The Mike Hammer Collection

The wall safe was a small circular affair that nestled behind a two-by-three-foot picture, the single modern touch in the room. Laura had opened the desk drawer, extracted a card containing the combination and handed it to me. Alone, I dialed the seven numbers and swung the safe out. It was empty.

That I had expected. What I hadn’t expected was the safe itself. It was a Grissom 914A and was not the type you installed to keep junk jewelry or inconsequential papers in. This safe was more than a fireproof receptacle and simple safeguard for trivia. This job had been designed to be burglar-proof and had a built-in safety factor on the third number that would have been hooked into the local police PBX at the very least. I closed it, dialed it once again using the secondary number, opened it and waited.

Before Laura came down the cops were there, two excited young fellows in a battered Ford who came to the door with Police Specials out and ready, holding them at my gut when I let them in and looking able to use them.

The taller of the pair went around me while the other looked at me carefully and said, “Who’re you?”

“I’m the one who tuned you in.”

“Don’t get smart.”

“I was testing the wall safe out.”

His grin had a wicked edge to it. “You don’t test it like that, buddy.”

“Sorry. I should have called first.”

He went to answer, but his partner called in from the front room and he waved me ahead with the nose of the .38. Laura and the cop were there, both looking puzzled.

Laura had changed into a belted black dress that accented the sweeping curves of her body and when she stepped across the room toward me it was with the lithe grace of an athlete. “Mike—do you know what—”

“Your safe had an alarm number built into it. I checked it to see if it worked. Apparently it did.”

“That right, Mrs. Knapp?” the tall cop asked.

“Well, yes. I let Mr. Hammer inspect the safe. I didn’t realize it had an alarm on it.”

“It’s the only house around here that has that system, Mrs. Knapp. It’s more or less on a commercial setup.”

Beside me the cop holstered his gun with a shrug. “That’s that,” he said. “It was a good try.”

The other one nodded, adjusted his cap and looked across at me. “We’d appreciate your calling first if it happens again.”

“Sure thing. Mind a question?”

“Nope.”

“Were you on the force when the Senator was killed?”

“We both were.”

“Did the alarm go off then?”

The cop gave me a long, deliberate look, his face wary, then, “No, it didn’t.”

“Then if the killer opened the safe he knew the right combination.”

“Or else,” the cop reminded me, “he forced the Senator to open it, and knowing there was nothing of real value in there, and not willing to jeopardize his own or his wife’s life by sudden interference, the Senator didn’t use the alarm number.”

“But he was killed anyway,” I reminded him.

“If you had known the Senator you could see why.”

“Okay, why?” I asked him.

Softly, the cop said: “If he was under a gun he’d stay there, but given one chance to jump the guy and he’d have jumped. Apparently he thought he saw the chance and went for the guy after the safe was open and just wasn’t fast enough.”

“Or else surprised the guy when the safe was already opened.”

“That’s the way it still reads.” He smiled indulgently. “We had those angles figured out too, you know. Now do you mind telling me where you fit in the picture?”

“Obscurely. A friend of mine was killed by a bullet from the same gun.”

The two cops exchanged glances. The one beside me said, “We didn’t hear about that part yet.”

“Then you will shortly. You’ll be speaking to a Captain Chambers from New York sometime soon.”

“That doesn’t explain you.”

I shrugged. “The guy was a friend.”

“Do you represent a legal investigation agency?”

“No longer,” I told him. “There was a time when I did.”

“Then maybe you ought to leave the investigation up to authorized personnel.”

His meaning was obvious. If I hadn’t been cleared by Laura Knapp and tentatively accepted as her friend, we’d be doing our talking in the local precinct house. It was a large Keep Off sign he was pointing out and he wasn’t kidding about it. I made a motion with my hand to let him know I got the message, watched them tip their caps to Laura and walk out.

When they had pulled away Laura said, “Now what was that all about?” She stood balanced on one foot, her hands on her hips in an easy, yet provocative manner, frowning slightly as she tried to sift through the situation.

I said, “Didn’t you know there was an alarm system built into that box?”

She thought for a moment, then threw a glance toward the wall. “Yes, now that you mention it, but that safe hasn’t been opened since—then, and I simply remember the police discussing an alarm system. I didn’t know how it worked at all.”

“Did your husband always keep that combination card in his desk?”