«Is anything the matter? How did the meetings go with the GM and Lockheed subs?»
«Short and to the point. They’ve got to come up with better cost sheets, or we threatened penalties. That’s not why I’m calling. It’s Bonner.»
«What happened?»
«He’s gone.»
«What?»
«Just blew. Never showed up for the meetings, checked out of the hotel in Boise this morning, and never met us at the airport. No word, no messages, nothing. We thought you ought to know.»
Andy held the telephone firmly in his hand. He tried to think quickly; he realized that Vicarson expected instructions. «When did you last see him?»
«This morning at breakfast. In Boise.»
«How did he seem?»
«Fine. A little quiet, but okay. I think he was tired, or hung. He was going to join us at the airport. He never showed.»
«Did I come up in the conversation?»
«Sure; normal. Our concern for your wife, how well you were taking it; that sort of thing.»
«That’s all?»
«He did ask what flight you took out last night; figured you had to make rotten connections. Said he might have been able to get you a Defense jet, so it—»
«How did you answer that, Sam?» interrupted Trevayne sharply.
«No problem. We told him we didn’t know. We kind of laughed and said with your connections and … your money, you probably bought an airline. He took it fine.»
Andy switched the telephone to his other hand and gestured Phyllis to light him a cigarette. He spoke quietly but with assurance to Vicarson.
«Listen to me, Sam. This is what I want you to do. Send a telegram, a very routine telegram, to Bonner’s superior… No. Wait a minute; we’re not sure who that is. Just to the senior personnel officer, Department of Defense. Say you assume Bonner was given a leave for some reason or other. Ask, in the event we do need any assistance, who we should reach in Washington. But make the whole thing sound like an afterthought, do you know what I mean?»
«Sure. We just happened to notice he was missing. Probably wouldn’t have, except that he was to have dinner with us or something.»
«Exactly. They’ll expect some reaction from us.»
«If they know he’s not here.»
Mario de Spadante sat at the kitchen table in shirtsleeves. His obese wife was in the process of removing dishes; his daughter, equally obese, dutifully placed a bottle of Strega in front of her father. Mario’s younger brother, in a J. Press suit and a wide regimental tie, sat opposite De Spadante, drinking coffee.
Mario waved his wife and daughter out of the room. Alone with his brother, he poured the yellow liquid into a brandy glass and looked up.
«Go on. Be clear, be accurate.»
«There’s not much more to tell you. The questions seemed phony: Where was Mr. de Spadante?… We can only speak with Mr. de Spadante… It seemed like someone just wanted to know where you were. Then, when I heard they came from Torrington Metals—that’s Gino’s brother’s place—we leaned. This guy Pace, Trevayne’s partner, was the one who wanted the information.»
«And you told him I was in Miami.»
«Even gave him the hotel, the one that always says you just checked out.»
«Good. Now Trevayne’s back east?»
«That’s the word. They took his wife to a hospital in Darien. Cancer tests.»
«Better they should run a few on him. Trevayne’s a sick man; he doesn’t know how sick he is.»
«What do you want me to do, Mario?»
«Find out exactly where he is. In Darien. Or whether he’s in Greenwich and drives back and forth. Or in a motel or some friend’s house—Darien’s crawling with his type… When you find him, let me know. Don’t bother me before you do. I stopped off in Vegas; I’m drained, Augie, all the way down.»
Augie de Spadante rose from the table. «I’ll go there myself. I’ll call you… Suppose I find him this afternoon? Tonight?»
«Then you call; isn’t that what I said?»
«But you’re beat.»
«I’ll revive quickly… There’s been too goddamn much cockkissing; too much alternative bullshit. It’s time for Trevayne to get shook. I’m looking forward to that. It’ll help make up for nine years ago… Arrogant prick! Velvet pig!»
Mario de Spadante spat on his own kitchen table.
28
The hospital dinner was not an ordinary hospital dinner, even by Darien standards. John Sprague had sent an ambulance—albeit no siren—to the best restaurant in the area; it had returned with trays of steak and lobster and two bottles of Châteauneuf du Pape. Dr. Sprague also reminded his boyhood friend that the New Year’s fund drive would be coming up soon. He looked forward to Andrew’s communication.
Phyllis tried to get her husband to talk of other things than his all-consuming subcommittee, but it was impossible. The news of Paul Bonner’s disappearance both confused and angered him.
«Couldn’t he simply have decided to take a couple of days off? You said he doesn’t do much; perhaps he just got fed up, bored. I can easily imagine Paul feeling that way.»
«Not after my heartbreaking story the other morning. He was ready to commandeer the entire Army Medical Corps, do whatever I wanted him to do. Those two conferences—to recall his words—were the least he could do.»
«Darling.» Phyllis put the wineglass on the table-cart and curled her feet under her in the chair. She was suddenly concerned by Andrew’s words. «I like Paul. Oh, I know his opinions are extreme, and you two argue a lot, but I know why I like him… I’ve never heard him angry. He always seems so kind, so willing to laugh and have a good time. He’s been very nice to us, when you think about it.»
«What’s your point? I agree with you.»
«Yet there must be a great deal of anger in him. To do what he’s done, be what he is.»
«I’ll vouch for it. What else?»
«You didn’t tell me before that you had given him such a … heartbreaking story. You said you’d just told him I was going in for tests.»
«I didn’t elaborate, because I’m not very proud of myself.»
«I’m not either… Which brings me back to Paul. If you say he accepted your story about me and now he’s disappeared without a word to anyone, I think he’s learned the truth and is trying to find you.»
«That’s one hell of a leap!»
«Not really. I think Paul trusts you—trusted you. He disagreed with you, but he trusted you. If there’s as much anger in him as we both believe, he won’t settle for second-hand explanations. Or postponed ones, either.»
Trevayne understood his wife’s logic. It went to the essence of a man like Paul Bonner. A man who looked at people, giving them classifications—labels—only when he believed those descriptions fit and were not simply popular. Such a man confronted those who mocked his judgment; he wouldn’t wait for third parties to do it for him. Yet Phyllis’ assumption was based on Paul’s learning the truth—the truth about her. That was impossible. Only three people knew. Sam Vicarson, Alan Martin, and Mike Ryan. Impossible.
«It couldn’t be,» said Andy. «There’s absolutely no way he could know.»
«You’re an awful liar, Trevayne.» Phyllis smiled.
«I’m getting better. He believed me.»
They settled back in their chairs, and Andy turned on the television set for the seven-o’clock news.
«Maybe we’ll find out he left Boise and started a little war somewhere. He’d call it a diversionary tactic,» said Trevayne.
«How are you going to get to Green tomorrow? How do you even know he’s in the city?»