The living-room was connected with the kitchen by a doorway and also by an open serving area above a waist-high counter. A stone fireplace dominated about a third of the outside wall The wall-to-wall carpeting would have made the room feel cozy had it not been for the signs of recent violence.
Raglan stared thoughtfully at a purse which lay open on the couch. He reached inside and found his daughter’s wallet, thumbed it open. “Three bucks,” he said, tossing it back in the purse. He pulled open the draperies and through the glass wall we could see a small porch and some lawn furniture beyond.
There was the click of a switch and light spilled from the side door of the garage at the back of the lot, revealing an object which lay crumpled on the grass nearby For a big man, Raglan moved fast, ducking outside and covering the ground with long strides, Murphy and I at his heels. “Her sweater,” Raglan said. “Cover me, Murph.”
Gun in hand, he approached the garage door; Murphy moved up on the other side. I prudently removed myself from the line of possible tire.
“Debbie!” Raglan called. “You in there, honey?”
He listened for a moment, then stepped quickly inside. “Come on, Murph!” I heard him say, and Murphy followed. A moment later the garage light went out.
“Stop where you are!” a new voice barked.
“Relax, Phillips — it’s me, Chief Raglan. See anybody?”
In the distance a dog began to yap. “Nobody,” Phillips reported.
“Where’s your partner?”
“With the car, sir.”
“Get him. Go over this alley from one end to the other. First I want you to call in an APB on Deborah Raglan, fifteen, hundred thirty pounds, brown hair, green eyes, good figure, last seen wearing a green plaid skirt, yellow blouse, saddle oxfords. Got that?”
“Yes, sir.”
“One other thing,” Raglan said. “When I saw her at ten o’clock her hair was up in curlers. She had a pale green scarf over it. Get that on the air now Don’t waste any time.”
“Yes, sir. You want the lab crew tonight, sir?”
“Get ’em here.”
While Raglan and Murphy started searching the alley, I returned to the house. I looked in on the kids and saw that they were sleeping soundly. Then I went to the telephone. My deadline for the final edition is eleven o’clock; I still had a little over ten minutes. I picked up the phone. There was no dial tone. It took me another minute or two to find the kitchen extension, which was off the hook. Had Debbie been trying to call out when the prowler broke in? I jiggled the hook until I got a tone, then dialed the city room.
“Jackson, this is Ted Shaffer,” I said. “Page one if you have room. Chief Raglan’s daughter is missing. Foul play suspected. While babysitting last night she called her father, Chief of Detectives Joseph P. Raglan, Homicide Bureau, to report a prowler in the neighbourhood. That was about fifteen, twenty minutes. Make it ten-thirty. Ten minutes later, Raglan arrived in a squad car. No prowler has been found yet but neither has the girl. Name is Deborah.” I repeated the description Raglan had rattled off a few minutes ago.
I could hear Jackson’s typewriter clacking as he took it down. There was an envelope on the kitchen counter. I picked it up, then continued, “Her sweater was found in the back yard. Address is 730 Barron Street, home of Mr. Frank Van Drimmelen.” I told him about the purse, then added, “Look in the morgue for shots of her; about a year ago I did a picture story on her, the cop’s daughter who wants to follow in her daddy’s footsteps. Yeah, I’ll hang on.”
I could hear Jackson bellowing for somebody to look for Debbie’s picture. In a moment he was back on the line, firing questions.
“Yeah, Howdy. Two kids, about two and four. Apparently she was making a phone call when her assailant broke into the house. Kitchen phone off the hook. I was with Raglan when he got the call. How’s that for luck, huh?”
I hung up and looked at the mess in the living-room. Van Drimmelen’s hi-fi was still grooving on the record I walked around the kitchen partition and lifted the needle off, being careful not to disturb any fingerprints that might be on the pickup arm. A record jacket lay nearby. I found the control and turned the hi-fi off. Without the hum the house was deadly quiet
The stillness was broken by the telephone bell. I reached through the service opening into the kitchen and picked the receiver off the nook. Before I could answer a man’s voice said, “Deborah?”
“No, she isn’t here at the moment,” I said. “Who’s calling?”
“Isn’t there!” the voice exploded. “She’s babysitting my kids! Who is this?”
“Your children are fine, Mr. Van Drimmelen,” I assured him. “But I suggest you come home immediately. Debbie reported a prowler to the police. When we got here she had disappeared.”
“What happened?”
“We don’t know yet. Apparently somebody broke in.”
“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”
“The children are both asleep, and somebody will stay with them until you arrive, so drive carefully.”
“I will. Thank you.”
As I hung up, Raglan came in from the back yard, carrying Debbie’s sweater. “She must have had it around her shoulder’s,” Raglan said.
I nodded. “Van Drimmelen’s on his way home, Joe,” I told him “He just called. Find anything else?”
“Nothing. There’s no trace of her. A kid just doesn’t disappear without a trace. Not Debbie. She put up a fight anyway,” he added, looking at the mess.
“You’ll find her, Joe,” I assured him. “Got any theories about it?”
His eyes narrowed for a moment as he stared at the sweater. “It might not just be a prowler,” he said. “I don’t have anything at all to back up that statement, but I’ve got to suspect the worst.”
“Motive?” I asked.
“Try revenge,” he said.
I looked at him.
“It’s no secret that I think the world of that kid. Could you come up with a better way to get back at me?”
“Can I quote you on that?”
“Yeah. Go ahead. But as a police officer I’ve got to think of other possibilities, too. I know Debbie. I know how her mind works. This theory, though, you do not quote.”
“All right,” I agreed. “Did she have any reason to run away from home?”
“What reason does any fifteen-year-old have?”
“She’s not — in trouble, is she?”
“She better not be. But I don’t know. Hold off for a day on the revenge theory. You’ll be the first to know the minute I get anything.”
“I know that. What grade’s she in, Joe. And what school?”
“Ten. McKinley. Why?”
“I may be able to get farther in this direction than you could.”
“I appreciate your help. I don’t recall any special girl friends — my wife might, though. Debbie is a lot like me. She keeps pretty much to herself.”
Raglan went out then to check on progress m the alley and returned just as a car stopped out front. A key turned in the lock and we watched the front door swing open to admit a tall man and an attractive, buxom woman. “Raglan!” the man said. “What happened. Did you find her yet?”
Raglan shook his head. “Shaffer, this is Frank Drimmelen and his wife.”
“Excuse me, please,” the woman said. “My babies.” She vanished towards the bedrooms.