'A friend of Dave's.'
A click and a buzz greeted that statement.
I replaced the receiver in its cradle and waited, watching a fly crawl laboriously up the opposite wall. As if the altitude had become too much for it, the fly began to veer to the right as it neared the ceiling. Something was making a hissing sound in the quiet room-my breathing.
The telephone rang.
On the third ring I picked up the receiver and pressed it to my ear, said nothing.
'Hello, Dave?…' came the same voice that had been on the line a few minutes before. 'Vic?…'
Gently I replaced the receiver, picked it up again for a dial tone. Dale Carlon's secretary followed her instructions and rushed through my call to him.
'How long would it take you to get me a name and address for the Daisy Rogers number with a 312 area code?' I asked Carlon. 'Probably in Chicago.'
'You mean it's not a local number?'
'Not for our purposes. A very old woman and her son live at the Dade address.'
'What about the son?'
'He seems older than the mother and has rips in his shirt.'
There was little time in Carlon's day for digression. His telephone voice was terse. 'I should be able to have that corresponding name and address for you within an hour.'
'I'll be waiting at the Star Lane phone,' I told him and got off the line so he could get busy.
Sitting on the carpet with my arms crossed on my knees, I wondered if Carlon could do it, if his influence carried that far from Layton.
I got up, stretched, and walked around the cramped, oppressive living room to work the stiffness from my aging bones. The air seemed to get staler, the walls closer together.
An hour and ten minutes had passed when Carlon called back.
The phone number belonged to a man named Roger Horvell, 67 Sirilla Street, in Chicago. I thanked Car-Ion, then punched and freed the cradle button to get a dial tone. After talking to Eastern Airlines in Orlando, I drove to the Clover Inn to pack.
This time Lieutenant Dockard was waiting for me.
9
Dockard was standing with his foot propped on the dusty front bumper of his unmarked car, parked in front of,my cabin. He smiled as I parked next to him, looking over my rented compact as if pondering whether to get one for himself.
I got out of the car, nodded to him and walked over to where he was standing.
'You and I need to talk,' Dockard told me, squinting into the sun behind me but holding his friendly smile.
'We talked a lot yesterday,' I said.
Dockard didn't move from his relaxed position, but I could see he was waiting for me to invite him inside, out of the heat. I decided to let the sun work for me and keep the conversation short.
'We need to understand a few things about your working for Dale Carlon,' Dockard said, seeing that our talk was going to be brief and getting to the point. 'Mr. Carlon has… let's say a habit of stepping outside the rules sometimes and doing things in his own fashion.'
'You were careful to explain that to me yesterday.'
Dockard picked at an imaginary wart on his palm. 'I understand the confidence you owe Mr. Carlon,' he said, weighing each word for its potential to boomerang, 'but you also have some responsibility to the law. Mr. Carlon means well, but he's not a professional like we are. He might get some mistaken notions…'
'Any particular notion in mind?' I asked.
A large mosquito droned in unpredictable circles around Dockard's head, sizing him up. Dockard swatted the air where the mosquito had been. 'What I mean, Nudger, is that the more people we have working on this case, the sooner it's likely to be solved. I wouldn't want you to think it would be best to withhold anything from the Layton police. And of course we'll share whatever we know with you.'
There was a something-for-nothing offer. Dockard wouldn't dare withhold anything pertinent from me now that I represented Dale Carlon.
'I'm aware of my obligation to the law,' I said.
'I'm sure. It's just that Mr. Carlon, well-meaning as he is, might instruct you to operate, sometimes, with us still in the dark. And I think, considering the circumstances of the case, that I owe you a certain confidence if you keep me informed.'
'Without Carlon's knowledge?'
'I'm only asking you to obey the law, Nudger.' He flicked a hand again at the phantom mosquito.
What Dockard was saying was that whenever Carlon instructed me to keep something from the Layton police, I could tell Dockard without fear of Carlon's finding out. It was less serious to betray a client's trust than to withhold evidence in a murder investigation, and Dockard was giving me the opportunity to exchange one transgression for the other. I remembered his words of yesterday, about Carlon being the one man not to cross; and today he was asking me to do just that.
'You're telling me I can have it both ways,' I said.
'If that's how you want to think of it. Either way I'd like you to keep this talk confidential.'
'You've got that.'
'At least my way, if Mr. Carlon does have some wrong suggestions, you've got an out.'
At the risk of fifty thousand dollars, I thought, not to mention the possibility of Carlon's revenge. I doubted if Dockard knew the stakes were that high. People like Carlon confused things.
'If the situation comes up,' I said to Dockard, 'I'll think about it.'
There was something in his face that made me feel he knew the situation already had come up. He nodded, removed his foot from the dusty chrome bumper. 'It's something for you to consider.'
Now the mosquito began droning about me. I'd thought it was my friend. Dockard walked around to the driver's side of the car and opened the door.
'I remember Joan Clark,' he said before he got in. 'She's not going to be found easily if she doesn't want to be.'
I stood and watched Dockard drive off the lot. He yielded to an overloaded station wagon making a left to get to the Clover Inn's office, then his plain car, with its square-tipped shortwave antenna, merged with the light traffic on Main Drive.
Dockard had given me something to think about. Was his proposition made out of a genuine concern to solve Branly's murder and find Joan Clark as soon as possible? Or was he trying to make sure that the Lay-ton police department and Lieutenant Dockard accomplished whatever was needed and received full credit from Carlon? I didn't doubt that the latter might be his motive. A man like Carlon could do a lot for a police lieutenant like Dockard in a town like Layton.
I swatted at the mosquito.
There was another very strong possibility I couldn't overlook. Was Carlon aware of Dockard's visit? After our conversation at the Star Lane house, had he asked the lieutenant to put the proposition to me to test me?
That possibility was reason fifty thousand and one for me to play the game straight with Carlon and to not mention to Lieutenant Dockard that I was going to Chicago.
10
My flight arrived at Chicago's O'Hare International on time to the minute. After making my way through the
