doorstep.’
‘All right, then, step inside,’ said Chief Ruse, and stood back against the wall whilst Skellett squeezed past his stomach. ‘I just hope it ain’t nothing too complicated. I’ve had a day of it, I can tell you. Appropriations committee all morning, the highways department all afternoon, and one pretty damned hair-raising homicide for most of the evening. Came home and my dinner was all dried up. Not that I had too much taste for it.’
They went into the chintzy living-room. Chief Ruse switched off the sound on the television, and then offered Skellett a chair. ‘You want a beer?’ he asked.
‘No, thank you,’ said Skellett. 1 don’t want to take up too much of your time. The fact is, it’s that same hair-raising homicide that I’ve come to talk to you about. The Schneider case.’
Chief Ruse sat down, and heaved one fat leg over the other. ‘Oh, yes?’ he said, looking at Skellett narrowly. ‘What about it? You know something that we don’t?’
Skellett took off his hat. He had thin, wavy blond hair, combed across from one side of his narrow skull to the other to cover his widening bald spot. ‘You’ll be gratified
to know that the FBI discovered the whereabouts of Mrs Schneider’s killer, at a little after one this afternoon.’
‘Nobody told me that. Why didn’t anybody tell me that?’
‘Nobody told you because until now it had to be kept under total wraps. But I’m authorized to brief you now because you have a right to know, and also because you have a duty to take all the appropriate action to make sure that it remains confidential.’
Chief Ruse said, ‘You want to explain yourself, Mr Skellett?’
From upstairs, Ingrid called, ‘Who is it, dear? It’s not Mr Weller, is it?’
‘It’s business!’ Chief Ruse shouted back.
‘If it’s Mr Weller, tell him to come back tomorrow! He can’t expect to come around in the middle of the night to mend washing-machines! Tell him that!’
‘Women, breathed Chief Ruse.
Skellett leaned forward, and said in a conspiratorial murmur, ‘The fact of the matter is that Mrs Schneider was involved in a little business involving Air Force security. Passing information to folks who had no right to have that information. You get my drift? But - it appears that she failed to do what these folks to whom she was passing this information instructed her to do, or else she passed them some bum information, but in any case they decided to do away with her. You understand? They took off her head because they didn’t want anybody to recognize that she was actually a Communist agent called Olga Voroshilov, who came to this country in 1948 with the express intention of meeting and marrying an Air Force officer. She was what we call a ‘sleeper’. You’ve heard of that? An agent who stays dormant for ten, maybe twenty years, building up a respectable background. Then, when they’re given the signal, they start passing information.’
‘I’ve heard of that,’ said Chief Ruse. ‘And she was one of those?’
That’s what she was, nodded Skellett. ‘And that’s why you have to keep so much of this secret. Olga Voroshilov was part of a whole ring of Communist spies, many of whom are still in business, and if we make too much of a fuss about her death, they’re all going to get nervous, all of these Communist spies, and go under cover. Instead - we want to track them down, and bring them to justice.’
‘You say the FBI got the guy who killed her?’
Skellett smirked. They didn’t get him. They found him. He was down at the bottom of a ravine in Deming, New Mexico, in a burned-out pick-up truck. Looks like he probably fell asleep while he was driving.’
‘How did they know it was him? I mean, how could they be sure?’
They found a flexible saw in the truck. She was murdered with a flexible saw, wasn’t she? And they also found her head.’
They found the head?’
Skellett nodded, almost smugly. ‘Roasted right down to the
‘All right, then, step inside,’ said Chief Ruse, and stood back against the wall whilst Skellett squeezed past his stomach. ‘I just hope it ain’t nothing too complicated. I’ve had a day of it, I can tell you. Appropriations committee all morning, the highways department all afternoon, and one pretty damned hair-raising homicide for most of the evening. Came home and my dinner was all dried up. Not that I had too much taste for it.’
They went into the chintzy living-room. Chief Ruse switched off the sound on the television, and then offered Skellett a chair. ‘You want a beer?’ he asked.
‘No, thank you,’ said Skellett. 1 don’t want to take up too much of your time. The fact is, it’s that same hair-raising homicide that I’ve come to talk to you about. The Schneider case.’
Chief Ruse sat down, and heaved one fat leg over the other. ‘Oh, yes?’ he said, looking at Skellett narrowly. ‘What about it? You know something that we don’t?’
Skellett took off his hat. He had thin, wavy blond hair, combed across from one side of his narrow skull to the other to cover his widening bald spot. ‘You’ll be gratified
to know that the FBI discovered the whereabouts of Mrs Schneider’s killer, at a little after one this afternoon.’
‘Nobody told me that. Why didn’t anybody tell me that?’
‘Nobody told you because until now it had to be kept under total wraps. But I’m authorized to brief you now because you have a right to know, and also because you have a duty to take all the appropriate action to make sure that it remains confidential.’
Chief Ruse said, ‘You want to explain yourself, Mr Skellett?’
From upstairs, Ingrid called, ‘Who is it, dear? It’s not Mr Weller, is it?’
‘It’s business!’ Chief Ruse shouted back.
‘If it’s Mr Weller, tell him to come back tomorrow! He can’t expect to come around in the middle of the night to mend washing-machines! Tell him that!’
‘Women, breathed Chief Ruse.
Skellett leaned forward, and said in a conspiratorial murmur, ‘The fact of the matter is that Mrs Schneider was involved in a little business involving Air Force security. Passing information to folks who had no right to have that information. You get my drift? But - it appears that she failed to do what these folks to whom she was passing this information instructed her to do, or else she passed them some bum information, but in any case they decided to do away with her. You understand? They took off her head because they didn’t want anybody to recognize that she was actually a Communist agent called Olga Voroshilov, who came to this country in 1948 with the express intention of meeting and marrying an Air Force officer. She was what we call a ‘sleeper’. You’ve heard of that? An agent who stays dormant for ten, maybe twenty years, building up a respectable background. Then, when they’re given the signal, they start passing information.’
‘I’ve heard of that,’ said Chief Ruse. ‘And she was one of those?’
That’s what she was, nodded Skellett. ‘And that’s why you have to keep so much of this secret. Olga Voroshilov was part of a whole ring of Communist spies, many of whom are still in business, and if we make too much of a fuss about her death, they’re all going to get nervous, all of these Communist spies, and go under cover. Instead - we want to track them down, and bring them to justice.’
‘You say the FBI got the guy who killed her?’
Skellett smirked. They didn’t get him. They found him. He was down at the bottom of a ravine in Deming, New Mexico, in a burned-out pick-up truck. Looks like he probably fell asleep while he was driving.’
‘How did they know it was him? I mean, how could they be sure?’
They found a flexible saw in the truck. She was murdered with a flexible saw, wasn’t she? And they also found her head.’
They found the head?’
Skellett nodded, almost smugly. ‘Roasted right down to the
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