“Am I? Why does the girl take the house? Why does she give up what she’s got and go into this weird setup?”
Wilks laughed. “Come on, Fred. Haven’t you ever heard of a girl getting set up in an apartment a boy friend pays the rent on?”
“Yep. That I have. But not for three months, or one month, or whatever. That’s like the art collector who paid a thousand bucks to an Eskimo sculptor for a hunk of carving he fancied, only when it arrived at his house, it was nothing but a pail of water because the Eskimo worked in ice. I mean, what’s this girl buying?”
Nobody had an answer and Fellows shrugged his shoulders. “All right I guess we’ll have to let whoever knew the girl answer that one. You get anything more, Ed?”
Lewis nodded. “Oh yes. A lot more. I didn’t know why a girl who lived in Bridgeport would be shipping her trunk from Townsend—”
“That wasn’t the girl,” Fellows said.
“So Sid told me, but back then I was wondering, and I checked on it anyway. Well, they remembered her on account of not many trunks get shipped out of Townsend. The stationmaster looked over the files and found the girl brought it in Saturday about noon. That’s the last day of January. She filled in the label in front of him and he stuck it on the trunk and put it aside for shipment. That was all he could tell me, but I asked the porter at the station and he said it was brought there by this girl and a man in a pick-up truck. And get this. The man was dark-haired, fairly tall, medium build, and he was wearing work clothes. He and the girl both came in the truck and they seemed friendly. The guy got the porter to help him unload it and take it inside where the girl filled out the label and then the two of them got back in the pick-up and drove away.”
“Anything else in the back of that pick-up, Ed?”
“No, but I asked him about that truck and he said it was dusty like it had been used to carry cement.”
“Construction worker, huh?”
“Sounds like it. His work pants were dusty too.”
“Any name on the side of the truck?”
“The porter thought so, but he couldn’t remember what it was.” Gorman returned with coffee and the men chipped in. They took their paper containers and tested for flavor, and Fellows said, “Got anything else?”
Lewis said, “How the hell much more do you want?”
“Well, I wouldn’t mind having the name of the man and the name of the girl. That would help.”
“The woman’s name was Campbell, according to the station-master.”
“Great.” Fellows swigged some of his coffee. “Well, we’d better see what we’ve got before that reporter Hilders comes back from supper. One thing. I don’t want any of you people giving out interviews. Any reporter ask you something, even if it’s about the weather, you refer him to me. I don’t want the papers knowing anything I don’t want them to know.”
Wilks said, “What things don’t you want them to know?”
“I don’t want them knowing about that tan Ford and what we’re going to do about it. I don’t want anybody knowing anything about the Sherman girl.” He fondled his cup and sat up straighten “We’ve got leads to both the man and the girl. If we can find out who just one of them was, then we should have no trouble finding the identity of the other. We’re going to explore both ends and see if we can’t come out in the middle. Tomorrow we’re going to hit the Motor Vehicle Department for a list of all tan 1957 Fords in the state. Meanwhile, every available man is going to be put on tracking that car. It had a dented rear fender, so I want every garage south as far as Stamford, north as far as Danbury, west to the state line, and east to Bridgeport canvassed to see if any repair work was done on such a fender. In addition, we’re going to hit all service stations, starting in Stockford and fanning out, for customers owning tan Fords. One way or another we’re going to find that car. Now I don’t want any leaks. I don’t want the murderer reading about what we’re doing. I don’t want him painting that car or running it into the Sound.
“As for the girl, the evidence is that she lives in Townsend and I’d guess the man probably lives there too. In either case, we shouldn’t have too much trouble. It’s a small town. I’ll want three men checking Townsend service stations tomorrow morning. Meanwhile, Wilks and I’ll try to find the girl. If we’re good and lucky, and we should be, we ought to have the man in jail by tomorrow night.”
The chief finished his coffee and stood up. “All right. You men can go home now. I’m going to write up a statement for the press. If the morning papers announce that our J.S. came from Townsend, we may have help finding out who J.S. really is.” He snapped his fingers. “Hey, Gorman. Get on the phone to the Townsend police. Ask Chief Ramsey if anybody’s been reported missing from there.”
When the chief drove home at seven o’clock, he wore a smile of carefully controlled, but not completely contained optimism. True, Ramsey had reported no known missing persons but that didn’t surprise Fellows. The girl with the initials J.S. had expected a three months’ stay in the murder house and she would have made the necessary excuses to her friends and relatives. That was nothing compared to the credit side of the ledger. The papers had been given the news and it would appear in the morning editions. The victim had been pinpointed as coming from a town of 2500 people and that made tracing her easy. Fellows was willing to bet the man
