tell him that weâll cooperate to keep a lid on this if heâll just bottle up the loudmouths at the hotel.â
âIâm in Jack Stillmanâs room.â
âChrist, he couldnât listen in?â
âNo, Captain. Heâs dead.â
âWhat!â
âSomeone shot him through the back of the head while he was shaving.â
âYouâre putting me on.â
âIâm afraid not.â
âDead?â
âDead.â
âMurdered?â
âIt would seem so. The back of his head and no gun in sight.â
âAnyone else there?â
âJust me. I thought Iâd talk to him again. I waited too long.â
âGellman will truly have a fit when he hears about this.â
âI think I hear him knocking at the door,â Masuto said. âI told him to meet me here.â
âAll right. Keep him there until I get there. Iâll call Baxter and have him meet us there. Christ, Masao, what about the Russian?â
âHe canât get to L.A. before another hour. No way. I have to answer the door.â
Masuto hung up the telephone and went to the door.
3
THE
SOVIET
MAN
Masuto opened the door, and Gellman slipped into the room, closing the door behind him.
âAre you alone?â he whispered.
Masuto nodded.
His voice rose. âMasao, you are putting me in one hell of a position. Itâs not enough that I got a drowning on my hands and the owners are threatening me and my wife thinks Iâm shacking up here and I havenât slept in two days, but on top of all that you got to search a guestâs room. Jessam ought to be fired for giving you the key. You canât do it. Do you have a warrant?â he asked as an afterthought.
Masuto shook his head.
âThen youâre out of your mind. Itâs a violation. You know that. If Stillman finds out, he could sue us to hell.â
âHe wonât find out.â
âHow do you know? He could walk in right now.â
âI wish he could, but he canât,â Masuto said gently. âHeâs dead.â
âHe is what?â
âDead. Heâs lying in the bathroom with a bullet in his head.â
âNo. No. Look,â Gellman said, his hand trembling, âI got ulcers and before this is over Iâm going to have a coronary to go with it. So cut out the gags.â
âSit down,â Masuto said, pointing to a chair. âSit down and pull yourself together.â
Gellman collapsed into a chair. âDo you know what this is going to do to the hotel?â
âItâs even worse for Stillman. It happened. Now take it easy. Iâm going to call Fred Comstock. Is he in his office?â
Gellman nodded, got to his feet and started to reach for the brandy bottle on top of the chest of drawers.
âDonât touch anything!â Masuto snapped at him. âJust sit down and pull yourself together.â He picked up the phone, dialed the operator, and asked for Comstock.
âI got to see whatâs in that bathroom,â Gellman said weakly.
âFirst pull yourself together.â Into the phone, âFred, this is Masuto. Iâm in room three-twenty-two with Gellman. Get up here. Itâs important.â
âHe had to kill himself,â Gellman moaned. âThat inconsiderate son of a bitch! Masao, suicide is the goddamned most inconsiderate thing a person can do. They never think of anyone but themselves.â
âHe didnât kill himself, Al. He was murdered.â
âMurdered?â
âThatâs right. Someone shot him in the back of the head.â
âOh, God. I thought it was bad, but this-â
âYou might as well know, Al, the fat man was also murdered.â
âThey said he was drowned.â
âDrugged and then drowned.â
âOh, brother, this is one stinking nightmare. Masao, for Godâs sake, can we keep a lid on this?â
âMaybe on the fat man,