Copp On Fire, A Joe Copp Thriller (Joe Copp, Private Eye Series) by Don Pendleton

a string of murders."
    "That's crazy!" Molly said angrily. "You send those guys back around here to talk to me again! I'll tell them!"
    "What did you tell them before?"
    "Not much. Didn't know much to tell. They asked about the blond, the car she was driving. I told them what I knew.   Was that wrong?"
    "Course it wasn't wrong.   What did you know to tell them?"
    "Well . . . she sat out there for about an hour— waiting for you, I guess. I thought at first maybe she was waiting to pick up one of my customers. We had a rush yesterday, the place was full all day. I asked around after about an hour, but nobody claimed her. I didn't see you arrive, guess I was looking the other way when you came in, or maybe I was busy in the back. I just know I looked out and saw your car parked beside hers and both were empty. Sorry."
           "Did you see her leave?"
           " Heard her leave. That car scream out of here like the devil was chasing it. I just caught a glimpse as it tore past. Figured you'd broken her heart, you devil."
           "How long was that after you saw my car?"
           "Oh . . . just a few minutes, I guess. Short time after."
           "Could you tell if anyone besides the blond was in that car?"
           "Not even her, Joe. It was just a flash past the window."
           "See anything else of interest?"
           "No. I can't think of anything else."
           "Anyone hanging around my office? Anything unusual in the parking lot?"
           "No."
           "Nobody else coming or going."
           "No. I locked up at six. Your car was still out there and the lights were on in the office. I didn't see anything unusual."
           I showed her the bald spot and butterfly bandage on my scalp and told her, "Someone sapped me while that blond was in my office. I must have been lying in there unconscious when you locked up and went home. You can't remember any thing unusual or out of focus or . . ."
           "Just that fancy car tearing out of here. Sorry, Joe. I'm going to have to start keeping tabs on you, Tiger. Sounds like you need a keeper."
           "So do you," I said, resuming the gag and fingering a lock of her hair. "When's the last time you washed your hair?"
    "Same time you aired out your jockeys," she fired back. "Did you get raped in jail, lover?"
    I asked, "How'd you know I'd been to jail?"
    She leaned over and flipped a newspaper from the rack. Big black headlines proclaimed: local pi charged in l.a . bombing.
    I told her, "You had me coming in, didn't you."
    She told me, "I wish."
    I couldn't tell if the gag was still running or not.
    So I thanked my interesting neighbor and got out of there.
          
    I hadn't learned a hell of a lot in a positive sense, but sometimes there is knowledge from a negative sense. And I decided that I'd better go home and look for signs there.
    I live only about ten minutes from the office, north into the foothills of the San Gabriel mountains. It's a developed area with a great view onto the entire valley and all its communities, zoned for horses and peopled by folks who like same. I don't, but I like the stretch between the houses so I put up with the flies as a small penalty to pay for the luxury of uncluttered space. My home is my only true luxury, which means that I can't afford it but I'm damned if I'll live any other way and I'm willing to sacrifice in other areas of lifestyle.
    Well, I do have one other luxury, but it's business- connected so really doesn't qualify. It's the van I mentioned earlier. It's outfitted for business but easily convertible for camping. If the IRS is listening, don't worry: I pro-rate it out as a business expense, even though I have yet to use it for any other purpose. I
    consider it a business luxury because I don't use it that often. Usually I drive the old Cadillac, a fully paid for Eldorado built before the EPA standards, three damned tons of beautiful, gas-guzzling