Chicky Ross pulled into the parking lot at the station and turned off the car engine quickly in order to stop the rattling of his obviously loosened exhaust pipe. He cursed his brother-in-law under his breath. The bastard did a half-assed job again. It was a no-win situation. He couldn’t go to another mechanic because if he did, Maggie would be insulted. Hell, Sonny would be insulted, even though the son of a bitch screwed him almost every time just because he got labor free and wholesale prices on parts. I’d rather pay the whole toll, he thought, and get the work done right.
He sat back in the car seat and reached into his top pocket for his cigarette. For the last two weeks, he had carried only the one in an attempt to stop smoking. It was a promise he had made to himself, to Maggie, and to Doctor Martin. There was also something about losing thirty pounds. He put the cigarette in his mouth, but left it unlit. Instead, he sat there imagining the taste of the tobacco. He started to draw on it and then felt stupid and quickly put the cigarette back into his pocket.
No one had seen him. It was after six. The post office had closed and there was very little traffic on the street fronting the police station. As well as keeping in touch with developments on the Oberman affair, he had been investigating a burglary at the home of Florence Siegle in Mountaindale. She owned a bungalow colony, and it looked more and more to him that the solution lay with the handyman. He felt positive the guy had taken the money and the jewelry and hidden it somewhere on the property. In a few days, he would be gone. Chicky was sure of it. In the meantime he called in and asked Harry to complete a rundown on the man.
Throughout the day, however, he couldn’t keep his attention off the missing person’s case. He kept reviewing the conversation he had had with David Oberman and the discussions he had had with Cynthia Grossman, Judy Davis, the state police, and some of the local police who patrolled the route she should have taken. He had asked David to check in with him during his search, but so far he’d received no radio call. It was odd, very odd.
Oberman’s neighbor, Cynthia Grossman, had confirmed that the Oberman marriage, although not in trouble, wasn’t an Alice-in-Wonderland affair. Apparently Stacey Oberman had been complaining more and more about how her husband’s work took him away from the family.
Then, although Judy Davis, the special projects secretary, didn’t come right out and say it, she was obviously troubled by the cool, even-tempered manner in which David had taken his wife’s failure to arrive at the hotel on time. The secretary kept referring to the way her own husband would have reacted. Was David’s frantic and excited behavior at the hotel all some sort of act?
He had to investigate the percentages, and more women fled their unhappy home circumstances than were kidnapped or done away with. And in more cases than not, it was the husband who did the “doing away” when they were. Maybe David Oberman had sensed Chicky’s skepticism and had grown disenchanted.
Chicky shrugged himself out of his car and looked back at Main Street. Traffic was at a lull; the village almost took on its post-resort-season look of serene calm. The Sullivan County Catskills was a remarkable area, he thought. It was like some kind of sleeping giant ten months out of the year; and then suddenly…July Fourth and the place burst into life. Lights came on, traffic increased tenfold, stores opened, movie houses came to life, new restaurants were born, and everybody busied themselves with vacationers. Everything was hectic. Police business certainly boomed.
He thought about the chief. Carl Krammer was nearing retirement, and the closer he got to it, the more cynical he became. Chicky thought he had no reason to be. Law enforcement hadn’t been bad to him. He was always at the right place at the right time when it came to promotions. He had been the youngest man appointed police chief at the time. Maybe it was because he looked the part. He stood six feet two and weighed a little over two hundred pounds. He was always trim and neatly dressed. His hair was cropped short and his face cleanly shaven. Even on duty very late at night, even when they were deeply involved in unraveling some capital crime, Krammer always looked like a West Point graduate. Here he was in his late fifties and he looked as though he could take on any of the young patrolmen—and win.
Chicky had been working under him for nearly fifteen years now, and he knew that there was little love lost between them. On four different occasions, Krammer had fined him for being overweight. He was constantly after him to follow the correct procedures, and yet he never moved to have him dismissed. Harry Borman told him he thought Krammer kept him around “because you make him look good. He needs the contrast.”
“Thanks a lot.”
Chicky didn’t feel inferior. He believed he and the chief were two completely different people, almost completely different species. There was nothing wrong with that. It was still up for grabs as to who was the better cop as far as he was concerned. He had a pretty good record of achievement and, for his money, Krammer was more image than substance. He looked the part, so he got it; and he could keep it.
Chicky chastised himself for being so defensive and maudlin. Something was making him pensive and philosophical tonight and it wasn’t just his cold-turkey frustration from not smoking. It was the Oberman thing. He knew it; he felt it. If there was any such thing as police instincts, they were coming alive in him now.
Would this turn out to be one of those bizarre cases? Could Oberman have done away with his wife and child himself and created this whole diversion? Chicky shuddered at the thought. In this day and age, it wasn’t possible to discard any theory because it seemed too horrible.
When he entered the station, he found it unusually quiet. Harry was at the front desk eating yogurt and reading one of his health magazines. The thirty-eight-year-old vegetarian drove everyone mad with his theories about eating. Actually, Chicky thought he looked sickly. He had a kind of yellowish tint to his complexion, was at least ten pounds underweight, and his red hair was thinning prematurely.
“What d’ya have on that handyman?”
“Two priors, one for stealing a car and one for burglary.”
“Smelled it.”
“Krammer wants you to bring him in. We’ll grill him into a confession.”
“Why the hell didn’t you radio me?”
“I did. Couldn’t raise you. The chief’s pissed off about it, so I would just turn my ass around, if I were you, and go get the son of a bitch. Then have your radio checked.”
“Christ, my brother-in-law probably loosened a wire or something. It worked all right earlier today. Anything on that Oberman affair?”
“Not a word.”
“Didn’t he call in?”
“Not since you asked this morning.” Harry looked back at the inner offices and then leaned forward over the desk. “Chief says you shouldn’t be worryin’ about it anyway. It’s out of our jurisdiction. It’s a state matter now.”
“Something could have happened within this township.”
“Don’t push your luck. Buzzy’s in Dutch. He wrapped his patrol car in Hurleyville. Backed into a ditch. All kinds of damage. There’s steam coming out of Krammer’s ears.”
“I hope they didn’t tow it over to my brother-in-law,” Chicky said. “All right. I’ll go back for the handyman. Looks like another pleasurable evening here at the station.” He started to leave and then stopped. “Give me that phone a minute,” he said, coming back to the desk. Harry handed it to him slowly. Chicky dialed David Oberman’s hotel and asked for David’s room. After half a dozen rings, the operator came on and he asked for Barry Hingen.
“Security.”
“Barry, Chicky Ross. Have you heard anything from Mr. Oberman?”
“Not a thing. What’s the story there?”
“I don’t know. He went out looking himself.”
“Haven’t seen him,” Hingen said with little concern or emotion in his voice.
“Okay, thanks.” Chicky hung up and stood by the desk a moment. “You’d think the guy would call in periodically to see if we found out anything, even if he was upset with our investigation. He was pretty uptight about it when I met with him at the hotel. It doesn’t make sense. In fact, none of it does.”
Harry nodded without saying anything.
“Ross!” Chief Krammer called from the hallway. “What the fuck are you doing?”
“I was just on my way out, Chief. To pick up that handyman.”
“Well, why don’tcha give him a good head start, for chrissakes.”
“I’m on my way,” Chicky said. He shot a glance at Harry who pretended to be busy with some paperwork, and then hurried out the front door. He paused after he got into his car and started the engine. “It doesn’t make sense,” he muttered. “It just doesn’t make sense.”
It was not good police sense to permit yourself to flit from one case to another, especially when you were right in the middle of taking action on one, Chicky thought, but all the way back to Mountaindale to apprehend the handyman, his thoughts shifted back and forth between the Oberman affair and the burglary he was investigating.
The only relationship they had to one another was that something was missing in both cases, and in both, someone was responsible. He was sure of it.
Stacey curled over on her back slowly and brought her hands to her face. She wiped her eyes and looked about in a state of confusion. For the moment, she was like an amnesiac. Where was she? How did she get here? What was she doing here? The answers to each of the questions came one after the other obediently, surfacing firmly and vividly from the darker recesses of her mind where she had tried to bury them. They wouldn’t stay dead. Resurrected, every moment of the terror was replayed.
She moaned and covered her eyes with her hands. Then came the realization that she was completely naked beneath the blanket. She reached down like an amputee unable to face the reality that something was missing.
“Oh God,” she muttered and pulled the blanket against herself protectively. The light from the hallway was dull because the fixture hadn’t been turned on and the early evening twilight barely penetrated the window on the west side of the house. She listened keenly to the sound of voices drifting from below. First that woman laughed and then that child.
Where was Tami? From the noises, Stacey gathered that they were all eating. She looked about the room and thought about the clothing in the closet. Perhaps for the time being, she could put on another one of those garments. When she started to get off the bed, the clinking sound of the chain reminded her that it was still fastened around her ankle. There probably wasn’t enough length to reach the closet, but she had to try.
She wrapped the blanket around herself and stood up. She traveled as far as the chain permitted, but she was still a good foot from the closet door. Frustrated, she looked about her. What happened to the dress they had forced her to wear? Where were her undergarments? Why did they strip her? Did they think they could prevent her from trying to escape? How could she anyway with this damn chain clamped around her ankle? She started back to the bed, but before she reached it, the light from the hallway was suddenly dimmed by the body of the big man who stood in the doorway. In his hands was a dinner tray.
She gasped and backed up to the bed, sitting down slowly and clutching the blanket to her body more tightly.
“Need a light on in here,” he said simply. He went to the night table on the left and put down the tray. Then he reached under the lamp shade and turned on the lamp. For a moment he just stood there staring at her. She felt as though he could see through the blanket.
“Where are my clothes?”
“I don’t know. Irene put ’em somewhere. She’ll get you something to wear after your bath.”
“What bath?”
“She said you’re going to have a bath after dinner.”
“Where’s my daughter?”
“Downstairs, finishing up her dinner. She ate pretty good. Irene would have it no other way,” he said, smirking. Was that his attempt at humor? she wondered.
“I don’t believe you. She’s petrified. She wouldn’t eat anything.”
“Believe what you want.”
“Why are you keeping us here?”
“Irene and Shirley need companionship.”
“This isn’t companionship. This is…kidnaping. Don’t you know how much trouble you’re in?”
He didn’t reply. He started out of the room and then stopped and turned in the doorway.
“You’d better eat that. There won’t be anything more tonight,” he said, and left.
She continued to stare at the now empty doorway, fighting back her urge to panic. Her throat felt raw from all her previous screaming. What happened to Marlene came to mind. From what Irene let leak, Marlene had spelled her own doom by going into hysterics…if she kept her head, they would leave her alone. After all, they needed her for Irene and that little retarded girl. It was senseless to scream anyway. Who could hear it way out here? No one would be walking these roads at night and anyone passing by in a car would certainly not hear her.
She sagged back against the pillow. Of course by now David would be frantic, she thought. He would have contacted the police and there would be people looking for them. Maybe they would see her car, if the madman hadn’t hidden it somewhere. What if he had? How would anyone know to look here? The garage mechanic, she thought. They would trace her to that garage and the man would tell them she had taken this road. Then they would merely go from house to house until they found her.
The scenario seemed so obvious, so easy, it gave her comfort. These people had her chained up and hidden away, but they weren’t hiding Tami. Once the police saw Tami, they would know something was wrong. It was just a matter of time. She had to hold together; she had to for Tami’s sake.
Oh, God, the poor kid, she thought. What she was going through. They’d need to take her for psychiatric help for sure when they got out of this. She could just imagine the nightmares. What about the nightmares she would have herself? Maybe they’d both have to see a psychiatrist.
She permitted herself a small laugh. It helped her to relax and keep calm. The main thing to do now was fan her hope. If she found an avenue of escape she’d take it. But otherwise she’d work on her mental state. The end to this terrifying experience was in sight; it must be. David and the police couldn’t permit it to go on much longer.
David, dear David, she thought. How difficult all this must be for him, too. To have his wife and child vanish, seemingly into thin air…he must be so frightened. Although he would still be organized, logical, and intelligent about it. For the first time in a long time, she thought that was good. It was better to have a man like David around if you were going to get embroiled in a crisis. You could rely on him. He had strength. Maybe he wasn’t a physically strong man, certainly nowhere as strong as this madman who had incarcerated and chained her here, but he was stronger in many other ways. He was certainly far more intelligent.
She smiled to herself as she thought about him. She closed her eyes and imagined him side by side with the police, tracking her down, pointing out clues, arriving on the scene heroically. Later on, when they were safe and together once again, he would tell her the truth. He would tell her how terrified he was and how difficult it was for him to carry on while she was gone. He would hold her close to him and their love would be renewed in a thousand different ways. She wouldn’t complain about his job, about his cool nature, about anything…
She opened her eyes and looked at the tray of food. It looked savory in the face of her hunger pangs. She was convinced that they weren’t going to poison her. They might drug the food, but she needed energy, nourishment, and she decided to take the risk. She started to pick at the chicken and vegetables. After that, she took a few forkfuls of the apple pie and drank some coffee.
Filling her mind with hope and her body with food did make her feel better. She sensed a return of some strength and straightened up in the bed when she heard the sound of footsteps approaching. Irene appeared in the doorway.
“Oh, you ate well. Good, good. Didn’t the apple pie come out good? The crust was so firm and yet not a bit dry. Gerald said it was one of the best apple pies I’ve ever made. See how much better you can do when you’re in a good frame of mind?”
“Where’s my daughter?”
“Shirley and Donna are watching television in the basement. Gerald made such a nice playroom down there. I’ve got to show it to you sometime. It’s cozy and the children always love it.”
“What children?”
Irene’s smile faded quickly. “All the children who come here,” she said. “Shirley has other friends, you know.”
“Are any coming tonight?”
“No. It’s too late for them. Their mothers won’t allow it. But that’s all right. She has Donna now. She doesn’t have to be dependent upon any of the others. The others are so spoiled, too, and mean. Some of them are very mean. Children can be meaner than adults. Did you know that? It’s true.”
“Adults can be pretty mean, too. What do you call someone who chains you to a bed and takes away your clothing?”
“Oh, this is all just temporary. I told you not to be such a complainer.” She lifted the tray. “Now, how would you like a warm bubble bath? I have such pretty scents. It’ll make you feel so good.”
“I want my clothes back.”
“After your bath. You want a bath, don’t you? Marlene always wanted a bath.”
Stacey was stunned. The other woman had glimpses of reality. Seeing her opening, she said quickly, “I’m not Marlene. You know that. You just said, ‘Marlene always wanted a bath.’ Don’t you see, you only would have said it that way if you knew I wasn’t Marlene? Don’t you see?”
Irene blinked rapidly and then backed away. She shook her head.
“Listen to me. I’m not Marlene. That’s not Donna. My name is Stacey and my daughter’s name is Tami. My husband is out there looking for us. He’s got the police with him. They’ll be here soon and you’ll be in a lot of trouble. You’ve got to let us go.”
“I’ll be back in a few minutes,” she said, her chin tilted and her lips quivering nervously. But she had enough capacity for denial. “I’ll get your bath ready.”
“You’re doing a terrible thing,” Stacey said as calmly as she could. Irene turned away and hurried to leave the room. “A terrible thing,” she repeated just before Irene went through the doorway.
She fell back against the pillow and closed her eyes. Who were these people? How come no one has discovered how crazy they are? she wondered. Are they only crazy inside their house? When she mused about it, it wasn’t really that remarkable a thing. There were so many examples of really sick people going about their business undetected…mass murderers who seemed normal at their place of work.
This thought depressed her. What if the police didn’t spot Tami? What if they came to this house and spoke to that man and he acted normal and claimed he hadn’t seen them? Why, even the woman could put on a convincing veneer, she thought. Christ, how would this end? She would have to find a way out of here herself. Could she do it?
I’ve got to go back to playing along with her, she thought. I’ve got to win her confidence somehow and then take advantage of the moment. It’s the only way.
A few minutes later, Irene reappeared. She went right to the closet and began sifting through the clothing.
“You have such a pretty bathrobe in here. Here it is. Look, it’s pure silk. And don’t you just love this light blue shade?”
“Yes,” Stacey said, “I do.”
Irene smiled and draped the bathrobe over the foot of the bed. Then she went to the large dresser and opened the top drawer to take out a nightgown.
“It’s so sheer. Makes me blush to think of you in it,” she said. “Gerald just loves me to wear them.”
“Does he?”
“Oh, yes.” She pressed the nightgown to her bosom and smiled. “Gerald and I…well, we were quite an item once. When he dresses up, he’s quite handsome, you know.”
“I can imagine.”
“His father was a handsome man, too. When he was younger, that is, and his mother was beautiful. I’ll show you some pictures later. Would you like that?”
“Oh, yes,” she said tightly.
“Good. Put on the robe and I’ll go start your water and throw in some…lilac or rose?”
“Rose.”
“That’s what I would have picked. We still think alike, don’t we, Marlene? That’s nice. It’s nice to have a friend,” she said, her smile softening. For a moment she had a faraway look in her eyes. “Oh,” she said, jumping when she came out of her daze. “Look at me dilly-dallying here while you’re waiting so patiently. I’m such a scatterbrain sometimes.” She laughed and went out to the bathroom. Stacey reached across the bed and took the bathrobe into her hands. She was beginning to feel sluggish, either with digestion, or because Gerald had laced the food with sedatives.
She had stepped off the bed and started to put the robe on when something caught her attention. Looking to the doorway, she saw an impassive Gerald standing there watching her. She closed the garment around herself quickly and he moved on.
Oh God, David, she thought. Hurry, hurry.
Irene returned, a bunch of keys in hand. She unfastened the chain from the bedpost. Stacey waited for her to free her ankle as well, but she made no further moves.
“I can’t take a bath with a chain on.”
“I’ll take that off in the bathroom,” she said, smiling.
What kind of madness is this? Stacey thought. She’s intelligent; she thinks; she realizes most of what she is doing, and yet she’s not in tune with reality. Her state made her a more frightening and formidable foe because she was unpredictable.
Irene lifted the loosened end of the chain and held it just the way Shirley had held the end of the leash that collared Tami. Stacey embraced herself and looked toward the hallway. What could she do but go on? She felt like someone who had wandered onto a stage of insanity and was now lost in the drama. Every time she headed for an exit, something else blocked the way. All she could do was carry on, recite the lines, and follow the directions until the final curtain.
Let it come soon, she prayed. Let it come soon.
She walked out of the bedroom, the chain dragging behind her on the floor. She turned into the bathroom where the tub frothed with water and the scent of roses permeated the air. Irene moved ahead of her and turned off the faucets. She carried the nightgown and put it on the closed toilet seat.
“Lift your foot now,” she said. Stacey put her foot up on the toilet seat and Irene unlocked the lock and took off the chain. “Okay, honey,” she said. “Go on in.”
Stacey looked at the water and then looked back at the doorway. Maybe she could rush out and down the stairs and out the door. Maybe she could get to the road and flag down a car before Gerald or Irene caught her.
As if he could hear her thoughts, Gerald appeared in the bathroom doorway.
“Gerald,” Irene said. “Please, we need some privacy.”
“Just checking to see if everything’s all right,” he said.
“Why of course it is. Why shouldn’t it be?” Irene said. “We’re using roses. Can you smell it?”
“Uh-huh.” He looked at Stacey a moment and then moved on. But she wasn’t sure just how far down the hallway he had gone.
“I’ll close the door,” Irene said, “so Gerald can’t disturb us. Go on, get in. I’ll just sit here and keep you company like I used to.” She closed the door and turned back.
Stacey took off the robe and stepped into the tub. She lowered herself into the warm water and submerged her body in the bubbles. For a few moments, for a few insane moments, she closed her eyes and actually enjoyed the scent of roses and the warm feeling.
What’s happening to me? she wondered. What the hell is happening to me? She could barely keep her heavy eyelids open.
Gerald went to his bedroom and waited. He didn’t want to go downstairs until the woman was safely secured back in her room. He’d been lacing her food and liquids with capsule granules from the sedatives their family doctor had prescribed for Irene’s nerves after Arthur’s death, but only enough to put her lightly asleep, or slow her down a bit. He knew that Irene could get carried away with things and forget where she was and what she was doing. He sat at the foot of their bed and stared through the doorway at the bathroom, imagining the woman in the tub, the sweet-smelling water frothing around her. He envisioned the warm water making her flesh pink. He would have liked to have been the one washing her down, handling her as he would a child.
The fantasy excited him and his breath quickened. He pressed the palms of his hands together. Maybe later tonight, maybe when Irene was asleep and all was quiet, he would go into the woman’s room and…and what? What was wrong with him? Why was he thinking these things now?
He looked up when Irene’s voice grew louder. They were finished in there. He was sure of it. He went to the bathroom door and knocked.
“You ready in there?” he asked.
“Almost, Gerald,” she called. To Stacey she said with a conspiratorial smile, “That Gerald. He’s always so prompt.”
“Please,” Stacey said.
He heard some whispering. “What’s going on? I’m coming in,” he said, opening the door quickly. But he stopped just after entering. Stacey, dressed in the sheer nightgown, stood back against the bathroom wall. She embraced herself, covering her breasts with her arms. She looked exhausted. Irene held the chain toward her. “What’s wrong?”
“She’s being stubborn about the chain,” Irene said, her voice rising as if she were singing.
Gerald started toward her.
“No, no. I’m not being stubborn. I just said I promised I wouldn’t run away, only leave the chain off. Please,” she said slowly.
“Put it on,” Gerald commanded.
“We’ve got to do as Gerald says, Marlene. Now let’s not be contrary, not after we were having such a good time and you had such a good bath.”
Stacey closed her eyes and reluctantly offered her right ankle. Irene fastened the chain around it, clicking the lock fast. After it was in place, she handed Stacey the bathrobe. Gerald watched her put it on.
“Now isn’t this better?” Irene said. “I bet you’re tired now. Come on. You go back to bed and I’ll bring up some tea. I know: I’ll bring some of the albums, too, and you can go through them until you’re tired. Would you like that?”
“Yes,” Stacey said weakly. Irene took the other end of the chain and Stacey started out of the bathroom. Gerald backed up to let them pass. He followed them back to Stacey’s bedroom and watched Irene fasten the chain to the bed.
“Everything’s all right now, Gerald,” Irene said. “You can go back to whatever you were doing.”
He stared for a moment. Stacey stood by the side of the bed. She hadn’t taken off the robe yet.
“You’d better go down and check on those kids before long,” he said.
“I will, Gerald. Don’t you think I know enough to do that? Really. He can be such an ogre sometimes,” she said to Stacey, who didn’t reply. Irene pulled the blanket back and Stacey slipped out of the robe and into the bed as quickly as she could. Satisfied, Gerald left the room.
He went downstairs quickly and listened at the basement doorway. He heard Shirley dictating orders to the little girl. He thought she sounded more like him than like Irene, but that didn’t bring a smile to his face. Instead, it saddened him.
He looked toward the back of the house and then listened for any sounds from upstairs. Confident that all was well, he stalked to the back of the house and went out through the back door. He decided it was time to turn his attention to the man.
Somewhere along the road to Mountaindale Chicky Ross noticed that the rattle in the exhaust pipe was growing steadily worse. He had a sudden desire to pull over and call his damned brother-in-law to make him come to his station this evening and repair the car on the spot, but he quelled the urge. He’d only screw up something else, the detective realized.
Anyway, I’m on the trail of a burglary suspect, he reminded himself. It suddenly occurred to him that he hadn’t had any dinner. Maybe this doctor-imposed diet wouldn’t be so hard to follow after all—all he had to do each night would be to close in on a suspect, bring him in for a few hours of questioning, get a confession, and head for the scene of the crime. In this case, that was a bungalow colony. Then he’d crawl under a casino and dig up his stash of stolen goods and return to the station to complete the paperwork. I’ll never have time to eat again.
But Ross felt too tired to laugh. There was something else weighing on his mind: It was the Oberman case. Right now it was annoying him that the man hadn’t had the decency to call and leave word about his progress, one way or another. For all Chicky knew, the wife had been located. He might very well have informed the state police, but it was downright inconsiderate not to call the local police. I wasn’t exactly indifferent to his plight, Chicky thought. Maybe skeptical, but not indifferent.
When he came to the turn-off that would lead him to David’s hotel, he took it. Chicky drove up to the front entrance of the plush resort hotel, but before the car hop could get up from his seat, Chicky raised his hand to indicate that he wasn’t going to be long. The front of the hotel and the lobby were quiet because the guests had all gone to the nightclub to see the show. He went right to the front desk.
“Ring Mr. Oberman’s room, please,” he asked the receptionist. She looked up the room number and quickly dialed it. Chicky waited by the phone on the counter, but she didn’t signal him to pick up the receiver.
“No answer. Maybe he’s at the show.”
“Do you know who he is?”
“No, I don’t.”
“Get me the maître d’ in the nightclub,” he said. After she rang him he picked up the receiver. “This is Detective Ross, Fallsburg Police,” he said. “Did you seat a Mr. and Mrs. Oberman tonight?” The man on the other end of the line said no right away. “Are you sure?” The maître d’ assured him he was. “Thank you,” he said and hung up.
He looked about and then went to the pay phone just off the lobby. He called the state police barracks and asked for Captain Stark because he knew him well and because the captain would save him time. Fortunately, Stark was on duty.
“Following up on a case you guys were given…the Oberman affair? Wife and daughter missing?”
“Oh yeah, sure.”
“Anything?”
“I don’t think so, but let me check.” After a few moments, Stark was back on. “No, nothing yet. You have something?”
“The husband went off looking for her today, but as far as I can tell, he didn’t call to contact me and he hasn’t returned.”
“What’s Krammer say?”
“He says leave it to you guys,” Chicky said.
Stark laughed. “I’ve heard that before. I’ll make sure we leave word for you if we get anything on it.”
“Thanks.” After he hung up, he went back out to the lobby. Something was wrong; the whole thing felt wrong, but he didn’t know to whom he should talk. All he could do was wait until the morning.
It didn’t occur to him until he was back in his car that tomorrow was his day off. Oh well, he thought, if it was his day off, Krammer couldn’t chastise him for taking an interest in this case and conducting a personal investigation to satisfy his curiosity. After I get this damned radio and the damned exhaust pipe fixed, he told himself. And then, being more honest with himself, he admitted that the repairs could take a second seat to the David Oberman case.
“I can’t help it,” he told the invisible critic beside him, “it’s the damned policeman in me. And anyway, you can’t blame me for having a brother-in-law who’s a rotten mechanic.”
He finally got a laugh out of himself and drove on to pick up tonight’s prize, a certain wayward handyman.