“You’ll have to do better than that, Captain. If you want me to play, deal from the top of the deck.”
“All right, I’ll play it straight. A man’s wife is missing. She’s been missing for about three days, since Friday afternoon. Apparently no one saw her leave, no one knows where she went or where she is. The husband asked for police help, and he’s getting it; he’s a college professor who could raise a stink through channels if he chose. We also have reason to suspect that this isn’t simply a case of a woman on the prowl. That’s all you’re going to get. Are you playing?”
“A hand or two, at least till I see how the game’s going. I know Terry well. I intend to know her better. She’s hot stuff.”
“Would you care to amplify that?”
“Isn’t it plain enough?”
“There would be complications, of course. She already has a husband. Or are you shooting for something less legal?”
“Her husband doesn’t seem to bother her. Why should he bother me?”
“It’s a good point, and I get the feeling it’s particularly valid in this case. It’s my impression that her husband is on the point of leaving her.”
“Really?” O’Hara’s laugh was hard and flat. “Don’t you think he’s kind of late? It seems she’s already left him.”
“It may not be so simple. Or do you happen to know where she is?”
“I don’t. I told Jay Miles that when he was here Saturday night. I’ve tried to find her since, without any luck. I’ll tell you this, though. If anything has happened to her, somebody’s going to pay for it. I’m no gutless husband. I know what Terry is, and she suits me just right. I have a notion that a woman like her quits looking when she has what she needs. And as far as Terry’s concerned, I’ve got it. For your information, Captain, she was planning to get a divorce.”
“Thanks for the information. You haven’t seen her since Friday? Haven’t heard from her?”
“No.”
“You say you’ve been looking for her. Where have you looked?”
“Various places. She wasn’t there, so it doesn’t matter.”
“You have no idea where she may have gone?”
“If I had an idea where, I’d look there. She had a date with me for cocktails Friday afternoon. She didn’t show. I assumed that something had come up, and I didn’t try to find out the reason.”
“Why not?”
“Climb off it, Captain. We didn’t give a damn about her husband, but why rub it in his face?”
Bartholdi smiled. “I get the impression you don’t like Jay Miles.”
“I don’t feel anything about him, one way or another. At least, I didn’t. Now, I don’t know. There was something phony about his coming here.”
“It seems to me, since he knows or suspects about your affair with his wife, that it was logical.”
“It could have been a cover.”
Bartholdi extended his legs. His eyes seemed cloudy. “Oh? How do you mean?”
“What would you do if you’d knocked off your wife, for instance, and wanted to hide it?”
“Are you making an accusation?” Bartholdi said, blinking. He was almost yawning.
“I’m making nothing. I’m speculating.”
“Speculate some more.”
“It’s simple enough. You’d run crying to the police, and you’d try to throw suspicion wherever it might stick.”
“It would be a dangerous game.”
“Murder is a dangerous game, they tell me:” O’Hara’s voice was mocking.
“Why would Miles kill his wife?”
“Because she was the kind of wife that a certain kind of husband might think needed killing. I’ll bet it’s never occurred to our professor friend that his problems with Terry are his own fault. He’s deficient. He hasn’t got what it takes to keep her home. Compared to Terry he’s a damn dull tool. I told you I’m under no illusions about Terry. To me, she’s an exciting challenge I can handle. Our professor can’t and never could. She’s given him one hell of a bad time. A weak man who’s been made a monkey of often goes off the deep end.”
“You’re quite a psychologist.” Bartholdi tacked suddenly. “Do you know that Terry Miles is heiress to a small fortune?”
O’Hara’s expression of surprise was, Bartholdi thought, genuine.
“No kidding. She never mentioned it to me.”
“She’ll get it next year.”
O’Hara shrugged. He said shortly, “It makes no difference to me. I’m pretty well fixed.”
“The estate was left by Terry’s father, a minor movie executive, I understand. It’s administered by a lawyer in Los Angeles.”
“I know that Terry comes from there. I go there myself two, three times a year. She’s mentioned it. But nothing about coming into a bundle.”
“Maybe you know the lawyer. His name is Feldman.”
O’Hara shook his head. “I don’t know him.”
“Well, I won’t keep you any longer.” Bartholdi rose and picked up his hat and coat. “I appreciate your giving me the time.”
“Think nothing of it.”
Bartholdi looked at his watch. “I’ve got to check in at headquarters, then I’m going home and make my dinner.”
O’Hara was astonished. “You cook?”
“I’m a bug on home cooking. Matter of fact, got a new recipe I’m eager to try. It’s a ragout — Student’s Ragout, it’s called. Ever heard of it?”
“I wouldn’t know a ragout from a soufflé.”
Captain Bartholdi shook his head in almost genuine dismay at O’Hara’s culinary ignorance. Then he put his hat and coat on and went out.
19
Fanny got back to The Cornish Arms between five and six. Outside the entrance, she met Ben Green coming from the opposite direction. Ben was cradling a brown paper sack like a baby in his right arm.
“Hello, Ben,” Fanny said. “What have you got in the sack?”
“Groceries,” said Ben.
“Have you been to the market?”
“No, I bought them from my banker. Where in hell would you expect me to buy groceries?”
“Well, you needn’t be so nasty about it. I was only asking to be agreeable. What kind of groceries have you bought?”
“Carrots and potatoes and onions. If you must know, I’m going to make a ragout like the one Terry told me about.”
“Are you sure you still remember how to do it?”
“Certainly I’m sure. It’s easy enough to remember.”
“I should think you’d be reluctant to cook it, what with what’s happened and everything.”
Ben said a four-letter word. “Do you think the damn ragout is some kind of witch’s brew that makes people disappear into thin air?”
“It’s just the principle of the thing.”
“I see no principle involved,” said Ben stiffly.
They had moved into the building while they talked, Fanny reversing the amenities in deference to his load of groceries by holding the door open for him. In the hall she did not veer off toward the stairs, but continued at Ben’s side in the direction of his apartment.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he said.
Fanny said, “I thought it might be nice to share the ragout with you.”
“Think again. I’m going to share it with Farley.”
“No problem. We can cook enough for three.”
“Does it ever occur to you that you might not be welcome?”
“That is seldom the case. Please don’t be difficult, Ben. I can help you prepare it and make myself useful in all sorts of ways. Besides, if I decide to marry you, we will be eating together all the time. The practice will do you good.”
“There you go again! Who the hell asked you to marry me?”
“It’s a natural inference. You certainly display enough interest in what goes with marriage.”