right?
Under any rock, there wouldn’t be anything much lower than Craig Singer.
Realizing all that made me feel better, maybe even a little hungry.
I showered and dressed. My hangover passed through me like a bad chill and by the time I headed off to work I was feeling okay.
My office is right in downtown Denver, about twenty minutes from my house. I parked behind my building and walked the three blocks to the Corner Diner. Carol was again working the counters and when she saw me she rushed over and asked how Debra was. I didn’t see any reason for her to be tearing herself up over something like that, so I told her a white lie about finding Debra and bringing her back to her parents. That brought a genuine smile to Carol’s face, which in turn made me feel a little better and a little hungrier. I ended up polishing off a stack of pancakes and four side orders of bacon and a pound of hash browns.
* * * * *
Considering I run one of Denver’s more successful detective agencies there’s not a lot to my office, just an anteroom overflowing with file cabinets and a fifteen by fifteen room-large enough for a desk, a coat rack and a couple of chairs. At one time I carried a secretary, but found I was throwing my money away. I handle the typing myself now, and have an answering service for my calls.
I called Jimmy Tobbler. After that I called my service and got a list of messages. All but one was from Mrs. Singer. She didn’t leave any message other than that she needed to see me. The final message was from a Mary Williams. I was able to locate her at the second of two numbers she’d left. She sounded young. We arranged an appointment for later in the morning.
I tried to make a dent in the paperwork piling up on my desk, but just wasn’t in the mood. As I sat staring at it, Max Roth called to tell me that the case I had subcontracted to him wasn’t going as expected. He needed another week, maybe two, to wrap things up. I was disappointed. The case should’ve been a three-day job. He was obviously milking it. I told him if it looked like it was going to take more than another week to let me know, that I’d consider giving him some help with it. When he hung up, he wasn’t all that careful about replacing the receiver. The noise damn near popped my eardrum.
A few minutes after that, Jimmy Tobbler showed up. I handed him Debra’s photo. He sat down and studied it. “Anorexic?” he said, looking up at me.
“I think so.” I rubbed a hand across my face. “I found her yesterday and then lost her. She’d been working a peep show on East Colfax. I’d like you to check out the other girls working there.”
He thought it over, nodded. “I can think of worse ways to spend an afternoon. What if I strike out?”
“She’s only been on the streets for two weeks. Probably doesn’t have too many contacts yet. You could try checking the youth hostels. Still no luck, maybe she hitchhiked out of town. Boulder would be a good bet. So would Colorado Springs. My gut feeling, though, is she’s still in Denver.” I paid him a week’s advance and gave him the address for Tiny’s peep show. As he got up to leave I asked him if he could take it easy with the expense money.
“Come on, Johnny. I have to tip these girls.”
“Well, just try and be a little careful with what you spend, okay?” Tobbler, being the comedian that he was, hummed “Thank Heaven for Little Girls” as he strolled from my office.
I picked up Debra Singer’s photo. I couldn’t look away from her eyes. I found myself wishing I had kicked Craig Singer a good deal harder, and maybe a few more times in the mouth. A harsh wrap of knuckles sounded against my office door. I got up, opened it, and found a middle-aged woman standing there, breathing hard. I recognized her from the Singer family portrait.
“You wouldn’t return my calls,” she said in a tight, forced voice. The rigid lines around her eyes and mouth were pronounced.
“You must be Mrs. Singer.” I stepped aside to let her through. “Why don’t you come in and take a seat?”
She faced me full on. She was thin, bony, blond hair streaked with gray and pulled away from her face. Her elbows looked sharp enough to cut paper. She glanced quickly around the office, moved to a chair and sat down.
I sat back at my desk. I couldn’t help noticing her neck. While the rest of her visible skin was pulled up tight, her neck was long and thin and webbed with sagging flesh. Next time she had a face-lift, she should look into doing something about that.
“Sorry about not returning your calls. I only got back to the office a few minutes ago. I’ve been out all night looking for your daughter.”
She didn’t say anything. Just sat there glaring at me. “What can I do for you?” I asked.
“I think you know.”
I blinked at her. “I’m sorry, I really don’t have any idea-”
“My husband’s in the hospital!”
“No kidding?” I let my eyes grow wide. “I saw him only yesterday morning. What happened to him?”
“Craig claims he fell down the stairs.” She lowered her eyes. “His doctor thinks he was punched in the face and kicked several times in the chest.” She turned back to me. “Facial fractures, three broken ribs, two teeth knocked out.”
And a partridge in a pear tree.
“So you’d like me to find out who did this to him?” I asked sincerely. “Do you know what he could’ve done to deserve that kind of beating?”
For a while all she could do was stare at me. “He told me he’s not coming home when he gets out of the hospital,” she finally murmured.
“Well now-”
“We hired you to find our daughter, not to split up our family!”
“I’m afraid I don’t understand-”
“Where’s my daughter? Craig said you found her. Why isn’t she home?”
“He must be confused,” I said. “Probably from his fall. I did speak to friends of hers who’ve seen her. She’s having a pretty rough time, and when I do find her and bring her home she needs you to listen to her and-”
“My daughter lives in a fantasy world,” she said. “Debra’s always making up ridiculous stories. You surely didn’t believe any of her nonsense?”
“And what nonsense might that be?”
Mrs. Singer started to say something, choked it back and looked away. “We made a mistake hiring you,” she said. “Why don’t we consider you fired?”
I shrugged. “Fine with me. I’m still going to find her, though. And when I do, I’m going to make sure she’s safe.”
“You leave my daughter alone!” She sprung from her chair, face livid, bony hands clenched into fists. “You understand me? Leave my daughter alone!” She didn’t wait for me to answer. She turned and fled from the office, the door slamming behind her.
I felt a little shaky inside, wondering what good it would do to find Debra Singer. There didn’t seem to be much point in it, at least none I could see. As I reached in my bottom desk drawer for a bottle of rye, a soft knocking interrupted me. My office door opened and a young girl peeked in.
“Hi,” she said. “I’m Mary Williams. We have an eleven o’clock appointment?”
I apologized for keeping her waiting and asked her to come in. As she entered the office, I felt a funny feeling start to kick in my chest. It was more than just the way she looked, though. More than just her slender body, or her soft brown eyes, or the way her long black hair flowed past her shoulders. There was a freshness to her, a sweetness. I realized that for the first time in God knows how long I was actually feeling pretty good and it surprised the hell out of me.
“I read your column every month,” she said, looking around her. “This office is so cool. Exactly the way I pictured it.”
“Yeah, it’s not much, is it?”
“It’s perfect!” she said. “Just like a detective’s office ought to be.”
“That’s certainly good to hear,” I said. “Otherwise, I guess I’d need to find a new job.” A little red tinged her cheeks. “I hope you weren’t waiting out there too long.”
“Not too long.”
