again. I wondered if Grey sat in the same chair and whether the dead animal zoo had impressed him or if he had found the glass-eyed menagerie depressing too. He had been hired to find a missing girl who was pregnant-an impossibility in the world after the Change. He would have been filled with a general skepticism like I was. If I suspended my disbelief for a moment, a pregnant woman-even a woman threatening to be pregnant-would be hot property among the special interest groups Willieboy went on and on about. I also had to admit that I had only scratched the surface, so far as crazy baby religions and cults were concerned. There were all kinds of people who would want a pregnant woman. Alan Cotton was working for the King of the Dead. Both of them would like to get their hands on a baby-Cotton was dead and gone-but, the King had control of people in Authority, he was out there somewhere. Even Richard Adrian of Simpson's Skin Tanning and Preservation for the Deceased would have coveted such a property-if he hadn't been filleted. First, if he had heard about Regenerics, and secondly, because a real live baby might mean the end of business for him. What else was there? The business with the Twelve Stars Group and the fifth horseman mentioned in Grey's journal. I had this terrible feeling that I would soon find out more about Twelve Stars than I wanted. Cane was a member. The door opened.
Mr. Robert Hawksbridge was a shorter than average man. He had stiff iron-gray hair that was meticulously groomed and polished. He had a large, hatchet-nose and deep circles under his eyes that, at first glimpse, might be taken to be the result of too many sleepless nights. Upon closer examination, I saw that the brow of his nose peaked far out from his face; the result was that his cheekbones slid away beneath his eyes almost unnoticed. This phenomenon caused the permanent bags and appearance of insomnia. He stared at me quickly with fine blue eyes, then whipped them away to guide him toward the chair behind his desk. He wore a dark blue, cotton suit with a deafening yellow tie. Mr. Hawksbridge dropped into his chair, put his left elbow on the arm, made a fist of his hand and then set his weak chin delicately upon it. His lips worked as he studied me.
'I see the 'clown' in your name represents more than a state of mind.' His voice was grave with precipitous depths to it.
'Yes, Mr. Hawksbridge. The makeup is part of my detective shtick. Some use deerstalker caps, others, sword-canes and exploding cars.' I pressed my cigarette into the elephant's foot.
'You misunderstand me, Mr. Wildclown. I was not attempting any judgment. I may live in New Garden, and enjoy its protected confines, but I understand the changes that have come to the world without.' He repeated his chin-resting procedure with his right arm. 'We all survive as we can.'
I smiled because I hadn't expected that. 'I'd like to ask you a few questions about your sister, Julie-her disappearance. I'm investigating a murder that might be related. Did you know Owen Grey?'
'Ah, I see. No doubt…' He waved a hand. 'You are trying to avenge the murder of your detective friend, Mr. Grey. I read the Maltese Falcon.'
'As a matter of fact, I didn't know Mr. Grey; but his name did come up during my investigation. He disappeared about two years ago. I don't know if he's dead and needs avenging.' I lit a new cigarette. 'I would like to know what happened to your sister.'
'That would be difficult. Oh, I'll tell you what I know, but you have to understand, I was traveling at the time of the disappearance-in the old country-so I wasn't around when the actual events transpired. Frankly, I thought Julie had eloped with that fellow she was seeing, Victor Davis, and he was, well, not quite New Garden material let alone of Arcadian stock-so far as my parents were concerned. I assumed they ran off together, and I didn't take the whole affair very seriously. I did speak to my father concerning the steps he was taking, though. He said he had hired a detective, a Mr. Owen Grey, to find her. It seems Father felt Mr. Grey maintained a low profile, and so would not attract unpleasant attention to my family.'
'So you never met Grey.' I was watching another blind alley forming.
'No, in fact, I didn't. I only returned after the tragic event of my parents' death. It was quite unexpected. But, I was told that they were traveling to meet Mr. Grey when the mishap occurred. All attempts I made to reach him after the fact failed.'
'I assume Authority investigated. Who was in charge?' I leaned forward slightly, expectant.
'An Inspector Borden handled the case. He said he was one of the first on the scene.'
I again imagined a hundred Inspector Bordens. 'And he told you that they died in the crash and were consumed in the flames.' Again, no evidence. Everything was burning up.
'Yes, and do you know that little bastard didn't even seem the least upset when he told me. Seriously, I know you fellows who deal in death all the time get accustomed and somewhat hardened to it, but that Borden- stood right here and said they had died without even having the decency to take that ridiculous metal toothpick out of his mouth.'
'Then you saw Inspector Borden?' My mind reeled. 'He chewed a brass toothpick and he had glasses, right. He was short, about five foot two, and had a face like a pig, and a head like a toad, sort of.'
Hawksbridge laughed long and loud. He smoothed his tie with a flat hand, then dabbed his eyes with a knuckle. 'Yes, Mr. Wildclown. That is the man exactly. That's him. A pig! Head like a frog! Ha, ha, ha. Oh I wish I had thought of that.'
'It's yours, Mr. Hawksbridge.' I put my cigarette out. Adrenaline rushed along my nerves. 'What else did he say?'
'He just told me that the car lost control on the elevated highway, and jumped the wall. It fell forty feet and burst into flames. There was no escape for them. The chauffeur died too, I might add. Borden told me there was not enough left for identification, other than through dental records.' He looked downcast, rubbed the arm of his chair with a trembling hand.
'Did you ask him about your sister? Did he say anything about her?'
Hawksbridge frowned. 'He seemed quite anxious, as a matter-of-fact, when I told him. He said he had only heard rumor about it, but, since my parents didn't officially request an investigation by Authority there had been none.'
'Did you tell him about her being pregnant?' I was beginning to want his answer as much as I wanted a drink.
'Funny that, of course I mentioned her condition, and when I did, it peaked his interest. I told him that the family had put an ad in the paper concerning her disappearance, and I believe they had made a few queries about her there. It seems Mother and Father shared my suspicion that she was only angry, and hurt. So they printed a nice apology in the Gazette pleading with her to come home. They had quarreled before…' Hawksbridge paused and picked a pen up from the leather blotter in front of him. 'Borden said that he could remember something in the paper about her disappearance. But he didn't know that she was supposed to be pregnant. Funny…' Hawksbridge studied the pen in his hand, tapped the index finger of his left with it. 'He laughed it off then, but there was something so fake-so strange-that I was a little disturbed. After all, it was the first emotion he showed here, and his laughter was forced-I'm sure of it. He told me that in all probability she had eloped with her boyfriend, and that she would probably show up when her parents could not interfere with the nuptials. But he asked me to give him a call if she returned.'
'And the pregnancies.' My mind was rushing around tying threads together. 'Grey wrote in his journal that your parents told him of a number of miscarriages.'
Hawksbridge paled and the circles under his eyes became dark rings. 'Yes, I was here on two occasions when she had these phantom 'pregnancies' or whatever. I can't tell you if it was ever proven that she had actually been pregnant. The whole affair quite disturbed me. We hushed it up, again, or my parents did. They were always concerned with the image, you know.'
'I know.' My gaze fell, and I studied my boots. 'Tell me, your family physician, the man who made the diagnosis, he is missing, or dead?'
'Why yes,' Hawksbridge's mouth dropped open in amazement. 'He died, one of those accidents in the tub, or something. He fell off a ladder, I believe. Then, well, it is a little unnerving having a dead physician examine you, so I sought another. My parents were gone, after all, and he really was their doctor.' He rolled his eyes up to scan his memory. 'Dr. Avery Forrester. I believe I could get you his address.'
'Thank you.' I felt around for another cigarette. 'Has the Inspector ever called again? I'll bet he calls regularly.'
'Well, he does, in fact. He said he has sort of taken it on as a personal crusade-Julie's disappearance. Calls once or twice a month with updates. I don't take the calls myself anymore. I let Johnson, my butler, handle it. Seems to me he, Johnson, mentioned a recent increase in frequency.'
