Trevellian Investigates: Two Thrillers E-Book

Henry Rohmer

• Herausgeber: Alfredbooks
• Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
• Sprache: Deutsch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Seitenzahl: 254

Beschreibung

Trevellian Investigates: Two Thrillers This volume contains the following thrillers by Henry Rohmer: The Dead Woman Without A Name Bad Brother The daughter of a gangster boss dies during the initiation ritual of a Satanist sect. Her body is found in a garbage dump and triggers a maelstrom of violence. The cult members are now on the syndicate's death list. But the longer the investigators look into the case, the clearer it becomes that there is a perfidious plan behind the events... Action thrillers by Henry Rohmer. Henry Rohmer is the pseudonym of the author Alfred Bekker, who became known to a large audience primarily through his fantasy novels and books for young people. He also wrote historical novels and co-authored suspense series such as Ren Dhark, Jerry Cotton, Cotton Reloaded, John Sinclair, Kommissar X and others.

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Henry Rohmer

Trevellian Investigates: Two Thrillers

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Inhaltsverzeichnis

Trevellian Investigates: Two Thrillers

​Copyright

The Dead Woman Without A Name: Thriller

Bad Brother: Thriller

Trevellian Investigates: Two Thrillers

Henry Rohmer

Trevellian Investigates: Two Thrillers

This volume contains the following thrillers by Henry Rohmer:

The Dead Woman Without A Name

Bad Brother

The daughter of a gangster boss dies during the initiation ritual of a Satanist sect. Her body is found in a garbage dump and triggers a maelstrom of violence. The cult members are now on the syndicate's death list.

But the longer the investigators look into the case, the clearer it becomes that there is a perfidious plan behind the events...

Action thrillers by Henry Rohmer.

Henry Rohmer is the pseudonym of the author Alfred Bekker, who became known to a large audience primarily through his fantasy novels and books for young people. He also wrote historical novels and co-authored suspense series such as Ren Dhark, Jerry Cotton, Cotton Reloaded, John Sinclair, Kommissar X and others.

​Copyright

A CassiopeiaPress book: CASSIOPEIAPRESS, UKSAK E-Books, Alfred Bekker, Alfred Bekker presents, Casssiopeia-XXX-press, Alfredbooks, Uksak Special Edition, Cassiopeiapress Extra Edition, Cassiopeiapress/AlfredBooks and BEKKERpublishing are imprints of

Alfred Bekker

© Roman by Author

COVER: A.PANADERO

Henry Rohmer is a pseudonym of ALFRED BEKKER

© of this issue 2023 by AlfredBekker/CassiopeiaPress, Lengerich/Westphalia

The invented persons have nothing to do with actual living persons. Similarities in names are coincidental and not intended.

All rights reserved.

www.AlfredBekker.de

[email protected]

Follow on Facebook:

https://www.facebook.com/alfred.bekker.758/

Follow on Twitter:

https://twitter.com/BekkerAlfred

Get the latest news here:

https://alfred-bekker-autor.business.site/

To the publisher's blog!

Be informed about new releases and backgrounds!

https://cassiopeia.press

Everything about fiction!

The Dead Woman Without A Name: Thriller

Henry Rohmer

Copyright

A CassiopeiaPress book: CASSIOPEIAPRESS, UKSAK E-Books, Alfred Bekker, Alfred Bekker presents, Casssiopeia-XXX-press, Alfredbooks, Uksak Special Edition, Cassiopeiapress Extra Edition, Cassiopeiapress/AlfredBooks and BEKKERpublishing are imprints of

Alfred Bekker

© Roman by Author

COVER: A.PANADERO

Henry Rohmer is a pseudonym of ALFRED BEKKER

© of this issue 2023 by AlfredBekker/CassiopeiaPress, Lengerich/Westphalia

The invented persons have nothing to do with actual living persons. Similarities in names are coincidental and not intended.

All rights reserved.

www.AlfredBekker.de

[email protected]

Follow on Facebook:

https://www.facebook.com/alfred.bekker.758/

Follow on Twitter:

https://twitter.com/BekkerAlfred

Get the latest news here:

https://alfred-bekker-autor.business.site/

To the publisher's blog!

Be informed about new releases and backgrounds!

https://cassiopeia.press

Everything about fiction!

The Dead Woman Without A Name: Thriller

by Henry Rohmer

The size of this book is equivalent to 105 paperback pages.

In the fight against crime, smart investigator Bount Reiniger relies on unusual methods - but now and then also on the shooting power of his automatic.

Henry Rohmer (Alfred Bekker) is a well-known author of fantasy novels, thrillers and books for young people. In addition to his major book successes, he has written numerous novels for suspense series such as Ren Dhark, Jerry Cotton, Cotton reloaded, Kommissar X, John Sinclair, and Jessica Bannister. He has also published under the names Neal Chadwick, Henry Rohmer, Conny Walden, Sidney Gardner, Jonas Herlin, Adrian Leschek, John Devlin, Brian Carisi, Robert Gruber, and Janet Farell.

1

A bright scream cut through the silence.

Bount Reiniger sucked in the cold morning air in steady puffs as he took his morning jog through New York's Central Park at a moderate pace. To his right, he had the so-called Pond, a pond with a bird sanctuary on its banks. The chirping formed a pleasant contrast to the noises that otherwise dominated the juggernaut that is New York.

A peaceful, quiet oasis in the vibrant city - but not on this morning...

From some distance Reiniger saw three people running toward him, two men and a woman. But these were by no means joggers running for pleasure or health.

The three came closer very quickly. The woman seemed to be on the run from the two men who were on her heels at a distance of a few meters. But this distance became smaller and smaller.

"No!"

The woman gasped and looked around frantically. She was wearing athletic clothes. Her long, black hair flew tangled through her fine-cut, tan face, while her pursuers had almost reached her.

Then she stumbled, tripped and went down. The two guys bent over her and grabbed her roughly. She gasped for air and didn't even have enough of it to scream. The young woman was completely exhausted. Her attempts to break free after all seemed powerless.

She probably wouldn't have been able to do too much against the iron grip of her two opponents anyway.

Meanwhile, Bount had reached the scene with a short spurt. He wanted to know what was being played here.

"What are you doing?" asked Bount, addressing the two men, who by now had yanked their victim up by the arms and set her on her feet. She was trembling and there was naked fear in her eyes. When she saw Bount, something like a spark of hope seemed to flare up in them.

The two men wore elegant clothes and made a well-trained impression. One had dark hair and a moustache. The other was blond and blue-eyed. His face looked coarse and brutal.

"Just keep jogging!" the dark-haired man hissed. "Go on, get out of here already."

"No!" the woman shouted, but the blond closed her mouth with his big paw.

"This is a police operation, not an act, mister," the dark-haired man claimed boldly. But that didn't seem particularly credible to Bount.

"That looks more like something else," he replied coolly.

"Believe what you want!"

"Surely they will have service cards!"

Bount stepped close to the trio. The two exchanged a quick glance with each other. They didn't seem to like the fact that Bount was someone they couldn't get rid of so easily.

The dark-haired man bared his teeth and growled, "Sure, we have IDs!" He reached into the inside pocket and in the next second had an 8-millimeter pistol in his hand.

Bount had expected something like that. His hand edge strike therefore came in a flash and flung the gun out of the guy's hand. The following left hit him square in the uncovered face, sending him staggering backward and to the ground. He seemed a bit dazed.

The young woman took her chance and tore herself away. She had hardly any strength left, but she still tried to run away. She stumbled and almost fell down from weakness. Who would know how long she had been on the run....

Her movements seemed powerless and exhausted, but her will to resist was unbroken. She was determined to put all her eggs in one basket.

The blond, meanwhile, laid Bount on the mat with a deft judo grip and then reached for his shoulder holster. Only a fraction of a moment passed and Bount looked into a pistol muzzle that flashed brightly. Bount, however, had already rolled over when the shot crashed into the ground. Before the guy could fire a second time, Bount sped forward with his foot and drove into the back of his opponent's knee. The blond instantly lost his balance.

His shot went into the clouds. Before he knew it, Bount was then on top of him, bending his gun arm around and wresting the pistol from him. The guy took a deep breath and then froze. He was anything but thrilled that he now had to look down the muzzle of his own gun.

"Son of a bitch!" the blond growled as Bount rose.

The dark-haired man had paid no further attention to his accomplice, but picked up his gun and undauntedly resumed his pursuit of the young woman.

Bount saw that he would soon catch up with them.

He turned to the blond lying on the ground, who seemed to be scared as hell.

Bount made a definite movement with the gun barrel.

"Get out of here!" he hissed as the guy stared at him in disbelief. "Come on, are you listening hard?"

Bount took a step back as the blond got back to his feet.

He didn't seem to trust Bount, perhaps expecting to get a bullet in the back. Bount instead burned one in front of his feet. Now the blond sprinted off, turning around again and again.

But Bount didn't linger with him any longer, but went after the dark-haired man.

Bount was in good shape and caught up quickly. The dark-haired man held his gun in his hand and had almost reached the woman. Her lead was melting by the second. She was sobbing and only stumbling forward more or less.

When something brought Bount closer, he stopped and brought the pistol to bear.

"Drop the gun!" he shouted.

The dark-haired man answered in his own way.

He turned in a flash and fired immediately. But the shot was poorly aimed and went half a meter over Bount. He had secretly calculated such a reaction and so his shot cracked only a fraction of a second later.

The bullet went into the dark-haired man's arm. He cursed loudly, tried to pull up the gun again, but the arm didn't really obey him.

The weapon fell to the ground while blood seeped through his noble twine.

With a pinched face, he briefly looked around at the young woman, who had stopped some distance from a park bench and was gasping for breath. When Bount came closer, the injured man made a hopeless escape.

"Freeze!" shouted Bount, balling once over the fleeing man's head. But the guy didn't stop. He just kept running, and Bount figured that maybe there were more important things to do now than a wild chase.

He turned to the woman slumped on the bench. When he approached her, she looked up.

Her eyes were dark and full of fear.

She seemed to want to say something, but no sound came from her lips. She brushed her hair out of her face with her hand.

"Don't be afraid," Bount said calmly. "It's over."

She sighed, tried something like a hint of a smile, and nodded. She had rings under her eyes, like someone who hadn't slept for days. She had to be part of some drama, the background of which Bount had not the faintest idea.

"Thank you," she said. Her English had a minimal accent.

South America or southern Europe, Bount guessed. "Who knows what those guys would have done to me if it wasn't for you!"

Bount nodded.

"Yeah, that was close."

"I always thought south Central Park was relatively safe, at least by New York standards."

"He is."

She shrugged her shoulders. "Well, it seems there are riffraff here too..."

Bount weighed the pistol in his hand that he had taken from the blond. It was a Beretta. "It would be sensible to go to the police," he said.

But she shook her head resolutely. Then she tried to smile, this time already a little more successfully.

"There's no point," she said with a throwaway gesture.

Bount raised his eyebrows.

"Why not?"

"You know how it is! Something like that comes to nothing!"

"But you have what most don't, Miss..." Bount expected the dark-eyed beauty to perhaps tell him her name now, but she didn't.

"Still," she said, "no harm done."

"What did those guys want from you anyway?"

She hesitated for a second before she had the answer ready. "I suppose my money! What else?"

Bount had the impression that she herself was not quite convinced of this version. "It didn't look that way to me," the private detective therefore stated with a chest tone of conviction.

The young woman shrugged her shoulders.

"What do I know what it looked like or what they wanted!" She looked a little annoyed, stood up and eyed Bount. "Why are you asking me out like this, anyway?"

"Sorry, I guess it's an occupational disease. I am a private detective. My office is close by, by the way. You look like you could use a cup of coffee and some breakfast..."

She seemed a little irritated. Her dark eyes looked at Bount as if she was trying to read his mind. "Why are you doing this?" she finally asked. "After all, it was anything but harmless. You were risking your life."

"I had the impression that you needed help. And that impression hasn't been changed by the fact that those two guys walked away!"

"The impression is deceiving."

"Sorry, it was just an offer."

"I didn't mean it, mister..."

"Cleaner. Bount Reiniger." Bount looked at her frankly. "I just hope you know who you got mixed up with.... Those two attackers sure weren't street thieves. They were fish a few sizes bigger."

She turned her head a little and looked past Bount. He followed her gaze to see what had caught the young woman's attention.

At some distance, a stocky but very strong-looking man with curly hair stood there. When Reiniger looked at him, the curly-haired man turned to the side and walked away with faster and faster steps.

"Did you know the man?"'

"No. What makes you think that?"

"It looked like it."

She tried to smile. "You see, this isn't the first man to look my way. Do you really think that's so unusual?" She paused and seemed to think for a moment. Then suddenly she said, "Maybe I will have that breakfast after all."

Bount smiled. "Too kind, lady! What caused the change in mood?"

"I believe you can be trusted!"

"Or do you think those guys on the street corner will be waiting to pick you up again?"

"Believe what you want! Is your offer still valid or not?"

"Let's go!"

2

A short time later, they were at Bount's residence, which doubled as an apartment and office and was located on a dream floor at the north end of 7th Avenue.

"Well, well," the well-known private detective was greeted by his attractive assistant, June March. "Are you bringing your clients in from jogging already?"

Bount grinned mischievously in the blonde June's face.

"Who do you think I meet in Central Park in the morning! If I were a businessman, I would cultivate my contacts there! You've got all the business in one place!"

June laughed.

"And everyone in a jogging suit..."

"...and without anteroom dragons putting you off with post-millennial appointments!"

They turned to the young woman, who was examining the room closely.

"Could I freshen up a bit at your place first?"

Bount nodded.

"Of course." He directed her to the bathroom and when he returned, June asked, "Who's the little girl?"

"She hasn't told me yet."

"Your hair has really suffered a bit. What happened?"

"Some guys were after her and I got in the middle of it!" He put the Beretta on the table.

"They seem to have been well equipped," June commented at the sight of the weapon, and Bount nodded.

"You can say that again! Whoever that young woman was messing with, they weren't simple muggers!"

"Is she in shock?"

"I don't think so. She seems extraordinarily cool to me, considering the situation she's just been in."

When the stranger came out of the bathroom a little later, Bount and June were already sitting down to breakfast. She sat down with them. She had a small scrape on her face and her clothes had a few stains. But otherwise everything seemed to be all right with her.

"Aren't you going to tell us your name?" echoed June, bursting with curiosity. The young woman raised her head as if she had to think, then said, "It's better for you and better for me if you don't know it."

June frowned in amazement. She hardly seemed to be able to do anything with this answer. Meanwhile, the young woman turned to Reiniger and tried to steer the conversation as quickly as possible onto some innocuous terrain. She had to be very afraid and, in addition, she had an almost boundless mistrust.

"So you're a private detective," she muttered stretched, seeming to think about something.

"Yes," Bount nodded.

"Your business doesn't seem to be doing too badly! When I look at your residence here..."

"I can't complain."

"What kind of people are these that you come to see here?"

"People like you."

"Don't tease me!"

"It's like I say. It's people with problems, people who don't trust the police and those who the police can't help..."

"Surely someone like you only works for millionaires and large insurance corporations!"

"I don't mind money," Bount replied. "But I've done work for small people, too. I'm in the fortunate position of being able to pick and choose my assignments."

She ate the breakfast with great appetite. Above all, she could hardly get enough of the coffee. She was sleepy, but seemed to be determined to stay awake.

"I'm about to go see Captain Rogers of the City Police," the private investigator said casually. "Rogers is my friend. I could give you a ride. That wouldn't be a problem..."

"What am I supposed to do there?"

"They're looking at some photos. Maybe these guys have caught your eye before. Then you could identify them.... It won't cost you more than a little time, miss."

"I said no once before, Mister Cleaner."

"Call me Bount."

"Bount."

She didn't want the police and her 'no' sounded pretty final. She probably had her reasons for that.

"Are you afraid that if you mess with these two, someone will take revenge on you?"

She sighed, brushing back her blue-black hair. A beautiful woman, Bount thought. A very beautiful woman, in fact. And then he caught himself looking at her as if magnetically drawn to her.

"I've tried to make it clear to you before, Bount..." she said now in a slightly milder tone.

"Feel free to try again," Bount smiled.

She raised her arms imploringly. "I am very grateful to you for what you have done for me, but the rest is my business. All my business, you understand?"

"To be honest, no. Because it seems to me that something has gone over your head. The guys who ambushed them are certainly not idiots. You'll find them anywhere. Believe me!"

Bount realized he was running into a wall. The more he tried to penetrate her, the more she closed herself off - for whatever reason.

Suddenly she said, "I think I have to go now. Thank you so much for everything. I'll make it up to you sometime if I can."

"Why such a sudden departure?" asked June.

The young woman tried a smile. "It's not sudden," she explained unconvincingly. "I just have to go now, that's all." She rose and Bount followed her lead.

"Do you want me to take you home?" the private investigator asked.

"No, thank you."

"Like I said, I'll be on my way in a minute anyway!"

"Then take me for a ride!"

"Okay," Bount nodded. His gaze sank into her dark eyes and he thought: What could possibly be going on in that pretty head? You could turn it around however you wanted: He just couldn't figure this woman out. But she didn't exactly make it easy either!

3

"You'll have to tell me where to go!" said Bount as he sat behind the wheel of his champagne-colored Mercedes 500 SL ten minutes later.

The dark-eyed beauty sat in the passenger seat and said curtly, "Go ahead. I'll let you know when I want to get off."

"As I said, it's best if you don't get out of the car at all, but come with me to see the police."

"Let's not."

"Some people can't be helped."

"It's possible..." She sighed. "And what are you doing at the police now?"

"Oh, it's about a lineup. I'd like to be in it. My friend Rogers and I got close to a drug ring. Now comes the legwork. But that's got to be done, too. Because in the end, convictions may depend on it."

"What do you have to do with drugs, Bount? Aren't people of your ilk more in charge of the sophisticated murder or the spectacular diamond heist?"

Bount glanced at her for a moment.

"You're wrong," he explained. "Although... It was actually a kind of murder, too."

"You'll have to explain that to me."

"A rather distraught man came to me. His seventeen-year-old son had shot himself golden. That was the catalyst for the whole thing, so I got into it."

"But this isn't murder," she said. "Surely the boy knew what he was doing. He wanted it that way."

"Do you really believe that?"

"Yes, that's how I see it!"

"In this case, it was certainly different. The boy had suddenly been supplied by his dealer with stuff of a quality level he had not been used to. He had taken no more than his normal ration and was now dead. And that was clearly murder, even in a legal sense." But Bount had no desire to discuss it further. "The subject seems to interest you," he noted.

"I'm interested in a lot of things."

Bount Reiniger gave the conversation an abrupt turn. "How long have you been on the run?"

She smiled. "You can't help it, huh?"

"As I said, occupational disease."

"I met these guys for the first time today."

"You don't have to lie to me."

"You know everything best, don't you?"

"I'm trying," Bount smiled. "You know what I think? I think you've been running from them for days."

She dabbled in put-on, artificial-looking mirth. "Do you have any proof?"

"Am I the prosecutor?"

She suddenly pointed to the right with her slender arm and asked, "See that corner back there?"

"Yes."

"Let me get off there."

"And then? Where do you want to go?"

"One street over is the subway."

Bount pulled over to the side of the road. The young woman was about to get out, but Bount held her back.

"What else?"

"Take this." She took it and looked at it, frowning. It was one of Reiniger's business cards. "Maybe you'll reconsider letting me help you..."

She pocketed the card.

"Goodbye, Bount."

And then she was gone. Bount saw her disappear among the passersby. She kept looking around, as if she felt she was being watched. One could only hope that one day she wouldn't be fished out of the East River as a floater....

4

Captain Toby Rogers of Manhattan C/II Homicide was a massive colossus whose character would have made him eminently suitable to serve as Bud Spencer's double.

"You're a little early, Bount! We still have to wait for a few more people! But I can offer you a freshly brewed coffee!"

"Thanks, but I just had breakfast."

"If things go smoothly today, we'll be a long way down the road," Rogers said. "I'm quite confident..."

Bount took out the Beretta he had taken from one of the two guys in the park. He had put the gun in a plastic bag, although it had probably been too late for that. Bount had finally picked up the gun and used it - probably destroying almost all trace evidence that could tell anything.

"What's that?" asked Rogers.

"I had a chance to brush up on my hand-to-hand combat training this morning while jogging," Bount said sarcastically, telling Rogers in terse sentences what had happened.

"And where is the woman now?" inquired the fat captain.

"Up and away." Bount shrugged. "What was I supposed to do, forcibly drag them to the police?"

"Getting mugged is not a crime, after all!"

"You said it!"

"Now what am I supposed to do with the Beretta?"

"Just give it to the lab. Maybe something will come out of it!"

Toby Rogers took a deep breath, puffing himself up like a walrus. "Do you actually think the lab doesn't have enough to do, Bount? Nobody's been killed with this gun, and if it's taken out of circulation, it never will be." He lifted the Beretta and looked at it from all angles. "The number's filed off..." he muttered.

"One hand washes the other, Toby. So, what about the lab? If I let you have the gun, my chances of getting it examined are greater than if I try to do it alone."

Rogers sighed and fixed Bount with his gaze.

"Okay, Bount."

"Thank you."

"But then please answer me one question: why are you getting involved in this?"

"Pure curiosity," Bount grinned.

A lieutenant came in and turned to Rogers. "Everyone's assembled, Captain!"

Rogers slapped his thighs and stood up. "Well, here we go!"

Bount put a cigarette in his mouth and lit it.

"Let's cross our own fingers that Jim Lacroix gets sent to the hole today!"

They went together into an unadorned room, from which one could see through a pane into an adjoining room.

Rogers greeted a forty- to fifty-year-old black woman of stocky build who gave a rather sheepish impression.

"There's nothing to be afraid of, Mrs. Grogan," Rogers asserted. The black woman nodded, but didn't seem to believe the police captain.

"That's easy for you to say, Captain!"

"You can't be seen through that glass," Reiniger added.

She nodded and turned her gaze to the side.

Martha Grogan had been the landlady of Ron Bogdanovich - that boy who someone had helped a little with the golden shot by supplying him with pure, rather than the usual, generously extended heroin.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the glass pane, a squad of tall, ash-blond men had built up. One of them was Jim Lacroix, Bogdanovich's dealer. Martha Grogan had testified during her initial questioning at the scene that a man had visited Bogdanovich regularly and had been there even shortly before his death. Her description fit Lacroix like a glove, but now she had to identify him, identify him as the man who had been there shortly before Bogdanovich's death, probably supplying him.

This time, a deadly delivery.

"What is it?" asked Rogers, perhaps a touch too impatiently. "Is the man with you?"

Martha Grogan gulped.

"I'm not sure!"

"But there's no such thing! You could describe him exactly," Rogers scolded.

She was afraid, that was obvious. Of whatever.

Perhaps Lacroix had sent someone ahead of her to make it unmistakably clear how she had to behave if she wanted to remain in good health. Or perhaps she had simply been bought.

"I'm not sure he's in," she said unconvincingly. "Maybe the one on the far right there. Or maybe the one in the middle? They all look so much alike!"

"Listen!" she was then implored by Rogers. "You really don't have to be afraid! If you say one sound, we can put this guy in the hole!"

"For how long?"

"For a very long time, because then it's murder!"

"Can you guarantee me that? Or won't it work out in the end that a clever lawyer will get him off after all?"

"I'm not a judge or jury, but if you recognize him, we'd have a chance!"

"What if I can't identify him?"

Rogers fell silent and took a deep breath. He took two or three steps back and forth, then muttered, "I'm afraid he'll slip through our fingers then!"

She seemed to think again. You could literally see her face, how the battle was raging inside her. Then it was decided - and finally, judging by the sound of her voice.

"I'm sorry, it wasn't one of these men here!" she said very firmly.

She pinched her lips together. Her face had become a mask.

Rogers made one last attempt. "One of these men is a murderer, and you know which one. Ron Bogdanovich could have been your son by age. Think of Ron's parents, what it means to them if his killer gets away!"

She turned her eyes to Rogers and sighed. "I wish I could help you, Captain. But I can only tell you what is true, can't I?"

The fat captain realized that the matter was lost.

"Of course," he said.

"Can I go now?"

Rogers nodded. "Go ahead!" When she was gone, he angrily slammed the flat of his hand against the wall.

"The day's off to a really bad start, huh?" commented Bount.

5

It was two days later when Bount Reiniger saw the dark-eyed beauty for the second time - but this time only as a black-and-white photo in the newspaper. June had drawn his attention to it and held the corresponding page under his nose.

WHO KNOWS THIS WOMAN?, was written there in large letters.

The photo was not very good, a newspaper photo, but Bount had seen something like it often enough to see at first glance that it was a picture of a dead person.

"I suspected it," Bount muttered tonelessly as he read the accompanying text. A young woman had been killed in Yonkers. She had been found with a bullet in her heart area in a side street. Unfortunately, the dead woman lacked everything that could have identified her. She had no passport, no tags in her clothes, no wallet, no credit card.

"Looks like those two guys got her after all," June commented. "The paper says she was murdered the day before yesterday..."

"Nothing more specific?"

"No."

"I dropped her off near a Subway station," Bount said. "She must have taken a pretty direct route to Yonkers." He shrugged. "She should have listened to me..."

"She would have." June paused for a moment, then continued, "I know this is closer to you than you want to admit. I saw the way you looked at her..."

Bount got up and went to the window and looked out. It was a gloomy day.

New York was a laundry room today. The last shower had just passed two minutes, but the next one was already coming over Central Park.

"Yonkers police are looking for witnesses who know the dead woman," Bount muttered. "I'm going to swing by." He made a vague gesture, then dropped his hands into his pants pockets. "I guess that's the best I can do for them..."

6

The man Bount Reiniger sat across from in the stuffy, cramped office was named Clarke, and he was a lieutenant in Yonkers Homicide. Clarke was small and wiry, and two venomous eyes lurked in his deep sockets. A small terrier, he seemed to Bount. One that bit and then never let go.

Well, thought Bount. Everyone has his own way.

"So your name is Reiniger," the poison dwarf murmured with an undertone that didn't bode well. "Could it be that I've heard that name before?"

"Quite."

Clarke suddenly slapped the table with the flat of his hand and snapped his head forward angrily. His eyes had emerged from their sockets and sparkled aggressively.

"Let me make something clear to you right at the start, Mister Cleaner! Whether you have your office on a posh floor or in a back room, whether you're a star in your industry or just some narrow-minded sleuth: I don't like private detectives."

Bount shrugged.

"Sorry about that!"

"And I don't like it when you snoopers mess with us professionals either!"

Bount took a deep breath. "First of all, we privates are as much professionals in this business as the likes of you, and secondly, I have no intention of interfering with you, Clarke. I'm not investigating this case at all, I'm here as a witness!"

"Okay," Clark said, grinning sarcastically. "I'll take your word for it for a minute. Tell me what you have to contribute to the case! Don't tell me you know the dead woman!"

"I saw her in Central Park on Monday morning when I was doing my daily jog. Two guys were on her heels and I got in between them."

"How noble, Mister Reiniger. It's rare to find something like that these days. Most just look the other way. Who's the lady?"

"She didn't tell me her name."

"Too bad! What time was that exactly on Monday morning?"

"About seven. I was able to get the Beretta off one of the guys. It's still in the lab. Check with Captain Rogers if you're interested in the findings."

"I'm not."

Bount frowned. He almost thought he had misheard.

"Did I understand that correctly?"

"Yes, you did," Clarke nodded. "You see, the thing is quite simple: by the time you claim to have seen the unnamed lady in New York City's Central Park, she had been dead for at least half an hour."

For Bount, this was like a blow to the head. "I'm completely sure, though..."

"I'm sorry, Mister Reiniger, but it seems you made the trip down here to Yonkers for nothing." It was written all over Clarke's face that he wasn't the least bit sorry. But Bount didn't care much about that anyway.

His thoughts were with the nameless dead woman whose picture he had seen in the newspaper. "It was her," he said. "I'm one hundred percent sure of that. You don't forget a face like that."

"She must have been very pretty before they made a corpse out of her!"

Clarke shrugged his shoulders. "You probably saw another woman, Reiniger. Perhaps one who looked very much like the dead woman and whom you then thought you recognized from the photograph!"

But Bount shook his head decisively.

"I don't think so."

"Then go to the morgue and see it in the original! Maybe then it will go into your skull!"

Bount didn't let up. He had a pair of well-functioning eyes in his head and there was no reason not to trust them. So he kept drilling.