“He’s — he’s here because he won a scholarship.”
“Don’t you believe it. That’s Dodd. And he’s here because he wants information from someone.”
“Who?”
“Well, whom was he talking to?”
“Me,” Miss Burton said, and both her heart and her feet missed a beat.
Dodd caught the startled look she threw him and knew that Jacobson had told her who he was. He thought, I should have recognized Jacobson sooner, but he’s lost fifty pounds. Well, there’s no harm done. Let Miss Burton get fussed up. She might tell me more of the truth by lying.
“But I don’t have any information,” Miss Burton insisted.
Mr. Jacobson winked. “Ah, don’t you now.”
“I really don’t. Maybe Mr. Dodd is here after somebody else. That Mr. Lessups who enrolled last week, he looks like a crook.”
“Don’t we all. Now, Miss B., you’re tightening up again. Relax.”
“How can I, with a policeman staring at me like that?”
“He’s not a policeman. He’s a private detective.”
“It’s the same thing for my money.”
“Then your money’s wrong. Mr. Dodd has no authority whatever. You don’t have to say a word to him. Tell him to go roll his hoop.”
“I can’t.”
“And why not?”
“I–I’d kind of like to find out what he’s doing here.” “In brief, your curiosity is greater than your fear. Ah, women. Well, the best of luck, my dear. And if you can’t be good, be careful.”
Dodd was waiting for her at the doorway. When she tried to pass him he put out his hand to stop her. “I gather Mr. Jacobson has introduced me? That’s all right. I intended to do it myself eventually. Would you like to go someplace for a cup of coffee?”
“I definitely would not.”
“That’s honest anyway. Are you honest about everything, Miss Burton?”
“I don’t go around telling people I’m an engineer.”
“I told you I did some engineering. I do.”
“Well, you’re not going to do any engineering on me,” Miss Burton said coldly. “You have no authority to question me about anything.”
“That’s what Jacobson told you?”
“Yes and he’s a lawyer and he should know.”
“Of course,” Dodd agreed. “What interests me is, why are you so afraid of questions? I’ve learned quite a lot about you, Miss Burton, and it seems to me you have nothing to hide or be ashamed of.”
“What do you mean you learned quite a lot about me? How? Why?”
“Hold on a minute. You’re asking me questions. You haven’t any authority to do that, have you?”
“I...”
“You see, this thing works both ways. I have no authority, you have no authority. Nobody asks questions, nobody gets any answers. Not an ideal way to run things, is it? Now let’s sit down and have a reasonable talk. How about it?”
“Maybe I’d better ask Mr. Jacobson first.”
“You haven’t been accused of any crime. You don’t need a lawyer.”
Miss Burton sat down. “O.K., what do you want?”
“I’m looking for a missing person. I thought you might be able to help.”
“How can I help? I don’t even know any missing person.”
“Yes, you do,” Dodd said.
11.
It was cold and late, and ghosts of fog were prowling the streets of the city, but Miss Burton didn’t notice the time or the weather. She hurried along the sidewalk, propelled by fright, guided by instinct. Her handbag, containing the dancing shoes and the bottle of cologne, hung heavy from her shoulder and knocked against one hip as she moved.
From his parked car Dodd saw her turn the corner toward Market Street. He made no attempt to follow her since he was sure of her intention. He had planted the intention himself, deliberately, and watched it grow in her transparent eyes the way a botanist watches a seed grow between two layers of glass.
With a final flip of her yellow coat Miss Burton disappeared around the corner of Woolworth’s and Dodd was left pondering some second and third thoughts about the advisability of dragging her into the case. She was a nice girl. He didn’t like to use her, but business was business. If Rupert Kellogg was innocent of any wrongdoing, he deserved to be warned about Brandon’s suspicions and operations. If he was guilty, a warning might jolt him into action. So far he’d done nothing but sit tight and tell stories, some thin, some tall. Brandon himself was certainly not admitting the whole truth. No living woman could be as flawless as Amy.
Dodd turned on the ignition of the little Volkswagen. He was tired and depressed. For the first time since entering the case he had the feeling that Brandon might be right about his sister. Wherever and whenever Amy was found, she wouldn’t be found alive.
The house was dark. Miss Burton had never seen it at night, wrapped in fog, and she was not sure it was the right place until she went up on the veranda and saw the bronze nameplate on the door, Rupert H. Kellogg. A few hours ago the sight of the name would have given her a pleasant little thrill. Now it seemed strange, without any relation to the man who owned it. She pressed the door chime and waited, shivering with cold and fear and self- doubt. What am, I doing here? What will I say to him? How can I act calm as if nothing had happened, as if Dodd had never told me those terrible things?
Take care of yourself, Dodd had said. A woman has disappeared, don’t make it two.
She turned her head quickly and peered through the fog at the street, hoping for a moment that Dodd had followed her. But there were no cars parked along the curb, and no one was walking along the street or waiting under a lamppost. She was alone. She could enter this house and never be seen again and no one would be able to say, “Yes, I noticed her, a small woman in a yellow coat, shortly after eleven o’clock — she went in and never came out...”
The hall light splashed through the window and she reared back as if someone had thrown it at her like acid. Panting, she leaned against a pillar and watched the door slowly open.
“Why, Miss Burton,” Rupert said. “What are you doing here?”
“I–I don’t — know.”
“Is anything the matter?”
“Ev — everything.”
“You haven’t been drinking, have you?”
“No. I never drink. I’m a M-M-Methodist.”
“Well, that’s very interesting,” he said wearily, “but I hope you didn’t come all the way out here at this time of night to tell me you’re a Methodist.”
She pressed against the pillar, her teeth chattering like castanets. She wanted to run away but she was both afraid for him and afraid of him, and the double fear immobilized her.
“Miss Burton?”
“I–I was just passing by and I thought I’d — drop in and say hello. I didn’t realize how — late it was. I’m sorry to have bothered you. I’d — better be going.”
“You’d better not be going,” he said sharply. “You’d better be coming in and telling me about it.”
“About — what?”
“Whatever it is that’s making you act like this.” He opened the door wider, and waited. “Come on.”
“I can’t. It wouldn’t be proper.”
“All right, I’ll call you a cab.”
“No! I mean, I don’t want a cab.”
“You can’t stand here all night, can you?”
She shook her head and her limp, blond curls fell over her eyes so that she looked like a little old lady peering out at him through a lace curtain. He wondered what was going on behind the lace curtain.
He said, “You’re cold.”
“I know.”
“You’d better come inside and get warm.”
“Yes. All right.”