The Case of the Russian Diplomat: A Masao Masuto Mystery (Book Three) by Howard Fast Read Free Book Online

Stillman of Las Vegas rented. No. No, forget that. I have the license number.” He fumbled through his pockets, found the slip. “Here it is, seven-six-nine-two VVN, give it to everyone, our own cars, L.A.P.D., the sheriff, the Highway Patrol. High priority. Possibly driven by a woman. Even if it is a woman, she is armed and dangerous. I want the car located and anyone in it held for questioning.”
    He put down the phone and turned to face Wainwright. “I should have thought of it immediately.” He shrugged. “Well, it’s three or four hours since Stillman died, so I don’t suppose it matters, They’ll probably find the car parked somewhere.”
    â€œWhat the devil is this all about?” Wainwright demanded.
    Masuto looked at his watch. “Twelve-thirty,” he said to Wainwright. “We ought to get back before the Russian comes.”
    Wainwright started to say something, swallowed, and said to Beckman, “Sit on this, Sy.” And to Gellman, “When Sweeney’s finished, Al, we’ll have to close up the room. At least for twenty-four hours.”
    â€œWith a cop outside?” Gellman asked plaintively.
    â€œOkay, I’ll tell the cop to go.”
    â€œAnd what do I do now?”
    â€œYou’ll have the press all over you. They’ll keep you busy.”
    â€œWhat do I tell them?”
    â€œAbout the drowned man—if they ask, just tell them that he drowned. If they don’t ask, tell them nothing. About Stillman, he’s a guy from Vegas and he got shot. It happens.”
    â€œHe’s not just a guy from Vegas. He’s Binnie Vance’s husband and manager.”
    â€œWho the hell is Binnie Vance?”
    â€œYou don’t live right, Captain,” Sweeney said, pausing in his dusting. “Binnie Vance is only the hottest thing that hit Vegas this season. She’s an exotic dancer who makes Gypsy Rose Lee look like a Girl Scout entertainer.”
    â€œGypsy Rose Lee—you got to be kidding. That goes back thirty years.”
    â€œSo do I,” said Sweeney.
    â€œWell, whoever she is, she’s got to be told that Stillman is dead. Where do you suppose she is?”
    â€œProbably in Las Vegas,” Beckman said.
    â€œOh, great, great,” Gellman said. “Do you know what the goddamn media is going to do? They’re going to make it a mob execution.”
    â€œI told you a woman killed him,” Masuto said. “The mob doesn’t have women executioners, not yet.”
    In the hallway, Wainwright told the uniformed policeman that he could go back to his car, and then he said to Masuto, “You seem damned sure that a woman did it.”
    â€œNot positive. I think so.”
    â€œAnd you also know who she is,” Wainwright observed sarcastically.
    â€œI think so. But that doesn’t mean one damn thing, Captain. It’s just a wild guess, and I don’t know why or how it adds up or comes together or what it all means.”
    â€œAnd you also know who killed the fat man?”
    â€œSort of.”
    They were in the elevator now, along with the uniformed cop and two hotel guests, so Wainwright held his peace. But when they got out into the lobby, Wainwright snapped, “What the hell do you mean, sort of? Even from you, that’s a new one.”
    â€œCaptain, look at that,” the uniformed officer said, pointing to Sal Monti, talking to half a dozen reporters and cameramen.
    â€œThat little son of a bitch,” Wainwright snorted. “Where’s your car, Masao? You got the keys or did you give them to Monti?”
    â€œI’m down the hill and I have the keys.”
    â€œGood. I came with Beckman, so you drive. We go right through. Not one word.”
    They were past the entrance before someone recognized Wainwright, and then the reporters raced after the captain and Masuto. “Nothing!” Wainwright snapped at them. “Not one word! Not one