nuisance perhaps, but of no consequence bore out my worst fears about myself. I strove to keep in mind that by attacking my self-esteem, he was attempting to gain control over me.
I opened the Kipper and Stonehouse files and reread only those notes pertaining to Godfrey Knurr. He seemed to move through both affairs like a wraith. I suspected him to be the prime mover, the source, the instigator of all the desperate events that had occurred. I had enough notes about the man: his strength, determination, charm, etc. I even had a few titbits on his background.
But I knew almost nothing about the man himself, who he was, what drove him, what gave him pleasure, what gave him pain. He was a shadow. I had no handle on him.
I could not explain what he had done yesterday or predict what he might do tomorrow.
I was looking for a label for him and could not find it.
And realizing that, I was increasingly doubtful of ensnaring him with our cute tricks and sly games. He was neither a cheap crook nor a cynical confidence man. What he was, I simply did not know. Yet.
My reverie was broken by Percy Stilton returning my call. He was speaking rapidly, almost angrily.
'The Kipper case hasn't been reopened,' he said. 'Not yet it hasn't. The loot didn't think I had enough, and bucked it to the Captain. God only knows who he'll take it to, but I don't expect any decision until tomorrow at the earliest. I hope your bosses are using their juice. I had my partner call Knurr last night and pretend he was the cabdriver who drove Stonehouse to the boat basin. Knurr 360
wouldn't bite. Hung up, as a matter of fact. He's toughing it out.'
'Yes,' I said, 'I'm beginning to think we're not going to panic him.'
I told Stilton about my unearthing the Stonehouse will, then detailed the contents.
'Nice,' he said. 'That wraps up Glynis. But Jesus, you didn't lift the will, did you? That would ruin it as evidence.'
'No,' I assured him, 'I left it where it was. But I did steal something else.'
I described the notes Sol Kipper had written to his wife, and how the two I had purloined could perfectly well have served as suicide notes.
'Good work, Josh,' Percy said. 'You're really doing a professional job on this — tying up all the loose ends.'
I was pleased by his praise.
'Something else,' I said. 'I had a long talk with Knurr.
We had a couple of drinks together.'
I reported the substance of our conversation.
'I don't think that photo of Glynis Stonehouse and the poison-pen letter did a bit of good.'
'No,' Stilton said, 'I don't think so either. He got Tippi calmed down and he's going his merry way.'
'Another t h i n g. . ' I said, and told the detective how I had fed Knurr information about laws regarding the disposition of the estate of a missing man.
'Uh-huh,' Percy said. 'You figure that will get him to dump the body? If he's got it?'
'That's what I hoped,' I said. 'Now I'm not so sure he's going to react the way we want him to. Perce, Knurr is a mystery man. I'm not certain we can manipulate him.'
'Yeah,' he said, sighing. 'If he doesn't spook, and if he can keep his women in line, we're dead.'
'There's one possibility,' I said. 'A long shot.'
'What's that?'
'I've been going through all my notes on Knurr.
Remember that interview we had with Bishop Oxman? He gave us the name of Knurr's next-of-kin. Goldie Knurr. A sister.'
'And?'
'What if she's not his sister? What if she's his wife?'
Silence for a moment.
'You're right,' Stilton said finally. 'A long shot.'
'We've got to try it,' I insisted. 'You've got the address?
I think it was in Athens, Indiana.'
He found it in his notebook and I carefully copied it down as he read it to me.
'You're going to give her a call?' Percy asked.
'That wouldn't do any good,' I said. 'If he listed her as a sister, she probably has orders to back him up if anyone inquires.'
'So?'
'So,' I said, making up my mind at that precise instant,
'I think I better go out there and talk to the lady.'
That was what I had to do. I knew it on the spur of the moment. I booked a seat on American to Chicago through the office agency. I had no time to ask permission of Teitelbaum or Tabatchnick. I had no time to listen to Orsini as I tore out of the building.
As luck had it, he was coming in as I left, surrounded by his entourage. I attempted to sneak by, but Orsini's glittering eyes saw everything. A hand shot out and clamped my arm. I looked at the diamond flashing on his pinkie. I looked at the glossy manicured fingernails. My eyes rose to note the miniature orchid in his lapel: an exquisite flower of speckled lavender.
'Josh!' he cried gaily. 'Just the man I wanted to see! I've got a joke you're going to love.'
He glanced smilingly around his circle of sycophants, and they drew closer, already composing their features into expressions of unendurable mirth.
'There's this little guy,' Romeo Orsini said, 'and he goes up to this tall, beautiful, statuesque blonde. And he says to her, ' I ' m going to screw you.' And she says — '
'Heard it,' I snapped. 'It's an old joke and not very good.'
I jerked my arm from his grip, pushed my way through the circle of aides, and stalked from the building. I didn't look back, but I was conscious of the thunderous silence I had left behind.
I wasted no time in wondering why I had dealt so rudely with Orsini or how it would affect my career at TORT. I was too intent on reaching my bank before it closed, on trying to estimate the balance in my account and how much cash would be required for my trip to Chicago.
Luckily, I was covered, and soon was in a cab heading through the Midtown Tunnel towards Kennedy after a hurried trip home to pack.
The flight to Chicago was the only chance to relax in much too long, and I decided to enjoy it. I even laughed at the terrible movie and wolfed down the mystery meat. We touched down in Chicago without incident and, as I walked into the terminal, I found O'Hare Airport to be crowded, noisy, and frantic as Mother Tucker's on East 69th Street in Manhattan. Where, I thought with rueful longing, even at that moment Perdita Schug and Colonel Clyde Manila were probably well along on their Walpurgisnacht.
I wandered about the terminal for a while, continually touching my newly fattened wallet and feeling for my return ticket at irregular intervals. I finally found my way to where cabs, limousines, and buses were available.
Obviously a cab to Athens would cost too much. I approached a uniformed chauffeur leaning against the fender of a black behemoth which seemed to have twice as many windows as any gas-driven vehicle deserved.
The driver looked at me without interest, his sleepy eyes 363
taking in my wrinkled overcoat, shapeless hat, and the sodden suitcase pressed under my arm. His only reaction was to switch a toothpick from the right corner of his mouth to the left.
'Do you go to Athens?' I asked.
'Where?'
'Athens. It's in Indiana.' I had looked it up in the office atlas.
'Never heard of it,' he said.
'It's between Gary and Hammond.'
' Where between Gary and Hammond?'
'I don't know,' I confessed.
'Then I don't go there,' he said.
The toothpick switched back again. I know when I've been dismissed. I wandered over to the bus area. There
