“Yes,” Val said and hung up.
She put her hands to her face. After a while, she began to cry.
The gold and green enamel clock on the overmantel in Val’s sitting-room struck eleven.
Val lay on the settee by the open window, looking out at the starlit sky. It was a dark night: there was no moon.
Her father sat near her in a lounging chair, a whisky and soda on the occasional table by his side, a cigar smouldering between his fingers.
Neither of them had said anything to each other for the past half-hour. When her father had arrived, he had been unexpectedly kind and sympathetic. They had re-established the bond between them that had suffered since Chris had been in the sanatorium. Val now felt more relaxed. The presence of her father gave her confidence and acted as a solace.
Below in the hotel grounds, newspapermen and photographers had gathered. Val could hear the hum of their voice and now and then, there was a sudden sound of laughter that made her flinch.
Then out of the silence, the telephone bell buzzed. Travers picked up the receiver.
“Captain Terrell is here, sir,” the clerk told him.
“Send him right up,” Travers said and replaced the receiver. Val jumped to her feet and looked anxiously at him.
“Terrell coming up,” her father said.
“Have they found him?”
“We’ll know in a moment,” her father said as he got to his feet.
At the age of sixty, Charles Travers was an impressive looking man. He was three inches over six foot, square shouldered and powerfully built. He had bright, searching blue eyes, thinning white hair and a lean hawk-like face. As he crossed the room, he gave Val renewed confidence by the power and assurance of his movements. He opened the door as Terrell came along the corridor.
The two men regarded each other, then shook hands.
“No news yet,” Terrell said as he entered the room. “I thought I’d look in and tell you what we have been doing.” He nodded to Val who stood by the settee, white-faced, her hands into fists.
“He’s been missing over twelve hours,” Travers said, a snap in his voice. “I certainly would be interested to know what you have been doing.”
“I understand how you feel, Mr. Travers,” Terrell said. “We can’t do more than we are doing already. The country is very difficult. There are swamps, mangrove thickets, acres of high grass and hundreds of farm outbuildings. We have now combed the district five miles around from where the car was found. It seems we must consider two possibilities: either Mr. Burnett is deliberately hiding or he has managed to get a lift from a passing car that has taken him right out of the district. If he is deliberately hiding, then our task is almost impossible. There is no better ground to play hide-and-seek in. If he has left the district, then we must put out a four State alarm and appeal to all motorists who have been in this district to help us.”
Travers stared searchingly at Terrell.
“What you are saying is bluntly this: you haven’t the capability to find a missing man in your territory.”
“No State has the capability to find a missing man quickly if he doesn’t want to be found,” Terrell said quietly. “But we will find him. It could take time.”
“You don’t expect to find him tonight?”
“I don’t know. We could, but it now seems unlikely.”
“That’s all I want to know,” Travers said. “All right, you carry on. We’ll wait. Thank you for coming.”
Feeling dismissed and irritated by Travers’ manner, Terrell moved to the door, then he paused to look at Val.
“We’ll find him, Mrs. Burnett. I would like to think you still have confidence in me.”
“Oh, yes, I have,” Val said shakily.
When Terrell had gone, her father put his arm around her and pulled her close to him.
“You’re going to bed now,” he said. “I’ll be around. This is going to work out. You see in a couple of weeks, probably less, you’ll wonder why you got so worked up.”
Val moved away from him.
“Daddy, you don’t really understand. I can’t thank you enough for coming. I can’t thank you enough for your kindness and your help, but you still don’t seem to realize that Chris is my life. I love him. I mean that... whatever he has become, however he behaves, he is now part of me. Without him, life would be meaningless to me. I’m telling you this because you don’t seem able to accept the fact that he is so very, very important to me. He really and truly is all I now live for.”
Travers looked thoughtfully at her, then with a little shrug of resignation, he said, “Come along, Val. You go to bed. You won’t sleep, but you’ll probably rest. They’ll find him. While they are finding him, we’ll sweat it out together.”
Val put her hand affectionately on his arm.
“I just wanted to be sure you know how it is between Chris and myself. I’ll go to bed. Thank you, darling. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
She walked quickly across the room and into her bedroom. Travers moved to the window. He stood for a long moment staring out into the darkness, a frown on his face, then abruptly, he tossed his half-smoked cigar down on to the terrace where the newspapermen waited.
The smell of grilling ham made Terrell hasten with his shaving. He had stayed with the search for Burnett until three o’clock in the morning, then weary and discourage he had handed over to Beigler and had gone home.
As he finished shaving, he thought bleakly that Burnett couldn’t have been found otherwise Joe would have telephoned. He thought of that nice Mrs. Burnett, and he felt sorry he had so far failed her. But what more could he have done? he asked himself.
When he entered the morning-room, he found his wife, Caroline, a large matronly looking woman, reading the newspaper headlines.
“Is it right this poor man is a mental case?” she asked, handing Terrell the paper.
“I guess,” he said and sat down. “Trust the papers to get hold of the details. Now they will be scaring everybody out of their wits.”
“But he isn’t dangerous?”
Terrell shrugged.
“He’s a mental case.”
He sat and read, and finally tossed the paper aside in disgust.
“Where the hell can he have got to?” he said more to himself than to his wife. “What’s he been doing all this time?”
As if to answer these questions, the telephone bell rang. Terrell put down his cup of coffee and hurried across the room. He lifted the receiver.
“Chief? This is Joe.” Beigler’s voice sounded tense. “We have trouble out at Ojus. A murder reported.”
Terrell scratched his forehead. A murder! He hadn’t had a murder in his territory for the past eight months.
“Any details, Joe?”
“The owner of the Park Motel phoned through. He reports a dead woman in one of his cabins. She’s been badly cut up.”
“Okay. Come out for me. Any news of Burnett?”
“The boys are still searching,” Beigler was obviously bored with Burnett. A murder was much more important to him. “I have the team together. We’ll be out for you in ten minutes.”
Terrell hung up and returned to the table to finish his coffee. He told Caroline about the murder, but this didn’t interest her. She wanted to know about Burnett.
“He’s still missing,” Terrell said irritably. “It’s my guess he’s miles away from where he smashed up the car. He must be. He probably had a blackout and has just gone off into the blue.”
As two police cars pulled up outside Terrell’s bungalow eight minutes later, and as Terrell was putting on his jacket, the telephone bell rang.
“Chief, this is Williams. We’ve found Burnett. He was wandering along the North Miami Beach highway. We have him here in our car. What shall we do with him?”