“I’ll do that,” I said. “You get out your keys and open the door.”
“But I’m not supposed—”
That dope never knew how close he was to getting slammed down with a hunk of metal. I knew damned well I was too late, and it would have helped a little to clop eight or nine people, beginning with him. But as I gave the gun a jerk he went for his keys. For the record, I pressed a finger against the bell button and kept it there while he was unlocking the door. When he had it open I pushed him through ahead of me, but only two steps in he stopped, and I quit pushing.
She was lying off to the right, about halfway to the entrance to the living room, her body in a twisted position, one leg straight out and one bent. Her face was in full view from where we stood, and there was no question about being too late, as was natural in a case of throttling. She was not recognizable.
The dope made a movement, and I grabbed his arm and whirled him around.
“Christ Almighty,” he said, and it looked as if he were about to blubber.
“Take the elevator down,” I told him, “and stay there. The cops will want it.”
I shoved him out and closed the door and turned. There was no time for a job, but a glance was enough. She had followed instructions all right, but had never reached the outside door. Three paces from where she lay a closet door was standing open. He had been ambushed there, and, as she passed, had swung the door open and hit her with a bronze tiger, a bookend. It was there on the floor. He had then finished up with a doubled cord from a Venetian blind, also there on the floor. Everything was right there.
I went to her and squatted and tried to push the tongue back in, but it was too swollen. That and the eyes were plenty, but I picked a few fibers from the rug and put them over her nostrils and counted ten slowly. No. I got up and went to the living room and crossed to the table where the phone was. Yes, she had followed instructions; she had not rung off.
I picked up the receiver and cradled it, waited ten seconds, picked it up again, got the dial tone, and dialed a number. After only three rounds Wolfe’s voice came. He was a sound sleeper, but it didn’t take a sledgehammer to wake him.