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“Eggs and ham,” I told Izzy as soon as she noticed me sliding onto a stool at McCrory’s lunch counter. On the rare occasions when I wanted something other than my usual oatmeal, I had to speak before my fanny was completely on the stool. “And coffee,” I called.
My head ached, which was several notches better than yesterday’s pounding. My jaw hurt where the guy had punched me. It was somehow managing to share its displeasure with my eyes. I sipped my coffee gratefully.
When I’d had sufficient coffee, my mind began to groan into gear. Gil Tremain wouldn’t have torn his own apartment apart. Everyone who worked with him had mentioned how precise he was. Going to lunch at the same time. Always putting papers for others to look at in the same place. A man like that didn’t displace things. Especially not something important. Especially not in his own apartment.
Somebody wanted something in that apartment, though. They wanted it enough to kill for it.
That suggested Tremain hadn’t gone off voluntarily, and that he wasn’t a traitor.
All at once every one of my senses registered a male presence settling beside me. A particular male presence smelling of soap and shaving cream. A russet haired cop named Mick Connelly. Whenever he came within a foot of me, I felt the same prickle I experienced plunging earthward in a Ferris wheel.
“You didn’t show up for our date last night.”
What was he talking about? When had we ever had a date? Sometimes when we bumped into each other at Finn’s we ended up grabbing a bite to eat together, but we weren’t sweethearts, no matter how much he’d like to be.
“I went home with a headache and slept til my alarm went off. Aren’t you supposed to be on duty?”
“Not for half an hour. Long enough to have porridge and coffee.”
Izzy flashed him one of her shy smiles and scurried away. What was it about him that had an effect on so many women? He was perfectly ordinary looking if you didn’t count his fine mouth.
“I’m guessing the fight you were in is what gave you the headache. Or are you going to tell me your yellow jaw is some new beauty fad for brown-haired girls.”
I pushed away the fingertips that had come to rest ever so gently beneath my chin as he tilted it up to squint at the bruise.
“Yeah, I got slugged, but I gave worse than I got. And I’ll thank you not to paw me in public.”
“Does that mean I’m allowed to run my fingers over your still lovely face in private?”
I shoved his hand, which was still close enough for me to feel the warmth of it, further away.
“What date are you talking about?”
“The prizefight?”
I wasn’t keen on watching men knock each other silly, but Connelly and most of the other men I knew seemed to enjoy them. Somebody had given him tickets. Now I vaguely recalled that he’d invited me and I’d said yes.
“Sorry I forgot to call you,” I said tersely.
“Ah, well. You’re okay, and that’s the important thing. But Maggie, you’ve got to start steering clear of situations where you could get punched around. Too many blows to your head and your brains get scrambled like those poor old devils who’ve lost too many rounds in the ring.”
“I know what’s what, Connelly. I don’t need a lecture, and you wouldn’t be sitting here giving me one if I were a man.”
Tossing down money to cover my bill and a tip, I stalked off with my heels clicking loudly on the wooden floor. At a spot where it warped a little they gave a particularly satisfying smack. I hated to retreat, but it was the only way I knew to escape an urge to rest my achy head against the solidness of his shoulder and let him comfort me.
* * *
The white-haired Doberman had the phone cradled to her ear when I entered C&S Signals. She was writing something down and listening intently.
“He’s expecting you,” she said, nodding me back as she covered the mouthpiece. “I’m sorry. Could you repeat that last item?”
I made my way through the same group of typists and draftsmen and headed toward Collingswood’s office. As I neared it, I heard two men arguing.
“But you agreed we ought to get a private detective.”
“That we would!”
“You weren’t here, Frank. How could I sit around another day doing nothing? The meeting with Acoff’s too important.”
“Of course it’s important! Which is exactly why I can’t believe you hired a — some woman. She’s clearly not equipped to deal with a matter like this.”
I tapped on the door. The voices ceased. A moment later, Collingswood opened the door a few inches, looking put out.
“Oh, it’s you, Miss Sullivan. I, er, didn’t expect you so early. Come in. This is my partner, Frank Scott. I was just filling him in....” Embarrassment tinged his cheeks.
“Mr. Scott. Glad to meet you.” I offered my hand and a dazzling smile. “I do hope your headache’s gone. And yes, you’re right in thinking Pythagoras and his hypotenuse is just about as complex as I can manage when it comes to math, but I hold my own when it comes to detecting.”
Scott was taller than his partner. Younger, too. He was probably just nudging forty with sandy hair. He had the grace to look embarrassed.
“Miss Sullivan, I apologize for what you must have overheard. I only meant that you work alone, according to Loren. Having more people involved would yield faster results.”
“Is that an engineering formula?”
“You’re not exactly a giantess, either. And Loren says you’ve already been attacked?”
“The police were here not much more than half an hour after you called me yesterday,” Collingswood put in.
I nodded. The one thing I’d done before downing more aspirin and crawling into bed the previous day was use the hall phone at the rooming house where I lived. I’d given Collingswood a quick rundown of events at Tremain’s apartment and told him to expect the police.
“They didn’t seem to care much about finding Gil,” he said, frowning. “Only how the break-in at his apartment might be related to a woman who was - who was killed.”
“What do you think the man who tore up Gil’s apartment was hunting?” his partner asked. “It was a man, I take it?”
“Yes. I’d say he was hunting the same thing you’re worrying over.”
“The project summary? With the right calculations?”
“Which means that Gil didn’t take them,” said Collingswood eagerly.
“Not necessarily.” An hour ago I’d reached the same conclusion. Now I discarded it. “He might have struck a deal with someone, then decided to hold out for more money. Or, if this development of yours is as valuable as you’ve let on, and people knew about it because of that conference, it’s possible someone snatched him thinking he had the whole thing in his head or that he could get it.”
Something about that scenario didn’t quite match up with the snake in Collingswood’s coat pocket, but I wasn’t sure what.
“Yesterday when I asked, you said there hadn’t been any ransom demands. Is that still true?”
Collingswood bobbed his head once.
“As far as I’m aware,” Scott said shortly.
“It’s also possible Gil was scared about something and went into hiding,” I said. “And though I think this one’s extremely remote, it could also be that he took off over something unrelated to your project.”
Both men stared at me with equal dismay. While they were still digesting it, the door burst open.
A woman in her late twenties stood there. She had a heart-shaped face and quick gray eyes. They flicked back and forth between the two men, pausing curiously on me before sharpening on Collingswood.
“Dad? Wilma just told me the police were here yesterday. She said Gil’s been missing since Monday. Is that true? Why didn’t you say anything? What’s going on?”