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

talk to us at the police station.”
    The cold blue eyes stared at Masuto, and then, unexpectedly, he said, “What are you, Chinese?”
    â€œI am a Nisei, which means that my parents were born in Japan. Now may we come in?”
    Beckman recognized the slight hardening in Masuto’s voice, very subtle, an indication of closely controlled but increasing anger. Masuto was almost as tall as Stillman, but narrower, leaner, no extra flesh.
    Stillman nodded, closing the door behind them. The bedroom was large, with a couch and two brocade armchairs facing the bed, and two windows. The drapes were drawn. Before he sat down, Masuto parted the drapes and looked down at the pool. The first glimmerings of dawn now.
    â€œSit down,” he said to Stillman. Beckman remained standing. Masuto took one chair, Stillman the other.
    â€œThe call that informed us that there was the body of a man in the pool came from your room, as Detective Beckman told you earlier,” Masuto said.
    â€œIt was a mistake. I was asleep from about midnight until he woke me.”
    â€œIt was not a mistake. A woman made the call. Mr. Stillman, a woman used the telephone in this room. I want to know who she was.”
    â€œI told you—”
    â€œWould it be easier,” Masuto interrupted, “if I gave the story to the Los Angeles Times , specifying that a nameless woman who shared this room with you discovered a body in the swimming pool in the middle of the night?”
    â€œWho the hell-”
    Again Masuto interrupted. “Suppose you just tell us what happened and stop the indignation.”
    â€œWhat then? Do you still give it to the papers?”
    â€œOnly if I must. Possibly not. I’m not a reporter, I’m a policeman.”
    â€œAll right. Look, understand me. I don’t give a damn about my reputation. I live in Vegas, and nobody’s going to fault me for wanting my bed warm. But I was just married to Binnie Vance, and she’ll cut my heart out if she hears about this. I picked up this dame in the Rugby Room, and I bought her a drink, and then I bought her dinner. She was a pro. I paid fifty bucks for last night, but like I said, she was a pro, and she didn’t rip off my wallet when she left. I respect that. I respect integrity in any line of work. That’s the whole story. If she made the call, she made it without waking me. I was asleep. I didn’t lie about that.”
    â€œI’m glad you have principles,” Masuto said.
    â€œWhat the hell does that mean?”
    â€œWhat was her name?”
    â€œJudy.”
    â€œJudy what?”
    â€œI don’t know.”
    â€œYou went to bed with a woman and you don’t know her last name?”
    â€œJesus Christ, I didn’t marry the broad. She tells me her name was Judy. I didn’t ask for her birth certificate.”
    â€œWhat does she look like?”
    â€œNot like a hooker.” Stillman was trying to be helpful. “You get a classy kind of broad in the Rugby Room, five seven, stacked, blond hair, blue eyes—a good-looking kid.”
    Beckman was taking it down in his pad. “What was she wearing?”
    â€œLet’s see—silk shirt, tan suede pants, same color, or almost, boots—”
    â€œBoots?”
    â€œBoots.”
    â€œWhat kind of jacket?”
    â€œSame thing as the pants, suede. Four gold chains around her neck.”
    Out in the hall, Beckman said to Masuto, “Where does it get us? So she saw fatso in the pool and reported it. Another dame would have kept her mouth shut.”
    â€œThat makes Judy a little special, doesn’t it?”
    â€œFor a hooker.”
    â€œFor a person.”
    â€œWhat now?”
    â€œTake a look around the basement before you leave, Sy—laundry bins, that kind of thing. See if you can dig up his clothes.”
    â€œAnd you?”
    â€œI’ll phone in the description, and then I’m going home for a hot