Free The Corpse Without a Country by Louis Trimble

Emily.
    I saw a telephone at the end of the divan and grabbed for it. I called Maslin. When I got him, he sounded almost too pleased to hear from me.
    He said with ghoulish pleasure, “Just where are you, Durham?”
    I looked at Jodi. “Where am I?” She gave me the address and I relayed it to Maslin.
    He said, “Just say there.” Then, as an afterthought, “What were you calling about?”
    I told him what I’d just realized. I said, “I’d go to the Pad and get her while you can.”
    “The Pad, huh,” Maslin said. “Well, well,” and he hung up. I dropped the phone back. What he said made no sense at all.
    When I told Jodi, she could only shrug. We sat and worked over the problem. We were still at it when the doorbell rang.
    “That’ll be him now,” she said. “Maybe we can find out what he meant.” She trotted down a hall and out of sight.
    Two minutes of silence later, I realized that Maslin wouldn’t have had time to get here from his office. I turned toward the hall door, my mouth open to call a warning to Jodi.
    I was too late. She was coming back into the living room. Her complexion had lost a lot of its color and her eyes were wide. She looked genuinely afraid. Behind her was the blonde, her dart gun aimed at Jodi’s back. And behind the blonde was the mustard-colored character she had called Mr. Ghatt. He moved with a lot of speed for a man with a crutch and a leg brace.
    I said, “Good evening. Have a cup of coffee.”
    “I prefer to have that report, Mr. Durham.”
    I said, “Madame X, I don’t got no report. I’m sorry as hell, but there it is—the truth at last.”
    She wasn’t amused. She said. “My name is Ilona, please. And I wish the report at once.”
    She pronounced her name European fashion—Ee-loh-nah. It was very pretty. So was her accent, what little she had. So was she, and there was a good deal of her.
    I said, “Didn’t you take the report when you killed Mike Fenney?”
    Ilona stopped. Mr. Ghatt stopped. Jodi came on around the divan and sat beside me. I took her hand. Her palm was moist. I could feel her muscles trembling.
    “I did not come here to joke,” she said.
    “A dead man is no joke,” I assured her.
    Mr. Ghatt swung himself beside Ilona. He spoke to her in a low voice. She said, “The report … now, please. I cannot waste more time.”
    I said, “I haven’t got it. But from what I heard, there isn’t anything important in it anyway. So if I had it, I’d give it to you.”
    That puzzled her. She and Mr. Ghatt whispered at each other some more. Then she said, “I shall have to ask you to come into another room, Mr. Durham.”
    I said, “Just me … alone?”
    She ignored my attempt to be coy. She said, “I wish to examine your clothing, please.”
    Jodi giggled. Mr. Ghatt said in precise, Oxford English, “Do as she says, Mr. Durham, or we shall have to hurt Miss Rasmussen.”
    Jodi stopped giggling.
    She said, “There’s a guest room through that door.” She pointed to the west end of the living room.
    I got up and walked docilely in the direction she pointed.

XI
    I LONA MANEUVERED ME into the bedroom, turned on the light, and shut the door so smoothly that I knew she was no amateur at this kind of game.
    The room was bright and cheerful, the upholstery and walls in matching pastels, the rug a soft, pale green. It was the kind of room I could have enjoyed being a guest in.
    But not the kind of guest I was right now.
    Ilona sat on the edge of the bed, the gun resting casually on her thigh. She was wearing a pale green dress with classical lines that showed off her striking figure. She was a very beautiful woman.
    I said, “Just what is this all about.”
    Her deep blue eyes were filled with speculation as she studied me. Then she smiled. “Please do not try to fool me with your pretense of innocence, Mr. Durham.”
    I gave up. She had me pegged as something I wasn’t, that was obvious. It was also obvious that nothing I could say would