He went over to the telephone and dialled her home number. There was no answer, and he dropped the receiver back on its cradle.
Had she slipped up somewhere? He had warned her not to attract suspicion. He knew how dangerous Baird might be, and he cursed himself for involving her in this business.
He picked up the receiver again and called Purvis.
‘Zoe’s missing,’ he said, when Purvis came on the line. ‘It may be a false alarm, but I don’t think so.
Can you send Ainsworth over to take care of Gillis? I want to look for her.’
‘Think anything’s happened to her?’ Purvis asked sharply.
‘Your guess is as good as mine. Has MacAdam reported about Baird’s movements tonight?’
‘Baird’s in the club now.’
‘I haven’t seen him. You sure?’
‘Mac phoned through about twenty minutes ago and said he tailed Baird to the club. He’s been watching the front entrance, and hasn’t seen Baird come out.’
‘There’s a rear exit. Doesn’t the fool know?’ Dal as said angrily. ‘Wel , he can look after Gil is. I’ll tell him. Baird’s not in the club, unless he’s in Rico’s office. I’d bet er go along and check that.’
‘If you want Ainsworth, I’l keep him standing by,’ Purvis said.
‘Yeah, do that. I’l cal you back.’
Dallas hung up and walked down the passage to Rico’s office. He rapped sharply. There was no answer, and turning the handle he pushed open the door.
The room was in darkness, and with a grunt of disappointment Dallas was about to back out when he paused and sniffed the air. His sharp nose detected a faint smell of musk. He sniffed again. It was musk all right, and he knew Zoe’s latest fad was to use a musk perfume. He groped for the light switch and turned on the light.
The office was empty. He stood looking around, but saw nothing to excite his interest, but he wasn’t satisfied. He went over to the desk, and bending, he sniffed at the blotter on the desk. The smell of musk was stronger there, as if Zoe had touched the blotter.
Something caught his attention and he glanced down. Half hidden under the desk was a small evening bag. He knew it at once. It was the one he had given Zoe a week or so ago. He had a tight feeling in his throat as he bent and picked it up.
III
Rico sat beside Baird and stared through the windshield of the Buick as Baird drove slowly along the waterfront. The headlights of the car picked out the oily puddles, the litter and squashed fruit that covered the narrow causeway, bordered on one side by tall, dark warehouses and on the other by the river.
Rain pattered down on the roof of the car and splashed on the still water of the river. They had been driving fast for the past twenty minutes, and now they had reached the waterfront, Baird had slowed down as if uncertain where he was going.
Zoe lay on the back seat. Her wrists and ankles were tied with cord, and an adhesive bandage covered her mouth. From time to time Rico glanced over his shoulder at her. Her eyes were closed and she didn’t move. Rico was scared Baird had broken her neck as he had broken Jean Brace’s neck. It came as a sick sense of relief when he heard her moan softly through the gag.
The sight of the river made him break out into a cold sweat. The one thing he had sworn to avoid was murder, and now, he felt certain, he was going to be forced to take part in the girl’s death.
‘You won’t do anything to her?’ he said, forcing words through his stiff lips. ‘I – I won’t stand for murder…’
Baird glanced at him, and then shifted his attention back to the narrow causeway.
‘Do you want her to sick the cops on you?’ he asked softly. ‘This is a kidnapping rap: could get you the gas- box.’
Rico gulped. He hadn’t thought of that. The tiny spark of courage that had forced the words out of him abruptly snuffed out. He shut his eyes, while his heart banged against his ribs, and his mouth turned sour and dry.
The car jolted slowly on for some time, but Rico didn’t open his eyes. It wasn’t until he felt the car stop and heard Baird open the door that he looked fearfully through the windshield to see where he was.
Baird had turned off the headlights. Rico couldn’t see much in the feeble lights of the parkers. He seemed to be in a cul-de-sac. He could smell the river, but couldn’t see it. Surrounding him were high walls of rotting timber, black with tar.
‘Come on out,’ Baird said impatiently.
Rico got out of the car. His legs could scarcely support him. The rain felt cold against his feverish face. He looked up. High above him he could make out the outline of the roofs of the buildings against the rain-swollen sky. Two or three derricks hung lifelessly from the upper storeys. The warehouse had an air of neglect and disuse. But it was the silence that unnerved Rico. Only the soft patter of the rain and his own heavy, uneven breathing came to his listening ears. He had a suffocating feeling of being buried alive, and when Baird jerked open the rear door of the car, he started violently.
‘Take this,’ Baird said, turning and pushing a flashlight into Rico’s hand. ‘What’s the mat er with you? Can’t you hold it steady?’
He leaned into the car, dragged Zoe out, and hoisted her over his shoulder. She struggled feebly, but he took no notice, handling her with the impersonal indifference of a slaughterman preparing cattle for the hammer.
‘Give it to me,’ he went on to Rico, and snatched the light from him. ‘Come on.’
‘Where’re we going?’ Rico mut ered, staring up at the building.
‘A place I know,’ Baird said. ‘Come on and stop yapping.’
