Read The Case of the Russian Diplomat: A Masao Masuto Mystery (Book Three) for Free Online Page A

Al. There’s a whole committee that wants to keep a lid on that one. But this? No. There’s no way.”
    The doorbell rang. Masuto went to the door and Comstock came in.
    â€œIf it takes money,” Gellman was saying, “we can pay. I’ll talk to the city manager. I know the Chandlers—”
    â€œWhat in hell is going on in here?” Comstock wanted to know. “This is Stillman’s room. Where is he?”
    â€œHe’s lying in the bathroom, dead, bullet in the back of his head. Mr. Gellman’s disturbed, naturally.” Comstock’s mouth fell. He looked from Gellman to Masuto, who went on, “Captain Wainwright’s on his way over, and he’ll have Sy Beckman with him and Sweeney, the fingerprint man, and the photographer and maybe a uniformed cop or two. Then Doc Baxter will be coming, and he’s got a loud mouth. Then the ambulance will be here to take the body away. Now what we don’t want, Fred, is to make this any worse for Al than it already is, so go down to the front and talk to Sal Monti, and tell him to ease everyone in with no questions. If a black-and-white comes, have it pull down the row and park with no commotion. Just try to keep it going very quiet and easy, and tell the people downstairs to keep their peace and not to talk.”
    â€œWhere is he? The stiff?”
    â€œQuiet and easy,” Gellman said. “Right in the lunch hour. There’ll be fifty cars into the hotel in the next half hour.”
    â€œIn the bathroom, I told you,” Masuto said to Comstock, who started for the bathroom door. “Leave it alone, Fred. I don’t want anything touched. Now please, go down and do what I told you to.”
    He hesitated, and Gellman said weakly, “Go ahead, Fred. Do what Masao told you to. He knows what he’s doing.”
    Comstock grunted and left the room.
    â€œI wish I did,” Masuto said. He closed his eyes and stood silently in the center of the room.
    â€œWhat the devil are you doing?”
    â€œTrying to think some sense into this.”
    â€œCan we open a window? I’m choking.”
    Masuto went over to the manager and patted him softly on the shoulder. “Not yet. I want to leave everything just as it is until Sweeney gets here. I don’t believe you solve anything with fingerprints, but that’s his stock in trade, and he’s touchy about it. Try to relax. Tell me, Al, when do you open the pool in the morning for the guests?”
    â€œAt nine o’clock.”
    â€œDid you open it this morning?”
    He nodded.
    â€œWho does it?”
    â€œJoe Finnuchi, the pool man. He has a kid who assists him, a college kid who works as pool boy during the summer. His name is Bobby Carlton.”
    â€œWhen they open in the morning, is anyone there waiting to use the pool?”
    â€œYeah, there’s always three or four health nuts down for their morning swim. Sometimes more. I don’t know what you’re getting at, Masao. What difference does it make?”
    â€œMaybe none. I’m just trying to understand that public-spirited prostitute who called in the information about the drowned man in the middle of the night. The point is, Al, that if she’d left it alone and this Joe Finnuchi and the pool boy and the guests had walked into the pool area, the news of the drowned man would be all over the hotel and the city and the country too.”
    â€œSo we lucked out—until this.”
    â€œNo. She was just buying time. But why? That’s why he was naked. Eight hours, and we still don’t know who he is. Why did she need the eight hours?”
    â€œWhat are you talking about?”
    â€œAl, listen to me. The fat man’s clothes are somewhere in the hotel. I want them. Will you give it a try?”
    â€œHow do you know?”
    â€œJust accept the fact that I know. Will you tell Comstock to really shake down the place—every place someone in a