glimpse the word `Thurston’ on its side. “When you were with your father - you did see him now and then?”
“Oh yes. Before...the troubles, he and Andre were the men in my life.”
“Did the three of you do things together?”
“Well, no. I wanted us to, but they didn’t really get along with each other. I think Daddy tried, he got Andre into clubs and stuff.”
Carter pulled over to the curb. “There’s the house.” He put the car in gear and turned back into the street.
“What’s wrong?”
“No lights.” He parked several houses down. “Stay. FBI people are meeting us here.” He was out the door before Loni could protest. As he walked toward the darkened blue house, a car came slowly down the street. He stopped. The car pulled up next to him, and its headlights went out.
“Wallace Carver?”
“Yes. Are you Bowditch?”
“Pilton Bowditch. That the house?”
“Yes. When I left there were lights on both upstairs and down.”
“Okay. Leave it here, Dan.” The two FBI men, dressed in windbreakers, slacks and tennis shoes, climbed out quietly. No ceiling light came on. Dan went around to the back of the house. Bowditch mounted the front stairs with Carver behind him. The agent knocked. Then again. There were no sounds from within. Carver took the doorknob in his hand. The door swung open. A minute later they knew there was no one there.
E. Wallace Carver sat thinking. Loni was stretched out on a sofa at angles to his chair. The two FBI men were waiting for lab people and equipment; a preliminary search of the house had revealed nothing. Krestinski took the news without comment, but then asked to speak with Carver.
“I want you two out of it.”
“Who’s going to be in it?”
“Wally, this is a job for professionals, not an…Pilton Bowditch is very capable; he’ll have all our people out there alerted.”
“Performance to date has not inspired confidence.”
“Sammy Gardner was the agent assigned to Loni. He’s missing and may be dead. These people don’t fool around. You and Loni are to...”
Carver had hung up in mid-sentence. He studied the telephone book, then lifted the phone and dialed. Loni watched him curiously. “Have you had any calls to the area around Garrison Street this evening?...I see.” He hung up.
“Who did you call?”
“That vehicle with blinking red lights that passed us on the way over had the name `Thurston’ on the side. Olympia’s in Thurston County. Thurston Ambulance has no record of a visit to this area tonight or any night this week.”
“You think Dora and the others were in it?”
“Hudson was reported to be unconscious. It would be the easiest way to move someone in that state.”
“But where? How do we find them?”
“That
“I’ve put out the word. Why don’t you and the girl take off?”
“We shall. We’ll be at the Westwater. Call us when you hear anything.”
It was seven AM by Carver’s watch. His phone had not rung. He lifted the receiver and dialed Krestinski’s number in Boston. They kept him on hold long enough to start his fingers drumming on the bedside table. Finally he was through.
“You going to hang up on me again?”
“Was I right?”
“They were in that ambulance. Thurston Ambulance checked after your call. One of theirs is missing. The driver’s gone too. The Olympia police have been on the lookout, and the State Police on the highways. We’ll find them. You and Loni get on back here on the first...”
“We can’t get a plane until afternoon. Will you call Bowditch and have him let me look around that house on our way?”
“Why? What do you expect to accomplish that trained investigators can’t?”
“Find the message.”
“You think there’s a message there for you?”
“If there was any way for Cilla to leave one she would have. And if she did it’s not going to be a sheet of paper with instructions on how to find her tacked to the front door.”
Silence, then, “I suppose it can’t hurt. But I want your word you’ll be out of Olympia today.”
“We’ll be on a plane by nightfall.”
Bowditch wasn’t pleased, but Loni and Carver were allowed in. Wally went first to the half bath downstairs, then to the full bath upstairs. Loni found him sitting on the toilet fully clothed.
“Oh! I’m sorry!”
“You had the second bedroom.”
“That’s right.”
Wally led the way there. The room had one double bed, with blue and green bedspread, a night table which held a lamp, a half glass of water and a small box of facial tissue, a bureau painted the same blue as the night stand with empty drawers, on top a small electric alarm clock/radio - the clock had the correct time, the radio thumped rock music when he turned it on - a folded facecloth and a copy of Cosmopolitan, and a dressing table with assorted cosmetics on top. The floor was carpeted and clear of objects. There was an empty wastebasket next to the dressing table. Carver sat on the bed and considered the scene.
“Is that your magazine?”
“Yes.”
“Were you listening to that station on the radio?”
“I don’t know the stations out here. I just put on some music.”
“The water glass is yours?”
“I always have one next to my bed.”
“Are these your cosmetics?”
She started to reach for them.
“Don’t touch anything!”
For seventy-five years of talking, much of it bellowed in Suffolk and Essex county courtrooms, his voice had lost little of its power. Loni jerked her hand back as if the table had been a hot stove.
“Just look,” he continued in a lowered tone. “Is that your powder puff?”
“Yes.”
“Did you leave it out like that?”
“I don’t think so. No, I’m sure I didn’t. I kept it in its box.” She looked around the table. “May I open the drawer?”
“Carefully.”
Holding the rickety table with one hand she edged open its drawer. “Here’s the powder box.”
Carver peered over her shoulder. In addition to the powder box, the drawer contained an assortment of make-up items - lipsticks, nail scissors, eyebrow pencil, mascara, pills, hairpins, a brush and nail file.
“Were there
