Detective Wally Johnson looked at the tattered postcard Toby Grissom had handed him. “Why do you think your daughter didn’t write this card?” he asked.
“I don’t say she didn’t write it. Like I told you, I’ve started to think that because it was printed, maybe she didn’t, maybe somebody did something to her and then tried to make it look like she’s still alive. Now, Glory has big, fancy handwriting, with lots of loops, if you know what I mean, and that’s why it didn’t occur to me till now that maybe she hadn’t sent this card at all.”
“You said you received this six months ago,” Johnson said.
“Yeah. That’s right. And you never asked, but I thought maybe you should check it for fingerprints.”
“How many people have handled this card, Mr. Grissom?”
“Handled it? I don’t know. I showed it to some of my friends in Texas, and I showed it to the girls Glory used to room with here in New York.”
“Mr. Grissom, of course we’ll check it for fingerprints, but I can tell you right now that whether your daughter sent it or somebody else did, we’ll never be able to get prints off it. Think about it. You’ve shown it around to your friends and to Glory’s roommates. Before that a number of postal clerks and your mailman handled it. Too many people have touched that card.”
Toby spotted Glory’s photo montage on the corner of Johnson’s desk. He pointed to it. “Something happened to my girl,” he said. “I know it.” Then in a voice tinged with sarcasm, he asked, “Have you called that Bartley Longe, that guy who was taking her up to his country house, yet?”
“I had some other pressing assignments last night. Mr. Grissom, I assure you it is my top priority to talk with him.”
“Don’t assure me anything, Detective Johnson,” Toby told him. “I’m going nowhere until you pick up that phone and make an appointment with Bartley Longe. If I have to miss my plane, that’s okay with me. Because I intend to sit here until you’ve seen that guy. If you want to arrest me, that’s okay, too. You just got to get it straight. I won’t leave this police station until you’re on your way to see Longe, and don’t go there with your hat in your hand apologizing for the visit, saying her father is a pest. Go there hard-nosed and get some of the names of the other theatre people who that jerk claims he introduced Glory to, and find out from them if they ever met her.”
This poor guy, Wally Johnson thought. I don’t have the guts to break his heart and tell him that his daughter is probably a high-priced hooker by now who’s with some fat-cat boyfriend. Instead, Johnson picked up the phone and asked information for the phone number of Bartley Longe. When the receptionist answered, he introduced himself. “Is Mr. Longe there?” he asked. “It’s very important that I speak with him immediately.”
“I’m not sure if he’s still in his office,” the receptionist began.
If she’s not sure if he’s in his office, that means that he is in his office, Johnson thought. He waited and a moment later the receptionist was back on the phone.
“I’m afraid he’s already left, but I’ll be happy to take a message,” she said, soothingly.
“I’m afraid I’m not planning to leave a message,” Johnson answered firmly. “You and I both know that Bartley Longe is there. I can be there in twenty minutes. It is absolutely essential that I see him now. Brittany La Monte’s father is sitting at my desk and he needs some answers about her disappearance.”
“If you’ll just hold . . .” After a brief pause the receptionist said, “If you can come right over, Mr. Longe will wait for you.”
“That will be fine.” Johnson hung up the phone then looked compassionately at Toby Grissom, taking in the exhaustion in the elderly man’s eyes and the deep creases in his face. “Mr. Grissom, I could be gone as long as a few hours. Why don’t you go out and get something to eat, then come back here? What time did you say your plane was?”
“Five o’clock.”
“It’s just a little after twelve now. I could get one of our guys to run you out to LaGuardia after I report back to you. I’m going to speak to Longe, and then, as you suggest, get a list of the people he claims met her at his home. But you staying in New York doesn’t make sense at all. You told me that you’re supposed to be having chemo treatments. You shouldn’t skip them. You know you shouldn’t.”
Toby suddenly felt as though all the starch were going out of him. The long walk in the cold had taken its toll even though he had enjoyed it. And he was hungry. “I guess you’re right,” he said. “There’s got to be a McDonald’s near here.” With a humorless smile, he added, “Maybe I’ll treat myself to a Big Mac.”
“That’s a good idea,” Wally Johnson agreed, as he got up and reached for the photo of Glory that he had kept on his desk.
“You don’t need to bring that,” Grissom said angrily. “That guy knows just what Glory looks like. Trust me, he does.”
Wally Johnson nodded. “You’re right. But I’ll take it with me when I talk to the people who met Glory at Bartley Longe’s home.”