MARK KANE MYSTERIES

BOOK SEVEN

A TANGLED WEB

Copyright © 2016 by John Hemmings

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Published by MKM Enterprises

Acknowledgements

My special thanks to Wayne Leininger, for his editorial assistance during the preparation of this book, and to Beth Ford, whose eagle eye spotted a number of errors, which I was able to correct for the benefit of future readers.

Table of Contents

About the Author

THE MARK KANE MYSTERIES SERIES...SO FAR

FULL CHAPTER HEADINGS

Preface

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty One

Chapter Twenty Two

Chapter Twenty Three

Chapter Twenty Four

Chapter Twenty Five

Chapter Twenty Six

Chapter Twenty Seven

Chapter Twenty Eight

A Word from the Author

Book One: Forget Me Not

Book Two: Ice

Book Three: The Black Widow

Book Four: Till Death

Book Five: Missing

Book Six: I Spy

Book Seven: A Tangled Web

About the Author

John Hemmings is a lawyer and writer of crime fiction with a one hundred percent record; none of his clients has been executed ─ yet! Some of his stories are suggested by cases he has been involved with, but names have been changed to protect the innocent ─ and sometimes the guilty!

Each of his books features Boston private investigator Mark Kane, or simply Kane as he is known to most people, and his longtime companion Lucy - a slightly oddball couple with a somewhat unconventional relationship.

"I write for enjoyment − the sort of books that I hope have broad appeal in the mystery/detective genre; the kind of books I like to read myself − and as a family man I write for all ages − the sex private (even private eyes like a bit of privacy!), the language tempered. Take a look at those movies from the thirties and forties: Edward G. Robinson, Cagney, Bogart; the lack of strong language didn't take away anything from the air of menace those guys exuded. Of course, they wouldn’t have talked like that in real life, but then a movie or a novel is not ‘real life’."

"I have used my experience to make the stories as authentic as possible, although these books are intended as entertainments, so a little 'poetic license' is sometimes necessary. As for 'character development', this is a series told in real time. While each book is a standalone story, as my readers progress through the books more is gradually revealed about my protagonist and his sidekick. My readers sometimes ask me what Kane & Lucy look like; but as to their physical appearance well, that's the beauty of books over movies - they look just like each reader imagines they look."

‘A Tangled Web’ is the seventh, and latest, book in the Mark Kane Mysteries series.

You can contact the author at

http://johnhemmings.net/contact

THE MARK KANE MYSTERIES SERIES...SO FAR

‘Oh what a tangled web we weave, when first we practice to deceive’ – Sir Walter Scott

For Julia, Jane, Sarah & Helen

FULL CHAPTER HEADINGS

Chapter One: Femme Fatale

Chapter Two: The Gift

Chapter Three: Jimmy’s Kitchen

Chapter Four: Marjorie’s Blood

Chapter Five: Kane’s Devils

Chapter Six: The Blood in the Car

Chapter Seven: Hampton

Chapter Eight: The Optimist

Chapter Nine: Helping with Inquiries

Chapter Ten: A Private Matter

Chapter Eleven: Jimmy

Chapter Twelve: The Psychic

Chapter Thirteen: A Revelation

Chapter Fourteen: Something Terrible

Chapter Fifteen: Mind Games

Chapter Sixteen: In Control

Chapter Seventeen: Hope Springs Eternal

Chapter Eighteen: The Girl in the Motel

Chapter Nineteen: Josh

Chapter Twenty: The Exchange

Chapter Twenty One: The Mugshot

Chapter Twenty Two: Jimmy Again

Chapter Twenty Three: The Wrong Guy

Chapter Twenty Four: Back to Square One

Chapter Twenty Five: The Team

Chapter Twenty Six: My Box of Tricks

Chapter Twenty Seven: A Welcome Distraction

Chapter Twenty Eight: The Visitor

A Word from the Author

Mark Kane Mysteries Series

Book One: Forget Me Not

Book Two: Ice

Book Three: The Black Widow

Book Four: Till Death

Book Five: Missing

Book Six: I Spy

Book Seven: A Tangled Web

Preface

In writing this series I think it only fair to acknowledge my debt to that master of the detective genre, Raymond Chandler. Whilst I could never hope to produce narratives of such accomplishment, nor produce such a memorable hero as Philip Marlowe, in writing this series of novels I have nevertheless tried to be true to Mr. Chandler’s concept of what a private detective novel should comprise. I have adopted his famous guidelines, not simply because I admire him as a peerless writer of private detective crime fiction but because I believe they truly encapsulate everything that a good crime novel should be, namely:

It should be credibly motivated, both as to the original situation and the dénouement.

It should be technically sound as to the methods of murder and detection.

It should be realistic in character, setting and atmosphere. It must be about real people in a real world.

It should have a sound story value apart from the mystery element: i.e., the investigation itself must be an adventure worth reading.

It should have enough essential simplicity to be explained easily when the time comes.

It must baffle a reasonably intelligent reader.

The solution must seem inevitable once revealed.

It should not try to do everything at once. If it is a puzzle story operating in a rather cool, reasonable atmosphere, it cannot also be a violent adventure or a passionate romance.

It must punish the criminal in one way or another; not necessarily by operation of the law, but if the detective fails to resolve the consequences of the crime, the story is an unresolved chord and leaves irritation behind it.

It must be honest with the reader.

As for the hero, Chandler also had firm views. The morality of the detective is paramount. In his essay, ‘The Simple Art of Murder’, he wrote: ‘Down these mean streets a man must go who is not himself mean, who is neither tarnished nor afraid. The detective in this kind of story must be such a man. He is the hero; he is everything. He must be a complete man and a common man and yet an unusual man. He must be, to use a rather weathered phrase, a man of honor – by instinct, by inevitability, without thought of it, and certainly without saying it. He must be the best man in his world and a good enough man for any world’.

If Mr. Chandler were alive today it is doubtful that he would be impressed by my clumsy attempts at writing crime fiction, but I hope he would be satisfied with my attempts to carry on a fine tradition.

Chapter One

Femme Fatale

Marjorie hesitated as she approached the door of Hampton’s Private Inquiries, and she almost turned on her heel, before taking a deep breath and pressing the doorbell. At first she could see no one through the glass office door, but she heard the door buzz and click so she pushed it open and stepped inside. As she did so, a middle-aged gentleman, wearing a rather crumpled three-piece gray suit and a dark blue bow-tie, stepped out of the inner office to greet her. He was about six feet tall, and stout, with a round face, wearing a congenial and practiced welcoming smile. He smelled of rather cheap cologne, she thought, as he approached her holding out his hand.

“Mrs. Griffiths, please come in. Dick Hampton. My secretary’s on her lunch break I’m afraid. I don’t normally see clients between one and two, but you did say it was urgent, so…”

“That’s quite alright. It’s good of you to see me at short notice.”

“Well, please come through to my office and tell me how I can help you.”

Dick Hampton led her into a rather cramped room and motioned Marjorie to sit, as he slid behind an antique-looking mahogany desk, the top of which was liberally covered with box-files and papers. Behind him, a not very clean window framed a few distant clouds, white and fluffy, drifting lazily by in the distance in an otherwise clear, blue sky. Hampton looked at his client. She was a fine looking woman, he thought. He guessed she was about the same age as himself ― mid-forties or so; but she’d looked after herself; classy ─ that was the word. He clasped his hands together in front of his chest with a small clapping sound and then rubbed them together.

“Now then, what can I do for you?”

“Well, it’s rather awkward…”

“Take your time. You asked me over the telephone if we conduct surveillance.”

“Yes,” she said slowly. “I want my husband followed. I think he’s up to something…seeing someone…a woman.”

“Yes, I see.” He paused. “Perhaps you’d like to tell me about the background. You needn’t worry ― everything you tell me is in the strictest confidence.” He smiled reassuringly.

Marjorie sighed and then frowned, as if gathering her thoughts.

“I married my husband, Chuck, four years ago. I was married before that ― in my twenties, to a real estate broker. That marriage lasted for eleven years. He died in a sailing accident almost fourteen years ago now. He left me well off, but I was lonely, I guess. He was a lot older than me and we had no children. After ten years alone I met Chuck at the yacht club. He’s a little younger than me, and was single. We started seeing each other. After a few months he proposed to me and I accepted. It wasn’t a torrid romance, we were just two lonely people, I guess, who were tired of being alone.”

Marjorie paused and stared out of the window over Hampton’s shoulder. After a few moments, Hampton said, “May I ask what your husband’s occupation is?”

“He doesn’t have a regular job. He was employed as a barman when we met. As I told you, my first husband left me well provided for. The matrimonial home belongs to me, and Philip, my first husband, left me several investment properties ― apartments ― and Chuck manages them for me, dealing with the tenants, arranging for whatever needs to be done.”

“And has the marriage been a happy one?”

“Yes, so far. To be frank, it was a marriage of convenience for both of us, I guess; more a matter of companionship than anything else. But I’ve had no reason to regret it. We get along well, and he’s attentive and considerate. It’s not really love, but it’s a relationship that seems to work.”

“But you think he’s seeing someone else?”

“One of my friends saw him at a motel, called The Beeches. He was with a young woman; a very young woman. My friend described her as about five seven with a mass of wavy, auburn hair. There were some signs of intimacy between them. They were at the bar together and then they went to a room. Her room, I guess. They stayed there for more than an hour. They were still inside the room when my friend left. Chuck never mentioned it to me. I’m not suspicious by nature, but I’m not a fool either.”

“When did this happen?”

“Last Friday.”

“Did you ask him about it?”

“Not directly. That evening I asked him about his day. He said he’d been to some of the apartments to check that everything was okay. He didn’t mention the visit to the motel.”

“You say there were signs of intimacy between them. Was your friend a little more specific?”

“Not really. He was holding her hand, in an affectionate kind of way. She said they were behaving as if they were close. Not like a couple who had just met casually; nor like a…working girl and her customer.”

“So I take it that you want me to have your husband tailed; to see if they meet again?”

“Mr. Hampton, I’m quite a wealthy woman. I think I’m entitled to know if something’s going on behind my back.”

“Was there any prenuptial agreement between you and you husband prior to the marriage?”

“No, there wasn’t. If my husband is about to leave me for some…floozy…”

“Yes, I quite understand your concern.”

“I’ve been mulling things over for the past couple of days. I realize that I don’t really know anything much about Chuck at all. Only that he grew up in Maine, and he’d not been married before.”

“Okay; I can arrange surveillance of your husband. I can use an assistant to undertake this work if you like. I have two very experienced operatives. Or I can do the work myself, if you prefer, although that will be more expensive.”

“I’d like you to do it yourself, please. I want things to be kept totally discreet. Ideally, I’d prefer the matter to be kept entirely confidential. I’m not suggesting that your staff members aren’t trustworthy, but…”

“I understand.”

“And I want you to start as soon as possible.”

“Okay. Let’s deal with the formalities and I’ll begin tomorrow.”

*

Marjorie watched through the open window of her rental as her husband left the motel room and headed to the parking lot. She watched as he got into his dark blue BMW; her dark blue BMW. It had been her gift to Chuck on their second wedding anniversary. She realized that her teeth were clenched as she watched him drive away. She took a deep breath, got out of her car and walked over to the motel room; then she took another deep breath and knocked on the door.

The door was opened by a woman who matched the description her friend had given her. She was dressed casually in jeans and a loose-fitting cotton blouse. She was about five feet six or seven, with a clear complexion, green eyes and a bit too much makeup. She couldn’t have been more than early twenties. She stared at Marjorie, but said nothing.

“May I come in?” Marjorie said.

“I’m sorry, I…”

“No, you don’t know me. I’m Mrs. Griffiths; Chuck’s wife.”

“Oh,” she said.

Marjorie brushed past her and walked into the room. The girl swiveled round to face her.

“I think we need to talk, young lady; don’t you?”

The girl said nothing, but frowned and quietly closed the door.

“What have you been doing with my husband?”

The girl looked at her, blankly, and said nothing.

“I suppose you know he’s married; or has he told you otherwise?”

“Look, I…”

Marjorie sighed. “I’m not here to pick a fight with you. I just want to know what’s been going on between you and my husband. I have a right to know that, don’t you think? May I sit down?”

“Sure; of course.”

Marjorie sat down in one of two rather worn armchairs. She motioned to the other chair. “I think you’d better sit down, too.”

The girl remained standing.

“May I at least know your name?” Marjorie said.

The girl stared at Marjorie, but said nothing.

“Don’t you think you at least owe me some kind of explanation? Perhaps you didn’t know that Chuck’s a married man. Are you two having some kind of affair?”

“No.”

“Is that it? No? Is that all you have to say?”

“I really don’t want to discuss this with you,” she said. “I’d like you to leave now.” The girl turned her back on Marjorie and walked over to the window.

“Well, I just bet you would; but I’m not going anywhere until you at least have the courtesy to tell me what you have been doing with my husband. I may as well tell you that I know you’ve met him before today.”

The girl glanced towards the door. “I’m sorry; I really don’t want to have this discussion. I want you to leave now…”

“Good God, have you no shame? He’s old enough to be your father.”

The girl stood motionless for a while, occasionally glancing towards the door; then she turned and stared at Marjorie again, but said nothing. She looked earnestly at Marjorie, ran her tongue over her bottom lip and frowned as if deep in thought. After a while she looked towards the door again and then looked Marjorie straight in the eye.

“Look, this conversation is over, right? I want you out of here. Now.”

“What’s the matter, honey?” Marjorie said. “Are you expecting another customer?”

Marjorie got up to leave; this was going nowhere ― it was hopeless. But as she walked towards the door it suddenly opened. Framed in the doorway was a tall, spare young man in his mid-twenties. The sleeves of his denim shirt were rolled up to his elbows and multi-colored tattoos covered both his forearms. Marjorie and the man stared at each other for a few moments.

Then he stepped into the room and closed the door behind him.

Chapter Two

The Gift

It was just before eight in the morning on the second Monday in April, and I was on my third cup of coffee, when a familiar rat-a-tat-tat on my front door announced Lucy’s not unexpected arrival. Lucy had had been visiting her parents for a family gathering over the weekend, to celebrate their move to a new house, just across the state line in a small town in New Hampshire, so I’d been left to my own devices.

“It’s open,” I called out, and Lucy’s grinning face accompanied her into my living room.

“You missed a great weekend. Bob and Ruth were there, with the twins, and Sharon came over for lunch yesterday with her new boyfriend,” she said breathlessly, drawing out the word ‘new’ to an unnatural length, in order to place some kind of particular emphasis on it.

Robert was Lucy’s brother, a surgeon from New York, and Ruth was her sister-in-law, an orthodontist. The twins were just twins, one of each. I couldn’t quite remember who Sharon was, but I didn’t want to spoil the moment, so I pretended I did.

“Sounds like a lot of fun,” I said, with as much sincerity as I could muster.

“Had breakfast yet?” Lucy said, as she plonked herself down on the sofa.

I held up my cup of coffee in reply.

“No, I mean a real breakfast. I’m famished; shall I fix us some eggs and pancakes? I’ve got some English muffins here, too,” she said, raising a brown paper bag in front of her and jiggling it around.

“Sounds good,” I said. “We don’t want to go to work on empty stomachs.”

“Have we got some work, then?”

“Of course,” I said. “The machine that is Mark Kane Investigations doesn’t just grind to a halt when you’re away for the weekend.”

“Ooh, what is it? Anything that calls for my special brand of expertise?”

“A missing person; a possible homicide,” I said.

“When did this come up?” Lucy said, her eyes as big as saucers.

“Like I said, while you were gallivanting in New Hampshire over the weekend.”

“Tell me about it, while I fix the breakfast,” she said, making her way into the kitchen.

“I had a call from Oliver Davies on Saturday.”

Oliver was an attorney I’d known for several years, although I hadn’t worked with him professionally before.

“He’s picked up a new client,” I said. “The client’s wife has gone missing and the police wanted to question him about it. The client called Oliver for advice, so he gave him the usual advice.”

“As in ‘keep your mouth shut’?” Lucy said.

“Something like that.”

“Well the client must have money, because Oliver’s not cheap.”

“Oliver wants me to dig around a bit ― see what I can find out.”

“Does this client have a name?”

“Probably; most people do.”

Lucy rolled her eyes at me over the kitchen counter. “I mean what’s his name?”

“Charles Griffiths.”

“And why do the police suspect him?”

“I don’t know that they do; family members are usually the first port of call when police suspect possible foul play, unless there are any other obvious suspects.”

Lucy had finished scrambling some eggs but had failed to find any pancake mix. She set the plates on the table with the toasted muffins and a pot of coffee.

“If he’s got nothing to hide, why would he need a lawyer?”

“Police stations can be pretty intimidating places, even if you’ve got a clear conscience,” I said, as I sat down at the table and helped myself to a fresh cup of coffee.

“But…”

I held up my hand. “Lucy, that’s all I know at the moment. We’re to meet Oliver at lunchtime and he’ll bring us up to scratch; tell us what he wants us to do.”

“Okay, I’d better go get myself dolled up after breakfast. Where are we meeting him? Somewhere nice?”

“Jimmy’s Kitchen. It’s somewhere near the courthouse. He’s got a case on.”

“And will Mr. Griffiths be joining us?”

“He didn’t say.”

“Does Oliver know that I’m your partner now?”

“You mean my assistant? I think the whole world knows that now, Lucy. In fact, it occurred to me that maybe that’s why he called me. I seem to remember hearing, once, that he had a bit of a thing for you.”

Lucy grinned at me over her mug of coffee. “Well, he’s only human, after all,” she said. “I think I’d have made a good lawyer,” she added thoughtfully.

“Except that with all the questions you ask the cases would never finish,” I said.

“My questions are all pertinent ones,” she said, loftily.

“Better than impertinent ones,” I said.

“And you’re always stressing about how important it is to have an inquiring mind…”

This kind of aimless to-ing and fro-ing might have continued for some time had we not mercifully been interrupted by a knock on the door.

“I must be Mr. Popularity today,” I said. “I wonder who that could be.”

I opened the door to find a guy in his fifties, dressed in a dark blue gabardine bomber jacket, with a gold lightning bolt logo, and matching colored pants. He had bushy white hair and bushy white eyebrows too. He was holding one of those electronic devices that are impossible to sign your name on.

“Mr. Kane?”

“I am he,” I said.

“Delivery for you; sign here please.” He held out the electronic gizmo.

“You sure you’re in the right place? I haven’t ordered anything,” I said.

“Unless there’s more than one Mr. Kane at this address,” he said.

“What is it?”

He jerked his left thumb over his shoulder indicating a black Range Rover Sport towing a trailer.

“Back there, on the trailer,” he said.

There was something on the trailer covered in a green tarpaulin. I signed a squiggle on the electronic device he handed to me and we both walked over to the trailer together. He unfastened and then pulled off the tarpaulin. I could scarcely believe my eyes.

“I think you’d better come take a look at this,” I called over to Lucy, whose curiosity had brought her to the open doorway.

“My God,” she said, as she approached the trailer; “it’s beautiful.”

It was. It was a gleaming, black, showroom-condition Harley Davidson shovelhead; circa 1980, I guessed. A thin gold stripe ran either side of the front fender and along the edge of the gas tank which bore my name, Kane, in serif lettering, also in gold. On a hunch, I walked around to the other side of the trailer. Lucy’s name was stenciled in gold on the other side of the tank.

I walked back around the trailer, put my arm round Lucy and gave her a hug. “I guess we both know where this came from,” I said.

“It’s wicked; it must’ve cost a fortune,” Lucy gasped, squeezing my hand.

We wheeled the bike down the trailer ramp and onto my driveway.

“I guess you are the right Mr. Kane then, huh?” the guy said.

I fished out a fifty and handed to him. “And it’s not even my birthday,” I said.

He handed me a large brown envelope and Lucy and I walked over to the bike as he drove away.

“I can’t believe it,” Lucy said. “Is there a letter in there?”

I opened the envelope and looked inside to find a bundle of various documents, together with a set of keys, and pulled them out. On the top, under my thumb, was another, smaller, envelope which I slit open and, from which, I extracted a letter.

“Let’s go inside, and I’ll read it to you,” I said.

Lucy grabbed my hand, and led me back into the house, giggling. We sat down together on the sofa and I read her the contents of the letter

“Hi Kane, Hi Lucy, it’s your old pal Tommy. Me and Shakes have been working on this in our spare time. We figured you both deserved some kind of remembrance from us and the other Scouts and I remembered that conversation we had in the diner. And I remembered the look on Lucy’s face when you were telling me about the old days back west. It’s a 1979 model, or at least most of it is ―we scrounged a few parts that were missing here and there. I hope you’re not too old to make use of it. See? I remembered what you said about that too! Tommy.

P.S. Don’t embarrass the hell out of us by telling us thanks. Just take Lucy out and give it a spin. We’ll be thinking of you.

I looked up at Lucy, who had tears in her eyes, and then I looked at my watch.

“I think we can spare an hour before we need to get ready,” I said. “You want to go for a ride?”

Chapter Three

Jimmy’s Kitchen

Jimmy’s Kitchen was an old-fashioned steak house in a basement. It was low-lit, and I hoped that wasn’t to prevent you examining the food too carefully. Oliver Davies was already seated at a booth in the far corner, studying a leather-bound menu, and he waved to us as we came down the stairs.

“Hi Kane,” he said, getting up to shake my hand. “Hi Lucy,” he said, leaning past me and planting a kiss on both her cheeks, in the Continental way that seems to have become fashionable now; or fashionable with some people, in some places.

“Good of you both to come. I’ve got about an hour, so let’s order the food first and then I’ll fill you in about the case.” He signaled to a waitress. “I can’t drink, obviously, but the two of you are welcome to a glass of something if you like.”

“No, we’ll be fine with water, thanks,” Lucy said, before I had a chance to respond.

The waitress came over and introduced herself to us; she was called Carol. We didn’t tell her what we were called. We ordered steaks and she wandered off.

“Was it a dream I had?” I said, turning to Lucy, who was sitting next to me, “or did you tell me, before we went to Springfield, that you were going to become a vegan?”

“It wasn’t a dream, and I said vegetarian, not vegan. How have you been doing Oliver? Won any juicy cases lately?” she said, deftly changing the subject.

“I’m sure you don’t want me to bore you with that,” he said. “But hey, you’re a fully-fledged P.I. partner now, huh?”

“Assistant,” I said, with a nod and a smile.

“Yep; he’s got the full benefit of my organizational skills and female intuition now.”

“Hadn’t we better get down to business,” I said, looking at my watch.

“Oh, don’t mind Mr. Grumpy,” Lucy said to Oliver.

“Well, there’s not a great deal to tell at the moment. The police are at an early stage of their inquiries; I don’t know what, if anything, they’ve managed to find out yet. We might’ve found out a little more if Mr. Griffiths had agreed to an interview but, in my opinion, once a client starts participating in an interview it’s hard to shut him up; so I advised him to keep quiet for the time being. He’s not being uncooperative. He’s flatly told them that he knows nothing about what may have happened to her.”

“If he’s got nothing to hide, why advise him to keep his mouth shut?” Lucy said.

“When something like this happens, Lucy, people’s recollection about the details of what they were doing, and when, may be a bit muddled. So they may, quite innocently, make a mistake in their recollection. Later, if what they’ve said turns out to be inaccurate, they may be suspected of purposely trying to mislead the police; so it’s better not to say anything initially. I thought you could check some of the basic facts and, when Mr. Griffiths has had time to consider things carefully, we may decide to volunteer a statement.”

Oliver reached over and took a sip of water.

“He likes to be called Chuck, so that’s how I’ll refer to him. Last Tuesday, Chuck’s wife failed to return home. That was unusual, but he didn’t make a report. He called various friends of hers to see if they knew anything, but drew a blank. She failed to contact him on the following day, and in the evening he made a report to the police. The police came to the house the following day ─ that was on Thursday ─ and asked if they could take a look around; which is police parlance for a search, Lucy ― and he agreed.”

“Did they have a warrant?” Lucy said.

“They didn’t need one, because he agreed to let them in. Just as well, because if he’d objected that would only have raised a suspicion that he had something to hide. Anyway, needless to say, they didn’t find anything significant. Her car was missing from the garage; otherwise everything was just as it should be. The police later located the car at a downtown lot, so they’ve seized that for possible forensic analysis. Chuck says he’s no idea where she might have gone. On the day she disappeared he got home about five o’clock. Mrs. Griffiths ― Marjorie ― owns a few apartments. She was apparently left the apartments by her first husband, who is now deceased. Chuck had the responsibility for looking after the apartments and he did the rounds that day, making sure everything was okay. You know, calling in at the management offices and checking that the tenants were behaving themselves and that there were no problems. That’s about all I can tell you for now.”

“So what’s the police angle?” I said.

“As far as the police can tell she hasn’t used any cards since she disappeared or accessed any of her accounts. I don’t know what else they’ve been able to check. Maybe her cell phone records, but I’m not privy to that information. The inquiry’s just routine at the moment. They obviously want to talk to as many of her friends as possible, although that’s not so easy nowadays.”

“Why not?” Lucy said.

“Well it’s not like the days when people kept address books. These days most people store that kind of information in their phones; and Marjorie had her phone with her when she vanished. She didn’t have a job, so that line of inquiry is closed. Chuck says he’s called all her friends that he knows about who might have some idea where she is, but none of them has been able to help. He says there are probably a lot of Marjorie’s friends whose numbers he doesn’t know.

“Marjorie and Chuck haven’t been married that long. She’s quite wealthy. If anything bad has happened to her then he stands to inherit a lot of property; including the house where they live. Nothing’s known about him, but the police always view close family members as possible suspects in this kind of case.

“And then there’s the timing. Of course, his delay in reporting her missing can’t be criticized, because the police wouldn’t have taken any action in respect of an adult missing for such a short time. But on the other hand, the way the police will look at it is that the time between when she went missing and her absence being reported would have given Chuck sufficient time to dispose of any evidence that might have incriminated him.”

“So, in a nutshell, there’s no evidence to suggest his involvement in her disappearance; merely suspicion that he might have been involved,” Lucy said.

“Yeah, that accurately sums it up ― but naturally Chuck’s concerned; I would be too, if I were in his situation. In a case like this I think it’s best to try and pre-empt the police investigation by doing a little of our own first. Chuck has me on a retainer and he has sufficient funds to pay your fees. He and Marjorie have a joint bank account and he has sufficient money at his disposal.”

“So hiring me, er, us, to do some investigative work was Chuck’s idea?” I said.

“No, it was mine. But he’s happy to go along with it.”

“I assume the police have conducted a forensic examination of the house in addition to their initial search,” I said.

“What would be the point of that?” Lucy said. “She didn’t disappear from her home. Oliver said that the police found her car downtown after she disappeared, so whatever happened to her must have happened after she left the house.”

“That doesn’t necessarily follow, Lucy,” I said. “As far as the police are concerned she might have been killed in her home, the body disposed of and her car dumped downtown to support Chuck’s contention that she went missing after she left the house. So they’re bound to look for any possible evidence that suggests that she was, or may have been, killed at home.”

“But we don’t even know if she’s dead. There may be another explanation for her disappearance.”

“Sure, there might be. I hope there is. It’s just a matter of covering all bases.”

“Anyway,” Oliver said, “to answer your question, a forensic sweep of the house and surrounding area has been conducted, although it’s probably too early for them to have the results yet. I think that’s something you can follow up on.”

“Who’s in charge of the investigation?” I asked.

“Lieutenant Jim Donaldson.”

The meal had arrived, so we abandoned talk of the investigation for the time being. Instead, Oliver entertained us with his impersonation of the judge in the case he was trying. At one point, Lucy was laughing so much that she almost choked; but she swallowed half a glass of water and recovered her composure.

When the coffee arrived, I said, “How about we give this a week to see what we can find out? I think a retainer for five days would be fair. If Marjorie turns up safe and sound in the meantime we get to keep the retainer. If not, then we’ll review things the same time next week.”

“Good idea. I’ll run it past my client later this afternoon and give you a call.”

“Please tell him that we’re going to need his full cooperation if we’re to do a proper job. The first thing we’ll need to do is to check his movements on the day of Marjorie’s disappearance to make sure he has a watertight alibi, at least until 5 p.m. After that, he has a problem; unless someone else was in the house and can vouch for his presence there.”

“There wasn’t. I’ve already asked him about that,” Oliver said.

“Well, that’s not his fault,” Lucy said. “I’m often home alone as well.”

“Good thing you haven’t got a husband who might go missing then,” Oliver said, winking at me.

*

“There’s a nice little job for you to start with,” I said to Lucy, as we drove home. “You can visit all the apartments Chuck manages, talk to the management and establish when he was there and how long it takes to get from one place to another. In the meantime, I’ll check to see whether there’s a security cam in the lot where Marjorie’s car was found, or if there was a ticket in the car to indicate what time the car was left there. If we can establish that the car was parked before 5 p.m. on the day Marjorie vanished, and we can account for Chuck’s whereabouts for that afternoon, then it would be a great help.”

“Except things are seldom that easy, are they?” Lucy said.

“Let’s look on the bright side,” I said.

Chapter Four

Marjorie’s Blood

We were sitting on my porch, watching the sun go down and waiting for Oliver to call to confirm our retainer. I was drinking a beer and Lucy was sipping a lemon tea.

“Maybe, if we get lucky, we can wrap this whole thing up in a couple of days and get to keep the retainer,” I said, cheerfully.

“You didn’t ask Oliver’s opinion about Chuck,” she said. “I mean, whether he believes that his client had nothing to do with Marjorie’s disappearance.”

“His opinion wouldn’t really be helpful either way, would it? Anyway, a good lawyer always tries to keep an open mind about these things.”

“Oh, come on; lawyers must know that their clients are usually guilty.”

“Whether a person is guilty of a criminal offense or not is for the court, or rather the jury, to decide. And actually that has more to do with proof than the question of actual guilt or innocence. Under our constitution a man is presumed to be innocent until the contrary is proved by the prosecution. A verdict of ‘not guilty’ isn’t the same as a pronouncement of innocence ― although in some cases it might amount to that. It just means that the prosecutor has failed to prove his case beyond a reasonable doubt.”

“But it must be very difficult to defend someone if you think he’s guilty,” Lucy said. “I’m not sure I’d be comfortable with that.”

“It’s not a lawyer’s job to judge, Lucy. He’s there to make sure that everything’s done correctly. If the client’s guilty, and the prosecutor does his job properly, then hopefully the jury will convict. Suppose you were a doctor, or a surgeon, like your brother. A terrorist is brought into the hospital after being caught red-handed, engaged in some atrocity; but the terrorist himself has been badly injured and needs emergency treatment. Do you make a value-judgement and refuse to operate because the terrorist is an evil man? No; it’s not a surgeon’s job to judge; it’s his job to save lives, if he can. A lawyer should operate like that too. He’s there to do a job, and he should do it to the best of his ability, whatever his personal feelings about his client may be. That’s assuming that he does his job ethically, of course."

“Yeah, I guess so,” Lucy said. “I never really thought about it like that. Hey, listen to this one,” she said, brightening up. “Why do they bury lawyers under twenty feet of dirt? Because deep down they’re decent people,” she said, grinning. “Oliver told me that one while you were in the restroom.”

“Okay, I’ve got one for you,” I said. “A lawyer dies and goes to Heaven. ‘There must be some mistake,’ he says to Saint Peter, ‘I’m only 35’. ‘No,’ Saint Peter says, ‘according to our calculations, you’re 82.’ ‘How did you work that out?’ the lawyer says. ‘We added up your time sheets,’ Saint Peter replied.”

“Ooh, I’ll tell him that one next time we see him. Are there any P.I. jokes?”

“I think you’ll find there are plenty of them in the telephone directory,” I said. Lucy laughed.

“The first thing we’ll need to do tomorrow is to meet up with Chuck. We’ll need a list of all the places he visited on the day Marjorie disappeared so that you can check that out. I’ll need to touch base with Donaldson, to find out where they located Marjorie’s car and see what other information I might be able to prise out of him. I don’t suppose he’ll be very eager to help me once he finds out I’m working for a possible suspect, though.”

“Do you know him? Does he owe you any favors?”

“Nope; we’ve never crossed paths before.”

“Maybe I should go, so that I can work my womanly wiles on him.”

“I think we’ll keep that for plan B,” I said.

“Then I guess we’ll need to locate as many of Marjorie’s friends as possible, to see if they know anything. If she has the usual circle of friends, then each one we talk to should be able to refer us to others that we don’t know about. I mean, it would be interesting to find out if there were any problems between Chuck and his wife; whether they were having any marriage problems, that kind of thing.” She thought about that for a moment or two, and then said, “But I guess that wouldn’t really be helping him though, would it?”

“We need to be objective, Lucy. If there are things that increase suspicion of Chuck as the culprit in his wife’s disappearance, the police are going to find out about them sooner or later. If there’s anything to find out, good or bad, it’s better that we find out before the police do.”

“And what if we find out something incriminating? Some evidence that implicates him in Marjorie’s disappearance? What then?”

“Let’s cross that bridge if, and when, we come to it,” I said. “Anyway, enough about the case and the client for tonight; let’s celebrate our new assignment by going out to dinner for a change. My treat; where would you like to go?”

“You choose,” she said. “Make it a surprise. I’ve got to go do something with my hair. The bike ride this morning played havoc with it.”

“Okay,” I said. “You get ready; but no more than half an hour, okay?”

“I’ll be back in a jiffy,” she said.

But as things turned out we didn’t go to dinner that night. While Lucy was getting ready I got the call from Oliver. When Lucy returned she saw me sitting pensively on the porch.

“Is something wrong?” she said.

“Oliver called ― there’s been a development. The police have identified traces of Marjorie’s blood from the house and garage, and they’ve found blood in the trunk of Marjorie’s car, too. So Chuck’s been arrested, and they’ve hauled him in for questioning again.”

Chapter Five

Kane’s Devils

“Oliver’s on his way to the station now; Chuck’s already there, but Oliver’s spoken to him and given him the usual advice. If he sticks to his guns and refuses to say anything then they may let him go home again, although not immediately, I shouldn’t think. They may want to go over the house again with a fine-toothed comb.”

“You don’t think they’ll charge him?” Lucy said.

“I sure as hell hope not. If he’s locked up it’s going to make our job a lot harder.”

“But the blood…”

“Well, we don’t know how much blood was found. I doubt it could have been much if it’s taken them this long. They say the blood found in the house and garage is Marjorie’s, but according to what Oliver told me they haven’t yet confirmed that the blood found in the trunk of her car is hers.”

Lucy thought this over for a while. It was dark now and we’d moved inside.

“I guess it’s a bit pointless to speculate until we find out more,” she said, “but don’t you think it’s unlikely to be related to Marjorie’s disappearance? I mean, if she was murdered inside the house or garage then surely Chuck would have cleaned it up. As Oliver pointed out, he had more than enough time before the police arrived.”

“It’s incredibly difficult to get rid of every trace of blood, Lucy. Even if the area looks clean to the naked eye, traces are likely to remain; and the police use stuff like luminol, which shows areas of blood that are otherwise quite invisible. On the other hand, I doubt they found much blood or I think we’d have heard about it before. Probably the forensics took samples which they believed might be blood and subjected it to microscopic examination in the lab.”

“If it’s not much blood then there could be an innocent explanation,” Lucy said. “People cut themselves all the time, by accident. Like in the kitchen, for example. Sometimes you hardly notice, you just stick your thumb or your finger in your mouth or put a band aid on it. The garage, too, is a place where you might easily accidentally cut yourself.”

“We’ll be in a better position to form a view once we have more details. Also, there’s the blood in the car. If that’s Marjorie’s too then it may be more difficult to explain away. Again though, the fact that they don’t yet know whether the blood is Marjorie’s means either they haven’t done a DNA test yet, or they have, but it’s inconclusive. Give that some thought and tell me what you can infer from either of those possibilities.”

“Can I do it over a glass of wine and a sandwich?”

I laughed. I’d forgotten that we hadn’t eaten since lunchtime. I picked up the phone and ordered a pizza. Then I went and got a bottle of wine from the fridge and two glasses. I filled the glasses half full and set one in front of Lucy, on the coffee table. Then I sat down in the recliner opposite her.

“Okay,” she said, wagging her forefinger in my direction. “If they haven’t done a DNA test then it means they’ve probably only just found the blood in the trunk, so it’s probably only a tiny bit of blood, maybe no more than a trace, otherwise they’d have found it sooner. If they have done a DNA analysis, and it’s inconclusive, then it doesn’t amount to proof of anything. They could never use it in court as evidence. How’d I do?”

“Bravo, pretty good. I think you have the makings of a real detective.”

“Unlike the joke ones in the Yellow pages?” she said, smiling.

“There’s one other possibility as to why they may not have found the blood in the trunk sooner,” I said. “Forensic examination of a vehicle is a pretty painstaking job, because it’s necessary to dismantle everything step-by-step. Sometimes blood may seep into a very inaccessible area, so it may take a while to find.”

“I do love this job,” Lucy said. “It’s all so interesting, the way you have to puzzle things out, look for all the possibilities, and then weigh everything up.”

“Well, it must have something going for it for me to still be at it after all these years. It’s certainly not the money. Although actually, come to think of it, we’re doing okay so far this year. I may even be able to afford a vacation sometime.”

“How about a road trip? On the new bike?”

“It’s a thought,” I said. There was a knock on the door. The pizza had arrived.

We sat and ate the pizza, and drank our wine. I’d hardly drunk wine before last summer, but it had now become a kind of household staple. I guess that was partly because Lucy enjoyed it too and, in typical fashion, had made it a kind of hobby lately, learning about different wines from different regions. She’d even made me drink some Chinese rice wine a week or two before. She also saw it as a way of weaning me off whiskey, which I hardly drank anymore.

“Do you miss the old days, Kane?” Lucy said, as she popped the last piece of Hawaiian pizza into her mouth, “when you worked all alone, before you made me your…”

“Assistant. No, I don’t. I think things have worked out just fine. You were right, we make a good team. And I know it makes you happy, and that makes me happy, too.”

“Well come and sit next to me and give me hug then.” I did as I was instructed.

“Most people think we have an odd kind of relationship, you and me,” she said, leaning her head on my shoulder.

“I don’t see what’s odd about it.”

“Because we’re always telling people that we’re not a couple. We live in separate houses and often we don’t do things together. They think it’s weird.”

“Do you think it’s weird?”

“No, I like things the way they are. But they don’t really understand us, I guess. They think we have this non-exclusive relationship; that we’re not committed to each other.”

I gave her a squeeze.

“But we are, aren’t we?” she said.

“You know there’s no need for me to answer that, don’t you?”

“You know?” she said, “I was talking to Brenda the other day. She thinks she might enjoy doing this kind of work one day, too. Not yet, obviously, because she’s still in college. But if she was serious about it in a year or two, would you consider taking her on? As a kind of apprentice? Provided we have enough work to do.”

“I don’t see why not. Maybe you could recruit another girl, as well. And then I could retire and you could all work for me ― kind of like Charlie’s Angels.”

Lucy gave me a dig in the ribs, and laughed.

“Or Kane’s Devils,” she said.

Chapter Six

The Blood in the Car

We were having an early meeting with Oliver, in his office, before he started work.

“They’re keeping him in for a while,” he said. “They want to complete the analysis of the blood found in the car. I’m not too concerned about that, though. Even if the blood found in the trunk belonged to Marjorie it doesn’t implicate Chuck in her disappearance in any way.”

“Will we be able to see him this morning?” I said.

“I don’t see why not. He hasn’t been charged with any offense. I think it’s likely they’ll release him once they’ve completed those investigations.”

“So you don’t think they have enough evidence to charge him?” Lucy said.

“Nowhere near; the blood found in the house was in the kitchen…”

“See, I told you,” Lucy said triumphantly, playfully thumping me on my arm.

“It was on the door jamb, which is a little unusual. They’re having the photographs looked at by an expert in blood pattern analysis. But it’s impossible for anyone, expert or not, to say how long the blood had been there. The blood in the garage was found on a workbench, which doesn’t sound very sinister to me. I mean, it wasn’t found near where Marjorie’s car would have been parked; and again, no one can say how old the blood stain is. Marjorie had lived in that house for years. Maybe the bloodstains have been there years, too.”

“How about the trunk? Did they tell you about that?”

“They say there were several traces of blood in the trunk. Small, but in an area which might conceivably have come from a person or a body who was placed in the trunk to be transported somewhere.”

“We need to check his potential alibi,” I said. “To retrace his movements on the day Marjorie went missing.”

“On the day he says she went missing,” Oliver said.

“You’ve got a point,” I said. “We only have Chuck’s word for the fact that she went missing last Tuesday. Do you have any reason to doubt what he’s told you?”

“No, but I have to keep an open mind about his possible involvement, even though he’s my client. He wouldn’t be the first client who lied to me about material facts.”

“But if the police find out he’s lied about that, his goose would be cooked, wouldn’t it?” Lucy said.

“Well it certainly wouldn’t make things any easier for him. But a lie in itself proves nothing. I’ve had innocent clients who lied to me before, and to the police, about certain things, because they thought it would make things better for them. Usually the opposite is true.”

“So you do have innocent clients, sometimes,” Lucy said impishly.

Oliver rolled his eyes at her.

“But seriously,” Lucy said, “why would he lie about something like that if he was innocent?”

“Well, I have no reason to think that he has lied about that ― or anything else for that matter. All I’m saying is that you can’t simply take what a client tells you as something set in stone. Everything has to be carefully investigated and confirmed; right Kane?”

“Dead right.”

“You’d be surprised how often mistakes result from assumptions that people make without looking at the big picture,” Oliver said.

“Yeah, Kane’s always talking about the big picture,” Lucy said. “I can see how easy it is to make assumptions, and I can appreciate the need to take a step back and analyze everything carefully. But help me out on this one. How could lying about when Marjorie disappeared possibly help him, one way or another?”

“Well, suppose she disappeared on the day before; on the Monday. But suppose he had no alibi for that day.”

“Oh yes, I see. Wow.”

“I’m not suggesting that it is the case here, and the police haven’t suggested that they don’t accept Tuesday as the date of her disappearance, but I’d like some other evidence to corroborate when she actually disappeared, if possible.”

“I’m going to try to find out when the car was parked in the lot. That may help,” I said. “But of course, it will only help if we can prove that it was parked by her. If it was parked by someone who abducted or murdered her then the time it was parked may not be helpful; and it would likely be in a place where there’s no security cam. Anyway, rest assured that we’ll bear all this in mind.”

“There’s something else, though,” Oliver said. “Something a bit more pressing for you to look into.”

“Shoot.”

“I had a call from a private investigator by the name of Dick Hampton. Do you know him?”

“Yes, we both know him, don’t we Lucy? He does different kind of work from me; mainly divorce work.”

“Do the two of you get along okay?”

“Sure, we see each other occasionally. I’ve sent him a few clients over the years. I don’t do divorce work myself.”

“Good; because you need to go see him. Urgently.”

“Does he have some information about the case, then?” I said.

“Maybe; he wouldn’t elaborate over the phone. He somehow heard about Marjorie’s disappearance, and that Chuck was my client. He didn’t say how he knew, but that doesn’t matter. He says he has information that he’ll need to pass onto the police but he was willing to talk to me about it first. He didn’t say what the information was. I told him you were dealing with it and he suggested you call him and arrange a visit. But he says he’ll have to tell the police what he knows sooner rather than later, so I think it’s best if you make this a priority.”

“You got it,” I said. “We’re on the way already.”

“Okay. If you can see him this morning, we can meet at the same time and place as yesterday to discuss whatever it is he knows and decide whether it’s important or not.” He looked at his watch. “I’ve got to run. I can’t keep that miserable old bastard Moylen waiting.” He got up. “Miserable old bastard Judge Moylen to you,” he said, with a grin.

As soon as we left I called Hampton. He was expecting my call.

“Hi Kane; I’ve got something that may be pertinent to your investigation,” he said. “Maybe something you won’t be too thrilled to hear, but hey, life’s a bitch sometimes, huh?”

“I appreciate it, Dick.”

“Well, I owe you one, and I don’t get many clients that you’d be interested in, so I’ll be happy to pass on what I know; not over the phone, obviously.”

“If you’re free now, we’ll be right over.”

“We?”

“I’m with Lucy. She’s working as my assistant now.”

“Oh yes, I heard. I’ll put some coffee on.”

Chapter Seven

Hampton

“How are you, Dick?” I said, as he ushered us into his office.

“Getting old before my time, Kane. The work’s tedious, gut wrenching and mostly downright miserable. The cases are seldom satisfying and none of them ever has a happy ending. Still, it’s a living. How about you?”

“Oh, up and down. But I’ve got a sidekick to help me out now, so I can’t complain.”

“Hi Lucy; congratulations,” he said.

“Thanks, Dick. You look busy.”

“Oh, these?” he said, sweeping his hand over the file-covered desktop. “Let’s just say it’s always a good idea to give clients the illusion that you’re busy. Let me get you both some coffee.”

He disappeared into a pantry and came back with a couple of steaming mugs.

“You’re not having one?” I said.

“It’d be my fourteenth of the day; I think I’ll pass,” he said.

“So what have you got for us?” I said. “You know something about Marjorie Griffiths?”

“She was my client.”

“She was getting a divorce?” I said.

“Not right then. Maybe later. Maybe not at all, now, from what I hear.”

“Wow, that’s a bit of a bombshell.”

Dick held up his hand. “You’d better hear me out,” he said. “Mrs. Griffiths came to see me on Monday, last week. She wanted her husband tailed ― had reason to believe he might be cheating on her. One of her friends, she didn’t say who, saw Marjorie’s husband on Friday, the week before last, in a motel called The Beeches. He was with a young piece, and her friend said it looked like they were more than just casual acquaintances. There was holding of hands, that kind of thing. She saw them in the bar and watched them go into a room together, where they stayed for more than an hour. Mrs. Griffiths said that on the day in question her husband made no mention of this little rendezvous and claimed he’d been about the family business ― looking after some apartments she owns. Cut a long story short, she wanted me to follow him. The following day I tailed him to the same motel and watched him go into room 204. A young woman came to the door and let him in. I called Marjorie to let her know and she said to stay there and she’d be right over. By the time she arrived they were still in the room. She said it was okay for me to leave, that she’d handle it. So I left. That’s it.”

“So this was Tuesday last week? What time was it?”

“It was 3:34 when I got there and 4:15 when I left.”

“And where was she when you left her?”

“She was sitting in a red compact hatchback, within sight of the room I’d seen her husband go into.”

“Did you talk to her again that day?”

“Nope; that’s the last I saw or heard of her.”

“Did you try to contact her again after that?”

“No, I figured my job was done. I kind of thought she might call me and tell me what happened, but I wasn’t much surprised that she didn’t.”

“Well, I can see why you’ve got to give this to the cops. Can you give me a little breathing space? There’s been nothing in the media about Marjorie’s disappearance yet. Somehow the police have managed to keep a lid on it so far.”

“What do you want? 24? 48? I’ll do what I can, but if the story breaks I’ll have to tell; you understand?”

“Sure. I appreciate you sticking your neck out for us like this. But one thing’s for sure, Chuck Griffiths won’t be going anywhere. He’s in custody right now pending various forensic tests that are being conducted.”

“Sure don’t look good for old Chuckie, does it?” he said.

“I’ll have to take a rain check on that one. He claims that he was home by five on that day. But on the other hand, he hasn’t mentioned his afternoon rendezvous to his attorney. I haven’t seen him yet, and I guess that’s just as well after what you’ve just told us. You didn’t check the motel register to find out who this lady was, did you?”

“I would have, for sure; but my services were dispensed with before I had a chance. I figured Marjorie was going to go in the room and have a showdown with ’em both. Maybe that’s what she did. I guess it’s easy to be wise after the event, but this kind of thing’s not uncommon in my line of work. I do what the client wants me to do; no more, no less.”

“Did Mrs. Griffiths tell you if she and her husband had any arguments, fights, that kind of thing?”

“No. Our meeting was short and sweet. It was a normal marriage, up to that point, I understand. There’s nothing more I can tell you.”

“Well, thanks again, Dick. Lucy and I will have to take a while to think things over before we do anything else. I’ll let you know how things pan out. I’ll take the 48 if that’s okay.”

“Sure thing ― and this little meeting never took place, okay?”

“What meeting?” I said.

Chapter Eight

The Optimist

“Well,” I said to Lucy, as we walked back to the car, “if that doesn’t illustrate the importance of not taking what the client says at face value, I don’t know what does.”

“It’s sure taught me a lesson that I won’t forget,” Lucy said.

We sat in the car, mulling things over.

“He must have been involved,” Lucy said. “Maybe not directly, but…”

“Uh, uh,” I said. “Open mind; remember?”

“Sorry. But doesn’t it make you angry? How can we even try to help a guy who’s lying through his teeth?”

“He hasn’t lied to me yet,” I said, “so it’s a good thing we found out about all this before our first meeting. We’ll have to make it clear to him that he either comes clean, or we’re out of here.”

“So do we tell all this to Oliver? He may withdraw from representing him.”

“No; he won’t do that. Fortunately, his only involvement with the case so far is making sure his client keeps his mouth shut. Chuck hasn’t been charged with any crime yet and Oliver’s leaving the investigation up to us. He’s not professionally embarrassed by what we’ve now found out. Of course, it would be a different matter if it goes to court. He can’t ethically present a defense on behalf of a client that he knows isn’t true, but fortunately we’re nowhere near a courtroom yet. Chuck hasn’t given Oliver instructions to defend him in court. If Chuck is innocent of any wrong-doing, then it’s just as well that we found out about this early on. However bad things may appear at the moment, we have to at least give him the chance to tell his side of the story. You remember what Oliver said; sometimes innocent people lie too.”

“Kane, I will try to keep an open mind, I promise. But I need you to help me with this. If he’s innocent, why didn’t he tell the police, or at least tell Oliver, that he had a confrontation with his wife at the motel on the day she disappeared? Or at least that she was there. It doesn’t sound like someone who’s interested in helping the police find his wife.”

“We don’t know if Marjorie confronted them in that motel room. That was just Dick’s supposition. It’s what he thought she was going to do. But maybe she didn’t. Maybe she was so traumatized by the fact that her husband was cheating on her that she went away and threw herself off a cliff. If that’s the case, Chuck wouldn’t have known that she’d been to the motel. And he would hardly want to admit that on the day of her disappearance he was with a hooker, or a mistress, or whatever.”

“How would she have got to a cliff? They found her car in a parking lot downtown.”

I burst out laughing; I couldn’t help myself.

“What’s funny about that?”

“It doesn’t have to be a cliff, Lucy; that was just an example. Maybe she just took off somewhere to think things through. I’m just trying to demonstrate that there are possibilities other than the obvious one. It’s called ‘thinking outside the box’.”

“Well, at least I made you laugh. We haven’t got a whole lot to be cheerful about at the moment.”

“We’ve got 5,000 reasons to be cheerful. If we confront Chuck with what we know, maybe he’ll throw his hands in the air and admit to murdering his wife. Then we get to keep the retainer and we can go for another bike ride; a long one.”

She looked at me and smiled. “The optimist sees the donut; the pessimist sees the hole.”

“I didn’t know you were familiar with Oscar Wilde.”

“Who?” she said.

*

There was still almost three hours until our lunch appointment with Oliver. I briefly toyed with the idea of going to the police station to try to see Chuck, but I decided that the time would be better spent by visiting The Beeches Motel. At least we had something to go on ― we knew the date and time when Marjorie was last seen, by Hampton. We had the room number too, where the mystery girl had met with Chuck.

We went directly to the reception and asked to see the manager. The manager’s name was Clark. He was about fifty years old, with thinning brown hair brushed sideways across his scalp, and an aquiline nose. I showed him my license and explained that we were investigating the case of a missing woman who had last been seen at the motel on the previous Tuesday. We believed that she had gone to visit the occupant of room 204 during the afternoon and we were trying to locate the woman who had occupied the room at that time.

The manager appeared a bit sheepish at first, but turned out to be affable enough. There was something slightly effeminate about him. He produced the register and leafed back a few pages. I was a bit surprised they had a register; I thought everything was done on computers these days. Perhaps Clark wasn’t very computer savvy.

“A Mr. Warren; Alan Warren,” he said, turning the register so that we could see the entry for ourselves. “He stayed from Friday until Tuesday last week.”

“Are you sure that’s the right room?” I said. “Our information was that the occupant of the room was a young lady.”

“As you can see for yourself, that’s the listing we have for room 204. I’m afraid I don’t have any personal recollection, but the desk clerk may have. He’s not on today though, I’m afraid. His name’s Jimmy. He’ll be on duty again tomorrow afternoon, from three o’clock.”

“Could you give me a minute?” I said. I called Dick.

“Are you sure the room number was 204, Dick? According to the manager that room was rented to a man.”

“I’m quite sure. But, like I said, I never checked the register, so it’s perfectly possible that the girl wasn’t the registered guest.”

“You didn’t happen to take a photograph of the girl, did you?”

“No, I didn’t. I only saw her briefly when she opened the door. She was in her early twenties, I think, or maybe a bit younger. Lots of auburn hair.”

“And no sign of a guy?”

“No.”

“Okay, thanks Dick. I’ll be in touch if there’s anything else.”

I went back over to the manager. The register was still open on the counter.

“How was the room paid for?”

“Cash,” he said.

“And no ID I suppose?”

“We don’t require that.”

“You say he checked out last Tuesday. Maybe he checked out early and someone else used the room later in the day.”

“The room wasn’t rented to anyone else that day. The guest had paid for the room until Wednesday, but he checked out a day early. I can’t say what time he checked out and returned the key, except that it was p.m. according to the register. So it could have been anytime between noon and midnight. The desk clerk might remember.”

“Do you mind if I copy the information from the register?”

“Go ahead; be my guest.” His fingers flew to his mouth as he realized he’d uttered a pun, and a little falsetto laugh emitted from his thin lips.

“Thanks. Can I write down your direct contact number? I may want to come back and talk to the desk clerk.”

He handed me a slightly dog-eared business card from his wallet, and I tucked it between the pages of my notebook. Lucy and I headed back to the car. We sat there and opened the windows.

“So what do you make of that, then?” Lucy said.

“I don’t think we’re going to get anywhere with any of this until we get a chance to talk to Chuck,” I said.

“Let’s go to the station right after our lunch with Oliver,” she said. “They can hardly refuse to let us see him. He’s your client and he’s not been charged with anything yet.”

“I’m afraid it’s not quite as simple as that, Lucy.”

“Why not?”

“If Oliver goes to see him, he has client confidentiality privilege. We don’t. That means that there’s nothing to stop the police eavesdropping on our little talk with Chuck. They’re going to love that.”

“Are they allowed to do that?”

“There’s nothing I can do to stop them. It’s a favorite police tactic. Often they’ll put two suspects in the room together, switch on the hidden mike and leave them alone. You’d be surprised how much information they’re able to obtain that way. Or maybe you wouldn’t be surprised.”

“Well, we can’t let the police know about the motel. Apart from anything else Dick might get in hot water if they find out he’s disclosed something to us that he should have told them about.”

“Exactly; and if they find out that Chuck has lied about his whereabouts that day, or at the very least been economic with the truth, they may decide to charge him right away. As you pointed out yourself, the situation looks more than a little suspicious. It may be circumstantial, but people have been convicted on less evidence than that.”

“So what are we going to do?”

“We’ve got two options. Either we wait until the police release him; Oliver’s fairly confident that they’ll do that as soon as they’ve completed the forensics. Or Oliver will have to go see him. The police wouldn’t dare record or eavesdrop on any conversation Oliver has with his client.”

“So I guess we better see what Oliver’s view is.”

I looked at my watch. “Yeah, let’s head over there now. It’s a little early, but we can wait for him in the restaurant. And this time I’m going to have a drink. Or maybe two drinks.”

As we drove we did some brainstorming.

“Let’s see if we can work out the various combinations of possibilities from what we’ve learned so far,” I said. “First, who is Warren? Is that his real name? Does an Alan Warren even exist?”

“Dick said that Marjorie’s friend saw Chuck with the girl. She didn’t say anything about seeing a male,” Lucy said. “Neither did Dick.”

“That doesn’t mean anything, though, does it? Both witnesses saw Chuck go into the room. The friend said he went with the girl, Dick said the girl was inside the room when Chuck arrived and she opened the door. But the male might have been in the room on either or both occasions. Or maybe the male paid for the room, but only the girl occupied it.”

“Maybe the girl was a hooker and Warren’s her pimp,” Lucy said.

I looked at her. “It’s a possibility we can’t dismiss out of hand. One thing’s for sure: it’s pretty unusual for people to pay for motel rooms for cash these days; particularly for a stay of several days. When people pay in cash and leave no ID it may be an indication that they want to remain anonymous. Of course, there’s another possibility ― Warren may in fact be Chuck’s alter ego. If he paid for the room for that young lady it’s doubtful that he would have used his real name. He may have purposely chosen a place for his rendezvous where he knew they’d take cash and ask no questions. It may be worth showing a photograph of Chuck to the desk clerk to see if he’s able to recognize him.”

“Or Warren may be a real person. Maybe Chuck went there to meet them both; perhaps for some entirely innocent purpose ─ like a business meeting.”

“I think we can probably ignore that possibility. If that were the case, then Chuck would have had no reason not to tell the police about it. On the contrary, it would have formed part of his alibi. And then there’s Marjorie’s friend. She described a certain intimacy between Chuck and the girl when they were in the bar together.”

“Is there a third possibility that you can think of?” Lucy said.

“Maybe it was some kind of elaborate set-up. Designed to lure Marjorie to a place where she could be abducted, or worse.”

“You mean that Chuck might have hired a hitman and his moll to kidnap or murder his wife?”

“It wouldn’t be the first time such a thing has happened. As for motive, well there’s the money; a lot of money ─ or at least a lot of property.”

Lucy let out a heavy sigh. “I thought after our meeting with Oliver this morning that we were really going to make some progress, but it’s all looking a bit bleak now, isn’t it?”

“It probably won’t seem quite so bad after I’ve had a couple of drinks,” I said. “It’s a good thing I’ve got my driver with me.”

Chapter Nine

Helping with Inquiries

It was a little after twelve-thirty when I parked the car and we made our way to Jimmy’s Kitchen. Oliver had booked the same table as the previous day, so we settled down and I ordered a beer. Lucy had a tomato juice to keep me company.

“There’s no way we’re going to see Chuck while he’s in the police station,” I said. “We’ll leave it up to Oliver as to whether he wants to see him later today. But I think we should go there to see what we can find out about Marjorie’s car. There’s no point checking Chuck’s movements last Tuesday before he went to the motel. None of that makes any difference any more. We need a list of Marjorie’s friends. I don’t see how we’re going to get that except through Chuck, so we’ll have to wait.”

“I wonder if the police have located the friend who saw Chuck with the woman at the motel on that Friday.”

“If they have, then it will certainly increase their suspicions about Chuck’s involvement. Of course, she wouldn’t know about Marjorie’s meeting with Dick, or her visit to the motel on Tuesday; unless…”

“What?”

“Unless Marjorie called her friend and told her that her suspicions had been confirmed.”

“Well if that’s the case then the police may already know about Chuck and his girlfriend.”

“Let’s wait and see. Keep our fingers crossed.”

Oliver showed up shortly after one o’clock. I recounted our exploits during the morning. He didn’t seem particularly surprised. Probably he was used to being lied to by his clients.

“We’ll need to give all this a bit of thought before we decide the best way to play it,” he said. “See what you can find out this afternoon about the police investigation. I doubt they’ll tell you much, but with your experience you’ll probably find a way.”

“How was Chuck when you saw him last night?”

“He didn’t seem particularly concerned about his own situation; he was angry more than anything else. He said he ought to be out looking for his wife, and the more time the police wasted on him the less chance they had of finding out what’s happened to her. It may just have been an act on his part; but, if it was, it wasn’t a bad act. He didn’t look at all well, though. He had an unhealthy kind of pallor. I think this matter has taken quite a toll on him. That could be worry about his wife or about his own situation; but his appearance was enough cause for concern for me to mention it to the desk sergeant. I asked him to make sure they kept an eye on him, in case he needs medication of some kind. Apparently he has a history of heart problems. He told me he had a stent fitted about 6 years ago.”

“What’s a stent?” Lucy asked.

“It’s some kind of wire mesh used to keep an artery open,” Oliver said. “They often fit them for people in danger of having a heart attack.”

“I hope he’s not going to die on us,” I said.

“Oh, don’t worry, he’s paid my retainer already ― and your advance.”

“That’s a horrible thing to say,” Lucy said.

Oliver looked at her, smiled, and shrugged his shoulders.

“No other developments that you’re aware of?” I said.

“No, but I’ve been in the court all morning. I’ve finished there for the day, but I’ve a whole lot of conferences with potential clients this afternoon, so if I decide to see Chuck it won’t be before early evening. After lunch, and before we part, I’ll give Donaldson a call to see if there’s anything new.”

“What kind of cop is Donaldson?” I said.

“He’s okay. I’ve known him a while; old-school, polite and helpful enough within certain bounds. He’s not crooked, or anything, as far as I know. I think he plays with a straight bat, as the British say.”

“How do you know what the British say?” I said.

“My mother’s British, didn’t I tell you? She’s from Dunfermline, in Scotland.”

“Well, I learn something new every day,” I said. “Have you been there?”

He laughed. “No, my mother was brought up in Connecticut. Her parents immigrated there when she was small.”

“Does she have one of those cool Scottish accents?” Lucy said.

“She still has her Scottish accent, yes; but she never made us eat haggis.”

We ate our lunch and I resisted the temptation to order another drink. After the meal we went with Oliver back to his nearby office, and he called Donaldson.

“Uh huh, okay,” was all I heard Oliver say, although the other party seemed to be saying quite a lot. After he hung up he turned to us and smiled.

“Well, it’s nice to have a bit of good news for a change. The blood in the car wasn’t Marjorie’s. It wasn’t even human. It was animal blood.

“So there’s really no evidence, so far, that suggests that Marjorie may be dead,” Lucy said.

“Well, they’re still waiting for the expert’s report about the blood found in the kitchen and in the garage; but so far it’s not looking as grim as it might.”

“Do they know when the car was parked?” I said.

“Not yet; they’re working on it.”

“So we won’t need to go to the station then?” Lucy said, turning to me.

“No, I don’t think there’s anything for us to do there now. I think it’s a waiting game for the moment until we see if the police turn up any more evidence,” I said. “You don’t happen to have a photograph of Chuck, do you?” I said to Oliver. “I’m planning to go back to The Beeches to talk to the desk clerk tomorrow. I’d like to show him a photograph of Chuck ― to see if he can identify him as the man who rented the room or exclude him. There’s a chance he may be able to remember something of significance ― maybe even something about the mysterious woman from 204.”

“No, I don’t have a photograph. Let me give Donaldson a call back. I don’t see any reason why you shouldn’t be able to access the house to see if you can locate a photograph, unless they’re planning to search it again.” The call was made, and Donaldson agreed. It seemed a rather innocuous request, after all.

“It may not be necessary to return to The Beeches tomorrow, of course,” I said, “if you get to see Chuck later today and he decides to be a bit more forthcoming. Sooner or later the news about this case is going to break and, when it does, it’s likely that Marjorie’s friend will come forward with her information. Worse than that, when the story breaks, Dick Hampton will have to tell the police everything he knows. It seems to me that the sooner you can get to see Chuck and talk some sense into him the better.”

“Okay, look, I’ve got thirty minutes before my first meeting,” Oliver said. “Why don’t we talk things through, and try to get an overview of the entire situation. Let’s analyze the case both from the police point of view and the client’s. It will probably be helpful for me to tell you what my take is on the legal ramifications of what has happened so far.”

“Okay, fire away,” I said.

“Well first, as you say, Kane, it’s only a matter of time before the whole Beeches matter is discovered by the police; so how does that affect the client? Chuck hasn’t been formally interviewed by the police because he’s exercised his legal right not to answer any questions. When he reported Marjorie missing, he told the police that he had been visiting various apartments owned by his wife that day and arrived home at about five. That may all be true. His failure to mention his visit to the motel was simply an omission, not a lie.

“Assuming the purpose of his visit there was to have a clandestine meeting with a young lady, possibly to engage in extra-marital sex, it’s hardly surprising that he neglected to mention that matter to the police. But, in my opinion, his failure to mention it cannot legally give rise to an inference that he was trying to mislead the police about his movements that day. You have to remember, at that stage he wasn’t under arrest. Now, because of the bloodstains mainly, he’s a suspect, but he hasn’t been charged. They have a lovely expression in Scotland, my mother told me, for a person in Chuck’s current situation. It’s called ‘helping the police with their inquiries’.” He smiled at the thought. “I like it; it’s a neutral phrase but with sinister undertones, don’t you think?”

“Except that he hasn’t been helping them with their inquiries because you told him not to say anything,” Lucy said.

“Knowing what we do now I’d say that’s just as well, wouldn’t you?” I said.

“The only significance of The Beeches episode,” Oliver continued, “is that it will give rise to suspicion of a possible motive as far as the police are concerned. If Chuck is ever charged with an offense in relation to Marjorie’s disappearance, then it’s the kind of thing that will get the jury to sit up and take notice; although it’s not, in itself, proof of anything ─ even proving that Chuck may have a motive to want Marjorie out of the way, without more, won’t even get the prosecution to first base.

“So what else have they got? A couple of bloodstains in the Griffiths’ home. We’ll have to wait until the expert has prepared his, or her, report before we can safely disregard those bloodstains as significant but, at this stage, it doesn’t seem likely that it’s sufficient to prove that they are, in any way, connected to Marjorie’s disappearance. But now we get to the nitty-gritty. The last sighting of Marjorie was by Dick Hampton at about 4:15 p.m. close to room 204. As you told me at lunch today, Dick speculated that Marjorie was intending to confront her husband and the mystery girl. But that’s all it is ― speculation. Speculation is not evidence. As far as we know, nobody saw her enter, or even approach, that room. At the moment, Marjorie is missing and we don’t know who the girl was, so Chuck’s the only person who can tell us whether she entered that room or not.”

“And if she did, then Chuck’s not likely to admit it, is he?” Lucy said.

“But if she didn’t, and Chuck was unaware of her presence at the motel that day, he wouldn’t have considered it a significant event with regard to Marjorie’s disappearance,” I said. “So his failure to mention it to the police is, as Oliver said, understandable”

“But Chuck’s going to have to level with me about what he was doing with that girl on the day his wife disappeared,” Oliver said.

“Suppose she did confront Chuck and the girl that day,” Lucy said. “And suppose there was an argument or a fight or something and Marjorie ended up dead ― how would they have disposed of her body? According to Chuck, he was home by five o’clock. It would take about thirty minutes to drive from the motel to his home, so he wouldn’t have had any time.”

“If he really did arrive home at that time,” I said. “Remember, we only have Chuck’s word for that at the moment. Maybe you should ask him if there’s any way that can be corroborated, Oliver.”

“But there’s another thing,” Lucy said. “Marjorie’s car was found in a downtown parking lot. So she must have driven there after she went to the motel, because she was sitting in her car the last time Dick saw her. How could Chuck or the girl have disposed of the body and driven her car all that way afterwards? It doesn’t make sense.”

“That’s a good point, Lucy,” Oliver said. “I need to find out the location of the lot where it was found and see if the police have any evidence to indicate when it was parked there. I’ll ask Donaldson for an update on that this evening.” He glanced at his watch. “Okay, we’re going to have to wrap this up for the time being.”

“So I take it that the plan has changed,” I said. “Lucy and I will go to Chuck’s house to get the photograph and you’ll see Chuck this evening and ask Donaldson about Marjorie’s car?”

“Yes, and I’ll call you tonight and let you know how I got on.”

*

We drove home via Chuck’s house. A uniformed cop accompanied us to the house and led me into the living room where I managed to find some photographs of Chuck and Marjorie. I hadn’t actually formed a picture in my mind of what either of them might look like. Chuck was about my age, I guessed; He looked fit and in good shape, despite what we’d been told about his heart. Marjorie looked a little older. There was nothing particularly striking about either of them. Marjorie was an attractive woman, in an understated kind of way. Her dark hair was cut quite short, and permed. Probably it was colored too. She was of average height and fairly slim. She was dressed well in each of the photographs I saw. Chuck was dressed casually in most of the photographs, although there was a photograph of them both together, dressed up to the nines, probably at the time of their wedding.

We were home by mid-afternoon and decided we deserved another ride on our new toy. It was just as well that we had some relaxation. Things were about to go into overdrive.

Chapter Ten

A Private Matter

‘The Boston police department is investigating the disappearance of 46-year-old Boston resident Marjorie Griffiths. She was last seen on Tuesday, April third, and her husband reported her missing two days later. Police are conducting ongoing inquiries and request any members of the public who have information as to the missing woman’s whereabouts to contact the appropriate authorities. In particular, the police would welcome information from anyone who saw Mrs. Griffiths on the day of her disappearance.’

*

Oliver phoned just before nine.

“The cat’s out of the bag; you might want to tune into a local news channel. They released Chuck from custody about thirty minutes ago. I had a brief talk with him, but I didn’t want to delay him for too long. He needed to get home and rest. He’s not looking too good.”

“So what’s the score?” I said.

“Well he’s not off the hook yet. The police have asked him not to leave town, although they can’t insist on it. But anyway, Chuck says he has no intention of going anywhere ―he wants to concentrate on finding his wife. There’s a bit of a puzzle about Marjorie’s car ― or at least there was. Apparently the police were able to ascertain that it had been parked in the downtown lot since the morning of the day she went missing. I called Dick Hampton. I figured I’d better let him know that the story was about to go public. He says the car Marjorie was driving when she arrived at the motel was a red hatchback; probably a Mazda. The car the police located in the downtown lot ― Marjorie’s car ― is a gray Merc. So the car she was driving that afternoon didn’t belong to her. Maybe it was a friend’s car, or maybe it was a rental.

“Maybe she has two cars,” I said.

“Maybe; anyway, as soon as they hear from Dick the police will be onto that.”

“Did you get a chance to ask Chuck about the motel visit?” I said.

“Yeah; he admitted to being at the motel. He categorically denied that he saw Marjorie there, though, and he denied that he was responsible for renting the room. As for the reason he was there he refused to be drawn. He said it was personal; a private matter. I didn’t push him. As I said, he wasn’t looking too good and I thought it best to let him go home.”

“Okay, let’s sleep on it and decide tomorrow what the best way forward is,” I said.

After I hung up I told Lucy the news.

“That makes sense, I guess,” she said. “If she was going to the motel to see what was going on maybe she figured it was best to go incognito.”

“It explains how Marjorie’s car came to be in the downtown lot,” I said. “I wonder what happened to the other vehicle.”

“Maybe it’s still at the motel. Perhaps we’ll find out tomorrow afternoon,” Lucy said.

“I reckon the police will beat us to it. Dick’s obviously got to respond to the police request for information now; but if it’s still at the motel then it means it was Marjorie’s last port of call that day.”

“That wouldn’t look good for Chuck,” Lucy said.

“No; except that Chuck claims to have been home by five. If that checks out, then it wouldn’t seem at all likely that he had anything to do with her disappearance. Of course, we’ve only got his word for that. I think we need to find out if there’s anything that can corroborate it. He claims he was home alone after five, but maybe he was seen in the vicinity by someone when he arrived home.”

“What do you make of Chuck’s refusal to tell Oliver about the woman ― or about his reason for being there?”

“Hmm,” I grunted, “I don’t know. Let’s see if we can make some sense of it. Let’s assume first that Chuck’s telling the truth about not seeing Marjorie that day. If that’s the case, and his conscience is clear concerning her disappearance, he may simply want to keep the matter private. Whether he was having an affair, or having some r and r with a hooker, he probably thinks it’s nobody’s business but his own. And he probably won’t want the woman to be brought into the limelight; that’s understandable. On the other hand, if he’s lying ― if they were confronted by Marjorie and something unpleasant happened to her as a result ― then he has to lie; and he’d be desperate to keep the mystery woman’s identity a secret.”

“Do you think he might open up to us about it? I mean, if their association was entirely innocent, or even if it wasn’t but has nothing to do with Marjorie’s disappearance, maybe we can get him to tell us about it if we can convince him that whatever he tells us will remain confidential.”

“Maybe; but maybe he’s already regretting hiring us.”

Lucy thought about this for a while. Then she said, “Doesn’t the fact that he did agree to let us work on the case suggest innocence rather than guilt? I mean, if he’s got something to hide in connection with Marjorie’s disappearance he wouldn’t want us snooping around.”

“You may have a point there; but maybe it just didn’t occur to him that we’d find out about the motel visit. Anyway, we’ll have to see what Oliver, or Chuck, wants us to do now.”

“It’s quite a strange situation, isn’t it? Chuck’s our client ― at least he is unless and until he decides to pull the plug. But we’ve got to work on the assumption that he may not be being truthful. We’ve got to cover all bases.”

“We have two jobs to do. We’ve got to try to help Chuck and we’ve got to try to find out what’s happened to Marjorie. Of course, the two things may be connected. If Marjorie is found safe and sound then we kill two birds with one stone, so to speak. But if we can’t find Marjorie, or we find her body, we have to try to prevent Chuck from being prosecuted for something he’s not responsible for.”

“Assuming he’s not responsible.”

“Yes; assuming that.”

“But if Marjorie can’t be found, Chuck couldn’t be charged with her homicide, could he? Just because someone’s missing it doesn’t mean they’re dead.”

“It depends on all the circumstantial evidence. If the circumstantial evidence is strong enough then a jury could be invited to draw the inference that she’s dead. Technically, there’s nothing to prevent a charge of murder even though a body can’t be found. There are lots of cases where that’s happened.”

“But Oliver says there’s not enough evidence for that; unless the expert examining the bloodstains finds something obviously incriminating. That hardly seems likely. I mean it’s just blood, and apparently not very much blood either.” Lucy pondered this for a moment. The she said, “If Marjorie met with some harm at the motel, then it’s likely that the blood in the house is a red herring.”

“Yes, but maybe she didn’t meet her fate at the motel. Maybe she didn’t confront Chuck there. Perhaps she followed him home and confronted him there. Perhaps there was a row and it escalated into violence. What happened at the motel might just be background, only indirectly connected with what happened later; Chuck could have killed her, maybe accidentally, disposed of her body somewhere, and the next evening played the concerned husband when he called the police.”

“He would have had at least 24 hours to do that,” Lucy said. “He would have had time to dispose of the body far away. And if he felt he’d covered his tracks sufficiently well, he wouldn’t be concerned about letting Oliver hire us to try to find out what happened to her.”

Lucy thought for a while. “We’re not going to find the red Mazda at the motel, are we?”

“No Lucy,” I said. “I don’t think we are.”

Chapter Eleven

Jimmy

I called Oliver at eight to find out what the plan for the day was. He said to sit tight for the time being. He was in the court again all day, so he suggested we met again at lunchtime; same time, same place.

“I talked to Chuck this morning,” Oliver said. “He says he’s got some chest pains so I told him to go get himself checked out at the hospital. It’s probably all the stress, but he’s had heart trouble before so I don’t want to take any chances. He says he’ll go. I told him to call my secretary as soon as he’s seen somebody there and leave a message. Otherwise, it’s all quiet.”

“Lucy and I are going to drive to the motel after breakfast,” I said. “We can’t see the desk clerk until this afternoon, but I want to get over there to see if we can find any trace of the red Mazda.”

“Good. I’ll see you both at one o’clock, then.”

I walked down the street to Lucy’s place. She was making some eggs and bacon. We ate out on her verandah, as she insisted on calling it, and drank our coffee.

“Chuck’s gone to the hospital. He’s got chest pains.”

“Maybe the police roughed him up a bit, to try to get him to talk.”

“You’ve been watching too many movies, Lucy.”

“I hope he’s going to be okay. Are we still on for the motel jaunt?”

“Yes, and then we’ll meet Oliver again and try to map out a way forward.”

*

There was no sign of the red Mazda, or a red anything, in the motel parking lot; nor anywhere in the immediate vicinity.

“Well that doesn’t help,” I said. “Something may have happened to her here, and someone else drove the red car away, or else she may have driven it away herself.”

“Dick must have contacted the police by now, so they’ll be looking for it too.”

“They won’t know what they’re looking for, without a model or a registration,” I said.

“Maybe the police lines are already hot with calls from members of the public,” she said.

“I don’t doubt that. There are probably all kinds of wackos calling up. Marjorie will no doubt have been spotted on a cruise liner, on the beach in Florida or peeking out of one of the Kremlin’s windows.”

Since we were already there, and had nothing else to do, we went to the bar and showed the barman Chuck’s photo. No, he didn’t recognize Chuck; or at least, he said he didn’t.

Oliver called me on my cell. The prosecutor had gotten a continuance in his trial, so we could meet earlier. We headed over to his office.

“How’s Chuck?” Lucy asked, as soon as we saw Oliver.

“He’s okay, apparently. His blood pressure’s normal and there’s no cause for alarm. He was given some pills and the usual advice ― get plenty of rest, gentle exercise, fresh air, no alcohol…that kind of thing.”

“The big question is: does he want us to continue with our investigation?” I said.

“Yes, he’s eager for you to press on. In fact, he wants to meet with you as soon as possible.”

“Is there any news about the blood yet? From the expert?”

“No. I suggest you meet Chuck at his house; that way he can at least show you the locations where the police claim to have found the blood.”

“Sure; we can go there anytime; but if he wants results he’s going to need to cooperate with us.”

“I’ve already made that clear to him,” Oliver said.

“I can understand that he may not want to supply information about his lady friend. I’m sure he wants to keep her out of all this; he probably also thinks that his relationship with her, whatever that is, will make police more suspicious about his connection with Marjorie’s disappearance. But the problem is, the police will already be harboring those suspicions as soon as Dick Hampton has spilled the beans.”

“Do you think his relationship with the girl and the disappearance of his wife are connected?” Oliver said.

“Don’t you?”

“It seems the most obvious conclusion.”

“Not necessarily directly connected, though,” I said. “The girl may be unaware of Marjorie’s disappearance. She may even be unaware of Marjorie’s existence for all I know. But putting two and two together, at least for the purpose of constructing a theory, it seems likely that Marjorie saw the two of them together and then followed Chuck home, where some kind of confrontation took place. Since the staff at the motel were obviously unaware of anything out-of-the-ordinary going on, I believe that’s what the police will conclude. Together with the traces of Marjorie’s blood in the house and garage things aren’t looking too rosy. How long will it be until the expert’s report’s ready?”

“Donaldson thinks they could have it by the end of the week.”

“So we’ve got two or three days to try to make some progress,” I said. “I want to talk to the room clerk at the motel before I see Chuck. I have to independently check everything that I can.”

Since the table had already been booked we had lunch together again at Jimmy’s. We sat at the same table, and we had the same waitress too.

“Hi, you’re getting to be quite a fixture here,” she said. “What can I get you folks today?”

“If the police make any progress finding the car, can you let us know right away, Oliver?” Lucy said.

“I’m afraid it doesn’t work like that, Lucy,” I said. “The police aren’t going to keep Oliver in the loop about any progress they make in their investigation. If the police find any further evidence that incriminates Chuck there’ll be a 5 a.m. knock on the door and Chuck will find himself face-to-face with a guy with a stern expression and a pair of handcuffs.”

“I’m afraid he’s right, Lucy,” Oliver said, “but they have agreed to fax me a copy of the expert’s bloodstain pattern analysis report as soon as it’s ready.”

As we drove to The Beeches Lucy asked me about the expert.

“What can they tell, these experts, by studying the blood,” she said. “We already know who it belonged to.”

“You must have seen TV shows or movies where they analyze bloodstains, Lucy. Mainly they examine the pattern of the blood on the surface to which it adhered to try to work out how it got there. There are several ways that blood is transferred to a surface. Either by direct contact, or by transference, like when you cut your finger and go to the bathroom to get a band aid. You might leave a trace of it on the door handle. Then there’s second-hand transference by contact with something else; say an assailant’s shoe, as he leaves the scene. Lastly, blood can travel through the air. If that’s the case, then the expert will try to work out how it got on the surface where it was found, how far it traveled, in what direction and maybe even at what velocity. What they’re probably looking for in this case is some evidence that it resulted from an impact wound, like blunt force trauma, or a knife wound.

“Say you had a nosebleed. If it was a spontaneous nosebleed, the blood would fall to the ground, or onto a counter top, by gravity. When that happens, the drops of blood will typically be circular in shape. But if someone caused your nose to bleed by punching you in the face, then blood may fly through the air and land on an adjacent surface. If that happens, the blood droplets wouldn’t be circular; they’d be elliptical in shape. Without going into too much detail, scientists who specialize in this field may be able to tell whether the blood was spilled as the result of some kind of trauma. They may be able to tell the speed at which it was traveling when it hit the surface, and possibly the distance it traveled too.”

“It all sounds a bit too complicated for a bear of very little brain, like me,” she said. “So, to summarize, how could an expert analysis in this case implicate Chuck?”

“Well, it couldn’t, directly, but the expert may be able to determine if it was likely caused by some kind of assault; and Chuck’s the only other person who lived in the house with Marjorie. It would just be part of the circumstantial evidence that would need to be considered.”

“But I thought you couldn’t tell the age of a bloodstain; so it must be of very limited use in determining who might be responsible.”

“I agree. Unless the bloodstain is very recent, then its evidentiary value is of dubious value,” I said.

“So it’s unlikely to amount to any evidence of significance against Chuck, even if the expert concludes that it probably resulted from an assault.”

“I think it’s safe to say that it would do little more than add to the suspicion that Chuck was, or may have been, involved in Marjorie’s disappearance. But we don’t know yet if a more detailed forensic examination of the premises is likely to be carried out; and if it is, will it turn up anything new? Like a trail of blood, previously missed, between the kitchen and the garage, for example. And we don’t know what they’re going to find in the Mazda when they eventually locate it.”

“Like what?”

“Like Chuck’s fingerprints or DNA for example.”

“You realize we’re treating him like a suspect,” Lucy said, “rather than our client.”

“That’s because he is a suspect, Lucy; as far as the police are concerned. It doesn’t mean we’re not going to do our best to help him. But we have to be alive to all the possibilities at this stage.”

We pulled into The Beeches parking lot just after three. Jimmy, the desk clerk, was barely out of his teens. I showed him my license.

“Wow,” he said, “for real?”

“Did your manager mention we’d be coming to see you?” I said.

“No.”

“We’re inquiring about a guest who stayed in room 204, on the third of April. You want to take a look in the register? To refresh your memory?”

“Okay.”

He thumbed back through the register and I pointed to Warren’s name. “That’s the guy,” I said.

Jimmy looked at me.

“Do you remember what he looked like?” Lucy said. “Like how old he was, his appearance, stuff like that?”

“No.”

“Do you remember him at all?” I said.

“No.”

“Paid cash for five days, left after only four?”

There was no response from Jimmy. I sighed heavily and pulled out a photograph of Chuck.

“Take a look at this guy. Does he look familiar to you?”

Jimmy ran his tongue over his teeth, first the top then the bottom, without opening his mouth. Then he said, “No.”

“Your heart’s not really in this, is it Jimmy?” I said.

He looked at me and frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I mean you’re not really giving this your best shot, are you? You’re not really trying.”

“We have a lot of people come in here, man. I don’t pay much attention to what they look like.”

“Okay, I’m going to level with you. You hear on the news about a woman who’s gone missing? Her name’s Marjorie Griffiths.”

“No.”

“Well,” I said, patiently, “here’s a picture of her.”

Jimmy stared at it blankly.

“The last sighting of this lady, before she disappeared,” I said, with exaggerated slowness, “was outside room 204, on Tuesday last week. Are you getting the connection here?”

“I’m sorry Sir; Ma’am. I don’t know nothing about any of this.”

“You were so rude to him,” Lucy said tetchily when we were back in the car. “He was doing his best.”

“He was a dork,” I said.

“Look it’s not like he’s security or anything. There’s no reason for him to remember.”

“What are you, his mother?” I said sarcastically, digging her in the ribs.

“There’s no need to be mad at him,” Lucy said. “It can’t be helped. It’s just another dead end, that’s all.”

I put my arm round her shoulder and pulled her towards me. I gave her a peck on the cheek.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “It’s just the frustration coming out.”

“Don’t you think that’s enough for one day?” She said. “Let’s leave Chuck until tomorrow. Let’s just chill out this evening; forget about the case for a while.”

“That,” I said, “is the best idea that either you, or anybody else, has had all day.” We drove on for a while.

“You didn’t ask him about the Mazda,” Lucy said.

I looked at her and rolled my eyes.

Chapter Twelve

The Psychic

We were having breakfast at my place the next morning when Lucy had one of her ideas.

“I’ve got an idea,” she said.

I waited.

“You have to promise not to laugh.”

“Honest Injun,” I said.

“You remember Fooks?” she said. “Doctor Fooks; from Oxford” she added in an exaggerated British accent.

“How could I forget?” I said.

“Well that was my idea, and it worked out pretty well, didn’t it?”

“Credit where credit’s due,” I said.

“Well now I’ve got another idea.”

“Are you going to tell me about it, or make me guess?” I said.

She put her folded arms on top of the table and leaned towards me.

“A psychic,” she said.

I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

“I’m being serious,” she said. “The police use them all the time in missing persons cases.”

“Lucy, I think that’s something of an exaggeration. They use them sometimes, on TV true crime dramas that are about as true as an average politician’s election promises.”

“No; they use them in real life. They give them objects belonging to the missing person and then they tell the police where to look.”

“Yeah, really detailed descriptions of locations, like ‘near water’, or something like that, right?” I said, moving around the table, grabbing her around the waist and tickling her.

“You said you wouldn’t laugh,” she said.

“I’m doing my best not to.”

“Seriously,” she said. “Don’t you believe that there are things the mind is capable of that we don’t yet understand?”

I went and sat down again. I looked over at her, a serious expression on my face. “As a matter of fact I do believe that,” I said. “I have a good reason for it. I’ve experienced it.”

“Really? You’re not kidding?”

“Seriously,” I said.

“What kind of experience?”

“It wasn’t mine exactly.”

“What was it? When was it?”

“It’s not something I like to talk about,” I said. “Not something I care to remember. It happened a long time ago and, apart from my family, I’ve never told anyone about it.”

“You can tell me,” she said. “Please tell me.”

“It was something that happened long before I met you. It was when I was studying in London. I was nineteen.”

“What happened?” Lucy said, in a stage whisper.

“I had a roommate at the university. His name was Peter Markham. He was great fun, and he showed me all around the city. He introduced me to ‘real ale’, that’s British beer without the bubbles. It’s not carbonated, so it has to be pumped into the glass by hand. Pete was a member of an organization called CAMRA, which stood for ‘Campaign for Real Ale’. They promoted small, traditional British brewers against the big conglomerates.”

“So what happened?”

“He kept having these dreams. Well, it was the same dream, over and over again; almost every night. Exactly the same dream.”

“What about?”

“About standing on Westminster Bridge. That’s a bridge on the Thames river, near the English Houses of Parliament. It’s just by a big clock-tower, called the Elizabeth Tower, and at the top of the tower is a clock which the British call ‘Big Ben’. It’s the most famous clock in Britain.”

“What happened in the dream?”

“Nothing happened. He was just there. It was always the same. It was daytime. Traffic was passing over the bridge; people were walking past him. He’d hear the clock chime eleven o’clock and then he woke up.”

“I don’t understand. What’s that got to do with a psychic experience?”

I sighed heavily. “I’m sorry,” I said. “It’s a painful memory for me. Just listen, and I’ll tell you the whole thing.”

“Okay,” she said quietly.

“The dream became like an obsession to him. He was certain it meant something. He told me he had to go there; to find out. I didn’t believe it meant anything, but I thought that if he went there, and nothing happened, then he’d stop having the dreams. So we went together one day. We got there a bit before eleven. He said he needed to be there alone, because that was the dream; so he stood on one side of the bridge and I stood on the other side of the road, opposite him.” I paused, lost in thought for a moment.

“And did something happen?” Lucy whispered.

“We heard the clock strike eleven. After about ten minutes I walked over the road and urged him to come home. I told him that it was just a dream, it didn’t mean anything, and now we’d proved it. But he wouldn’t come. He said he wanted to stay until twelve. He was sure something important was going to happen after eleven, but he agreed that if nothing happened by twelve we’d leave.”

“Did something happen?”

“No; the clock eventually started to chime for twelve o’clock, so I waved at him to indicate it was time to leave. I remember he grinned and shrugged his shoulders. He was trying to cross the road, but there was a lot of traffic. I called out to him; I told him to be careful; to wait.” I paused, and let out another heavy sigh.

“He darted across the road, between the cars. I can still picture it all so clearly. The clock was chiming and he was running towards me ― and then he was struck by a car. He was thrown over the hood, over the roof. He was right in front of me. There was a sickening thud as his head hit the pavement. And then I heard the last chime of the clock. It was twelve.”

I looked across the table at her.

“Oh, my God,” she said, “was he…”

“Yes. He died instantly. It was a premonition, you see. He’d been dreaming about his own death.”

“But…surely it was just a coincidence. His dream said eleven, and it was twelve.”

I looked across the table at her. “You don’t understand. It wasn’t eleven o’clock in his dream ― it was twelve. But he always woke up before the last chime had struck.”

Lucy’s mouth was open; the jaw slack.

“My God,” she whispered.

I sat there for a while, enjoying the moment; then I grinned broadly.

“Good story, isn’t it?” I said brightly. “Can’t remember where I read it now.”

“You…! How could you?” she shouted at me.

I laughed. “You should’ve seen your face.”

I saw the look in Lucy’s eyes just in time to beat it through the back door as Lucy made a rush for me round the table.

Chapter Thirteen

A Revelation

I telephoned Chuck Griffiths after breakfast and arranged to meet him at eleven. The Griffiths’ family home was a fairly modest, though attractively presented, ranch house, set back a hundred feet or so from the road. The house was surrounded by mature trees, mainly birch and elm, and the front yard was laid to grass. There was an integral garage with direct access from the kitchen via a short passageway.

The man whose photograph I’d showed to Jimmy opened the door, although he looked a little less robust than he looked in the photograph. He was of average height and solidly built. His chestnut brown hair, cut short, was beginning to gray at the temples; and the gray matched the color of his eyes. He looked a bit washed-out; like a good night’s sleep wouldn’t do him any harm. We introduced ourselves and he led us into the living room, apologizing for its slightly unkempt appearance.

“Did the police make this mess?” Lucy said; rather undiplomatically, I thought.

“Oh no, I’m sorry. Since Marjorie left I’ve rather let things go, I’m afraid. If you think it looks untidy in here, you should see the kitchen. Let me go fix us some coffee.”

“Why don’t you show us where the police say they found the traces of blood in the kitchen,” I said.

We followed him into the kitchen. It wasn’t difficult to see where the forensics boys had located the blood.

“They’ve actually removed part of the door jamb,” he said. “They say they’ll be able to fix it up good as new. I don’t see why they couldn’t just take a couple of photographs, but what do I know? I can show you the garage later.”

I knew they’d removed the wood with the blood on it because, if the case ever got to court, the prosecutor would need the best evidence available for the jury. Photographs might be enough for the expert, but the jury would be shown the part of the door-frame where the blood was actually found. It’s called the ‘best evidence’ rule. And anyway, it’s always more dramatic to produce an actual object rather than a photograph. But I didn’t want to alarm Chuck unnecessarily, so I kept these thoughts to myself.

Chuck picked up the coffee pot and we followed him back into the living room.

“Take a seat,” he said; “you take cream, sugar?”

“Both for Lucy, neither for me, thanks,” I said.

We sat, cradling the mugs of coffee in our hands.

“I ought to start by telling you that it’s perfectly normal for the husband to be questioned by the police in circumstances like these,” I said. “You shouldn’t read too much into that.”

“Oliver advised me not to answer any questions,” he said. “But I’d already told them everything I knew, which wasn’t much. Marjorie was home when I left for work that day and missing when I got back. What else could I tell them?”

“You used the expression earlier that Marjorie has left. Is that what you think? That she’s left of her own free will?”

“Unlikely as that may seem, I can’t think of any other explanation. No accident has been reported and I can’t imagine that anyone would want to harm her. Her absence is a mystery as far as I’m concerned. I want to make it clear to you from the outset that I had nothing whatsoever to do with Marjorie’s disappearance and I genuinely have no idea where she is.”

“Well that’s what we’re here for,” I said; “to try to solve that mystery.”

“I wish I could give you some information that would help. I can’t think of anything.”

“We’d like to start with a list of Marjorie’s friends,” Lucy said. “As you know from Oliver, the last known sighting of Marjorie was at The Beeches motel at about 4:15 p.m. We’d like to talk to as many of her friends as possible ― to see if she made contact with any of them after that time.”

“I’ve made a list for you, but I’ve already called all the ones I have numbers for. None of them were able to help. Now the police have made a public announcement, I guess anyone who saw or heard from her that day will contact them.”

“You know why she was at the motel, don’t you?” I said. “You want to tell us about that? About why you were there that day; Marjorie apparently suspected you were having an affair.”

Chuck looked at me with an expression of mild annoyance. “Oliver’s already asked me about that. It has nothing to do with Marjorie’s disappearance, and it’s a private matter.”

“Chuck, you understand that we’re here to help, and everything you tell us is held in strict confidence. But if you want us to help you’ve got to trust us. You may consider that there’s no connection between Marjorie’s disappearance and your meeting with a young lady at the motel that day, but I may be a better judge of that ― not just because I’m an experienced investigator, but because I can look at the facts objectively. You may think you can be objective but you can’t; you’re too close to this.”

Chuck made no response, so I carried on.

“This is what we know, Chuck. A friend of Marjorie’s saw you with a young lady the previous Friday and told her about it. Marjorie was sufficiently concerned to visit a private investigator the following Monday and arrange to have you followed. She was sufficiently concerned to drive to the motel, in a car that wasn’t her own, to see for herself. That was the last time anyone saw or heard from her. Any investigation into a missing person has to begin with the last place that person was seen or known to have been. Frankly, if you’re not prepared to tell us what you were doing there, and who the young lady is, our investigation will be seriously compromised. In fact, I don’t think we’ll be able to help at all.”

Chuck thought this over for a while. He rested his elbow on the arm of his chair, leaned forward and ran his fingers through his hair.

“If I tell you the truth,” he said, “I don’t want you to reveal what I tell you to anyone. And that includes Oliver. I don’t consider Oliver to be my attorney for any other purpose than his assistance at the police station.”

“Whatever you tell us will be between the three of us,” I said, “and used solely in connection with trying to find out what has happened to your wife.”

“What if I tell you something that…something illegal that I’ve done? Does that remain confidential too?”

“Well, that depends,” I said. “I’m not an attorney. Whatever you tell an attorney in confidence is a privileged communication that he can’t legally be made to divulge. A private investigator is just like any other member of the public. If you were to tell me about a crime you’ve committed, I don’t have any duty to inform the authorities, but I can be made to divulge what you’ve told me if I’m subpoenaed as a witness in criminal proceedings. In accordance with the oath that all witnesses have to take, I would have to truthfully answer questions put to me. But if you tell me about some crime you’ve committed that’s unconnected with Marjorie’s disappearance, it’s unlikely I would ever be placed in a situation where I’d have to divulge it. I can certainly give you my assurance that I won’t voluntarily divulge anything you tell me in confidence, even if it amounts to a confession of illegality.”

Chuck thought this over carefully.

“You have a good reputation,” he said. “I know that. I hope you won’t take offense, but I’ve conducted some of my own research concerning your background; and I trust Oliver’s judgement too, in recommending you.” He paused for a while, and sighed, blowing out his cheeks as he exhaled. “Okay, I’ll tell you,” he said.

“Good. Then let’s start with the identity of the lady in question.”

He looked at us for a moment or two. He took a deep breath, then exhaled through his nose, his lips clamped tightly shut. He thought for a moment or two longer; then he spoke.

“Her name’s Amber,” he said. “She’s my daughter.”

Chapter Fourteen

Something Terrible

“I was at college when it happened. I met Amber’s mother at a party. I was drunk, we had sex and she got pregnant. When you read all these stories about couples desperate to have a family, about wives needing fertility treatment, husbands with low sperm counts, it seems kind of ironic, don’t you think? We had sex once and she got pregnant.”

He looked over at us.

“I was young, and I like to think I was a responsible kind of guy. I know, it doesn’t sound very responsible to have unprotected sex with a virtual stranger, but I was little more than a kid. Anyway, I did what I thought was the right thing. I agreed to marry her, to give the child a name. We drove to Vegas. I didn’t even tell my parents. Of course, it was a disaster. Her name was Sandy. We had nothing in common. I stayed until after the birth. Soon afterwards I took off. I’ve never seen her since then. As far as I’m aware, she didn’t make any real effort to find me. It probably didn’t take her too long to forget me. I wasn’t proud about abandoning her and the baby, but I couldn’t stay just for the sake of the child. The marriage would’ve been a nightmare. All we ever did was argue about everything.”

“So how did you and Amber meet again?” Lucy asked.

“She hired a detective to find me, I think. Or maybe she used the internet. It wouldn’t have been hard to find me. I never changed my name, or tried to hide or anything. She called me out of the blue about two weeks ago. It was quite a shock.”

“Why didn’t you tell Marjorie about it,” I said. “Why keep it a secret from her?”

“You don’t understand. I never divorced Sandy. Marjorie knew nothing about any of this. When we met, I told her I was single. I never told her I’d been married before and had a daughter.”

“So…”

“My marriage to Marjorie is bigamous. I guess its void or something like that; I haven’t researched the law.”

“Okay, go on,” I said.

“After the initial shock wore off I was excited at the thought of seeing her. Obviously, I’d thought about her a lot over the years, which is more than I can say about her mother. You see, I was never sure that Amber was my child. I just took Sandy’s word for it; but after we were married I heard a lot of things about Sandy which made me wonder. She’d been quite promiscuous, apparently. I wouldn’t be surprised if she was just using me, although that’s only a feeling I got. Maybe it’s something I used to salve my conscience about leaving them both.”

“So you arranged to meet her at the motel?” I said.

“Yes, we met in the motel bar. That must have been when Marjorie’s friend saw us. Do you know which of her friends it was?”

“No. She didn’t tell the detective she hired to follow you.”

“It wasn’t the kind of emotional meeting I’d expected. Amber was cold and distant. She hadn’t tracked me down because she wanted to forge some kind of father-daughter relationship with me. She wanted compensation.”

“What kind of compensation?” Lucy said.

Chuck managed a slight smile. “She’d worked out, mathematically, what she figured I owed her. What I would have spent on her if I’d stayed; plus the interest. She said she’d settle for a hundred grand.” He managed another half-smile. “I guess, morally, she had a point,” he said, “but I explained to her I didn’t have that kind of money, or anything close to it. Even Marjorie couldn’t find a sum of money like that ― most of her money is tied up in the property she owns. We live off of the rental income.”

“So what was her reaction when you told her that?” I said.

“She said she’d tell Marjorie about my marriage, or maybe she’d go to the police, so I’d better figure out a way to give her what she wanted. I told her I’d think about it over the weekend. Actually there was nothing to think about, except how I was going to break the news to Marjorie. I was a coward, I guess. I couldn’t bring myself to tell her; I didn’t know what her reaction might be. I was really stalling for time. I thought when I saw Amber again I could maybe talk her out of it.”

“And did you?”

“No; it was just the same. She didn’t believe that I couldn’t find the money. In the end I just walked out on her and came home. I decided to face the music and tell Marjorie about it. There was no other way; and Marjorie has a good heart. I thought I could explain everything to her so she’d understand and that we could find a way to put things right. As I drove home I was mentally rehearsing what I was going to say to her. But then she didn’t come home.”

I thought this over for a while.

“Have you had any contact with Amber since Marjorie disappeared?”

“No. She didn’t call me. I didn’t try to see her again. I was preoccupied with finding Marjorie, and then I was arrested. It’s been quite a week.”

“We made some inquiries at the motel,” I said. “The room in which Amber was staying was paid for by a man called Warren; Alan Warren. You heard of that name?”

“No.”

“Did Amber mention that she was staying with anyone at the motel?”

“No; and I don’t remember seeing anything in her room that looked like a guy was staying there. I think I’d have noticed.”

“Did Amber tell you whether she was married? How old is she now?”

“She’ll be twenty-one in October. She didn’t say she was married. She didn’t talk about anyone except herself. She didn’t even mention her mother. I did ask her; she just waved her hand and said ‘What do you care?’ I guess that was a valid comment, too.”

“So to put it bluntly, your daughter was blackmailing you?”

“Well, I hadn’t thought of it like that, but I guess that’s what it was.”

“She’s no longer at the motel,” I said. “She checked out the same day that Marjorie disappeared; the day of your last meeting with her.”

Chuck had no reaction to this news, so I said, “Doesn’t that strike you as strange?”

“Why is it strange?”

“For one thing, she doesn’t sound like the kind of girl who would give up so easily. And for another thing, the room was paid for until Wednesday; so she checked out a day early. You think that’s just a coincidence? I don’t buy it.”

“So what are you implying? What are you suggesting?” he said.

“We know you were still in the room with Amber when Marjorie arrived at the motel,” I said, “because the private detective who’d followed you was watching the room. It was 4:15 p.m. You say you got home that day at five, so what time did you leave the room?”

“It took about thirty minutes to drive home.”

“So you must have left the room sometime between 4:15 and 4:30.”

“I guess. I didn’t check the time when I left.”

“And I think it’s safe to infer that Marjorie must have seen you leave. So there are only two possibilities. Either she drove away or she went into room 204 to confront the woman she believed you were having an affair with.”

Chuck frowned. “I guess it’s possible. But how could that be connected with her disappearance?”

“I don’t know ― yet. I’m going to need some time to think about all this.”

Chuck showed us the place in the garage where police had detected some of Marjorie’s blood.

“You know?” he said, “She’s lived here for years; since before I met her. There must be a thousand possibilities as to how her blood got there.”

We went back into the house.

“Marjorie was driving a red Mazda hatchback on the day she disappeared. Do you know anyone with a car like that?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“I have a hunch it was probably a rental,” I said. “Right now, the car is missing too.”

“So where do we go from here?” Chuck said.

“Where were you living when you were married to Sandy?”

“A small town in Maine, called Hope.”

“I think it’s time we paid Amber a visit,” I said.

*

“Twenty years is a long time,” Lucy said, as we drove home. “Amber may have moved away from there years ago.”

“Well, we’re not going to know that until we get there,” I said.

“Do you believe him?”

“We’ve no reason not to at the moment.”

“It’s a real puzzle. What possible reason could Amber have for kidnapping Marjorie, or…murdering her?”

“You got me,” I said. “But every puzzle has a solution. I just need some time to figure it out.”

“But you think there’s a connection?”

“I’m convinced of it. If a girl is prepared to blackmail her own father it’s a good bet she’s capable of almost anything.”

“Maybe it was a kind of revenge. She couldn’t get the money, so she decided to kill Marjorie to get back at him.”

“I don’t think that’s likely. I think money’s the key. I think Chuck’s going to hear from young Amber again, real soon.”

But even I didn’t realize just how soon that would be. We’d barely walked through the front door when I got a call on my cell. It was Chuck.

“You better get back here,” he said. “Something’s happened. Something terrible.”

Chapter Fifteen

Mind Games

“What’s happened Chuck?”

“I had a call from a guy. I didn’t recognize his voice and he didn’t give a name, obviously. There was no caller display. He asked me if I wanted to see Marjorie again. Of course I said yes. Then he told me to look under the elm tree behind the garage. It sent a cold shiver through me. I went out back and there’s a hole been dug there, right where he said. I mean it’s not a hole, it’s been filled in. It must have been dug when I was at the police station. I’m frightened, Kane. I don’t know what I’m going to find there.”

“Stay in the house and wait for us. We’re on the way.”

“What’s happened?” Lucy said. “Have they found Marjorie?”

“I sure as hell hope not,” I said.

“Why.”

“Looks like something’s buried behind Chuck’s garage,” I said. I told her the gist of the phone call.

“This could all be a set-up; you realize that?” Lucy said, as we drove back to Chuck’s place. “Maybe the elaborate story he told us this morning was just a prelude to this. We find Marjorie’s body buried in his back yard and he acts surprised. Then he spins the same story to the police.”

“Wrong,” I said.

“How do you know?”

“Because if that hole had been there when the police searched the place they would have found it. And if it wasn’t there, then where was Chuck keeping Marjorie’s body in the meantime?”

“Oh,” Lucy said, “yeah.”

“But if Marjorie’s dead, and Chuck’s told us the truth, it’s going to be pretty easy to haul Amber in for questioning,” she said. “Don’t forget, Marjorie’s friend saw both of them in the bar at The Beeches. She’ll be able to identify her and corroborate at least part of Chuck’s story.”

“Suppose the police are able to locate her? Suppose she still lives in Maine and is still using her father’s name? She’d deny any involvement; Chuck would be charged with the homicide and the jury would be invited to conclude that his story about being blackmailed by his daughter was simply an elaborate hoax. She’d go in the witness box and tell the jury what a cold-hearted, uncaring father he was. How he abandoned her and her mother; how he married another woman bigamously. What with the blood in the kitchen and the garage I wouldn’t bet on a swift acquittal, would you?”

“But you said you believed money was the motive. How does Amber get money by burying Marjorie in her own back yard?”

“I’m not sure; but if Amber simply wanted to frame her father for Marjorie’s death she would’ve made an anonymous call to the police and told them where to look for the body. The police would find the body and conclude that Chuck buried it in his own yard because he knew the police had already searched the place and wouldn’t think to look there again.”

“But do you think she’s really buried there?”

“No. I think Amber’s playing some kind of mind game with him.”

“She must be really wicked.”

“From what Chuck’s told us, she hardly sounds like an angel.”

“We’d better put a bug on Chuck’s phone. If she calls again she’ll be finished. God, I hope you’re right; that it’s not Marjorie buried there. She seems like a nice lady and none of this is her fault.”

“I’m afraid life doesn’t always favor the good.”

We pulled into Chuck’s driveway and he was waiting for us by the front door. He was shaking, and pale as a ghost.

“Let’s go inside,” I said. “Have you got some brandy? A stiff shot will calm you down.”

Chuck produced a bottle of brandy and we all decided we needed one, even Lucy; or maybe especially Lucy. Then we went out back. Just as Chuck had described, behind the garage was a newly dug and filled-in hole about three feet square.

“It doesn’t look big enough for a body,” Lucy whispered to me.

“Should we call the police?” Chuck said.

“Theoretically that would be the right thing to do,” I said. “But practically it’s likely to backfire,” I said. “Let’s bite the bullet and see what’s in the hole.”

Chuck and I went to the garage and each of us took a shovel. Then we went outside and started to dig.

“I want you to film this on your cell, Lucy, okay? Just as a precaution.”

“Okay.”

It wasn’t hard to move the earth; it was still soft. We dug down about two or three feet and then my shovel hit something solid. I told Chuck to stop digging and I used my hands to move the earth. Gradually I saw what it was that the shovel had struck. It looked like charcoal; but it wasn’t charcoal.

It was a pile of charred bones.

Chapter Sixteen

In Control

Chuck turned around and vomited on the grass. Lucy’s face was frozen in horror. I continued to dig with my hands, slowly moving the earth until I could see the bones clearly.

“It’s okay,” I said. “They’re not human bones.”

“Are you sure?” Lucy said.

“Yes, I’m sure,” I said. “I know enough about human anatomy to know what human remains look like. These are animal bones of some kind.”

Chuck was sitting on the grass, pale and sweating, breathing heavily.

“If this is somebody’s idea of a joke,” Lucy said angrily, “they must have a very sick mind.”

“I don’t think it’s supposed to be a joke,” I said. “Let’s go back inside.”

Chuck went to the bathroom to wash up and I used the kitchen sink to wash away the dirt.

“I don’t think I can take much more,” Chuck said, emerging from the bathroom. “My chest feels kind of tight.”

“You got some medication, right?” I said.

“Yes, I’d better take a pill,” Chuck said. He went into the kitchen and took a bottle of pills from the cupboard and washed one down with a gulp of water. “I’m okay now,” he said, after a few minutes.

Back in the living room we had a pow-wow.

“I think I know exactly what’s going on here,” I said. “This is stage two of a blackmail attempt.”

“How do you mean?” Chuck said.

“This was designed by Amber, and no doubt her boyfriend, Alan ― although I think we can safely assume that’s not his real name ― to demonstrate to you that they are in control. I have no doubt that Marjorie was abducted by Amber with the help of her boyfriend. It couldn’t possibly have been pre-planned. Nobody could have foreseen that Marjorie would show up at the motel but, when she did, I believe they took advantage of the situation.

“I think Marjorie did go into room 204 after you left, to confront Amber. I think Amber realized that her plan to extort money from you wouldn’t work anymore. Once Marjorie knew the truth there was nothing to blackmail you about. So I think the plan changed. I think they abducted Marjorie because they figured they could extract a ransom for her. But before they could make a move, you were taken in for questioning; and then shortly after that you were arrested.

“So then their plan changed. Now they figured they had a double lever to get you to pay up. You were a suspect in Marjorie’s disappearance; so, if you didn’t pay up, not only would you not see Marjorie again; you’d be worried about being held responsible for her disappearance. With Marjorie under their control they could easily get access to your house, your car and her car. It’s likely that they gained access to the house when you were taken in for questioning. They may be responsible for planting the blood traces in the kitchen and garage to increase suspicion on you, although that blood may simply be the result of some accidental injury sometime in the past. It’s certain that they dug the hole and filled it with charred bones while you were under arrest and in police custody.”

“But why?” Chuck said. “How is that going to get them the money they want?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” I said. “They want to demonstrate how easily they can fabricate evidence to implicate you. If you don’t pay up, they have the ultimate threat. You go to jail for Marjorie’s murder. I found this in the hole too,” I said, holding up a button. “I’m willing to bet it came from one of your jackets.”

“I’m going to call the police. They’re not going to get away with this. I’m not going to let them intimidate me.”

“I wouldn’t advise that,” I said.

“But why?”

“For one thing, I think the police would be highly skeptical of your story. For another thing, we have to hold out hope that Marjorie is still alive. If the police decide to investigate your story, then Amber and her beau may kill her. She can identify them; it’s as simple as that.”

“Then I’ll find the money. I’ll beg, borrow or steal it if I have to.”

“In all likelihood they’ll still kill her, you must realize that.”

“Are we going to bug the phones?” Lucy said.

“We’ll do that, but it’ll be of limited use,” I said.

“Why? If they call again it’ll prove Chuck’s story.”

“No it won’t, I’m afraid. I can almost hear the prosecutor’s voice: ‘And, members of the jury, not only did the defendant commit this heinous crime, he even fabricated phone calls, no doubt using an accomplice, to make it look like he was being blackmailed by the real murderer’.”

“What am I going to do?” Chuck said, wearily.

“Get all the locks changed. And make sure you keep your car locked in the garage. I want you to inspect each room and the garage to make sure nothing has been planted ― like something with blood on it. And look for a jacket with a missing button. It’s almost certain they’ve taken some clothing or something they can bury along with the body to implicate you in the homicide, if it comes to that.”

“So if I refuse to pay you think they’ll really kill her?”

“Like I said, she can identify them. They may figure they’ve got no choice. I can’t say how likely it is that they’ll take that course; only that it’s a possibility.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Lucy and I are going to go home to pack; there’s no time to lose. We’re going to Hope.”

Chapter Seventeen

Hope Springs Eternal

“If Chuck had come clean with Marjorie about his first marriage none of this would have happened,” Lucy said, as we drove home.

“Yeah,” I said.

“What a tangled web we weave, when first we practice to deceive,” she said.

“Sir Walter Scott,” I said.

“What?”

“Sir Walter Scott. His poem, Marmion; that’s where the quote comes from.”

“I thought my dad made it up,” she said. “That’s what he used to say to my brother and me if he caught us lying about something when we were little.”

“Maybe your father’s read Marmion,” I said.

“My father doesn’t even read the newspaper,” she said, “except the sports pages and the funnies.”

“I like your dad,” I said; “he’s got his priorities right.”

We were facing a long drive, so we decided to leave as soon as Lucy had packed for both of us. Hope was a small town in Maine about thirty miles east of Springfield; but I wasn’t about to set out on a six-hour drive without doing some research first. I went online to check the local telephone directory for Hope. It was a town of less than six hundred people, so I figured it wouldn’t be difficult to find Sandy Griffiths. After all, it wasn’t that common of a name. However, I drew a blank, which was discouraging. I called Chuck.

“I can’t find a Sandy Griffiths in Hope, Chuck. What was her maiden name?”

“Stancer,” he said, and I offered up a silent prayer of thanks that it wasn’t Smith, or something. “And Sandy was only a nickname. Her given name was Sandra.”

I went back to the computer, and there she was. We were all set to go. I called Chuck again.

“I’ve found her. We’re going to drive up there this afternoon. If either Amber or her friend call again just stall; tell them you’ll get the money but it’ll take a couple of days at least. Ask if you can talk to Marjorie; just so you know she’s okay.”

“Okay; good luck,” he said. “And thanks.”

*

“I think it’s unlikely that Amber’s mother knows what she’s been up to,” I said, as we set off on our journey; “so if we’re discreet in our inquiries we should be able to find Amber’s whereabouts from her mother, and also information about her boyfriend, or husband, or whatever. Then it shouldn’t be too difficult to locate them.”

“I hope you’re right.”

“Hope springs eternal,” I said.

“Huh?”

“Hope springs eternal in the human breast,” I said. “It’s from a poem, by Alexander Pope. It means it’s human nature to be optimistic. And it was a pun, too ― because the town’s called Hope.”

“Yeah,” Lucy said. “I get it. What are we going to tell Amber’s mom?”

“We’ll tell her we’ve been hired by her father to locate her so he can fund her college education or something; as a means of making amends for abandoning her all those years ago. I’ll tell her it’s to be a surprise, so she’s not to say anything to Amber about it.”

“I guess that might work,” she said.

We stopped for the night at a motel about halfway between Springfield and Hope. I called Chuck to see if there’d been any further contact from either Amber or the guy we knew only as Alan Warren.

“There’s been no further contact so far,” he said, “and I’ve done a thorough search of the house. I found the jacket with the missing button, but I don’t think anything else has been interfered with.”

I told Chuck how I planned to play it with Sandra.

“I don’t know what kind of reception you’re going to get,” he said.

“We’ll have to play it by ear,” I said.

*

It was nine o’clock in the morning when we located Sandra’s house and knocked on the door. There was no response.

“Maybe she’s gone to work already,” Lucy said.

We drove the short distance into town and found a small coffee shop. The portly lady behind the counter was wearing a light blue gingham dress, a dark blue apron and a welcoming smile in a round, jolly face. We ordered coffee and donuts and sat at a small table by the window. When she brought over our order I spoke to her.

“We’re just passing through,” I said. “We were hoping to see Sandy Stancer, but there doesn’t seem to be anyone at home.”

“Oh, I’m sorry; you haven’t heard? Sandy passed away in February; breast cancer. It was tough on her, those last few weeks.”

My heart sank. “We’re so sorry to hear that. We’ve been out of touch for a while,” I said.

“Maybe you could stop by and see Amber,” she said. “She’s still reeling from the loss; I’m sure she’d be pleased to see you though.”

“Do you know where we can find her?” I said.

“Oh, she’s still at the house, but…” she looked at her watch, “she works pretty late over at Misty’s, so I doubt she’ll be up and about just yet.”

“Misty’s?”

“It’s a bar at the end of the street. Closes late; you seldom see Amber before midday.”

“Like I said, we’ve been out of touch for a while. Did I hear Amber got married?” I said.

“No, she’s still single,” she said. She smiled. “But I reckon she’ll be able to take her pick when she’s ready.”

We walked back to the car and drove back to the motel.

“Maybe it’s our lucky day,” I said. “It’s a shame about Sandy, but I wasn’t expecting it to be so easy to locate Amber.”

“You don’t think they’ve got her in the house, do you? Marjorie, I mean.”

“It’s a thought. We’ll head back around twelve and check things out. I wonder who the guy is. Maybe they’re holding her someplace else.”

We drove back into town at eleven thirty and parked down the street a bit; close enough to keep an eye on the house. At twelve, I took my gun out of the glovebox and tucked it in my waistband.

“Just a precaution,” I said. “We don’t know what we’re going to find in there.”

I knocked on the door and we waited anxiously for a few minutes before we heard sounds of movement in the hall. A small, slight, but very pretty girl answered the door. She had very straight, shoulder-length chestnut hair tucked behind each ear, small features, and slate-colored eyes. I guessed she was in her late teens or early twenties; it was difficult to tell.

“Hi, can I help you?” she said. “I’m sorry, I work kinda late; I was just eating my breakfast.”

“We’re looking for Amber,” I said.

“I’m Amber,” she said. “Who are you?”

Chapter Eighteen

The Girl in the Motel

“So who the hell was the girl in the motel?” Lucy said.

“Nobody’s going to be as surprised as Chuck,” I said. “I need to give him a call.”

I called Chuck as soon as we got back to the motel.

“Hi Chuck, it’s Kane. How is everything?”

“The guy called again this morning, early. I did like you told me. He said he’d give me until tomorrow night. He wouldn’t let me talk to Marjorie. He just laughed and hung up.”

“You sitting down, Chuck? I’ve got some interesting news for you. The girl you met in the motel isn’t your daughter.”

“What do you mean?”

“Listen. We’ve just met your daughter. She hasn’t been out of Hope in months. Anyway, she looks nothing like the woman Marjorie described when she met with Dick Hampton ― he’s the detective she hired to follow you. She told him the girl her friend had seen you with had Wavy auburn hair and was about five-seven. The Amber we’ve just met has chestnut hair and she’s only about five three. You’ve been duped.”

There was silence for a while. “I just took it for granted that she was who she said she was,” he said. “Looking back, I guess that was kind of dumb.”

“Well, it must be a relief to know that your daughter isn’t the bad-ass you believed her to be. She’s a lovely girl, Chuck. You’d be proud.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“The problem is, though, that this is something of a set-back. Now we have no idea who the girl is who’s blackmailing you, still less who the guy is that’s calling you up. Anyway, we’re packing up. We’ll call in and see you as soon as we get back.”

Lucy packed our bag and we went over to the reception and handed back the key to the desk clerk.

“We’re checking out,” I said. But something was niggling me. Of, course, I thought; how could I be so stupid?

“We’re staying an extra night,” I said to the desk clerk

“We are?” Lucy said. “Why?”

“We’ve got work to do,” I said.

We went back to the room and Lucy unpacked the bag again while I called Chuck.

“Change of plan,” I said. “We’re staying here another night. Whoever the mystery girl is, she knows things that only somebody from Hope would know,” I said; “somebody close to Amber; somebody about the same age ─ a classmate, maybe. I need you to concentrate. Give me a detailed description of the girl you met. Everything you can remember. I’m going to call again in fifteen minutes to give you time to think, okay?”

“I didn’t think of that,” Lucy said.

“You would have, I’m sure. It’s pretty obvious; I must be slipping.”

“So it’s not a wasted journey after all,” she said.

“I hope not,” I said, stressing the word hope.

“Another of your puns, I suppose,” Lucy said.

We drove back to Hope. I called Amber on the way, in case she was going out. She’d given me her cell when we spoke to her earlier.

“It’s me again, Amber. We need to talk some more. There’s something important I think you can help us with.”

“Okay, sure. Have you eaten lunch yet? I can fix you both something if you like.”

“We’d like that very much; thanks.”

*

We sat around the dining table. The dishes had been cleared away and the tabletop was now strewn with photographs from Amber’s schooldays. It took little more than a few minutes to home in on Amber’s alter ego.

“That’s her, I’m sure,” I said. “She fits your dad’s description to a T. Now what can you tell us about her?”

“Her name’s Stacy,” she said. “Stacy Greenwood. But that’s not her name now, I guess. She got married last year.”

“Do you know who she married?”

“Some guy from out of state. I don’t know his family name, I’m afraid, only that he’s called Josh, and he’s a bit older than her. It was Josh this, Josh that. Stacy and I both worked at Misty’s when we left high school. She couldn’t wait to get out of this ‘hick town’, as she called it. But I never saw him; I don’t think he came here. I really don’t know how they met, or anything.”

“What kind of girl is she?”

“Oh, well…I don’t want to talk badly of her…”

“Amber, she’s blackmailing your father and she’s kidnapped his wife. You can talk about her as badly as you want to,” I said.

She colored slightly and used her fingers to brush back hair that had fallen over her eyes as she leaned over the table.

“She’s kind of wild, I guess. Not academically bright. She liked to hang out with the guys mostly ― the kind that were always getting in trouble of one kind or another. It’s like she craved that kind of excitement, or maybe it was her way of showing off. We didn’t have much in common. Her older brothers run the local scrapyard. They’re a bit wild too.”

“You know them?”

“Not really. I mean they often come in the bar, and they get a bit rowdy sometimes.”

“How about Stacy? Has she ever been in any trouble herself? With the police, I mean.”

“Not that I ever heard about; and I guess I would have ― this is a pretty small town.”

“I want you to do us a favor, Amber. I want you to find out from her brothers what her married name is. I don’t want to question them myself. If they know a private investigator’s looking for her they’re liable to clam up or tip her off. But I need to know her married name and where she’s living. Can you find that out for me?”

“I can try. But they may be curious about why I want to know. Like I said, we weren’t friends before.”

“Why don’t you tell them that you’ve been going through some old photographs from your schooldays and you found some nice pictures of their sister? Tell them you’d like to mail them to her. Something like that.”

“Okay, but they’re going to think it’s kind of strange if I go to where they work just to tell them that. It’ll be better if I could tell them when they come to the bar. You know, like a casual conversation.”

“How often do they come to the bar?”

“Quite often ─ but not regularly; I don’t know whether they’ll be there today.”

“Lucy and I have to get back to Boston. How about we leave it to you? Do your best when you have an opportunity; and if you find out what we need to know you can call me.”

“Okay, I’ll try.”

“Good girl.”

“Do you have a picture of my dad?” Amber said. “I’ve never seen one. My mom threw all his stuff out after he left and she never talked about him.”

“As a matter of fact I do,” I said.

I took out the two pictures I’d taken from Chuck’s living room and handed them to her. I’d left the frames empty, and I’d meant to return them to him, but in all the excitement I’d forgotten.

“Hmmm,” she said, looking at the photographs. “We’ve got the same eyes.”

I looked at her again, and smiled.

“Yes,” I said. “You do.”

*

We drove back to the motel. It was after three, but we needed to get back to Boston. Lucy packed our bag again and we went back to the reception to check out.

“You sure you don’t want to take a few minutes to think about this?” the desk clerk said, laconically. “I wouldn’t want you to make any hasty decisions.”

“Well, that’s much appreciated,” I said, as I picked up our bag and headed for the door. “And if I had the time I’d personally commend you to the management for your consideration.”

“All part of the service, Sir,” he said cheekily. “You come back again and visit us real soon, y’hear?”

As we drove towards Springfield on our way back to the interstate I looked at my watch. It was almost four, so we wouldn’t have time to see Chuck tonight. It didn’t matter; he’d be sure to call if anything significant happened. I looked in the mirror and noticed I was being tailgated by a black pickup. I hate that; I can never see the point of it. Did the driver want me to go faster? The road was otherwise deserted. I slowed right down to encourage the pickup to overtake me; and it did. Or at least it started to. But, as he drew alongside me, the driver hurled the pickup sharply towards my door, slamming into the Chevy. I hit the brakes hard. The car swerved to the right, skewed off the road and stopped, hovering on the edge of a steep embankment. The pickup didn’t stop. Luckily we were both belted up.

“You okay?” I said to Lucy.

“Geez! is that what they do for amusement in this part of the world?” she said. “I’m okay; just a bit shaken up.”

I put the car in reverse and backed onto the road.

“If I hadn’t slowed right down we’d be at the bottom of the embankment,” I said. I tried to open my door, but it wouldn’t budge.

“Okay, hop out; let’s see what we’re dealing with here." Lucy climbed out and I slid over to the passenger side and got out too. My door and the front wing were a mess, and the front tire was flat.

“Is it still drivable?” Lucy said.

“I think so. It’s just superficial damage, fortunately; but I’ll have to change the front tire.”

“What do you think all that was about?” Lucy said.

“Somebody doesn’t like us very much, I guess. Or they don’t like the fact that we’ve been asking questions in Hope.”

“But who could possibly know that?” Lucy said. “The only people we spoke to were the lady in the coffee shop and Amber.”

“That’s a good point. And since we can be confident that neither of those two was involved, it can only mean one thing.”

“Which is?”

“Somebody’s been watching us,” I said. “Somebody knew we were there to ask questions. Probably they had my registration.”

“But how?”

“It wouldn’t be that difficult. If someone’s been watching Chuck’s house they’d know. It would only take a phone call.”

I took out my cell phone and called Amber.

“Hi Amber. Look, I’ve had a change of plan. I don’t want you to talk to Stacy’s brothers, okay. Maybe, you can ask around town. I’m sure somebody will know where Stacey is; but I don’t think it’s a good idea to approach the brothers.”

“Why? Has something happened?”

“No, nothing’s happened; I just changed my mind about the best way to approach this, okay? Without the risk of making her brothers suspicious.”

“Okay.”

“I want you to promise me.”

“I won’t; I promise. I’ll think of another way to find out.”

“You’re a good girl, Amber. Thanks.” I hung up.

“So you think it was one of Stacey’s brothers?”

“It seems most likely, don’t you think? There’s just a chance that my dash camera caught the registration; I’ll check it when we get back.”

“Are you going to make a report?”

“If we involve the police we’re going to be here for the rest of the day,” I said.

“It was a pretty stupid thing for them to do,” Lucy said. “Now we can be sure we’re on the right track.”

I walked back and opened the trunk. “I’ll change the tire,” I said.

Twenty minutes later we climbed back into what was left of the Chevy, and I fired her up.

“It could be worse,” I said.

Lucy stared out of her window at the steep embankment less than ten feet away. “It could’ve been a lot worse.”

“Let’s go home,” I said.

Chapter Nineteen

Josh

“So what’s next?” Lucy said, as we recommenced our homeward journey. “Where do we go from here?”

“Call the insurers and get this little baby to the body shop.”

“No, I mean the case.”

“Oh, that?” I said. “We have to find Marjorie.”

“Any ideas?”

“If Amber can find out Stacy’s married name, there’s a good chance we can find out where they live. She may even be able to find out their address. If not, we may have to pretend to agree to the ransom and flush them out that way.”

“Chuck said he’s only got until tomorrow to pay up.”

“I wouldn’t worry too much about that. If Chuck gets arrested again and charged with Marjorie’s abduction or homicide they can kiss the ransom goodbye,” I said. “Unless he makes bail; but I don’t think they’d want to count on that.”

“So you think he’ll be able to stall a bit longer?”

“I’m sure of it. They’re just kids, Lucy and they’re in over their heads. They haven’t thought things through properly. They couldn’t possibly have known that Marjorie would show up at the motel, so the plan to abduct her must have been made on the spur of the moment. Succeeding in obtaining a ransom for a kidnap victim is a difficult stunt to pull off, believe me. Providing she’s unharmed, we’ll get her back; and we sure as hell won’t be handing over any money.”

“There wouldn’t be any reason for them to harm Marjorie, would there?”

“I doubt it. Provided they haven’t taken her out of the state, or used violence against her, they may not face too heavy a penalty when they’re caught. The maximum in Massachusetts is ten years; but for a first offense it’s likely to be a lot less than that,” I said. “Maybe even probation for Stacy if she flutters her eyelashes at the judge. But if they harm her or threaten her with violence the penalty’s likely to go through the roof; and if they kill her it’s life. I doubt they’re that stupid.”

“So you’re optimistic that this is going to have a happy ending?”

“I’m a lot more optimistic now we know who’s responsible. That, and the fact that we know this wasn’t a carefully planned kidnapping. But that doesn’t mean we can ignore the possibility that they might harm, or even kill her. People are unpredictable, and they’re especially unpredictable when they panic, so we’ll have to tread carefully.”

“Why would they panic? They seem to be holding all the cards.”

“The longer this goes on, the more they’re going to worry about the outcome. When that happens, there’s likely to be dissent between Stacy and Josh as to what to do, how to play it. Judging by what happened this afternoon, they already know we’re trying to find Marjorie, and that’s an added complication for them; and they won’t know how the police investigation’s going, so they’ll be getting nervous. Every time they see a police car they’ll start getting those butterflies in the stomach. That’s when the arguments are going to start. I know this from experience. And I also know, from experience, that when that happens things may well take a turn for the worse.”

“So we need to find them sooner rather than later, I guess. Let’s hope Amber’s able to find out Josh’s name.”

“If she does, then our best bet is to check with the police to see if he’s got any priors. If he does, then tracking him down shouldn’t be much of a problem.”

“Couldn’t we just do an internet search?”

“It depends. If the name isn’t too common it may be possible, but we’d need to have an address to narrow the possibilities. If we don’t have an address, or even a state, then it’s like looking for a needle in a haystack. We don’t have time for that.”

“So we may have to agree to the ransom as a means of flushing them out?”

“Let’s give Amber a reasonable amount of time first; say 48 hours. I have a feeling she’s a pretty resourceful girl. I think she’ll pull it off.”

“And you think there’s a chance that Josh might’ve been in trouble with the law before?”

“For a guy to engage in a kidnapping for ransom it wouldn’t surprise me if he’d been involved in some kind of trouble before this. I’d be willing to bet the whole thing was his idea.”

*

It was after midnight when I finally crawled into bed. I lay there thinking about Amber for a while, and about what we’d learned from her. I didn’t like the sound of Stacy Greenwood. I’d met girls like her countless times over the years; girls that are attracted to bad boys and easily manipulated by them. I didn’t want to alarm Chuck ― or Lucy for that matter ― but we knew nothing about Josh. He might even be some kind of psychopath for all I knew. As long as there was even a slight risk that Marjorie might come to some harm we’d have to tread very carefully indeed.

Chapter Twenty

The Exchange

Chuck was anxious to see us as soon as possible, so we had an early breakfast ― well, early for Lucy, but normal for me ― and headed straight over there. I paid close attention to whether anyone was watching Chuck’s house, but the road outside was deserted.

“So you really met Amber,” he said. “I can’t believe it; was she…”

“She’s a lovely girl, Chuck. And you can rest assured, she is your daughter.” I handed him a photograph of Amber which she’d given me. He gazed at it in wonder.

“You can see the resemblance, can’t you?” I said.

“This is all such a shock,” he said. “And Sandy. Did you...?”

“I’m afraid Sandy passed away, Chuck; In February ─ from breast cancer. Fortunately, Amber was still living in the same house.”

“I’ll fetch some coffee. Make yourselves at home, and then you can tell me all about your trip.”

“We made a lot of progress,” I said, when Chuck came back with the coffee. “I want you to look at this photograph.” I handed him a photograph of Stacy.

He looked at the picture, and nodded. “Who is she?” he said.

“She was a classmate of Amber’s. Her name’s Stacy Greenwood. But she’s no longer living in Hope ― and she’s married. We don’t know her married name, but we’re hoping to find out. Amber’s going to ask around.”

“And her husband? I guess he’s the guy who’s been calling me.”

“His name’s Josh. He wasn’t a local man and Amber never saw him. He’s a bit older than Stacy. That’s all we know about him so far.”

“And you’ve no idea where they live?”

“Not yet. We’re working on it. All I can say is that it’s unlikely they’ve taken Marjorie out of the state. If they did that, the kidnapping would become a federal offense, and they’d have the FBI looking for them.”

“Anyway, I guess they’ll need to stay nearby,” he said, “so they can collect the ransom.”

“We found out something else,” I said. “They know that Lucy and I have been hired by you to help find Marjorie. They must have got my registration and found out who I was. They passed that information to someone in Hope ― Stacy’s brother, or brothers, we think. They tried to run us off the road after we left town yesterday.”

“God; are you okay?”

“We are, but the Chevy’s looking a bit worse for wear. I guess they tipped off the brothers in case we went to Hope to do some snooping around. It’s a small town, and we didn’t know we were being watched. It wouldn’t have been difficult for them, or their friends, to have spotted us.”

Chuck frowned. “So Stacy will know the charade’s over,” he said. “That we know she’s not my daughter.”

“Yes; they may not know that we’ve identified Stacy or that we know about Josh; but they’ll know we’ve found the real Amber.”

“You don’t think Amber’s in any danger, do you?”

“I warned her not to go near Stacy’s brothers. To make discreet inquiries about Stacy’s married name and maybe where she and Josh are living. She’s a smart girl; I don’t think she’ll do anything to put herself in harm’s way. If there’s the slightest indication of that she’ll let me know.”

“So, what’s next?”

“We wait. See if Amber can find out some more about the two of them.”

“And if she can’t?”

“I don’t think you’re in any danger; and probably Marjorie isn’t either ― at this stage. In fact, I think she’s safer now than she was before we went to Hope.”

“How’s that?” Chuck said.

“The main reason that kidnap victims sometimes get killed is because their captor or captors are afraid the victim can identify them. Now we know who they are, murdering the victim isn’t going to help them.”

“But they don’t know that we know their identities,” Lucy said.

“That’s true,” I said. “The only thing we can be sure of is that they know we’ve located the real Amber. But they must realize there’s at least a chance that we do know; it’s too much of a chance to risk a homicide. They want money. They don’t want to be the subject of a manhunt.”

“Or womanhunt,” Lucy said.

I cleared my throat, noisily, in response, and raised my eyebrows at her.

“And they won’t want you taken into custody again, Chuck; that would blow the whole plan. If we can’t find out where they are then we may have to go along with the ransom demand as a means of drawing them into the open. I assume you’ve had no further contact since we spoke yesterday.”

“No, not yet; but they said I’ve only got until tonight to find the money.”

“I suggest we stall for a while longer; give some time for Amber to find out their name at least. If I can find out Josh’s name, then there’s a good chance I can find him.”

“But what if they won’t wait any longer? I won’t put Marjorie’s safety at risk.”

“It’s the money they want, Chuck. If they think they’re going to get it, they won’t mind waiting an extra day or two. I’ve a lot of experience with this kind of case. When Josh calls again, tell him you need another couple of days. Tell him you’ll get the money. And ask him how he wants to make the exchange.”

“The exchange?”

“The one thing you have to insist on is that they don’t get the money until you’re sure that Marjorie’s safe; and you’re sure that after the drop they’re going to keep their side of the bargain, and release her unharmed.”

“How can we do that? I told you, I can’t find that kind of money. If I turn up with a bag full of newspaper or something they’re not going to release her.”

“You’re going to have to insist on a simultaneous exchange. Tell them they’ll get the money only if Marjorie is released at the same time. And you can leave it to me to get the money,” I said.

“So you mean we meet at some kind of rendezvous and make the exchange. I can’t see them agreeing to that. It’d be too easy for us to arrange a trap; and they’ll know that, won’t they? Especially since they know you’re involved,” he said.

“I agree they’ll be wary of that kind of arrangement, but we’ll come up with something that will reassure them that we can’t double-cross them in that way. I know how to do that, don’t worry. If it comes to it, I’ll tell you the plan in detail. In the meantime, let’s hope Amber gets lucky.”

Chuck leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. He sighed deeply, and when he opened them again, he said, “Does she hate me for what I did?”

“She doesn’t hate you Chuck. She’s old enough, mature enough and intelligent enough to understand. Sandy didn’t hate you either. Amber told us her mother moved on with her life. Although she barely mentioned you to Amber, she said enough for Amber to know that she held no grudge against you. She wanted me to tell you that.”

“Do you think she’ll agree to see me?” he said. “When this is all over?”

“I’d put money on it,” I said.

Chapter Twenty One

The Mugshot

We arranged to meet again in the late afternoon. Josh had told Chuck that he’d call again at six o’clock to arrange for the drop. I wanted to be there when the call came through. I had it in mind to take the call myself. There’d be no harm in that, since he already knew that I was on the case. I was toying with the idea that I just might be able to persuade them to see sense. If I made it clear that we knew who they were, we might just reach a compromise. It wasn’t an idea I relished, but Marjorie’s safety was paramount. If Marjorie was safe and unharmed, perhaps the best way of dealing with the matter now was to offer the pair of them a way out. If they released Marjorie we wouldn’t call the cops.

If they were intelligent people they’d probably accept that the game was up and play along. It would leave a nasty taste in my mouth but, in real life, kidnappings didn’t always have happy endings, and the outcome was always difficult to predict.

But there was something I hadn’t mentioned to Chuck. We couldn’t be sure that Marjorie was unharmed, or even still alive. I’d had a salutary lesson a few years earlier. A fourteen-year-old girl had been kidnapped, and a ransom demanded. The kidnapper was caught when he attempted to collect the ransom, but the girl had been murdered within hours of her abduction. It turned out that the real motive for the abduction was sexual assault, and the kidnapper had no hesitation in killing her when he’d satisfied himself. The murderer was the girl’s own maternal uncle, and his attempt to obtain a ransom was clearly an afterthought. Nothing anybody could have done would have altered the tragic outcome of that case.

All these thoughts were trickling through my mind as Lucy and I made our way home, but I kept my thoughts to myself. Like me, Lucy’s an optimist, and I didn’t want to burden her with anything that might dampen her spirits. A positive attitude is vital for a good detective.

Investigations are like hiking in the hills. I call them hills of optimism, or hills of hope. But there are valleys of gloom too, which have to be traversed, and sometimes those valleys are the valleys of the shadow of death. Sometimes, no sooner have you reached a summit than you suddenly descend into a trough of pessimism. So you should never be complacent. Complacency breeds carelessness. I needed to find out who Josh was; to assess what I might be up against. It was too easy to dismiss the kidnappers as amateurs at this stage; we had to keep our wits about us ― to try to anticipate and analyze every possible scenario so that we could prepare ourselves for potential problems or difficulties that might arise.

As we neared home my cell rang. I dug it out of my pocket and handed it to Lucy.

“Oh, hi Amber,” she said. “You have? Awesome. Hall; H-A-L-L, right? Did you manage to get an address?” Lucy listened for a minute or two, and then said, “It’s okay, never mind. That may be enough.” Lucy glanced at me for a moment, before continuing. “Amber, we don’t want you to ask any more people. Try not to attract attention to yourself. We’ll let you know if we need you to do anything else, okay? We already have. Thanks, Amber; we’ll be in touch.”

“Her married name’s Hall,” Lucy said as she hung up. “But I expect you got that.”

“Hmm. Rather a common name. No address, huh?”

“Only that she’s pretty sure he’s from Massachusetts. That should narrow the search a bit.”

“How does she know that?”

“Her friend saw them together once. His car had Mass license plates. But she can’t remember what kind of car it was; and obviously she can’t recall the number.”

“It may be enough; anything else?”

“She just asked when we were going to see her dad. I told her we’d seen him already.”

We pulled up in my driveway and both went inside.

“Why don’t you fix us some coffee,” I said. “I’m going to give Will a call.”

Will Bryan was a sergeant detective I knew. He’d help me out, and wouldn’t ask me the reason why.

“Hi Will; yes, it’s me,” I said. “Yeah, that’s right,” I said. “You didn’t think I was calling you up for a date, did you? The name’s Hall; Josh Hall. Early to mid-twenties. Massachusetts, yeah. Thanks, Will, I owe you one.”

“Now we wait,” I said. “Will said he’d try and get back to me before lunchtime.”

While we were waiting I decided to call Oliver, to see if there’d been any movement on the police investigation.

“You must be psychic,” he said. “I was about to call you. How’s your investigation going?”

"We’re making some progress,” I said. “We think we know who the kidnappers are; now all we need to do is find them.”

“How did you find that out? The police haven’t made any headway; well, not much, anyway. They’ve discovered that the car Marjorie was driving when she went to the motel was a rental. The guy from the rental company says it was rented by Marjorie on the morning of the day she went missing, but it wasn’t returned to them. There’s no sign of the car and the police are studying various traffic cams to see if they can spot it. That’s going to take some time. But obviously the police are focusing on Chuck, now that they know that both he and Marjorie were at the motel on that afternoon, and that Chuck was at the motel when Marjorie was last seen. Did you get him to tell you why he was there that day?”

“Yes, we did. And I’m satisfied he had nothing to do with Marjorie’s disappearance. Unfortunately, that’s all I can tell you. He’s insisting that I keep what he told me confidential, which is his right. After all, he’s my client.”

“Sure. I understand; but if you have evidence that Chuck wasn’t involved, shouldn’t you take it to the police now? The way things are looking it’ll only be a matter of time before they pick him up again.”

“It’s not as simple as that. Most of what I know is what Chuck himself has told me. From my inquiries I’m satisfied what he’s told me checks out, but it wouldn’t be enough for the police. They’d want something more concrete, and I don’t want the police following my leads anyway. That would potentially put Marjorie in more danger than she’s in already. I’m sorry; I can’t be more specific than that without breaking my promise to Chuck.”

“Okay. I’m sure you know best. I’ll let you know if I hear anything more.”

I hate waiting for phone calls, so I suggested to Lucy that we go out to a local restaurant for lunch. We decided on the Mexican place, which was only a five-minute drive. We used Lucy’s car. I’d had enough of climbing over the passenger seat to get into mine. Lucy popped into the office on the way to make sure it was still there. It was; and so was Brenda. No, there wasn’t a herd of potential clients beating a path to our door, she said.

“I told her about the Chevy,” Lucy said. “I didn’t have time to tell her all about it, but she’s going to arrange for the repairs. She’s got the insurers details.”

“I don’t want it repaired just yet” I said, signaling to the waiter.

“Why?”

“I haven’t checked the Dash Cam yet. It may have caught the registration of the truck that hit us; and there’ll be paint on the Chevy that can be tested to see if it matches Stacy’s brothers’ vehicle.”

“I was thinking…”

“Yes?”

“...that this would be a good time to get my new car. We keep putting it off, and if yours is going to be off the road for a while…”

“If we need another vehicle one of us can use the bike,” I said.

Lucy looked crestfallen. “You’re not serious, are you?” she said.

“No, I was just kidding,” I said, grinning at her. “How about after lunch we stroll down to the dealership on Planting.”

“Wow; great. What’s my budget?”

“There’s no fixed budget; but nothing new, and nothing flashy. We’ll choose something with low mileage, and a low profile. It’s for work, remember? So it has to be…”

“Something that doesn’t stick out like a sore thumb?”

“I couldn’t have put it better myself,” I said. And then my cell rang. It was Will Bryan.

“This could be your guy,” he said. “Joshua Philip Hall. Twenty-four. Couple of assault charges as a juvenile. DUI.”

“Can you fax me a mugshot? And his last known address?”

“Okay. Give me thirty minutes.”

“The car will have to wait, Lucy,” I said. “I’m sorry.”

“I knew it was too good to be true,” she said.

“This could be our guy. Let’s eat lunch and then we’ll go get the picture.”

I called Chuck when we got home. I told him there was a good chance we’d found Josh.

“I’m going to see if the desk clerk at the motel can identify him; then I’ll use the internet to try to locate him,” I said.

“Come on,” I said to Lucy, “It’s time to go see Jimmy again.”

Chapter Twenty Two

Jimmy Again

“Hi Jimmy, you remember me?” I said.

Jimmy closed one eye and squinted. Then he opened his eye again and looked approvingly at Lucy.

“I remember the lady,” he said.

“I bet you do,” I said.

“Hey; you’re the guys who were asking about the guy in room…”

“204,” I said.

“I already told you, I don’t have much recollection about that guy.”

“I want you to look at another photograph,” I said. “See if it jogs your memory.”

He shrugged. “Okay,” he said.

I handed him Joshua Hall’s mugshot. He stared at it for a while.

“He looks kinda familiar,” he said.

“Do you think he could be the guy who rented room 204?”

He thought about it for a moment; then he took another look at the picture.

“I guess so.”

“Jimmy,” I said, “you’re a star.”

“Wow, thanks.”

I leaned over the desk and tucked a twenty into his top pocket.

“Gee, thanks again,” he said.

“You see,” Lucy said, as we headed back to the car, “if you’re nice to people you get results.”

I made a face at her.

“Now we’ve got a tangible piece of evidence to give to the cops. I think it’s worth thinking about, don’t you?”

“It’s good enough for us,” I said. “But it wouldn’t pass muster with the cops. It’s too vague. ‘I think’ and ‘I guess so’ wouldn’t be good enough for a courtroom either. And anyway, suppose we could prove that he rented the room? And suppose the police established that it was Stacy in room 204 on the day that Marjorie disappeared? There’s still no evidence that they were involved in Marjorie’s abduction. And it wouldn’t absolve Chuck from suspicion either. Remember, he was there too on that day, and he wasn’t exactly forthcoming about that when he reported Marjorie lost. But more importantly, if Stacy and Josh find out the police are after them I wouldn’t give much for Marjorie’s chances of survival. She’s the only one who could positively prove that they were responsible. They could kill her and bury her along with something they seized from Chuck’s house ― a button, or a thread from his clothes. For all we know, they’ve planted evidence in Marjorie’s rental car to forensically link Chuck to her disappearance. Chuck’s protestations of innocence and his claim to have been blackmailed by someone he thought was his daughter would be ridiculed by the prosecution.”

“Do you really think they’d go to those lengths to implicate Chuck?”

“You’re darn right, I do. If the chips were down I believe they might well. I’m not willing to take a chance on it.”

“But although we know who’s responsible, we’re no nearer finding out where they are or where Marjorie is.”

“The only address on the police file was seven years ago. Probably he was still living with his parents then; now he’s married that’s not going to help, but we’ve got enough to make an online search. I figure it won’t be too hard to find his address, especially as we have a former address for him.”

“So things are looking up,” Lucy said.

“People move about,” I said. “This isn’t some kind of suburban couple we’re looking for; there’s no guarantee they will have stayed put at the same address for long. Unless they’re really dumb, I imagine they’ll have taken steps to cover their tracks, don’t you?"

“But at least it’s a start. If we get the address, we can get Tony to watch the place. We’ve got Josh’s photograph.”

Tony Scipio and his wife, June, were freelance surveillance experts I used, mainly for insurance work.

“Okay; let’s get home and see what we can find out.” I looked at my watch. It was three o’clock, and I wanted to be at Chuck’s place by five-thirty at the latest.

*

I found Joshua Hall’s address without difficulty. That was the good news. It was in Northampton, at least a couple of hours away. That wasn’t such good news.

“There’s no way we’ve got time to check out that address before five-thirty,” I said. “It’s at least a ninety-minute drive from here; maybe more.”

I called Tony on his cell.

“Hi boss,” he said chirpily.

“You got anything on right now, Tony?”

“I’m on a routine surveillance job for Madison’s,” he said.

Madison’s was a small insurance outfit who usually handled their own surveillance work.

“I’ve got an urgent job; any way you can take a few hours off?”

“June’s got nothing. I can get her to take over for a while.”

“I need you to get over to Northampton. And I need to get a photograph to you.”

“Can you send the photograph to my cell?”

“Okay. What time do you think you can get there? I need you there before six if you can make it.”

“It’s gonna be tight, but I’ll do my best.”

I gave Tony the address, and delegated Lucy to send the photograph. She scanned it and attached the image to Tony’s email.

“You remember that caper you pulled a couple of months ago? Where you dressed up as a postal worker or something and pretended you had a special delivery? Maybe you could try that. I need to know if the guy’s living at that address. It may be a wasted journey; there may not be anyone home. But you could check with the neighbors. Even if he’s not there, and he probably won’t be, you should be able to find out whether he’s still living at that address. Call me as soon as you have anything. I may need you to stay there overnight.”

Almost as soon as I hung up my cell rang. It was Oliver.

“They’ve got the result from the blood pattern expert,” he said. “It’s not good. There was a trace of epidermis on the door jamb. That, and the blood spatter pattern, suggests a violent direct impact. The file’s gone to the DA. What with that and the Beeches thing, it may be only a matter of time before they re-arrest and charge Chuck.”

Chapter Twenty Three

The Wrong Guy

“Have you told Chuck the news?”

“Not yet; I thought I’d tell you first. I don’t want him to do anything crazy. And I know he’s got a bad heart. It’d be better if you could get over there and break the news to him yourself. For God’s sake tell him to stay put and not to do anything foolish.”

“We’re on our way. We’ve got a meeting arranged anyway at five thirty. Don’t worry. We may have this thing licked before the police are ready to make their next move,” I said.

“How are you going to handle it?” Lucy said as we drove to Chuck’s place.

“We’ve got three options, as I see it. Option one is to call their bluff. Tell them there’s no way Chuck can raise the money and the game’s run its course. We tell Josh we know who they both are and they’d better release Marjorie pronto or they’ll have the police knocking at their door.”

“You think that’ll work?”

“Maybe; if they’ve got any sense. But if we spook them like that they may just decide to cut and run ─ and there’s no guarantee they won’t kill Marjorie first. Even though we know who they are, there’s no tangible evidence they were involved in her abduction. They may want to keep it that way.”

“What’s option two?”

“I can try to persuade them to free Marjorie in return for a promise that we won’t go to the cops.”

“And let them get away with it?”

“I agree it’s not a perfect solution, but it’s probably the one with the least degree of risk. But it has two serious flaws.”

“Which are?”

“We could give them an assurance on behalf of Chuck. He’d probably agree, if he thought it was the best chance of ensuring that no harm came to Marjorie and the best chance of his not being falsely implicated in connection with her disappearance ― or worse. But we can’t give an assurance on behalf of Marjorie; and they’ll realize that. But it’s still a possibility; if they could get Marjorie to agree as well.”

“What’s the other flaw?”

“They probably still think they can get the money.”

“What’s the last option, then?”

“To appear to go along with their demand and take our chances that we can outsmart them.”

We drove on in silence for a while.

“How are we going to decide which option to take?” Lucy said, after a while.

“Lucy, we have to face the fact that they may have disposed of Marjorie already. We can’t ignore that possibility.”

“It’s not likely, is it? Why put themselves at risk of being punished for a capital offense? It’s not worth it.”

“They may not think there is a risk. Maybe they’re confident that they can make sure Chuck takes the rap.”

Lucy shivered. “What are we going to tell Chuck?”

“I’m not going to tell him about the blood pattern analysis just yet; he’s got enough to worry about. We’ll try option two first. See what their reaction is. If option two doesn’t work, it’ll have to be option three.”

We pulled up in Chuck’s driveway and he let us in. It was just after five-thirty. I explained option two to him, and why I thought it best. He nodded throughout.

“Whatever you think,” he said.

Six o’clock came and went, without a call.

“Maybe they’ve split,” Chuck said. “Maybe they know we’re onto them and they got cold feet.”

“I think it’s more likely that it’s another exercise in control,” I said. “They want you to sweat it out. They think it’ll make you more vulnerable.”

But as it neared seven o’clock I began to wonder. There was no news from Tony. He ought to have had time to get there by now. Then suddenly my cell phone rang.

“Mr. Kane,” a man’s voice said; “has your client got the money ready?”

“Hi Josh,” I said. “We’ve been waiting for your call. What kept you?”

There was a lengthy pause; then the voice said, “You got the money, or not?”

“Josh, the game’s up; you must realize that. You want the cops breathing down your necks for the rest of your life? Release Marjorie, unharmed, and we can pretend none of this ever happened; how about it?”

The voice laughed. “No deal,” it said. “I’m gonna call you back in one hour. If you don’t have the cash ready by then, your client’s going to be a widower. You think I’m kidding? Try me. Oh, and the price just went up. It’s a hundred and fifty.” The phone went dead.

“So much for option two,” I said. And then I almost jumped out of my skin as my cell phone rang again. It was Tony.

“You’re right on the money, boss. This is where Mr. Hall lives alright.”

“You sure?”

“Sure I’m sure,” he said. “I just spoke to him.”

“On the phone?” I said.

“No; he was home.”

“The guy in the photo?”

“Same guy.”

“Talk me through it,” I said.

“Well, I ditched the courier thing. I didn’t have time to go home and dress up; and anyway, I figured that if the guy was home it wouldn’t work since I didn’t have no package to deliver. So I got to the place and rang the doorbell of the house next door. I asked for Josh and the guy there said, “You got the wrong house bud, he lives next door.”

“So then I waited outside in the car wondering how to play it. After a while I saw a blue Ford draw up outside the house and the guy in the photograph gets out. He opened the trunk and was taking out some groceries. So I walked over there said I was looking for a Mike Smith and asked if maybe he could help. And he said ‘there’s no Mike Smith here’ and he told me to scram. Then he went into the house.”

“When was this?”

“Just now; like a minute ago. I called you right away.”

“From the time he drew up outside the house until he went inside. How long was that?”

“Maybe two or three minutes.”

“Thanks Tony. You okay to stick around there for a bit?”

“Sure; no problem,” he said, before hanging the phone.

I looked at Lucy, and then at Chuck.

“We got the wrong guy,” I said.

Chapter Twenty Four

Back to Square One

“What do you mean?” Lucy said.

“Whoever I spoke to just now on the phone, it wasn’t Josh. At the exact same time I was speaking to him on the phone, Tony was talking to Josh outside his house in Northampton.”

“But Jimmy recognized him. He was the guy in room 204. And there’s no doubt that Stacy was the girl.”

“Maybe he was the guy who rented the motel room; or maybe Jimmy was just trying to please me. Maybe he thought if he said he recognized the guy it’d get me off his back.”

“But we know the girl’s Stacy. And we know she’s married to Josh. It has to be them.”

“Does it? We’ve been making too many assumptions, I’m afraid. We know Stacy tried to extort money from Chuck by pretending to be his daughter, and we know Marjorie went there that afternoon. And maybe Josh was the guy who rented the motel room where that little charade was played out. But it doesn’t necessarily follow that they were the ones who kidnapped Marjorie. For all we know, they gave up after Marjorie went there and decided their scheme wasn’t going to work. Or maybe Marjorie didn’t even meet Stacy. Maybe when Chuck walked out they just quit. Maybe that’s why they checked out early.”

“But why would Stacy’s brothers try to run us off the road?”

I sighed, heavily. “Probably because they knew what their sister had been up to and she told them that if anyone came snooping around they were to frighten them off. It doesn’t prove anything.”

“But how would they have known we were there to investigate Stacy?” Lucy said.

“Strangers from out of town, in a car with Mass license plates, asking questions about Sandy Stancer and visiting her daughter? They contact the MVD, say they’re checking the registered owner of a vehicle involved in an accident. They run my plates and find out my occupation. It’s not exactly rocket science, is it?”

“So we’re right back at square one,” Chuck said. “We don’t have a clue who kidnapped Marjorie, or where they are.”

“No. And we’ve no reason anymore to think anyone else is involved other than the guy who just called, whoever he is. I’m sorry Chuck; I’ve let you down,” I said.

“I can’t believe it. So now we have no option left, except option three,” Lucy said.

“What’s option three?” Chuck said.

“We’ll have to pretend to accede to his demands and figure out a way to outsmart him,” I said. “At least we’ve got a little more time to play with; he’s upped the ante now, and he wants a hundred and fifty grand. He knows we’ll need more time to put that together; so when he calls back I’ll tell him we’ll get the money, but we need another day or two.”

The guy called back an hour later.

“Okay, we’ll get the money,” I said. “Give us until the day after tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” he said, and hung up.

“There’s nothing more we can do tonight,” I said. “I need to get home and do some real hard thinking. I have to tell you, Chuck; they’ve completed the blood pattern analysis and the expert’s apparently of the view that the blood was shed due to a violent blow of some kind. There’s no easy way to tell you this, but Oliver thinks that together with the evidence that you were at motel with Stacy the day Marjorie disappeared it’s likely that the police may be about to re-arrest you. But listen; there may be something we can do about that now.”

“How do you mean?” Chuck said.

“I want to use your computer before we go. We’ll scan Stacy’s picture and send it to Tony ― he’s the guy who just called; the guy I sent to Josh’s place. If Stacy and Josh are in the clear, as far as the kidnapping’s concerned, then Stacy’s an important alibi witness for you. We’ll need to find her. Explain there are no hard feelings on your part about her trying to put the squeeze on you and ask for her help to clear you of any suspicion of complicity in Marjorie’s disappearance.”

“But is that going to help?” he said. “What about the blood in the kitchen? Won’t the theory be that we had a fight because of me being spotted with Stacy, and I killed her; either by accident or intentionally?”

“Maybe; but if the blood’s the only piece of evidence the case against you is as thin as graphene. No one can say when that blood was spilled. A competent attorney shouldn’t have too much trouble if that’s all there is.”

We sent a copy of Stacy’s photograph to Tony and I told him to keep an eye open for her. If she was there, I’d need to get over to see her; to persuade her to come clean and support Chuck’s explanation of why he was at the motel on the day of Marjorie’s disappearance. We were in a somber mood as we headed home.

“We’ve got to clear our heads of everything that’s happened so far,” I said. “We’ve got to start with a clean slate.”

“Kane, you don’t think Chuck’s been playing us for a pair of suckers, do you?” Lucy said. “If we’re going to start with a clean slate, don’t you think we should consider that possibility again? In the light of what we know now?”

“Okay; fire away,” I said.

“Let’s begin with the assumption that what Chuck just said about the police theory is what really happened. That Marjorie came home after seeing Chuck with a woman at the motel and there was some kind of fight. Say Chuck really did kill Marjorie, and then used the rest of the night to clean up and take the body to some far away location. Say a heavily wooded area where she might remain undiscovered for eons, if at all. He dumps the rental car somewhere remote too, which is why the police haven’t found it. Maybe Marjorie’s inside the red car at the bottom of a reservoir. Then, when he became a suspect in her disappearance, he worried that the police might find some evidence that implicates him in her disappearance; so he devised this plan to fabricate the story about a kidnapper and blackmailer as a means of laying the foundation of his defense. He strings us along to add credence to his story. He digs the hole in the back yard and then shows it to us, and he makes up the story about the mysterious guy who calls him and demands a ransom.”

“Okay, I’m listening.”

“He may be telling the truth about Stacy trying to extort money from him and believing she really was his daughter. But that’s just background. What is there to corroborate anything else he’s told us?”

“Well, there’s the guy on the phone who I talked to tonight. But I accept that he could be in cahoots with Chuck. And there’s the hole in the yard, but he could easily have dug that himself.”

“Exactly; it may be that he kind of blended the truth with fiction for our benefit. He makes up a story which leads us to think that Stacy is the real culprit, never thinking that we’ll be able to trace her. But when we do, and then we locate Josh, he has to think of a new culprit. He’d know that it would only be a matter of time before we discovered that they weren’t responsible. And he gets his accomplice to call you, instead of calling Chuck, to add weight to his story. Before that, we only had his word for the fact that he’d received threats and a ransom demand. But if you take the call it becomes more convincing. And how would the caller have your cell, unless Chuck told him?”

“Maybe he called Brenda at the office, posing as a potential client, and said he needed to talk to me urgently.”

“Hmm, okay,” she said, “but if I’m right, all Chuck has to do now is to tell his accomplice not to call again. We’ll assume the blackmailer has got cold feet and has backed off. You remember, he even used that term, ‘cold feet’. Maybe he’s set the whole thing up.”

I had to admit, it was a plausible analysis of the events that had occurred over the past few days. I couldn’t, for the moment, think of any flaw in Lucy’s reasoning; except one, which Lucy was about to demolish.

“But if he is charged with Marjorie’s homicide,” I said, “none of this is going to help him. We would only be able to testify about what he told us ― and the prosecutor would point out that it’s self-serving nonsense. It’s all hearsay; except the phone call this evening and, as you say, that could easily be dismissed as a hoax call by an accomplice, and the hole he could have dug himself. So Chuck would have gone to all this trouble to string us along, but it wouldn’t help him if he was charged.”

“We know that” Lucy said, “but maybe he doesn’t. He’s not a lawyer.”

I dropped Lucy off at her place and walked home. I needed more than a bit of inspiration. I went into the kitchen and pulled a bottle of JD out of the cupboard. It had been lying there for a few weeks now, undisturbed. I poured myself three fingers and went out onto the porch. It was time to exercise the little gray cells.

Chapter Twenty Five

The Team

Lucy was round at my place unusually early. She came with an armful of groceries.

“I’m cooking you a special breakfast this morning,” she announced, as she walked through the door. “An extra spicy chorizo and jalapeno omelet. It’ll blow your head off.”

My head was gently throbbing, and I hadn’t had a lot of sleep. I’d turned in at a little after two, but I hadn’t fallen asleep for a while, and my somewhat inconsiderate body clock had woken me up at six as usual.

“I’m not sure I’m ready for anything just yet,” I said.

“Nonsense; this is just what you need when you have a challenging day ahead,” she said, as something of an understatement.

“Okay, bring it on. What makes you so chirpy?” I said.

“I don’t know. Maybe it’s because, one way or another, this case will be over by the end of the day. I slept like a log. What did you think of my comprehensive assessment of the investigation last night?”

“I think if you were the prosecutor Chuck would be dead in the water,” I said. In spite of my reticence, the smell of Lucy’s breakfast was making me feel hungry.

“But do you think I’m right?”

“You may be,” I said. “Only time will tell. If the mystery man fails to call there won’t be anything more we can do anyway. We’ve exhausted all avenues of inquiry.”

“Did you hear back from Tony?”

“No. So I guess he hasn’t seen Stacy yet. I was thinking of maybe driving over there and talking to Josh; but then I guess it’s better to see how things pan out tonight first. If you’re right, and the whole thing has been an elaborate ruse by Chuck, there won’t be much point in approaching him anyway. But if you’re wrong, and the mystery guy does call, and it turns out he really is the kidnapper, we have to have what you usually refer to as ‘a plan of action’,” I said.

“Which is?” she said, placing the steaming omelet on the table in front of me.

“To make sure Marjorie’s safe and to try to make a citizen’s arrest of the kidnapper, whoever he may be.”

“Whoever he is,” Lucy said, “not ‘whoever he may be’. You sound like a pirate.”

I dug into the omelet with my fork.

“Not yet,” Lucy said. “It’s too hot. You’ll burn your mouth.”

“You’re being unusually bossy this morning,” I said. “Not that it’s unusual for you to be bossy: but you’re being even more bossy than usual.”

“We should have a bet,” she said. “If I’m right, and the guy doesn’t call, I get to be a partner instead of a lowly assistant.”

“And what do I get if you’re wrong?”

She thought for a moment and then shrugged her shoulders. “The satisfaction of knowing that I was wrong,” she said.

“Doesn’t sound like much of a bet to me,” I said.

“It’s not really a plan, though, is it?” she said. “Making sure that Marjorie’s safe and trying to arrest the culprit is more like a statement of intention than a plan.”

“I can’t make a plan until I know what the proposed circumstances of the handover are likely to be; if there’s to be a handover.”

“Well, if there is a kidnapper, he can’t expect us to hand over the money and then tell us where to find Marjorie. And he’s not likely to free Marjorie before he gets the money; so there has to be a handover; an exchange.”

“Let’s wait and see,” I said.

“What happens if Chuck’s arrested today? What’ll we do then?” she said.

“Lucy, is all this a prelude to you telling me your plan?”

“I think we should involve the police. You and I can wear a tracking device and the police can keep tabs on us ― from a distance; but not too great a distance that they can’t get to us in a hurry if the need arises.”

“And how would we set this up, exactly? Contact Donaldson and tell him we’re not sure if there’s a kidnapper or not; that it may be that Chuck’s been stringing us along. And tell him why we think that?”

“Yes, I see your point,” Lucy said. “Back to the drawing board, then.”

“Sometimes you have to be flexible. React to whatever is thrown at you, rather than having a specific plan,” I said. “I think this is such a situation. But I want to make one thing clear ― whatever happens, you’re not coming to the scene of any handover. It’s too risky.”

Lucy put down her fork and stared at me. “But we’re a team. Of course I’ll be there.”

“You’re my assistant. I’ll decide what role you’re to play. I’m not putting you in any potential danger, and that’s that.”

“Because I’m a woman? Is that it? I thought I knew you better than that.”

“It’s not because you’re a woman,” I lied. “It’s because I can’t watch your back and mine at the same time; and you’re not as experienced as I am. It’s too risky for you to be involved.”

“But I want to be involved, don’t you see? I didn’t join you as your assistant to be just dead weight. You remember when that guy slugged you, and I found you unconscious on the bathroom floor with your face in a pool of water? You might’ve drowned if I hadn’t been there; you even said so. You were happy enough to have me around then.”

Lucy hung her head. “And if I was a guy you’d let me be there, whatever you say.”

“Hey,” I said.

She looked up again and I was astonished to see tears in her eyes.

I reached over and took her hand. “Okay,” I said. “You can come. I’m sorry; you know I only want to keep you out of harm’s way.”

“I know that. But I can look after myself. And I can look after you, too,” she said. She got up, came around the table and stood behind me. She put her arms round my neck.

“Come on,” I said. “We’ve got a long day ahead of us. Why don’t you go get yourself ready?”

Chapter Twenty Six

My Box of Tricks

I called Tony during the morning.

“No sign of the lady, boss. The guy came out about eleven. I wasn’t sure whether to tail him or not, but on balance I thought it would be better; there was no sign of anyone else in the house. So I followed him to a pool hall. He’s still there now, but like I said, no sign of the lady.”

“Okay, there’s no point in sticking around there any longer so you might as well head back. Thanks for helping out.”

“Sure, boss; no problem,” he said, “always a pleasure.”

I was about to hang up when he added, “Um, things have been a little slack lately. I was wondering…”

“Call in at the office on your way home,” I said. “I’ll leave Brenda a check for you.”

Nothing much happened for the rest of the morning. It was like the calm before the storm. I checked my dashboard camera, but it hadn’t captured the registration of the pickup. I dropped by the office to sign a check for Tony and to make sure Brenda was still breathing. I called Chuck and told him we’d be there by late afternoon. He had nothing to report. He’d heard nothing from the police. It had been agreed that they would communicate directly with his attorney.

Lucy spent the morning meticulously preparing an oriental delight for our lunch, and her kitchen was suffused with the aroma of spices. She’d recovered her usual cheerfulness, and when I dropped by to see how it was going, I found her humming to herself.

“What’s the tune?” I said. “It sounds familiar.”

“It’s from that Monty Python movie, Life of Brian; ‘Always look on the bright side of life’,” she said, and started singing it to me and sashaying around the kitchen.

“Sounds like good advice,” I said, dipping my finger in a bowl of chili that was cooling on the counter, and popping it into my mouth.

“Are you taking the gun with you?”

“Nope.”

“The other guy will. If there is another guy,” she said.

“And no doubt he’ll point it at me and ask me if I’m armed; and if I am he’ll disarm me; and he might not give it back.”

“There is that,” she said, “unless you hide it in your shoe, like Maxwell Smart.”

“That was a telephone, Lucy, not a gun. I prefer to use my wits rather than a weapon. I’ll be disarming,” I said.

“You could give it to me, and I could hide in the trunk,” Lucy said. “Then I could spring out and surprise him.”

“Like in the movies?” I said.

“Maybe we should’ve called Duncan,” she said.

“I can’t go running to my big brother every time there’s a problem. He’s taught me a few moves over the years.”

“Like the one you showed me?” she said, demonstrating a wildly exaggerated karate kata.

“Maybe you should behave like Cato in those Pink Panther movies you like so much,” I said. “Launching surprise attacks on me all the time, to keep me on my toes.”

Lucy feigned a karate kick at me and let out a ‘hiya!’ “Like that?” she said.

“Or then again, maybe not,” I said.

“Right, scoot,” she said, “and let me get on with the cooking.”

I scooted. I walked back to my place, went into the bedroom and opened the closet. It was time to access my little box of tricks. And they really were like a magician’s props in a way. There were dummy pistols, including a menacing-looking Glock. There were various props to enable me to affect a quick disguise if the need arose. And then there was the safe. That’s where I kept my tracking devices, phone-tapping equipment, and what looked like a kid’s chemistry set; only it wasn’t for kids.

But it was none of these things that I was interested right then. I twiddled the knob on the safe door until it clicked softly and the door swung open noiselessly. I stood there for a moment or two in anticipation, rubbing the palms of my hands together.

“Time to get some of you big boys out, and put you to work” I said to myself.

On the top shelf of the safe, neatly bundled, like they’d come fresh from the bank, was close to half a million dollars in counterfeit one hundred dollar bills. They were the spoils of a counterfeiting case I’d been involved in about five years before. There were tens of millions-worth of counterfeit bills in the factory, and I figured nobody was going to miss a few stacks, so I helped myself to some of them before I tipped off the cops. Kind of like the spoils of war, I told myself at the time. They were intended to be used in just such an emergency as this. Each of the bundles consisted of one hundred $100 bills, wrapped in clear plastic. I looked at them affectionately, Ben Franklin’s face peering out at me through the plastic. I winked at him and he stared impassively back at me. “No disrespect intended,” I said.

I pulled out a briefcase and placed fifteen of the neat rectangular bundles inside. Similar notes had swamped the northeast coastal cities for several months before anyone noticed; they were that good. And they were to serve two purposes tonight.

First, I didn’t have a hundred and fifty grand, and neither, apparently, did Chuck. The first thing we were going to be asked to do was prove we had the money; it was no good going empty-handed. And second, the overriding aim was to get Marjorie released. I wasn’t planning to engage in any heroics. Her abductor wouldn’t get far, or for long, if he was trying to spend counterfeit one hundred dollar bills. Since these bills and the counterfeiting equipment had been seized, the Treasury had made significant steps in the fight against counterfeiting, by introducing additional security features on the bills. Every major store now had equipment that would expose these notes as fakes.

I locked the safe and carried the briefcase with me to Lucy’s place. Lucy already knew about my stash of fake bills, because one rainy Sunday we’d busted open a few packets and used the money to play Monopoly.

“I’m all set to go,” I said. “When’s lunch?”

“A couple more minutes. What time are we going to Chuck’s?”

“Unless he calls, I told him we’d be over about five. I guess the kidnapper won’t want to meet with us until after dark.”

“Then we can watch a movie after lunch; to relax us; a kidnapping movie, to get us in the mood.”

Lucy thought Fargo would be particularly apt because it involved a husband who was complicit in his own wife’s kidnapping; but we’d watched that only a couple of months before, so we settled on a movie called Taken, which at least I hadn’t seen.

“Okay, let’s have lunch first.” I placed the briefcase on the dining table, flipped the catches and opened the lid. “What do you think?” I said.

“Looks good enough to eat,” she said, as we sat down for lunch.

“How do you think it’s likely to play out tonight?” she said. “Assuming there really is a kidnapper.”

“I guess we’ll meet in some isolated place of his choosing. He’ll bring Marjorie, if she’s still alive, and we’ll bring the cash. I’ll show him the cash and then he’ll hand over Marjorie. Then I’ll give him the cash, he’ll skedaddle, and we’ll take Marjorie home.”

“Suppose he doesn’t have Marjorie, and he tries to take the money anyway?”

“Well, that’s more complicated, because he’s the only one who’d know where Marjorie is ― or what’s left of Marjorie. But don’t worry, I’ve thought of that.”

I opened the briefcase again and slid it across to her side of the table.

“Take a look,” I said. “Tell me if you can see anything unusual about the case.”

Lucy had a look at the briefcase, inside and out. She took out some of the bundles of notes and carefully inspected the bottom. Then she ran her fingers around the outside.

“It looks like a perfectly normal briefcase,” she said. “Why?”

I pulled the case towards me a bit and turned it sideways, with the lid still open.

“If you look carefully, you’ll notice that the lid is a bit thicker than it ought to be. Inside the lid is a powerful tracking device. When it’s fully charged it will emit a signal for at least 48 hours; maybe longer. I charged it this morning.”

“Wow, cool.”

“Even better than Maxwell Smart’s shoe telephone, huh?” I said.

“Even better than that exploding briefcase that James Bond uses,” she said, “or that pen he’s got that fires high velocity bullets.”

“And as a double precaution I’ve got another tracking device; a magnetic one that we’ll need to fix to his car.”

“Sweet.”

“It’s not foolproof. He might ditch the car; swap vehicles after he makes his getaway. He might even ditch the briefcase, although I think that’s less likely. Ideally it would be better if we could prevent him getting away at all, but if he’s armed, which I’m sure he will be, or if he has an accomplice with him, that’s probably not an option.”

“Couldn’t we have the police standing by ― at a discreet distance?” she said. “Just in case?”

“It wouldn’t work, Lucy. Even if I could persuade someone to come, which I probably couldn’t anyway, we’d risk blowing the whole thing. If the guy’s got any brains, and I think it’s best to assume he has, he’ll be keeping a close watch on us. He’s unlikely to simply give us a location to meet; he’ll probably give us directions over the phone while we’re driving. And it’s likely that he’ll let us drive past the intended rendezvous while he keeps a watch to make sure that no-one’s following us. If he’s satisfied we’re on our own, he’ll instruct us to double-back to where he’s waiting.”

“How do you know all this?”

“I don’t know any of it; it’s just an educated guess. It’s the way I’d play it if I was a kidnapper,” I said.

We cleared away the dishes and settled down to watch how Liam Neeson deals with bad guys.

“He was pretty good,” I said to Lucy, when the movie finished, “but he didn’t have a briefcase with a tracking device in it.”

“Or an attractive and resourceful assistant,” Lucy said.

It was still a little early, but we decided to head over to Chuck’s place anyway. On the way, Lucy had one of her thoughts.

“I just thought of something,” she said. “Suppose the guy insists that Chuck goes alone to the rendezvous. What then?”

“We’ll have to tell him it’s not an option. I’m not going to let him dictate everything. He wants the money; if he makes that a condition I’ll hang up on him. He’ll agree.”

But, as luck would have it, the matter was taken out of our hands; and the kidnapper’s. As we approached Chuck’s house we could see an ambulance in the driveway, and two paramedics were wheeling a gurney out of the house.

Chuck was on the gurney.

Chapter Twenty Seven

A Welcome Distraction

“What happened?” I said to one of the medics as they wheeled Chuck towards the ambulance.

“He called about forty minutes ago; complained of pain in his left arm and tightness in his chest. He was sitting in the living room when we arrived, but he was pale and sweating. We gave him a clot-busting shot as a precaution, and the oxygen will help.”

Chuck lifted his right arm and moved the oxygen mask so he could speak. “I’m sorry, Kane. The keys are in the kitchen.”

And with that they lifted the gurney into the ambulance and drove away. We went into the kitchen and found the keys.

“I’ll make some coffee,” Lucy said. “And then, I guess, we’ll just sit here and wait.”

We took our coffee into the living room. Lucy switched on the TV and I looked around to try to find something to read. Lucy had asked which hospital he was being taken to and I called after about an hour to inquire how he was. “Comfortable,” they said.

“I guess this simplifies matters,” I said to Lucy. “Now he’ll have to deal with us. We’ll wait until we get the call, or until midnight if we don’t get a call.”

The next three hours dragged by. I occasionally glanced at the phone, as if willing it to ring. At eight Lucy went to the kitchen to make us a sandwich. We ate our sandwiches and drank more coffee, as nine o’clock came and went. And then the phone rang.

“You got the money?” the voice said.

“Yeah. Is Marjorie safe?”

“She’s okay.”

“Can I talk to her?”

He let out a short, mirthless laugh. “No. You’ll have to take my word for it.”

“Where’s the handover going to take place?” I said.

“Just tell Chuck to get in the car and drive,” he said. “I’ll give him directions over the phone. Oh, and I’ve got someone watching the house, so no funny stuff, okay?”

I doubted he had someone watching the house, but it wasn’t important. “Chuck’s not coming,” I said. “I am.”

“No deal. Chuck comes; and he comes alone.”

“Chuck’s in the hospital,” I said. “If you don’t believe me, I’ll give you the number and you can call them. If you want your money, you’ll have to get it from me.”

“What’s the number?” he said.

I gave him the hospital number and he hung up. After a few minutes he was back on the line.

“Okay, get in your car and drive. I’ll call you in five.” He hung up again.

“Let’s go,” I said to Lucy.

We started the car and waited at the end of Chuck’s driveway. After a couple of minutes, he called.

“Drive north,” he said. “Get onto route 5 and I’ll call again in fifteen minutes.”

We started to drive. After fifteen minutes he called again.

“Where are you?” he said. I told him.

“Take the next exit and head south.”

We followed the instruction and waited for the next call. It came less than five minutes later.

“Where are you now?” I told him.

“Next exit and head north again,” he said.

This was the pattern for the next hour, until we ended up about an hour’s drive northwest of the city.

Finally, we were directed down a track into a wooded area about a half mile from the road. We were told to keep driving until we saw a gray Ford sedan. It wasn’t difficult to spot, even though it was dark; the sky lit only by a half moon. Its headlamps were full on. When we were about a hundred yards from the Ford my cell rang.

“Stop there, and stay on the line.”

The Ford was facing towards us but, because of the glare from the headlamps, it was impossible to see who, if anybody, was in the car.

“Switch off the ignition and step out of the car,” he said.

Lucy and I got out of the car and stood there, next to each other. A guy got out of the Ford and stood by the driver’s door.

“Is the money in the briefcase?” he said.

I lifted the briefcase in front of me, by way of reply.

“Give it to the lady and tell her to bring it to me.”

“The lady stays here,” I said.

There was silence.

“Look,” I said. “You’ve been watching too many movies, pal. We’ll bring the suitcase over to you. I guess you’re armed. What are you scared of?”

“Okay; slowly,” he said.

We walked towards him; towards the Ford. When we were about forty feet away, he said,” Okay, stop there.” We stopped.

“Now put the briefcase on the ground,” he said. “The lady stays there and you walk slowly towards me with your hands in the air.”

As I walked towards him I could finally see he was a guy in his mid-twenties; about six one or two and slim build. He had a beanie pulled down over his ears. As I approached him he waved a pistol at me and told me to stop. He came over and patted me down.

“Take off your coat,” he said.

He walked around me and continued to pat me down until he was satisfied I wasn’t armed.

“Okay,” he called over to Lucy. “Bring me the briefcase.”

Lucy picked up the case and walked towards us. I tried to see into the Ford, but I wasn’t near enough to see whether there was anyone inside.

When Lucy was about twenty feet away from us, she stopped.

“I said to bring it here,” he said.

“I heard you; I’m not deaf,” she said, “and I’m not stupid either. Where’s Marjorie?”

“Bring the case here, dammit,” he said.

“Where’s Marjorie?” she said.

“Looks like a Mexican stand-off,” I said.

“Listen, you bitch,” he said, “I’m calling the shots here. If you…”

Something inside me snapped. I brought my left arm down in a swift arc and slammed my forearm into his right forearm as hard as I could. At the same time, I dropped my right arm, and when it reached shoulder height I launched a straight right at his face, with every ounce of strength I had in me. My knuckles connected with the point of his chin, with a slight crunching sound. I saw his eyes glaze over, and roll upwards, as he slumped onto his knees and then fell forward onto the ground. I leaned down and turned him over. He didn’t move. I picked up the gun, which had fallen a few feet from his prone body.

“Lucy, go get the cuffs out of the glove box,” I said.

When she came back I cuffed his hands behind his back. He was out cold.

“That was quite a punch,” she said.

“I hope it hurt him as much as it hurt me,” I said, shaking my hand. “I think I may have broken my knuckles.”

“Let me take a look,” she said.

“No; I’m okay,” I said. I walked over and looked inside the Ford.

It was empty.

*

I opened the driver’s door. The keys were still in the ignition. I went round and opened the trunk. Apart from the spare, that was empty too.

“What do we do now?” Lucy said. “I guess we could torture him.”

I grinned at her. “That was a work of genius,” I said. “All I needed was for him to be distracted for a moment.”

“I was pissed,” Lucy said. “Who the hell does he think he is?”

“Let’s find out,” I said. I went through his pockets and found his driver’s license. I stared at it for a moment, before making the connection. “Well, well,” I said.

“What?”

“You want to guess who he is?” I said.

“Show me,” she said. She looked at the license. “Lee Greenwood. He must be…”

“One of Stacy’s brothers, I guess.”

“So that’s why they ran us off the road. It must’ve been the other brother. But where’s Marjorie? Oh God, they must have killed her,” she said.

“Maybe not; Marjorie’s not the only one missing,” I said.

Lucy looked at me. “You mean…?”

“Maybe if we find Stacy, we’ll find Marjorie too.”

“We’ll have to make him talk,” Lucy said.

“That may not be necessary,” I said.

“Why?”

“The Ford’s got GPS. Let’s press the ‘go home’ button and see what happens.”

With Lucy’s help I laid Greenwood on his back on the rear seat of the Ford. He was still sleeping it off, but as an added precaution I used my belt to tie his legs together at the ankles. Then I followed the directions from the GPS as Lucy followed behind in her jalopy. Our journey took us back towards Boston, and after about twelve miles we found ourselves in a tree-lined cul-de-sac of about a dozen houses.

We didn’t have to wait long to find out which one Stacy was at. I drove slowly to the end of the street and, as I turned to come back, a door opened she stepped out and hastily walked over to the car. She must have been waiting at the window, worrying about why she hadn’t heard from her brother. She was almost at the car door before she realized he wasn’t the driver. I stopped the car and got out.

“Hi, Stacy,” I said. “As you can see, your brother’s sleeping it off,” I said. “Now, do you want to tell us where Marjorie is?”

She sighed, and ran her fingers through her hair. “She’s okay; I wouldn’t have let any harm come to her,” she said.

She turned, and Lucy and I followed her into the house.

Chapter Twenty Eight

The Visitor

“Shouldn’t we be getting some kind of special discount by now?” I said.

It was three days since Marjorie’s dramatic rescue, and we were once again lunching in Jimmy’s Kitchen with Oliver.

“I can do better than that,” Oliver said. “The meal’s on me, as a small way of saying thanks.”

“I’m not sure you ought to be saying thank you,” Lucy said. “You’ve lost a client because of us.”

“Don’t worry, there’s plenty more fish in the sea,” Oliver said. “So, now it’s all over are you going to spill the beans? Who was the girl in room 204, and why was Chuck so reluctant to tell me about it?”

“Our lips are sealed, I’m afraid; client confidentiality,” I said. “In the unlikely event that there’s a trial, it will no doubt be splashed all over the Globe, otherwise it will have to remain a mystery.”

“How did you discover who the kidnappers were? I guess that bit’s not confidential,” he said.

“We didn’t know that until we went to pay the ransom. I thought I’d worked it out earlier, but we were barking up the wrong tree.”

“And how did you get the drop on the kidnapper?”

“Lucy distracted him, and I thumped him,” I said. “I think I maybe hit him a little too hard. His jaw was broken, and I thought my knuckles were too. I’ve been using my right wrist on the steering wheel for the last couple of days, and eating with my left hand.”

“So it was a real bit of teamwork, huh, Lucy?” Oliver said.

“Well, that’s what we are; a team. Right, Kane?” she said, digging me in the ribs.

“I have to admit, Lucy was quite an asset,” I said. “Without her assistance the story might have had a very different ending. You see, the guy ― Lee Greenwood ― didn’t bring Marjorie to where the handover was supposed to take place. I had a tracking device concealed in the briefcase where we’d put some phony bills, so if he got away I’d hopefully be able to track him later; but we still wouldn’t have known where Marjorie was, and there was always the chance that after he and his accomplice had gotten the money they might have disposed of Marjorie to prevent her from identifying them.”

“So it was only after you slugged him that you found out who he was; and who his accomplice was too?”

“Yeah, and once we knew his identity, the whole thing started to make sense. Fortunately, Marjorie was being held quite close by, and we were able to surprise the accomplice, who was Lee’s sister, Stacy. Of course, she swore that there was never any intention to harm Marjorie, but then she would say that, wouldn’t she?”

“But Marjorie hadn’t been harmed up to that point. That must have been a relief,” Oliver said.

“She hadn’t been physically harmed, but she’d been abducted at gun point and gagged and tied up. And she was held for a substantial period of time, not knowing what her fate was going to be. I strongly recommended her to see a professional counselor, and I hope she’ll take my advice. Post-traumatic stress is always a possibility in cases like these. The initial relief of being freed can conceal underlying psychological problems which may occur later. Anyone who’s been in a situation like that is well-advised to have a psychological evaluation, and they may need treatment.”

“And the red Mazda? You found that too.”

“Yes, it was in the garage where Marjorie was being held,” I said.

I couldn’t tell Oliver the whole story without breaching Chuck’s confidence. After Marjorie was abducted at gunpoint, they moved her to an adjacent room at the motel. The new room was rented by Stacy, under a false name. And there they stayed, until Lee rented the house where we eventually found her. So both Marjorie and the red Mazda actually remained at the motel for another couple of days ― until the Thursday; the day she was reported missing.

I guess Stacy initially believed that she would have no difficulty in extracting a ransom from Chuck. Since Chuck believed that she was his daughter, and since Chuck would not have wanted the fact of his bigamous marriage to be discovered by the police, she probably thought it unlikely that Chuck would report the matter. But by the time they had Marjorie safely concealed in the house, events had overtaken them. Chuck had reported her missing, and shortly afterwards he was arrested because of the discovery of Marjorie’s blood.

That mystery was solved by Marjorie herself. After her first husband’s death, a combination of stress and fatigue resulted in her fainting in the kitchen. She fell and struck her head on the door jamb. She wasn’t badly hurt and, when she recovered, she mopped up the blood with a rag and put the bloody rag on the garage workbench, before later disposing of it.

“I’m pleased to hear that Chuck’s on the mend,” Oliver said.

“Yes; luckily it wasn’t serious; although it might have been if he hadn’t been hospitalized so quickly. The doctor told us that it was a psychosomatic heart attack, brought on by stress. They’re keeping him in for a day or two longer for observation; Marjorie insisted. Actually, Lucy and I are going to see him after lunch. We’ve got something for him.”

“You said something earlier about Stacy’s husband. That he was also picked up by the police in connection with their inquiries,” Oliver said.

“Yes, that’s right,” Lucy said. “But it turned out that he knew nothing about the kidnapping. He and Stacy had split within weeks of their marriage and he’d returned to his home town. They’re still married, but I guess he has pretty good grounds for a divorce now. What do you think Oliver?”

“I’m strictly a criminal attorney Lucy. Divorce is a much too ugly area to be involved in, as far as I’m concerned.”

“Hey, Oliver, have you heard this one?” Lucy said. “There’s this lawyer who dies and goes to heaven. I know it’s a little unlikely that he’d go there, but stay with me. So the lawyer says to Saint Peter, ‘There must be some mistake’…

*

The afternoon sun was shining as Lucy and I climbed the short flight of steps to the hospital entrance. We hadn’t seen Chuck since Marjorie’s release. After our visit to the police station, on the night of the rescue, we’d driven Marjorie home and spent the night with her at her house. She was unharmed, and declined to go for a medical. She told us the details about her kidnapping and, on the day following her rescue, I drove her to the station and she made a lengthy statement to the police.

We told Marjorie about everything that had occurred since her abduction, and I decided to break the promise I’d made to Chuck not to tell anyone about his marriage and his daughter. Sometimes promises need to be broken, and I was sure he’d appreciate that.

“It would have been such a simple thing to have dealt with, if Chuck had told me all this before we were married. It wouldn’t have mattered to me, and a divorce based on years of separation would have been a formality,” she said.

She wasn’t bitter, and she didn’t blame Chuck for her ordeal. After all, he could never have anticipated what would happen. After the visit to the police station Lucy and I drove her to the hospital, where Chuck was making a good recovery; but we didn’t go inside ─ they needed some time on their own.

Chuck was in a private room at the hospital and looked better than I’d seen him look since we first met him. Naturally, he wanted to know a little more about the rescue.

“As it turned out,” I said, “after you were hospitalized, Lee Greenwood had no option but to deal with us; so it’s an ill wind that blows nobody any good. If you hadn’t been taken to the hospital that afternoon things might have worked out quite differently.”

“The nurse said you’ll be going home tomorrow,” Lucy said. “How are things with Marjorie?”

“I’m a lucky guy,” he said. “She wouldn’t hear a word of apology from me. She said it was no good living in the past, and we should concentrate on our future together. She’s booked a vacation for us; and we’re going to get quietly remarried. We’re both looking forward to it very much. When you think you’ve lost someone, it hits home just how much you miss them.”

“It was a great relief that she wasn’t physically harmed in any way during her ordeal,” I said, “but she’s going to need to see a specialist for an assessment. Not all injuries are physical ones. I’ve given her that advice already, but I hope you’ll see she follows up on it.”

“Thanks, I will. And it’s good of you to come here to tell me about that.”

“Actually, that’s not why we came,” Lucy said. “We have something for you.”

Lucy walked over and opened the door, and a small, slight and very pretty girl came in. She stood there, just inside the door, and gazed at him through her slate-gray eyes.

Chuck stared at her in amazement. “Amber?”

She smiled. “Hello dad,” she said.

***

For other books in the Mark Kane Mysteries series, please read on…

A Word from the Author

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The Mark Kane Mysteries Series

A short synopsis of each book in the series appears on the next few pages.

Feedback from my readers is important to me, so if you have any suggestions, comments or observations about any of the books in this series please contact me.

John Hemmings

June 2016

Book One: Forget Me Not

A devoted husband has planted a carpet of Forget-Me-Nots in memory of his wife who has recently died from complications following the rapid progression of Alzheimer's disease…Or has she?

Greg Philips’ wife, Gloria, has recently died after suffering from chronic dementia, leaving her long-lost illegitimate daughter, Susan, a large slice of her estate. But is Susan who she claims to be? And was Gloria mentally competent when she made her will or was she manipulated in some way? Boston Investigator Mark Kane is hired to discover the truth, but as the investigation proceeds he soon finds himself embroiled in a murder mystery, and as the suspects mount up he needs all his wits about him to find out the truth, and prevent Greg’s adult sons from financial ruin or worse. As usual, Kane’s longtime companion Lucy is there to lend him a helping hand, but will she be able to help him solve the mystery?

Book Two: Ice

Kane is on the trail of a gang of International drug smugglers who'll think nothing of murdering anyone who gets in their way.

Jenny Garcia has returned to Boston from a vacation overseas little knowing that her suitcase contained a valuable haul of illicit drugs hidden inside. When the bag is stolen from her at the airport Boston investigator Mark Kane is given the difficult job of retrieving the suitcase and finding out who is responsible for putting Jenny in such terrible danger. But when the two men who could have provided the answers are found dead Kane has his work cut out for him. As Lucy stumbles upon a vital piece of evidence the case suddenly takes a new turn. Has Kane been looking in all the wrong places? And when a kidnapping puts the whole investigation on a different footing he needs to call on all his experience and cunning to save the victim from harm and bring the culprits to justice. (See it on Amazon)

Book Three: The Black Widow

Eight thousand miles from Boston the badly decomposed body of an American tourist has been found floating in the sea and Kane is about to get reluctantly involved in the case.

On vacation in Thailand Lucy befriends Dale Porter, a fellow American, but her idyllic break is cut short when Dale is arrested for murder. She enlists Kane’s assistance and they head to the Philippines to look for answers. Kane deputizes Lucy as his temporary assistant investigator and together they set out to solve the mystery of a body found floating in the sea and to try to prove that Dale was not responsible for his death. They travel from Manila to Subic Bay in their quest for the truth and identify several suspects along the way − including the dead man’s widow. But the victim had many enemies too. And why had Dale disguised the victim’s boat and concealed it in a secret location? As they struggle to unravel the victim’s complicated life Kane is finally driven to an unexpected and shocking conclusion. (See it on Amazon)

Book Four: Till Death

Don and Lisa Maddox’ idyllic marriage is threatened when Lisa is targeted by blackmailers, and private investigator Mark Kane is hired to investigate − but he soon realizes that he is investigating more than just blackmail, and finds himself searching for a serial killer as well − and with trouble at the office too it’s one headache after another. But who is responsible for the bizarre deaths? And what secret is Lisa so desperate to hide from her husband? Kane and his newly appointed assistant investigator Lucy head west to The Twin Cities to look for answers but they are plagued with setbacks and are met with a wall of silence. As Lucy observes, “It’s as if some malign force keeps putting obstacles in our way.” But Kane and Lucy must find a way forward if they are to thwart the blackmailers and find the killer. (See it on Amazon)

Book Five: Missing

Dean Roberts is a sick elderly man with just one precious thing in his life -- his teenage daughter Marisa.  When she mysteriously disappears in Springfield, Missouri on a road trip across America the police draw a blank, so Dean hires Kane and Lucy to find her and bring her home.

When Kane and Lucy set out for Missouri to find a teenager who has gone missing whilst on a road trip across the States they soon realize that she and her traveling companion have been abducted by a sinister group whose victims are turning up dead – real dead. But what is the motive for her abduction? Nothing has been stolen from her bank account, no demand for a ransom has been made, and a telephone call from the missing girl a few days after her abduction only adds to the mystery. In a race against time they enlist the assistance of local law enforcement officers and friends of the pair in a desperate attempt to find the two girls before it’s too late. (See it on Amazon)

Book Six: I Spy

Kane and Lucy find themselves with two case to investigate: one an apparent murder/suicide and the other a tragic accident – or was it? As they struggle to make sense of the apparently contradictory evidence they discover that neither case is as straightforward as it appears.

When the police discover the body of Cynthia Hughes in the kitchen floor and her husband Bob hanged in the garage it seems like an open-and-shut case – but Bob’s mistress, Angela, doesn’t buy it and she hires Kane and Lucy to find the real killer. Meanwhile Mike Kingsley’s son has died after being struck by a train and the police have ruled it an accidental death. But was it? As Kane and Lucy struggle with the two cases simultaneously they discover that they have something in common – neither case is quite what it seems to be… (see it on Amazon)

Book Seven: A Tangled Web

When Marjorie Griffiths learns that her husband has had a clandestine meeting with a young woman at a local motel, she hires private enquiry agent Dick Hampton to keep him under surveillance.

When Hampton informs her that her husband is in a room at the motel, with the same woman, she hurries over there, and when she sees her husband leave and drive away she decides to confront the woman.

And then she vanishes, without a trace.

When Marjorie’s husband, Chuck, reports her missing, he becomes an immediate suspect in her disappearance. He hires attorney Oliver Davies to advise him, and Davies recommends Kane & Lucy to investigate Marjorie’s mysterious disappearance. But when traces of Marjorie’s blood are found in the matrimonial home and in her abandoned car, Chuck is arrested; and this is only the beginning of his nightmare, as demons from his past return to threaten and even destroy him.