Free Exploit of Death - Dell Shannon by Dell Shannon Page A

been accumulative
over a brief period of time. There had been the equivalent of a
couple of strong drinks in the stomach contents. The percentage rate
was .010, and .014 was the rate for legal intoxication. The estimated
time of death was between eight and midnight last Tuesday night.
There were no bruises or other marks on the body. She had been a
virgin. She had had a meal about six hours prior to death, consisting
of some sort of fish, potatoes, green vegetables.
    "This is your offbeat one," said Palliser.
    "The wild blue yonder," said Higgins.
    "Well, it says a little something.' ' Mendoza
lit a cigarette with a snap of his lighter. "But there's a gap
between Saturday and Tuesday. Where was she? That library card-this
was set up awhile ago. If they, whoever, had arranged the killing,
why not do it right away? Grandfather! Could she have been with
Grandfather? I can't see any pattern to it at all, damn it."
    "Have you heard anything about the possible
missing reports?" asked Higgins.
    Mendoza had sent out queries to every force in the
country about that.
    "Nothing's come in yet. Where the hell was she
and why? We should be hearing something from the cab companies, if
there's anything to get."
    "Those Daggetts could tell us something,"
said Higgins.
    "I wonder," said Mendoza. "They know
something but maybe not that much. I haven't leaned on them because
we haven't a damn thing to go on, for God's sake. There's no smell of
legal proof that the girl was the Martin girl. And whoever primed the
Daggetts with the Hoffman story, all they have to do is stick by it,
we can't prove it's a lie. What the hell use would it be to lean on
them, George? They're not big brains, but they understand that much.
Grandfather, Grandfather! If only there was some way to find out
where she was going, or thought she was going—" He brushed his
mustache back and forth angrily.
    "There's just no handle to any part of it,"
said Higgins.
    Mendoza picked up the phone, asked Farrell to get
Communications, asked if there was anything in, from any force, on a
possible missing report on the girl. So far most of the police forces
in the country had responded and none had any record of such a
report.
    "So what does that say?" Mendoza emitted a
long angry stream of smoke. "Grandfather! " The phone
buzzed at him and he picked it up.
    "You've got a new body," said Farrell.
"Hoover Street."
    "Hell," said Mendoza and took down the
address and passed it on to Higgins.
    Palliser and Higgins went out on that and Mendoza
wandered back to his office and sat staring out the window at the
view of the Hollywood Hills, chain-smoking, until Farrell rang him
and said he had somebody from the Yellow Cab Company on the line.
"Put him through," said Mendoza.
    The man on the line was a Mr. Meyers, sounding
efficient. "You wanted to know about any passengers picked up at
International Airport a week ago today. I've got a list for you from
the dispatcher. There were only nine."
    "Fine," said Mendoza. "We can cut
corners here and save some time. I'd like all those drivers to come
in to headquarters to look at a photograph."
    "Oh, my God,"
said Meyers. "What a hell of a nuisance, but we do have to
cooperate with the police. All right, where are they supposed to
come?"
    * * *
    THE ADDRESS on Hoover Street, a secondary main drag,
was in the middle of half a dozen little shops, all in an old
building stretching for half a block. There was a shoe-repair place,
a women's dress shop, a little variety store, a photographer. Three
of the shops were empty, with for rent signs, and there was a dingy
independent drugstore on the corner. The squad and the uniformed
patrolman were in front of the little variety store. Higgins slid the
Pontiac into the curb behind the squad and they got out.
    There was a woman with the patrolman, a stout
middle-aged black woman. She looked neat and respectable in a dowdy
blue cotton housedress, but her round face still wore a shocked
expression.
    "There are the