“HELLO?” A WOMAN ANSWERED the telephone on the third ring.
“May I speak to Mr. Cutler? It’s Alan Bernhardt. I just have a quick question.” Only hours after Diane Cutler’s funeral, he spoke softly, deferring to the dominion of death.
“Just a moment.” The woman spoke shortly, coldly. Was it Cutler’s wife, the woman who had kept Diane at a distance? Remembering her high-styled face, her aloof manner at the funeral, he decided that the guess was a good one.
“Yes?” It was Cutler’s voice. Expressionless. Exhausted.
“It’s Alan Bernhardt, Mr. Cutler.”
“I know.”
“I’m sorry to intrude, but I’ll be leaving for Cape Cod early tomorrow morning, and there’s something I want to ask you.”
“What is it?”
“It concerns Mrs. Daniels—Diane’s mother.”
“Just a moment.” Bernhardt heard a door close. Then Cutler spoke in a low, cautious voice: “Yes?”
“Are you—” Bernhardt hesitated. “Are you in touch with Mrs. Daniels?”
“I don’t understand what you mean.”
“I want to talk to her. I know it’ll be hard getting through to her. I thought you could help.”
“Help in what way?”
“Their schedules for the next day or two. Private phone numbers. Maybe an introduction, over the phone. Anything.”
“As far as I know, she and Daniels are going to Cape Cod, probably tomorrow. I have their number there. And their home number in New York, too. Private numbers. Just a minute.” As Bernhardt waited with pen poised, he heard a drawer close. Cutler read off the telephone numbers.
“Do you have a private number for Daniels at his office?”
“No, I don’t. But it’s Daniels, Incorporated, in Manhattan.”
“Well, these numbers are fine. Thanks.”
“Why d’you want to talk to Millicent?”
“From what Diane said, I have the feeling that Millicent and Daniels are having problems. Marital problems. If that’s true, and if Millicent knows Daniels plays around, it could give me leverage. Maybe a lot of leverage.”
“You’re thinking of the missing girl.”
“That’s where it all starts, Mr. Cutler. If there really was a girl staying overnight Saturday with Daniels, and if he killed her on Sunday and buried the body in a landfill, then everything Diane said makes sense. It’s been three weeks now. That lady’s been missed. Somewhere, there’s a printout on her, a missing-persons bulletin, if nothing else.”
“But you don’t have a name …” Cutler mused. “And without a name, you’re stuck.”
“That’s why I’m going to Cape Cod. To get a name.”
“You’ll keep me posted.”
“Definitely.”