On, Off

sizeable slice of the company profits, abandoning his wife and two sons. The affair was hushed up, the loss absorbed, and both Roger’s boys had proven loyal, devoted and extremely capable heirs for William; their sons came out of the same mold, with the result that in this year of 1965 Parson Products stock had been blue chip for decades. Depressions? Chicken feed! People still drove cars that needed motors, Parson Turbines made diesel turbines and generators long before jet planes flew, girls went on pounding typewriters, surgical operations kept increasing, and countries were always blazing away at each other with Parson guns, howitzers and mortars, big, medium and small.

In an interesting aside, Carmine had discovered that the family black sheep, Roger, having sobered up in California, had founded the Roger’s Ribs chain, married a movie starlet, done very nicely for himself, and died on top of a whore in a seedy motel.

The Hug had come out of William Parson’s desire to do something in memory of his dead son, but its birth pangs had not been easy. Naturally Chubb University expected to head it and manage it, but such was not Parson’s intention. He wanted affiliation with Chubb, but refused to yield up its governance to Chubb. In the end Chubb had crumbled after being presented with an ultimatum of horrific proportions. His research center, said William Parson, would, if necessary, be attached to some sordid, non-Ivied, tin-pot institution of learning out of the state. When a Chubber like William Parson said that, Chubb knew itself beaten. Not that Chubb hadn’t come in for a slice of the pie; 25 percent of the annual budget was paid to the university for affiliation rights.

Carmine also knew that the Board of Governors met every three months. The four Parsons and Cousin Spaight came up from their New York City apartments by limousine and stayed in suites at the Cleveland Hotel opposite the Schumann Theater for the night after the meeting. This was necessary because M.M. always gave them a dinner, hoping that he would be able to coax the Parsons into endowing a building that would one day house the William Parson art collection. This most important collection in American hands had been bequeathed to Chubb in William Parson’s will, but its delivery date was left to the discretion of his heirs, who thus far had preferred to hang on to even the tiniest Leonardo cartoon.

When the Prof’s hand went out to start the reel-to-reel tape recorder, Carmine held up his own.

“Sorry, Professor, this meeting is absolutely confidential.”

“But – but – the minutes! I thought that if Miss Vilich was excluded, she could type up the minutes from tape.”

“No minutes,” said Carmine firmly. “I intend to be frank and detailed, which means nothing I say goes out of this room.”

“Understood,” said Roger Parson Junior abruptly. “Proceed, Lieutenant Delmonico.”

When he finished, the silence was so complete that a sudden sough of wind outside sounded like a roar; to a man they were ashen, trembling, open-mouthed. In all the times he had met M.M., Carmine had never seen the man thrown off balance, but in the wake of this report even his hair seemed to have lost its luster. Though perhaps only Dean Dowling, a psychiatrist famous for his interest in organic psychoses, fully understood the implications.

“It can’t be anyone at the Hug,” said Roger Parson Junior, dabbing at his lips with a napkin.

“That has yet to be established,” Carmine said. “We have no particular suspects, which means that all the members of the Hug are under suspicion. For that matter, we can’t rule out any persons in the Medical School.”

“Carmine, do you genuinely believe that at least ten of these missing girls have been incinerated?” asked M.M.

“Yes, sir, I do.”

“But you haven’t offered any real evidence of it.”

“No, I haven’t. It’s purely circumstantial, but it fits what we do know – that were it not for the vagaries of chance, Mercedes Alvarez would have been completely incinerated by last Wednesday.”

“It’s disgusting,” whispered Richard Spaight.

“It’s Schiller!” cried Roger Parson III. “He’s old enough to have been a Nazi.” He rounded on the Professor fiercely. “I told you not to hire Germans!”

Roger Parson Junior rapped the table sharply. “Young Roger, that is enough! Dr. Schiller is not old enough to have been a Nazi, and it is not the business of this Board to speculate. I insist that Professor Smith be supported, not upbraided.” His annoyance at his son’s outburst still in his eyes, he looked at Carmine. “Lieutenant Delmonico, I thank you very much for your candor, however unwelcome it may be, and I direct all of you to maintain silence on every aspect of this tragedy. Though,” he added rather pathetically, “I suppose we must expect that some of it at least will leak to the press?”

“That’s inevitable, Mr. Parson, sooner or later. This has become a statewide investigation. Those in the know are on the increase every day.”

“The FBI?” Henry Parson Junior asked.

“Not so far, sir. The line between a missing person and a kidnap victim is thin, but none of the families of these girls has ever received a ransom demand, and the matter remains at the moment confined to Connecticut. But rest assured, we will consult any agency that might be able to help,” said Carmine.

“Who is heading the investigation?” asked M.M.

“For want of someone better, sir, at present I am, but that could change. There are so many different police departments involved, you see.”

“Do you want the job, Carmine?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then I shall call the Governor,” said M.M., positive of his power, and why not?

“Would it help if Parson Products offered a large reward?” asked Richard Spaight. “Half a million? A million?”

Carmine blanched. “No, Mr. Spaight, anything but! For one thing, it would focus press attention on the Hug, and for another, massive rewards only make the police’s task harder. They bring every cuckoo and zealot out of the woodwork, and while I can’t say a reward wouldn’t produce a good lead, the chances are so slight that following up thousands and thousands of reports would tax police reserves beyond endurance for the sake of a carload of nothing. If we continue to get nowhere, then maybe twenty-five thousand in reward money could be offered. Take my word for it, that’s plenty.”

“Then,” said Roger Parson Junior, getting up and heading for the coffee, “I suggest we adjourn until Lieutenant Delmonico can give us some new developments. Professor Smith, you and your people must give the Lieutenant complete co-operation.” He started to pour into a cup and stopped, aghast. “The coffee’s not made! I need a coffee!”

While the Prof fluttered about apologizing and explaining that Miss Vilich normally dealt with the coffee toward the end of the meeting, Carmine switched the several percolators on and bit into an apple Danish. M.M. was right. Delicious.

Before Carmine left his office that afternoon, Commissioner John Silvestri barreled through the door to tell him that word had come from Hartford that there was to be a special police task force operating out of Holloman, as Holloman had the best police laboratories in the state. Lieutenant Carmine Delmonico was appointed to head the special task force.

“Budget, unlimited,” said Silvestri, looking even more like a large black cat than usual, “and ask for any cops you want from anywhere in the state.”

Thank you, M.M., said Carmine to himself. I have a virtual carte blanche, but I’m willing to bet my badge that the press will know everything before I leave this office. Once the public servants get in on the act, tongues are bound to wag. As for the Governor – multiple murders, especially of admirable citizens, add up to political odium.

To Silvestri he said, “I’ll visit every police department in the state personally to brief them, but for the moment I’m happy to keep the special task force to me, Patrick, Abe and Corey.”

Chapter 5