“Sure,” Farrell said. He chewed his gum gently.
“Worked on the last couple of Stratton campaigns, volunteered on the United Fund, and a bunch of other charities.”
“Okay,” Farrell said, “so you can read a report.”
“And that’s it?”
“You got the report,” Farrell said.
“Anybody go down to Alton?”
Farrell stared at me.
“You heard about the state of the economy around here?” he said. “I gotta work extra detail to fucking buy ammunition. They’re not going to send anybody to Alton, South Carolina, for crissake.”
“Just asking,” I said.
“I made some phone calls,” Farrell said. “They’ve got a birth certificate on her. The Carolina Academy for Girls has her attendance records. Duke and BU both have her transcripts.”
“Perfect,” I said.
“You going to go down?” Farrell said.
“Probably,” I said. “I’m getting nowhere up here.”
“Join the group,” Farrell said. “Incidentally, we got an inquiry on you from Senator Stratton’s office.”
“If nominated I will not run,” I said. “If elected I will not serve.”
Farrell ignored me.
“Came into the commissioner’s office, and they bucked it on down to me.”
“Because he mentioned the Nelson case?”
“Yeah. Commissioner’s office never heard of you.”
“Their loss,” I said. “What did they want to know?”
“General background, my impressions of your competence, that stuff.”
“Who did you talk to?”
“Guy named Morrissey, said he was the Senator’s aide.”
“What did you tell them?”
“Said you were cute as a bug’s ear,” Farrell said.
“You guys,” I said, “are obsessed with sex.”
“Why should we be different?”
chapter twelve
I FLEW TO Atlanta the next morning, took a train from the gate to the terminal, got my suitcase off the carousel, picked up a rental car, and headed southeast on Route 20 toward Alton. Most of the trip was through Georgia, Alton being just across the line in the western part of South Carolina, not too far from Augusta. I got there about two- thirty in the afternoon with the sun shining heavy and solid through the trees that sagged over the main road.
It was a busy downtown, maybe two blocks wide and six blocks long. The first building on the left was a three-story white clapboard hotel with a green sign that said Alton Arms in gold lettering. Across the street was a Rexall drugstore and lunch counter. Beside it was a men’s clothing store. The mannequins in the window were very country-club in blue crested blazers and plaid vests. There were a couple of downscale restaurants redolent of Frialator, a store that sold yarn, and a big Faulknerian courthouse made out of stone. The cars parked nose in to the curb, the way they do in towns, and never do in cities.
I parked, nose to curb, in front of the Alton Arms, and walked around a Blue Tick hound sleeping on the hot cement walkway in the sun. His tongue lolled out a little, and his skin twitched as if he were dreaming that he was a wild dog on the East African plains, shrugging off a tse-tse fly.
The lobby was air-conditioned, and opened into the dining room, up one step and separated by an oak railing. At one end of the room was a fireplace sufficient to roast a moose, to the left of the entrance was a reception desk, and behind it was a pleasant, efficient-looking woman with silvery hair and a young face.
Her looks were deceptive. She was as efficient as a Russian farm collective, although probably more pleasant. It was twenty minutes to register, and ten more to find a room key. By the time she found it I had folded my arms on the counter and put my head down on them.
She was not amused.
“Please, sir,” she said. “I’m doing my best.”
“Isn’t that discouraging,” I said.
When I finally got to my room, I unpacked.
I put my razor and toothbrush on the bathroom counter, put my clean shirt on the bureau, and put the Browning 9mm on my belt, back of my hipbone, where the drape of my jacket would hide it in the hollow of my back. Nice thing about an automatic. Being flat, it didn’t compromise any fashion statement that you might be making.
I had considered risking Alton, South Carolina, without a gun. But one of Spenser’s best crime-buster tips is, never go unarmed on a murder case. So I’d packed it under my shirt, and clean socks, and checked the bag through.
