guy handled it all from a jobber in Miami. Then he turned his trade over to somebody else... a guy they called Fish. No other name. Just Fish. He laid it on heavier than his predecessor, so he either located some new customers or built up the old ones.

“Now, here’s the part you’re waiting for. When the squeeze went on, Fish was supplying an addict that was identified as Louis Agrounsky. A couple of other users recognized his picture. They had seen him make the contact and one came through with the bit that he even sold some to him when he was told there was none available. My guess is that Agrounsky was deliberately cultivated by Fish. The stuff he was selling Agrounsky wasn’t the usual cut... it was a hell of a lot hotter. Agrounsky was shooting with damn near pure stuff and with short cuts he couldn’t make the grade. He was hooked all the way on big loads and had to have the best he could get. Then, all of a sudden, Fish dropped out of sight and Agrounsky was stuck. He had gone through his bundle, his source was dried up, now he had to make do with whatever he could get, and he couldn’t get it around here.”

I raised my beer and tasted it. There was something sickly sweet about it until I saw the lipstick on the rim and told the waiter to take the damn thing back and get me a new one in a clean glass. “They missed their timing,” I said.

“What?”

“Agrounsky couldn’t wait. He needed it worse than they thought he did... or else he let somebody else have enough of his stuff to diminish his own supply so that he went short before they figured it.”

“So that’s it,” Dave mused. “That’s why the kilo was picked up in New York. They thought he was heading for there. They were going to make it available for him.”

“He wouldn’t have had any trouble getting it in the city,” I said.

“No, not with the right contacts... and those guys can always find them. But what would he use for money? That early cut stuff costs pretty big.”

“That’s what I’m wondering... You know anything about the Myrtle Beach area?”

Dave took a pad out, flipped over a couple of pages, and looked up at me. “A dead spot. Nothing there at all. If he sold his car there it was to get transportation somewhere else. There’s no known narcotics traffic in that section at all. If he worked according to form he had enough H on him to keep him running on the edge. That car of his could have been giving him trouble and he didn’t want to take the chance of a breakdown that could cost him money.”

“Could be.”

“So where do I go from here?”

“Look for Fish,” I told him. “He’s right in the middle, so start the word going.”

“Hell, he’s been off the scene pretty long.”

“Then put him back on again.”

“Okay, you’re the boss.”

“I’m going to register at the Sand Dunes Motel. It might start to get hot and I’ll need an alternate contact point. The name will be Gerrity, T. Gerrity out of Miami.”

“Got it.”

“If I’m not there leave word where you can be reached. Scramble the number the usual way.”

“Expecting trouble?”

“Plenty.”

I got up, laid a buck on the table for the drinks, nodded to Dave and left. If Fish were still around he’d have him spotted before long, but it was still a good bet that Fish had pulled out.

At the door I looked up at the sky. One of those freak Florida storms was moving in and the clouds were a blue gray, rolling along ahead of a stiff breeze and the smell of rain was in the air.

Just like always, I thought, a kill smell — getting ready to wash away the blood before it had been spilled. I walked across to my car, pulled out of the drive and beaded toward Claude Boster’s house. A police car was there, the driver talking to a uniformed patrolman who had been assigned to watch the place, and the garage door was open showing both spaces empty inside.

I didn’t stop. I went up the road, turned north, then angled over to Vincent Small’s. Nobody was there either, so I cut back to the motel as the rain started and got into my room just before it turned into an oblique, slashing downpour.

The phone was ringing as I turned the knob and when I picked it up Ernie Bentley identified himself and said, “Are we clear?”

“Go ahead, Ernie.”

“I got the prints from that glass. Your person is one Henri Frank, age fifty-two, naturalized Austrian subject, five foot, eleven inches, brown hair, chest tattoo that...”

“Any photos?” I interrupted.

“The usual ones taken when he was naturalized.”

“Get them on the teleprinter to the local police office right away. Put it through as a missing persons report.”

Ernie chuckled and said, “Boy, you’re getting official. Ready to wear a badge?”

I ignored his sarcasm. “What else?”

“Suspected Commie affiliations. This came from our own files. You want the entire sheet on this?”

“No.” I was looking at myself in the mirror above the dresser. The name of Henri Frank had rung a bell someplace and I was trying hard to locate the source. I said, “Who did the footwork?”

“Checking out the prints? No trouble... Charlie Corbinet put it through. What kind of hell are you raising down there?”

“I wish I knew.” I paused, looked at myself again and said, “Special detail, Ernie. How many manufacturers of true sub-mini components are there?”

“Five. All reputable.”

“Would they be interested in Agrounsky’s work?”

“Damn right.”

“Contact them right away. See if he made a sale of anything to any of them. They might not want to talk about it if there are patent complications, but put any kind of heat on you can, assure them they’ll stay clean, but find out.”

“Will do, Tiger. They’re easy to speak to.”

“If necessary, let Martin Grady do the talking. He’s got the power to push it through if he has to.”

“I think I can reach them,” he told me. “By the way, we had a signal from London ten minutes ago on Niger Hoppes. He goes for one brand of inhaler called Bezex. It’s made in West Germany and imported here. Sells for one ninety-eight and isn’t an item generally stocked. One national drug chain handles it in limited quantities, but the main sale is to independent stores in areas where sinus trouble is prevalent. Martin staked out people wherever he could to watch sales, working from the manufacturer’s sales guide he got, but you’re not on the chart. The nearest place to you that handles Bezex is Miami. I’ve sent you a carton of twelve to plant somewhere if you want to try to lay a trap for your boy. I would have sent the other twelve, but I needed two containers to work out a gimmick.”

“Ernie, look...”

“You’ll get two in a separate box,” he told me. “Don’t try using them. They look alike and they’re packaged alike, but unscrew the cap and sniff once and all you’ll get is a nose full of cyanide gas. Life expectancy after that is about two seconds. Beware the innocent bystander. I’ll get the photo off right now.”

“Hurry it up.”

“Right. Watch yourself.”

I hung the phone up, frowning. Henri Frank. It was a name I had seen before. I ran it through my mind several times before I placed it. Henri Frank had been one of those listed in the Unsatisfactory Reports Doug Hamilton had submitted to Washington. At some time he had applied for a job at Belt-Aire Electronics and Hamilton’s check had found him to be a security risk.

I grabbed the phone, dialed the apartment in New York over Shigley’s to try to reach Rondine, listened to it ring a dozen times before I hung up, got a new connection and called Newark Control.

Virgil took my identification and said, “Clear, Tiger.”

“Try to make contact with Rondine at the apartment. Tell her to forget the others and concentrate on Henri Frank. She has Hamilton’s UR’s and will know what to do. If she comes up with anything, have her contact me at this number. If she can’t reach me, tell her to stay put at the apartment until I get a call through.”

“Got it.”

“Ernie’s got photos of Frank he’s sending down. Have him make copies and spread them around the city. He was pushing narcotics down here, but that was an assignment, not a trade. Check him out with those who might tie him into a Commie setup.”

“What do we do with him?”

“Nothing. He’s dead. I want to know his associates. He’s part of the machine working against us, but so far he’s the only one who can give us a direct contact if we can locate it. His prints were on file in Washington, only not through a police record, so there’s no angle there or Ernie would have notified me. This guy’s managed to stay clean in that department.”

“Okay, Tiger, check back tomorrow. Time enough?”

“No. I’m going to try a couple other ways too.”

“Keep us informed.”

“Roger.”

I held the phone down to break the connection, lifted it and gave the operator the number of Belt-Aire Electronics. The girl at the switchboard answered, took my name and put me through to Camille Hunt’s secretary, and after a few seconds Camille said, “Well, hello, fly.”

“Hi, kid.”

“You’ve kept me waiting.”

“Not you, baby. You don’t wait for anybody.”

Her laugh was a low, pleasant thing. “For some unaccountable reason I’ve been waiting for you. It’s an admission I don’t like to make.”

“Flies make a lousy meal,” I said.

“Ah, but you said you were the mud dauber type. They’re tastier.”

“Oh, shut up.”

She laughed again. “Now... are we on business or pleasure?”

“Business.”

“Damn.”

I grinned at her through the phone. “Favor, honey. Take a quick check through your records and see what you have on Henri Frank. He made an application there and Hamilton’s check rejected him.”

“Frank, Frank,” she mused. “Wait a second. I don’t think I have to.” I heard a drawer open and shut, pages being ruffled, then she said, “Remember I told you I took notes on certain people?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Well, he was one. I have it here... wait a second.” She paused and I could hear her whispering to herself, trying to decipher what she had written. Then: “Strange little man. My impression was negative. He applied for common labor and gave half a dozen former places he had worked in the Florida area.”

“What are they?”

“I... don’t know offhand. I seem to remember something he said... oh, damn... I didn’t write it down. These were personality notes. Lack of sincerity, hesitancy in offering information, no apparent ambition.”

“How about the files?”

“If he were a UR only Washington would have them.”

“Then think about what he told you.”

“Tiger... that was some time ago. Perhaps I can recall, but...”

“All right, do this then... hop a plane down here. I’m at Eau Gallie, Florida, right next to the Cape Kennedy project. I’ll check the schedules myself and meet the flight you’ll be on. Don’t bother packing... just get on the first one out. Think about it on the way down and we’ll pick it up when you get here. And forget the job... this is a Martin Grady authorization.” I laughed and added, “Besides, you can use a vacation.”

“Sure, without clothes?”

“What better kind?” I said.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” she told me, a lilt in her voice, “but you’re making it sound awfully interesting. I’ll see you shortly, mud dauber.”

Captain Hardecker was rolled back in his desk chair when I opened the door. His feet were propped on the window sill, the stub of a cigar clamped in his teeth while he looked at the telephoto in his hands. The look he gave me was hard, but not too unfriendly. “I’ve been expecting you,” he said.

“Henri Frank?”

“A missing person. Do I get an explanation?”

I took the picture he held out to me, a front and profile view of a guy who would always be missing. “You got it,” I said. “He’s disappeared.”

“Can I make a guess?”

“Go ahead.”

“Like blown to bits?”

I shrugged. “It’s a possibility.”

“How distinct?”

“Very.”

“I’m glad you admitted it.”

“Why?”

“Because some kid at the motel found a gun that had been blown fifty yards away and his old man turned it in to us. We checked the ballistics and the slugs matched those used out at Boster’s place.”

“It figures,” I said.

“Then why the picture?” he asked.

“To find out what’s known about him. I want some b.g. on the guy.”

“Nobody here knew him.”

“I didn’t think they would.”

“Since it came in on the printer as an m.p. I took the liberty of running off a few copies. Two of my men are asking around. Know where they might hit pay dirt?”

“Not the faintest.”

“And if we hit it anyway...?”

“Any cooperation would be appreciated.”

“You scare me,” he said bluntly. “You and that goddamn attitude, that look in your eyes. It’s not like I haven’t seen it before. I’ve been in this business a long time and I can classify types automatically. Like in the movies, there are good guys and bad guys and if I had to put you anywhere it would be the bad guy department, only bad guys don’t have your connections and that’s what scares me. This whole damn situation is unreal, and that’s what makes it too real for me. This town is a hotspot to start with and someplace the Soviets have an ICBM lined up to pop right down our throats like they have all their other primary targets. I don’t enjoy sitting on my thumbs having nothing to do while something is ready to claw me up.” He pulled the cigar out of his mouth and tossed it into the metal wastebasket where it hit with a wet plop. “How bad is it?”

“Bad,” I said simply.

“Then why are you alone on this?”

“I’m not. You just haven’t seen the others.”

“Publicity could blow something then?”

“All the way.”

“Okay, I’ll go along. I’ll be damned if I don’t dig something up on this guy.” He caught the look on my face and said, “Don’t worry. We know how to ask questions too. We have our own ways and our own people. I’ll give you a call if something turns up.”

“Thanks.” I flicked my finger against Henri Frank’s picture. “Mind if I keep this?”

“It’s yours.” I looked at it again, saw the face of the one who wasn’t any more, a partially bald-headed guy with a sallow face and eyes too close together. He had a mouth like he had just tasted something sour and the expression of those who had nothing but dislike for the rest of the world. Perhaps before he would have seemed ordinary, another guy out of step with himself, fighting everything because he was inadequate for survival unless he was handed it on a platter, but now, knowing what he was really like inside, the picture fitted him perfectly. I stuck it in my pocket, nodded to Hardecker and left.

Outside the rain had lost its original fury, settling into a monotonous drumbeat that raised the salt out of the sand and laid the smell of the sea on the air. The quiet of a small town at rest was almost a strange noise in itself. Like someone waiting, I thought. It was sitting there marking time, knowing something was going to happen and almost anxious to be an unseen spectator.

I jumped in the car, made a U turn and picked my way back toward Vincent Small’s house. The time-drag was beginning to get me. Impatience made me run through the pack of cigarettes and rip the top off a fresh deck, swearing softly at the inconvenience. The whole situation was like a huge bowl of Jell-o that was liquid-hot and you had to stand by until it set before it could be handled properly. And you knew there wouldn’t be that much time allotted you.

It needed a catalyst. It needed an agent to cool it suddenly and shorten the time period. Somewhere in the night hundreds of personnel were on the hunt. A thousand technicians were running down the circuits of Agrounsky’s electronic installation looking for the bug. The night was crawling with faceless men, looking for one lone man who seemed to have removed himself from the world... and in their midst was another loner, another faceless one who might be steps ahead in the game, getting closer all the time to Agrounsky who was holding the world in his hands, trying to decide just what to do with it.

There was a light on in Vincent Small’s house, his car back in the garage. I nosed up the driveway, cut the engine and hopped out. Before I rang the bell I glanced in the window beside the door and saw him pacing the floor, talking heatedly to someone in a chair with his back to me. The figure shifted slightly and I saw the side of Claude Boster’s face, his mouth drawn tight with some fierce emotion.

Vincent Small opened the door, nodded as though he were expecting me and stepped aside to let me in. “Ah, Mr. Mann. Please join us.” A worried expression creased his forehead and he couldn’t seem to keep his hands still.

“I’ve been trying to reach you,” I said.

“Yes, indeed. I have been... out.” He waved with one hand. “This way, please.”

Claude Boster made a noncommittal gesture with his head when I walked in, looking at me with that strange stare professionals have for someone not in their field, and picked up his drink. He fidgeted nervously, squirming in his chair, sipping at his drink every few seconds.

Small said, “Can I get you anything?”

“No thanks.”

“May I ask a question then?”

“Go ahead.”

“That bombing affair at the motel... did it have anything to do with—” he glanced around and added with a helpless note — “us?”

“It was meant to take me out of the action,” I told him, “the same way those shots were supposed to remove Boster or me the other night. So, friend, it has a lot to do with you. The key factor is Louis Agrounsky and unless we turn him up soon you’d better get used to the sight of dead bodies.”

“Mr. Mann... please.”

Vincent Small gave me a glance of pathetic hopelessness and sat down on the edge of a chair, staring at his hands in his lap. “We... we’ve talked about it.” He looked up at Claude Boster who tried to shrink back into the overstuffed cushions. “It... well, begins to make sense.”

“How?”

“Louis... the way he acted. Something was wrong.”

“Did you know he was a narcotics addict?”

Once again there was that quick exchange of glances, the slight hesitation and the feeling of nervous tension in the air. This time Claude Boster wet his lips and said, “We... thought it was something like that. Vince and I... talked about it.”

“Recently?”

“No... earlier, before Louis disappeared. He was developing some peculiar traits... and we both noticed how quickly he could recover from a tense period by a trip to the bathroom. There were... other things, too.”

“For instance?” I asked them.

Small said, “I laid his jacket on the bed one time and a packet fell out. There were... well, he had a syringe and several capsules in there. At the time I assumed it was all prescribed by a physician following his accident and had no reason to believe otherwise until... well, as Claude mentioned... he began to act rather strange at times.”

“I’ll tell you how strange he was,” I said. “This man has an unusual susceptibility to narcotics. He became an addict accidentally but immediately, and it’s distorted his entire personality.”

Vincent Small’s face paled and his lips were held together tightly. “To... what extent, Mr. Mann?”

“Let me shock you... but first let me remind you that if this goes any further you’ll both find yourselves in the cooler so fast your eyes’ll cross... and you’ll be lucky because otherwise you might be dead.” I let it sink in a moment before saying, “Agrounsky holds something that can tumble this whole world. He gimmicked our ICBM system with a by-pass control that gives him the ability to activate or deactivate it. If we don’t get him before he makes his decision we’ve lost it, buddies. Either way we can all go down the drain.”

Vincent Small swallowed hard, fumbling for words. Boster just sat there staring at his hands. Slowly Small raised his eyes to mine. “Louis used to talk... about a place he had. He was very... secretive about it.”

And there it was. Close. I could feel my hands tighten and the muscles bunch up in my neck.

“Where?”

Vincent Small made a tiny negative with his head. He looked across at Boster, shoulders bent in a slump of defeat. “We... talked about it. He mentioned a few things... a fish store run by a man named Wax... Louis liked fish. He said it was perfect for what he needed... a place to think or to work out what he called... his problems.”

“And you found it?”

“No. We asked the realtors in town and saw people Louis knew but they couldn’t tell us anything. We even tried locating the fish store and the man he called Wax, but that wasn’t any good either.”

I could see everything going up in smoke. Here it was in my hands, right on top of me, yet a million miles away. But if Agrounsky had said one thing he might have said another they didn’t recall yet.

“How often did he speak about this place?”

Claude Boster said, “Just twice to me. Both times was when he was... feeling sick.”

“Like he needed a boost,” I suggested.

“Yes.”

I looked at Small. “And you?”

“Several times. Casual remarks, but strange for him.”

“Why?”

“Because he was used to big laboratories and the finest equipment. In his work he needed other technicians to perform minor time consuming tasks and it wasn’t like him to seek solitude.”

“He was a loner, wasn’t he?”

“Quite so, but only in regard to his personal association with people. Other people were a necessity in his profession.”

“And you can’t think of anything else he might have said or done that could locate this place of his?”

In a soft tone Boster said, “It wouldn’t have been up north.”

“Why not?”

“Louis had a touch of rheumatism. He couldn’t stand cold weather.”

“So that narrows it down to half a continent,” I mused. “Nuts.”

“We tried, Mr. Mann,” Small said apologetically.

“The next time don’t try it alone. I’ll get some people on this and see what we can run down. My advice to you both is to stick close to your homes and stay locked in. There are others who know of your connection with Agrounsky and if they think you have anything that might locate him you’ll be a target. You’ve already seen an example of what they’ll do so don’t play it down.”

“But...”

“I’ll arrange for police protection. You’re public property for a while and you’ll need it. What I want is for you to think. Go over every damn detail of your talks with Agrounsky and see what you come up with. If there is anything at all... any little thing, you call me.” I wrote down the Sand Dunes number on separate slips of paper and handed it to them. “If I’m not there, contact the I.A.T.S. offices in New York or the local F.B.I. and they’ll have an agent here in a matter of minutes.”

Both of them nodded silently.

“You realize how critical this is?”

They nodded again.

“One of you might be holding the key to saving your own hides. You haven’t got much time. Maybe none at all.”

I.A.T.S. was in emergency session when my call got through. Charlie Corbinet took the message and put Hal Randolph on the line. The edge was off the usual gruff tone and he sounded tired, and all he could say was, “Yeah, Randolph here.”

“Tiger Mann. I have something.” I gave him the details of Agrounsky’s narcotic condition and the possibility of his having a hideout somewhere near a fish place run by a guy named Wax. “You’ll need a damn big team to run it down,” I said. “It could be a store near a river or a lake as well as the oceanside. That gives you a lot of country to cover, but it’s the only lead I have.”

“Okay, Tiger. You sure that’s all?”

“Push it from the narcotics end and you might get something.”

“Don’t worry, we will.” He paused, then added, “You get off it now.”

“Like hell I will.”

“Orders, Mann.”

“Shove ’em. I’m closer than you are and I’m staying on it.”

“You were told you’d risk a court-martial,” he warned me.

“You scare me, big daddy. You need every person you can get.”

“Except you,” he said. “This is a matter of national concern. There can be no instability factor...”

I hung up on him and grinned to myself. Hell, they weren’t worried about me. They didn’t want to risk putting the Martin Grady organization in a position of power if we broke through. They still wanted us destroyed and if they could keep us from gaining strength the odds were still going for them.

My watch read ten after nine. Another hour and the men Hal Randolph would have assigned would be flooding the area, some with orders to hold me. Well, they’d have a time of it if they tried squeezing me out.

I got back to my motel, paid two days in advance, took a few necessities out of my suitcase and drove over to the Sand Dunes Motel and registered in under T. Gerrity, getting a corner room on the northeast end of the building.

When I finished putting my gear away I called Dave’s motel, left word for him to meet me outside the police station in twenty minutes, then ducked back through the rain and took the highway down to the precinct station and asked for Hardecker.

The Captain opened the door himself, looked me over as if I were a bug of some kind and waved me in. “You’re a pain in the butt, Mann.”

“So I’ve been told before.”

“What’s it this time?”

“A constant stakeout on Boster’s and Vincent Small’s places.”

“Why?”

“You could have a repetition of the other night. Cover all doors and keep a car ready to roll.”

“Just like that, huh?”

“Just like that.”

The faintest grin showed around his mouth. “I don’t know why I like you,” he said. “You scare me, but you make life kind of exciting. Okay, I’ll get somebody there. I don’t suppose you can explain.”

“That’s right.”

“And nobody’s to know about it, right?”

I nodded.

“Son-of-a-gun,” he almost whispered. “I get the feeling I’m being made a sucker.”

“You’re not.”

“I know that too, but I can’t help the feeling.” He slid into his chair and rocked it back, picking up two report sheets from his desk in the same motion. “We’re not so stupid around here, Mr. Mann. I have a little news for you.”

“Oh?”

His fingers flicked the sheets. “Something on Agrounsky. We work pretty closely with personnel on the space project... continuous surveillance on certain people engaged in classified work... for their own protection as well as security reasons.”

When I didn’t say anything he looked down at the sheets again. “This is confidential. Duplicates of these reports were never submitted to any agency because we checked every detail out thoroughly.”

“Go ahead.”

“Louis Agrounsky was a bachelor with pretty sedate habits. He didn’t drink and he didn’t consort with women. That is... not often. When he did it was with two professionals on six different occasions over a period of thirteen months. Now we don’t condone or protect prostitution, but we face the facts and know it exists. These two women were informers for us and notified us of the contact and we bugged the rooms to make sure Agrounsky didn’t talk out of turn and become a security risk.”

“Did he?”

“Nope. It was all very physical and very professional. And understandable,” he added. “He satisfied a need and left. In case you’re wondering, this situation has arisen before and...”

“I get the picture,” I interrupted. “It’s nothing new.”

“Naturally, we kept a check going and on several occasions had the report that Agrounsky was seen with a woman. No identification. They met for supper twice and went to the picture show once. No further contact.”

“No attempt was made to establish identification?”

“There was no necessity for it. He was allowed to lead his own life. She wasn’t a known person and the association was casual. It wasn’t an overnight affair and the police officer seated nearby said the conversation was inconsequential.”

“Description?”

Hardecker shrugged. “Female, early thirties, well built but on the plain side. Their relationship seemed friendly. Nothing more.”

“It doesn’t sound like him.”

“Friend, if a man is a male, sooner or later he’s going to get that yen for a broad. In Agrounsky’s case it was on rare occasions, but enough to satisfy him even if it was only a matter of getting into a conversation.”

“How far did you go in checking her out?”

“She was registered at the Sinbad as Helen Lewis, giving an address in Sarasota. A call there verified it. The manager said she had lived in an apartment there the past two years.”

I held out my hand and he dropped the reports in it. I scanned them quickly, picked up the address and phone numbers listed there and handed them back. “Could be okay,” I said.

“We’re still asking questions. If there was anything irregular, we’ll dig it out.”

“Mind if I drop back?”

“With your connections I don’t mind at all.”

“They may go sour,” I told him.

“I run my own department,” Hardecker said.

I looked around for Dave and didn’t see him outside anywhere. The rain had put a glaze over the street lights and hammered at my face as I walked into it toward my car. When I reached it I pulled the door open and slid into the seat.

Behind me Dave said, “You’re getting careless, chum.”

I grinned at his reflection in the mirror. “Not really. You ought to try squatting in the middle. All your weight was on the one side.”

“Forget it.” He clambered over the seat and got beside me. “Anything new?”

“Nothing in your department.”

“Well, I have something. I had to use a little heat to get it and it cost Grady two grand, but a fairly big buy was made from a peddler in Savannah who palmed off a lot of low-grade stuff to a sucker for a bundle. The contact was a guy named Sonny Kipton who had a reputation for this sort of thing. The same sucker called back here to a friend to make the original connection for another contact and was steered to a man in Charleston.”

“We’re working our way north into the Myrtle Beach area.”

“Check, buddy. Remember me telling you about the guy Agrounsky took off the hook by selling him some of his supply?”

“Yeah.”

“So he talked some more. He used to be located up there and put Agrounsky on both of them.”

“He made his deal?”

“Yeah, and got the same old switcheroo. The guy’s contacts were lousy. The Kipton punk tried it a week later and got knocked off for his trouble by a hophead who’s being held for it. The other one can’t be located. They don’t stay put very long. Want me to scratch him up?”

“No. I want Fish.”

Dave shook his head. “Not a sign, and brother, I looked.”

“Keep looking,” I said. I reached in my pocket and brought out the photo of Henri Frank, stared at it a moment, and held it out for Dave to see. “Here’s another one we’re after. This one’s dead, but he ties in someplace.”

Dave took the picture from my hand, glanced at it, then frowned at me. “Hell, Tiger,” he said, “this is Fish. The description matches every damn detail.”