The Mike Hammer Collection by Mickey Spillane Page B

craned my head to make it look like I was really trying.
    â€œWell, I guess that’s all. Might as well go out through your door as climb back inside there, okay?”
    â€œCertainly, officer, right this way.” He steered me to the front room like a seeing-eye dog and opened up for me. “Any time we can be of service, officer,” he called to me as I left, “let us know. Glad to help.”
    I drove back to the office in short order and walked into the reception room, pulling the book from my pocket. Velda stopped typing. “Mike.”
    I turned around. I knew what was coming.
    â€œWhat is it, honey?”
    â€œPlease don’t fool with me like that.”
    I gave her a big grin. “I wasn’t fooling,” I said. “If you were on your toes I’d be an engaged man right now. Come on inside a minute.” She trailed in after me and sat down. I swung my feet up on the battered desk and riffled through the book. Velda was interested.
    â€œWhat is it?” she asked curiously, leaning over to get a better look.
    â€œA notebook of Jack’s. I swiped it from his room before the police could get it.”
    â€œAnything in it?”
    â€œMaybe. I haven’t looked yet.” Starting at the front was a list of names, all crossed out. Each page was dated, the earliest starting three years ago. Occasionally there were references to departmental cases with possible suspects and the action to take. These, too, were crossed out as having been completed.
    About the middle of the book notes began to appear that apparently were still active or pending, for no black X’s marked them. I jotted these down on a list and Velda checked them against news clippings in my files. When she finished she laid down my notes with the word “solved” after each. Evidently the cases had been cleared up while Jack was still in the army.
    I wasn’t getting much at all from this. Jack had inserted a single page with one word across it. “WHOOPEE!” It was dated the day of his discharge. The next page had a recipe for veal paprika, and at the bottom was a notation to put more salt in than the recipe called for.
    There were two more pages of figures, an itemized account of what he had spent for clothes balanced against what he had in a bank account somewhere. Then came a brief remark: “Eileen Vickers. Family still in Poughkeepsie.”
    She must have been a girl from home. Jack was born in Poughkeepsie and lived there until he went to college. The next few pages had some instructions from the insurance company. Then Eileen Vickers’ name cropped up again. This time it read: “Saw E. V again. Call family.” The date was exactly two weeks before Jack had been killed.
    She turned up again five pages further on. In heavy pencil Jack had: “R. H. Vickers, c/o Halper. Pough. 221. Call after 6.” Then below it: “E. V. al. Mary Wright. No address. Get it later.”
    I tried to puzzle out what it meant. To me it looked like Jack had met a girl from home and had talked to her. She had told him that her family was still in Poughkeepsie. Evidently he tried to call them and found that they were staying with Halper, and in order to get them, called at supper time. Then the next part. E. V, Eileen Vickers, all right, but she was traveling under an alias of Mary Wright and gave no address.
    I thumbed through the pages quickly, and there she was again. “E. V Call family. Bad shape. Trace and raid 36904 the 29th.” And today was the 29th. There was one page left. It was an afterthought, a memo to himself: “Ask C. M. what she can do.” ...
    C. M., Charlotte Manning. He had reference to what Charlotte told me about. He wanted her to stop back during the week, but never got the chance to see her.
    I reached for the phone and dialed operator. When she cut in I asked for the Poughkeepsie number. There were some clicks as the connection was completed,