Found in
Haute-Savoie
Annecy Nov. 17 (fpa)—Departmental police found an unidentified male corpse hidden in an abandoned automobile near here today. The man had apparently been murdered, police said.
The body was stripped of all clothing or identification, but appeared to be that of a balding, middle-aged man. Severe battering of the face and head delayed positive identification.
The automobile, an Opel Kadett, had no plates and the engine number was filed off. Police said these details suggested a professional assassination. There are indications that the crime may have taken place in Switzerland. Swiss police and Interpol are cooperating in the investigation.
Drew looked again at Tom. The slotman arched an eyebrow and shrugged his shoulders. Drew read the story again. He called MacLean’s number. No answer. His phone buzzed.
“Hello, hero. We still on for five o’clock?” It took Drew a few seconds to realize it was Katy Trevera on the phone, not Sangrat, or Preston, or Corrello, or God knows who from the South African embassy. Katy was advertising director for Money Manager, and the two of them had a comfortable understanding. Free and easy; no plans, no disappointments. Just a couple of friends who enjoyed each other’s company.
“Everything’s set for five; Chel will be there,” Katy said. Drew flipped open his agenda and saw that he had indeed penciled in a date with Katy. For weeks she had been after him to come see the exhibit of Chel Hang, a Chinese painter friend of hers. Although he wasn’t a great student of art, Drew had realized, after years of traipsing through Europe’s best museums and long conversations with artists he had known, that his appreciation of art was as refined as that of most other people. He even bought a piece now and again. He especially liked a situation like this one, where he met the artist through friends. It made painting more personal, somehow.
“Katy, I hate to stand you two up, but you know what’s going on in the market. I’m not sure when I’ll get away.”
“That’s OK. Everybody keeps telling me what a hero you are for breaking the sabotage story. I’ll let you off the hook this time.” There was a subtle change in her voice. “How about a late supper?”
Drew knew that tone, the implied suggestion. Why not? He thought suddenly, with a feeling of relief. After all, the world didn’t come to an end just because of a financial crisis.
“That sounds like a good idea,” he said.
“Why don’t you just come to my place when you’re finished. I’ll fix a salad.”
“See you tonight, then.” Drew felt better already. His eyes came back to the FPA news item. He called Corrello.
“Rich, something just came over the FPA wire.” He read the dispatch to a silent Atlanta executive.
“You think it might be MacLean?” No beating around the bush.
“I have a bad feeling about it,” Drew answered. Those finely honed instincts.
“Don’t jump to any conclusions. Just hold tight till I’ve talked to Madison. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
Drew sat with a tight feeling in his stomach. Preston had said Fürglin’s crowd was rough. But what could MacLean have done to deserve death? Was his cut too big?
With a conscious effort, Drew put the matter out of his mind and went out to the slot to spell Tom.
~
Drew watched Katy through half-opened eyes. She slipped out of bed and tiptoed to the dresser, took a cigarette out of the pack, and lit it. The drawn curtains kept the room dim, but the brief flame highlighted her face. She turned and walked quickly down the hallway to the bathroom. Her hair came down to the middle of her back. There were two dimples at the base of her back; her bottom was round, her hips narrow, her legs long and shapely.
She disappeared into the bathroom. Drew turned over on his back, feeling that pleasant ache from lovemaking. The tension of the past week had made him more passionate than usual with Katy. He realized how much
Haute-Savoie
Annecy Nov. 17 (fpa)—Departmental police found an unidentified male corpse hidden in an abandoned automobile near here today. The man had apparently been murdered, police said.
The body was stripped of all clothing or identification, but appeared to be that of a balding, middle-aged man. Severe battering of the face and head delayed positive identification.
The automobile, an Opel Kadett, had no plates and the engine number was filed off. Police said these details suggested a professional assassination. There are indications that the crime may have taken place in Switzerland. Swiss police and Interpol are cooperating in the investigation.
Drew looked again at Tom. The slotman arched an eyebrow and shrugged his shoulders. Drew read the story again. He called MacLean’s number. No answer. His phone buzzed.
“Hello, hero. We still on for five o’clock?” It took Drew a few seconds to realize it was Katy Trevera on the phone, not Sangrat, or Preston, or Corrello, or God knows who from the South African embassy. Katy was advertising director for Money Manager, and the two of them had a comfortable understanding. Free and easy; no plans, no disappointments. Just a couple of friends who enjoyed each other’s company.
“Everything’s set for five; Chel will be there,” Katy said. Drew flipped open his agenda and saw that he had indeed penciled in a date with Katy. For weeks she had been after him to come see the exhibit of Chel Hang, a Chinese painter friend of hers. Although he wasn’t a great student of art, Drew had realized, after years of traipsing through Europe’s best museums and long conversations with artists he had known, that his appreciation of art was as refined as that of most other people. He even bought a piece now and again. He especially liked a situation like this one, where he met the artist through friends. It made painting more personal, somehow.
“Katy, I hate to stand you two up, but you know what’s going on in the market. I’m not sure when I’ll get away.”
“That’s OK. Everybody keeps telling me what a hero you are for breaking the sabotage story. I’ll let you off the hook this time.” There was a subtle change in her voice. “How about a late supper?”
Drew knew that tone, the implied suggestion. Why not? He thought suddenly, with a feeling of relief. After all, the world didn’t come to an end just because of a financial crisis.
“That sounds like a good idea,” he said.
“Why don’t you just come to my place when you’re finished. I’ll fix a salad.”
“See you tonight, then.” Drew felt better already. His eyes came back to the FPA news item. He called Corrello.
“Rich, something just came over the FPA wire.” He read the dispatch to a silent Atlanta executive.
“You think it might be MacLean?” No beating around the bush.
“I have a bad feeling about it,” Drew answered. Those finely honed instincts.
“Don’t jump to any conclusions. Just hold tight till I’ve talked to Madison. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
Drew sat with a tight feeling in his stomach. Preston had said Fürglin’s crowd was rough. But what could MacLean have done to deserve death? Was his cut too big?
With a conscious effort, Drew put the matter out of his mind and went out to the slot to spell Tom.
~
Drew watched Katy through half-opened eyes. She slipped out of bed and tiptoed to the dresser, took a cigarette out of the pack, and lit it. The drawn curtains kept the room dim, but the brief flame highlighted her face. She turned and walked quickly down the hallway to the bathroom. Her hair came down to the middle of her back. There were two dimples at the base of her back; her bottom was round, her hips narrow, her legs long and shapely.
She disappeared into the bathroom. Drew turned over on his back, feeling that pleasant ache from lovemaking. The tension of the past week had made him more passionate than usual with Katy. He realized how much
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