“Only it turns out that he’s not cured and his name isn’t Fenton, it’s Dalloway, and—”
“Nothing like that at all.” Frank smiled. “The man’s cured and his name’s Fenton, and he comes from a little town in Arkansas called Boulder Junction. Does that ring a bell?”
“Not loud.”
“Rose was born in Boulder Junction. So was Fenton. I looked the town up in the atlas I keep in my office. The population, as of three years ago, was about three thousand.”
“And?”
“I figured that in a community that size everybody would know everybody else’s business, so I went down to see Fenton this morning at the glass factory where he works. He’s a pretty old man but his memory’s good.”
“He knew Rose?”
“Both of them, Rose and Dalloway. In fact, Fenton claims that he was the first person at the scene on the night Dalloway was shot. That’s how Dalloway lost his arm. It wasn’t caught by a buzz saw, as he told me. It was amputated because the elbow bones were crushed by the bullet.”
“Who fired the shot?”
“I’m afraid,” Frank said with some regret, “that Rose did.”
“Any details?”
“Some. Neither Rose nor Dalloway made any secret of the fact that Rose joined up with a circus. According to Fenton, there actually was a circus in Boulder Junction that night. Not a Barnum and Bailey production as Rose liked to pretend later on, but one of those shoestring circuses with a trapeze act, an elephant, a couple of moth-eaten lions, half a dozen jugglers. Rose went to the circus alone. Fenton claims it was her first night out after the baby was born. This makes her subsequent behavior more understandable. A great many women feel trapped after they have their first child, especially talented and ambitious women like Rose. Most of them eventually adjust themselves, in one way or another. Rose didn’t. She adjusted the circumstances. Nobody knows exactly what happened during Rose’s little visit to the circus, whom she met or what kind of hook and sinker she swallowed. But the results of the visit were pretty drastic. She came home and told Dalloway she was leaving him, that she had a job with the circus as a dancer. Dalloway objected. There was a quarrel — one of many, I gather — only this time Dalloway’s .32 Smith & Wesson came into the picture. There was a struggle over the gun and Dalloway got shot in the elbow. Rose didn’t even wait around for the sheriff to arrive. The next day when an investigation was made, Dalloway took the blame and the whole episode was hushed up. It was hushed up so completely that even in later years when Rose became famous and practically every detail of her past was written up in newspapers and magazines, the shooting of Dalloway was never mentioned, according to Fenton. Shortly after the incident Dalloway took the baby, Lora, and left town.”
Greer shrugged. “All this is fairly interesting, but it proves nothing against Dalloway.”
“It gives him a reason for wanting Rose dead.”
“Men don’t usually wait thirty-two years for revenge unless they have difficulty finding their victim. Dalloway couldn’t have had that difficulty. Rose was famous for years. Nearly everybody in the country knew where she was, including Dalloway. He’d have had no trouble getting revenge then.”
“Maybe he didn’t want it then. The thought of revenge might not have occurred to him until two months ago when Lora disappeared. His theory was that Lora came west to locate her mother, and the idea of Rose being reunited with Lora after her years of complete neglect might have been the final straw for Dalloway. So he came here on a mission, to find the two women who had deserted him.”
“And found them?”
“Maybe,” Frank said. “Maybe he did.”
The desk clerk was a prim tight-lipped man with large, pale eyes magnified by a pair of thick, rimless bifocals. His eyes moved constantly as if in a desperate attempt to see over or around the lenses. With difficulty they focused on Greer for a second, slid to Frank, paused, and then rolled upward and around and back to Greer.
“Yes sir?”
“You have a Haley Dalloway registered here?”
“Yes, but—”
“I’d like to speak to him.”
“Mr. Dalloway is not seeing anyone today, sir. He left word that he did not wish to be disturbed.”
“Oh.” Greer took his badge out of his pocket, showed it and slipped it back in, all in one swift, practiced motion. “Go and disturb him.”
“I... I can’t.”
“Try, like a good boy.”
“He’s not here. He checked out an hour ago.” The clerk’s eyes made a wild tour of their sockets. “I would have said so right away, but I didn’t know you were co — I didn’t realize you were officers. Mr. Dalloway was a very special guest, very generous. When he asked me to tell a little white lie for him, well, how was I to know he was in trouble with the co — officers?”
“What’s your name?”
“Ryan. Billy Ryan. There’s no law against little white lies. If there was a law against little white—”
“Did Dalloway make up his mind quite suddenly?”
“This morning. I got his plane reservations for him by phone — two seats through to New York.”
“Two?”
“Yes sir, he asked for two, I got him two.”
“What flight?”
“Thirty-seven. If it’s anything urgent, you should be able to catch him. The limousine that picks up our passengers for the airport just left a few minutes ago.”
“With Dalloway?”
“No sir. Mr. Dalloway left by himself in a cab.”
The airport was on the main highway ten miles north of the city. Because traffic was heavy, Greer drove with the siren open. Conversation was impossible and neither of the men attempted it until the airport was in sight and the siren expired with a whimper.
Greer spoke first. “This is a pretty stupid move for a smart guy like Dalloway. Running away is the surest way to get chased, as any cat knows.”
“Maybe he didn’t expect to be chased.”
“In that case we’ll give him a surprise.” He parked the car, and the two men walked toward the small, oval building that served the airline as ticket office, restaurant, and waiting room. There was no large passenger plane in sight, though a group of people was already waiting at the locked gate to go aboard. Among them was Dalloway wearing dark glasses and a hat pulled down low on his forehead, and carrying a briefcase in his ungloved hand.
Greer squinted. “See him?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t. Where?”
“Behind the fat woman in the green dress. I think he’s spotted us, too.”
From overhead came the distant drone of plane engines as Greer and Frank made their way through the lineup of people.
“Say, quit shoving,” the fat woman muttered. “Land, it’s just like in the last war, everybody lines up, everybody shoves, everybody—”
“Sorry, madam.” Greer thrust past her and faced Dalloway. “Going somewhere?”
“Yes.”
“I’d like to talk to you first.”
“Sorry,” Dalloway said calmly. “My plane’s leaving.”
“There’ll be other planes.”
“This happens to be the one I have a reservation on.”
“Better cancel it. You’ve just had a change of plan.”
“Have I?”
“Come on, Dalloway.”
The waiting room was deserted except for a small, black kitten which lay purring in the sun on a window ledge.
Dalloway sat down on one of the long wooden benches, his briefcase across his knees. He still appeared very calm and detached. Too calm, Frank thought, considering the irascible temper Dalloway had displayed in the past.
“Your decision to leave,” Greer said, “came pretty suddenly, didn’t it?”
“I am accustomed to making quick decisions and acting on them.”