Copp On Fire, A Joe Copp Thriller (Joe Copp, Private Eye Series) by Don Pendleton Read Free Book Online Page B

his prints. They were a bit fuzzy, and he complained about marks on some of the negatives that carried over onto the prints. I told him it was fine, paid him and got out of there.
    The "marks" were actually etchings that had been placed on four of the negatives by technicians at the police lab, identification codes for the latest four victims. They were covered in the abstract.
           I could understand why Abe Johnson had been so edgy during our luncheon.
           The fuse was still burning.
           There could be ten more victims before the thing had run its course. And nobody even knew why the others had died.
           I decided it was about time someone found out why.
           That fuse was burning toward me too.
           It was time to stop feeling like a victim and start acting like a cop. I intended to do exactly that.
     
     

CHAPTER NINE
     
    I kept my appointment with Mark Shapiro and we spent ten minutes discussing the case in his office, then he volunteered to drive me home and I took him up on it. Not that I intended to go home but I needed my car. To be afoot in the L. A. area is to be stranded. We played bumper-cars along the San Bernardino Freeway. Mark drives like most New Yorkers—with fury and faith in a higher power—it was not a restful trip. We got to my office in record time and it was just past three when Mark screeched out of the parking lot and left me debating with myself about my next move.
    I decided to go inside and check the office for signs. Nothing—nothing on the answer machine, nothing out of place. I don't know what I'd hoped to find.
    On impulse I went next door to the beauty salon for a chat with the owner, a fiftyish woman named Molly who is a terrible advertisement for her business, but any meet with her is good for smiles and excellent coffee.
           She showed me a brightly expectant face and raised a coffee cup as I walked in. Several customers were receiving the usual attentions from beauticians in booths along the wall. I always get uncomfortable looks from the chair-bound patrons when I go in there, sort of like what you'd expect from an intrusion into a ladies' room. I followed Molly to a little alcove in the rear where she served up a fresh brew and the standard running gag.     "You look like hell, Joe."
           "Thanks. So do you."
           "So let's go to your place and console each other."
           I faked appropriate disappointment, as usual, as I replied, "Can't. I'm on a case."
           One day I'm going to take her up on that, just to determine if she's faking it too.
           "You're always on a case," she replied tartly. "I saw her yesterday. What's she got that I don't have?—other than youth, beauty and wealth?"
           Exactly why I came in. Molly sees a lot from behind her cash register.
           "Tall blond girl?"
           "Driving a fancy car, yes. Was that a Jaguar?"
           "Uh huh."
           "Don't be so coy. The cops already asked me about
    it.
           "When was that?"
           "This morning. Plainclothes cops. They asked a lot of questions."
           "About me?"
           "No, about Santa Claus, dummy. Don't worry, I told them you're great in bed."
    "Guess I'll have to prove it now, huh?"
    "Any time you feel like you can, Tiger."
    We laughed and lit cigarettes. It was our usual banter. I think she's all talk. Molly has been married to the same man for thirty years. If her usual appearance is any guide, she lost real interest in sex long ago but has fun talking about it.
    I told her, "I'm in some trouble, Molly. For real. I need—"
    "Is it that bombing? I knew it! That was the same damned limousine, wasn't it!"
    "You saw that too, huh?"
    "Sure I saw it. Everyone in this complex saw it. Was that really Bernie Wisemsn ?"
    "Looks that way, yeah," I replied. "I was hired to do some routine work for the guy. Now they're trying to implicate me in