'Where at?'
'On a street with other tall houses on it.'
'How far away?'
'Long ways.'
She picked up a puzzle piece from the carpet, held it with her little finger extended, as if she were holding toast spread with jam.
'Did you like Dave?' I asked.
'Most times…' she answered absently.
'That one goes there, doesn't it?' I said, helping her fit the piece into the puzzle to complete one of the kitten's forepaws. I was given a smile of gratitude. 'Did you like living at the apartment best?'
'No, there were people all the time. Mommy and Vic always had people there, talking 'stead of sleeping.'
'Who's Vic?' I asked Melissa, glancing at Gordon Clark, who looked stupefied.
'You know…'
'A friend of Dave's?'
She laughed, picked up another puzzle piece.
'A friend of your mom's?'
'Yes.'
'What did all these people talk about when they came to your apartment and you were trying to sleep?'
'Ingerence. Other things sometimes, too.'
'I don't know what ingerence is, Melissa.'
'Well, that's what they talked about. Mom and Vic talked about it all the time, too.'
'Did Dave?'
She laughed again. 'You're silly.'
'Was your mother happy on Star Lane with Dave?'
She seemed to consider, her wide eyes looking inward. 'She was worried all the time.'
'Did they ever argue?'
'Uh-huh. The time when Vic didn't shave.'
'What did they fight about?'
'I dunno.' She had about reached her limit of conversing with me and was being drawn back to the challenge of the puzzle. I leaned down again, helping her fit the pieces.
'Did your mom like Vic better than Dave?'
She giggled as she completed the red ball beneath the kitten.
'Vic and Dave are the same person, aren't they?' I said.
'Course.'
'Where did you live before the apartment build-ing?'
'Someplace the same. I'm hungry, Dad.'
'We'll eat in a little while, Melissa,' Gordon Clark said.
I stood up from the bed. 'Thanks for talking to me, Melissa.'
'I'm hungry now.' 'Okay, honey,' Clark said, 'in just a little while.'
He and I stepped outside on the bright cement walkway.
'Did talking to her help you any?' he asked.
'I know more than I did.'
Clark slipped his hands into his pants pockets and stood with his shoulders back, as if to expose himself to the maximum amount of sunlight. 'Why do you think this Branly guy called himself Vic?'
I glanced down at the kids yelling and thrashing their way through cool water in the pool. 'We'll know that when we find out why he was killed.'
'And why Joan's disappeared?'
I nodded. 'Why everything.' I watched him half close his eyes to the sun. 'Do you think Joan might come back to you?'
'No, but I'll let you know if she does.' Clark smiled his curiously dreary smile, shook my hand. 'I'll mail you the second part of your fee.'
'That won't be necessary,' I told him. 'I didn't earn it.' As I heard myself speak, I was amazed at the generosity rooted in my newfound wealth.
'I have Melissa back.'
'You probably would have got her back without me.'
He slipped the fingertips of his right hand back into his pocket. 'I feel I should warn you about something, Nudger.'
'Go ahead,' I told him. 'I have so much to worry about now, it probably won't make much difference.'
'In confidence, of course.'
'Of course.'
'I don't think you should trust your client all the way.'
I waited for him to tell me why. He chose not to, so I nodded and thanked him for the word of caution. He was Dale Carlon's son-in-law; he should know.
When Clark opened the door to go inside, Melissa peered out from the comparative dimness of the motel room.
'Come back when you have your beard,' she said.
I decided to have dinner at a western-style steak house in Orlando before driving back to Layton. As I ate the surprisingly good rib-eye and baked potato, I thought over my conversation with Melissa. She was a typically succinct and scatterbrained seven-year-old, and though our talk had brought out a few hard facts, I suspected that what she'd given me were puzzle pieces much like the ones she'd held in her hands. Why did Branly use two first names? Where was the apartment in which they'd lived? Who were the people who had visited them often? And what the hell was 'ingerence?'
By the time I reached dessert I knew which way I'd have to go in the investigation. Melissa hadn't given me a starting point, so it would have to be the dead David Branly. He was easy enough to keep tabs on, and the Layton police should have had some background information on him by now. If I probed about in that area of time just before his death and traced his movements, I was bound to learn something of the recent activities of Joan Clark. The trouble was that Branly's murderer was also a part of that area of time, making it a dangerous area in which to be probing about.
The house on Star Lane would be the place to start, and with Dale Carlon's influence the Layton police should be completely cooperative.
I finished my ranch-house pudding and signaled a cowgirl for a refill on the coffee. It was going to be a long drive back to Layton.
8
Gaining access to the Star Lane house was no problem, involving only a phone call to Dale Carlon, who offered to meet me there the next day with the key.
In the morning, again using Carlon's influence,.1 phoned Dockard at the Layton police headquarters from my cabin at the Clover Inn and asked him what had been turned up on the Branly killing.
'To date, nothing much,' Dockard said. 'The ME tells us Branly died in his late twenties, perfectly healthy except for all those shotgun pellets. Nothing on the gun yet, either. Wiped clean of prints. You know how impossible it is to trace a shotgun. It's an Ithaca twelve-gauge semi-automatic with the stock and barrel sawed down. A fairly expensive gun, about seven years old, according to the company's check of the serial number.'
'Making it all the harder to trace. Anything found in the house that might help?'
'We combed it fine; there's nothing there, but you're welcome to look for yourself if you want.'
As long as Carlon's behind me, I thought. 'What about Branly's fingerprints? You should be able to get some specific information about him through them.'
