The Case of the Poisoned Eclairs: A Masao Masuto Mystery by Howard Fast Read Free Book Online Page A

with Laura Crombie and was talking to Polly again when Beckman came over to the car and stood by the open window. Masuto had just asked her to get a make from L.A.P.D. on Tony Cooper.
    â€œWho’s Tony Cooper?” Beckman asked him.
    â€œA hairdresser. You’ve seen his place on Camden Road.”
    â€œHow does he fit into all this?”
    â€œI don’t know. I look where the light is, because everywhere else it’s dark.”
    â€œAnd what’s that supposed to mean?”
    â€œNot very much. They tell the story of a man crawling around under a lamp post on his hands and knees. Another man stops and asks him why, and the man on his hands and knees says that he lost a gold cufflink. ‘Where did you lose it?’ the man asks, and the man on his hands and knees replies that he lost it a hundred feet down the street. ‘Then why are you looking here?’ the second man asks. And the man who lost the cufflink replies, ‘Because it’s light here.’”
    â€œThat don’t make much sense,” Beckman said.
    â€œWhat does in this crazy case? There are your investigators,” Masuto said, pointing to where a car had pulled up. “Give it about an hour, Sy, and then I want you to drive over to Laura Crombie’s place. I asked her to get the other three women over there, and they should be there by then. I don’t want anyone else going into that house without your say-so.”
    â€œCome on, Masao, you can’t do that. Wainwright would have my scalp if I tried anything like that.”
    â€œI’m not telling you to pull any rough stuff. We’re putting the house under police protection. There’s nothing illegal about that.”
    â€œWhat do you mean, we’re putting it under police protection?”
    â€œI’ll fix it with Wainwright.”
    â€œSo I see someone going in. Do I stop them?”
    â€œNo. Just find out why. Park near the door. If Mrs. Crombie says it’s okay, let them in. But stay right on top of it, and don’t take your eyes off that door for two minutes.”
    â€œThat’s great. When do you get there?”
    â€œAbout ten. Maybe earlier—not later.”
    â€œAnd when do I eat?”
    â€œGet a sandwich on the way. And grab those investigators. They’ve given it their five minutes.”
    â€œMasao,” Beckman said, “why is L.A.P.D. the only police force in the country that calls its detectives investigators?”
    â€œAsk them,” Masuto said, and put his car in gear and drove off.
    At Rexford Drive, Captain Wainwright listened bleakly to Masuto’s account of the day’s events.
    â€œAssumptions,” he said without enthusiasm. “All you got is a series of assumptions. We still don’t know but maybe this Mexican girl died of the damn eclairs, and you link up the kid on Mulholland Drive with a group of wild guesses. You tell me we got a lunatic who’s killed two people already, but all I see that I can put a finger on is a food poisoning and a killing that belongs to L.A.P.D.”
    â€œI beg to disagree. We have a murderer who is indifferent to human life. He’s killed two people and a dog, and he’ll kill anyone who stands in his way.”
    â€œWhat in hell do you mean, stands in his way? What is his way? What is he after?”
    â€œI think he’s after those four women. I think he’s going to try to kill all four of them.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œI don’t know. If I knew, we wouldn’t be arguing. All I’m asking is that you give Beckman and me a free hand on this case.”
    â€œFor how long?”
    â€œAs long as it takes—maybe another day, maybe a week. I don’t know.”
    Wainwright sighed and nodded. “Okay, but don’t talk to the press. Not a word. You want to make a murder case out of this, you can have the time. But keep it quiet.” He stared intently at Masuto. “You