“People like them because they’re cute and independent, and they don’t need so much attention as dogs; and they catch vermin.”
“If you’re unlucky enough to have any vermin,” I said.
“And actually there is such a thing as a seeing-eye cat, or at least there was,” Lucy said. “I read about it in Life Magazine recently. It was called Baby and it won an award back in nineteen forty-seven.”
“You’re a mine of information, Lucy, of that there can be no doubt. Not always terribly useful information, but…”
“It’s as useful as knowing that a cow’s got four stomachs,” Lucy said tetchily, “if that’s even true.”
“Now then, more importantly we’re going to need someone in the office while we’re away. Can you fix that? Maybe Brenda can help out again – she knows the ropes. And she’ll only be looking after us this time so she’ll be free to do her assignments, or whatever they call them, for most of the time.”
“I’ll give her a call this afternoon,” Lucy said. “And I’ll brief Tony and June about the surveillance, assuming they’re free.”
“They better be – I don’t want to turn the work away,” I said. “Assuming everything goes to plan we’ll see the client in the morning and head off to wherever it is in the afternoon or evening. So we better eat out this evening.”
“No we’ll eat here,” Lucy said. “I’ve got something special for tonight.”
“Meow?” I said.
Chapter Four
A Free Sprit
The house on the flat of Beacon Hill was a beauty. It was a triple-decker row house dating from the mid-nineteenth century. They knew how to design houses in those days. The house was of dark red brick and it was almost as if some of the color from the house had been washed off over countless years onto the sidewalk, which was a pale shade of pink. On the left-hand side were three steps up to the front door between Greek columns supporting a portico. To the right of the entrance were two casement windows and the second and third floors each sported three of the same. Each of the windows was flanked by black shutters, and the entire frontage was liberally covered in Boston ivy.
I rang the door-bell and an elegantly dressed, rather slim middle-aged man opened the door within a few moments. He didn’t proffer his hand to shake. Instead he said:
“I’m Timpson; Mr. Roberts will be pleased to see you – may I take your coats?”
We disrobed and Timpson indicated that we should proceed upstairs. At the foot of the staircase was an electric chair lift with the seat folded back. At the top of the stairs we were led into a large sitting room at the front of the house. Inside was a stone mantel beneath which there was a log fire, but the logs weren’t lit. Between the fireplace and one of the casement windows, seated in a wing chair, was Mr. Roberts. Next to the chair was an oxygen tank to which a regulator was attached, and from this a thin clear plastic tube snaked up to Roberts’ face where it was secured to his septum by an opaque piece of sticky tape. He was perhaps seventy years old, I guessed, thin and rather gaunt. There was little color in his face and his cheeks were hollow. The lower part of his body was concealed by a rug, and a shawl was draped over his shoulders.
“Ah Kane,” he said. “Please come in. Do sit down and make yourselves comfortable. Now then, would you care for some tea?”
Lucy and I nodded in unison. “That would be very nice,” I said.
Roberts nodded in the direction of Timpson who disappeared soundlessly from the room.
I took the proffered hand which Roberts held out to greet me. It was thin and bony and almost as cold as ice, but the grip was surprisingly strong.
“You’ll have to excuse me I’m afraid.” he said, as Lucy and I took our places on a plum-red chesterfield sofa which was angled to face his chair. “I have to take my time.” He indicated the oxygen tank by making a slight open-palmed gesture in its direction. “I have emphysema I’m afraid.”
“We have as much time as you need, Mr. Roberts,” I said. I introduced him to Lucy to whom he smiled and nodded.
“Well it’s good of you both to come, especially at such short notice. Timpson has placed some photographs of my daughter in the envelope on the coffee table in front of you. There are probably far more than you need – I got a bit carried away. Still you may take the ones you feel will be most useful to you. Her name’s Marisa.”
“That’s a pretty name,” I said, picking up the envelope and extracting a dozen or so photographs from it. I looked briefly at the photographs before handing them to Lucy. In the photographs I saw a slim, pretty girl in her late teens. She had an elfin face, eyes the color of an arctic sky, small features and was about five feet four or five I guessed. Her dark brown hair was parted slightly off-center and hung loosely over her shoulders. In the majority of the photographs she had a warm and friendly smile. In each of the photographs she had the appearance of someone who didn’t have a care in the world.
“She’s my only daughter,” Roberts said; “my only child. She turned nineteen in the fall.”
“Perhaps you can tell us the circumstances of her disappearance,” I said.
“Let me tell you first something about myself and then something about my relationship with Marisa,” he said. “I’m an old man now,” he said, “although not as old as I appear.” He smiled weakly. “I was fifty when Marisa was born; I had a rather late marriage. I’m the product of several generations of accumulated wealth and it was expected of me to join the family business when I came of age. I won’t bore you with the nature of the business except to say it’s to do with mining. It wasn’t a business in which I had any interest – I’d rather hoped for an academic career of some sort, or perhaps something in the arts, but it wasn’t to be. By the age of twenty five I was effectively at the helm of the company and I had little time for socializing or doing the sort of things that most young men want to do at that age.” Roberts paused and reached out for a glass of water on a small table beside his chair; he took a sip before continuing. “But by my late forties I was able to find a little more time for myself and I’d always wanted a child − not as a means of carrying on the Roberts’ dynasty; quite the contrary, in fact.” Roberts paused again, taking two or three slow but deep breaths. “I was blessed with a beautiful daughter, but I’m afraid the marriage didn’t last long. My wife left me for a gigolo, y’know?” He laughed, mainly to himself, and it resulted in a minor fit of coughing. He reached for the water again, and kept the glass in his hand. “It wasn’t unexpected and no great loss. And the gigolo only stuck around as long as the divorce settlement lasted – which wasn’t long, I assure you. So I brought up Marisa by myself and she transformed the next two decades of my life into a time of peace, harmony and happiness.”
“And do I take it then that your relationship with your daughter was without problems? When teenagers disappear from their homes it’s often as a result of a yearning to be free of the constraints that they may feel the family life has imposed,” I said.
“Marisa and I have always had a close and loving bond; she describes me as her father, her mentor and her best friend. Because of my own straight-jacketed life I always made it clear to her that she must have the freedom to do and be whatever she chooses.”
Timpson appeared with the tea on a silver tray which he placed on the table in front of us. He poured some tea into a delicate china cup and placed the cup and saucer next to Roberts.
“Thank you Timpson,” he said. “I expect Kane and Lucy here would rather see to themselves.” Timpson nodded and silently withdrew.
“I should have asked whether you’d have preferred something else…coffee perhaps?” he said.
“No, not at all,” Lucy said. “What kind of tea is it? I’m afraid I’m a bit of a dunce.”
“It’s Lapsang Souchong, a Chinese tea originally from Fujian Province. It has a slightly smoky flavor which isn’t to everyone’s taste, but it’s one of the great teas in my opinion. You’ll h
ave noticed that Timpson lacks an honorific, Kane – like you prefer yourself, I understand? I’m going to let you into a little secret,” he said, leaning forward slightly and lowering his voice as if imparting a confidence. “Although Timpson’s been with me for several years now I’ve never asked him what his first name is.”
I laughed. “Well mine’s not a secret” I said, smiling and rising from my seat to hand him my own and Lucy’s business cards, “as you can see. It’s just how most people refer to me, and I’ve gotten used to it.”
“Well let me continue. I’m a Harvard man, like my father and grandfather before me, and I’d like Marisa to have a good college education too if it’s what she wants. But she’s always been free to make her own choices, and as yet she hasn’t decided for certain what she wants to do, except that she wants an occupation that serves the community in some way. Last summer she completed a year-long course as a Licensed Practical Nurse, vocational nursing as it’s known in some states; came top of her class as a matter of fact, which didn’t surprise me. When she sets her mind on something she has a single-minded determination to be the best. But before she commits to a degree course in nursing she wants to be sure she’s made the right choice. There’s no rush; she knows that whatever her choice in life I will accept and support it. She’s had a rather privileged life from a material point of view but the pursuit of money doesn’t interest her. Like so many youngsters she’s still finding her feet. We’ve always had a close and loving relationship, and although she’s something of a free spirit and has a determined and independent streak, there is no way she’d simply disappear by choice.”
Roberts sipped his tea. “How is it?” he said to Lucy.
“Rather nice,” she said. “You’re supposed to drink it black, aren’t you?”
“Yes, I think the flavor is too subtle to add anything to the brew,” he said.
“Where was Marisa when you last heard from her?” Lucy said.
“She was in Springfield, Missouri. She was travelling Route 66 to the West Coast. She had no particular plan other than that. She left Boston in the fall soon after her birthday and went first to Chicago where she took a job as a waitress to save money for the trip. Of course, I could easily have afforded to pay all her expenses but, like I said, she’s an independent girl and prefers to make her own way. She said she wouldn’t value the experience if it was handed to her on a plate, and anyway she’s gregarious by nature and she enjoys meeting people and making new friends. She wants to experience life with all its ups and downs. After a while she wanted to get away from the city and she headed west planning to stop if she needed to work or if she found places that were interesting along the way. When I last heard from her she’d reached Springfield. She’d met a girl on the bus about the same age as herself and her friend needed to work for a while to earn some money so Marisa decided to stay with her. They were both planning to resume their journey together after a month or so. She told me this in late January and since then I haven’t had any contact with her.”
“Did she tell you the name of her friend?” I asked.
“No, she didn’t say.”
“Or where she planned to stay in Springfield?”
“No, I’m afraid I can’t help there.”
“How did you communicate when she was away?”
“Only by telephone – she’d call me about once a week usually, although there was no set time. Sometimes it would be more than a week. Her last call was almost two weeks ago.”
“And it’s on that basis that you’re concerned about her – nothing else?” I said.
“Yes; except that last week it was my birthday and she definitely would have called me then. And her cell phone’s dead. I told the police her telephone number and network and they’ve checked. There’ve been no calls from that number for almost two weeks.”
“Did the police come up with any leads at all?”
“Nothing; it’s as if she’s simply vanished into thin air.”
“Does she have any credit cards, charge cards, debit cards…?”
“She has an account with Wells Fargo and a debit card. She also has a debit card on my account. That was strictly for emergencies, in case she got sick or had an accident or something, but she’s never used that.”
“And her debit card?” I asked. “When was the last time that was used?”
“It was last used at an ATM in Springfield on January twenty-seven. Up to then she’d regularly been depositing small amounts of cash into her account; there’s a balance of just over two thousand dollars in the account right now, but there’s been no kind of activity on that account since the twenty seventh.”
“And when was your birthday?”
“February second. I reported the case to the police the following day.”
“And the date and time of her last call, if you can remember.”
“It was the twenty third of January, in the morning. She’d just arrived in Springfield on the Greyhound bus and she told me that she and her friend were going to look for a place to stay. That’s the last time I heard from her.”
“Who’s been handling the search in the local area?”
“The sheriff’s office in Greene County. The detective dealing with the case is Matt Peters; I understand he deals with all missing persons cases within their jurisdiction. Actually it took some time for the police to take any real interest in the case. As far as they were concerned she’s an adult and there was no evidence that anything untoward had occurred; and she’s not a Springfield resident. The police initially took the view that she’d probably simply had a change of mind and moved on somewhere else. I have some contacts in the police department here in Boston and they were able to pull a few strings for me to get the police moving down there; but I don’t know how thorough their investigation has been. Of course they’ve checked the local hospitals, checked her cell phone record, her bank records. I guess there’s nothing much more they can do.”
“Well I’m not going to pretend that there’s likely to be a rapid result in this investigation,” I said. “We need to get over to Springfield, talk to the sheriff and then start searching. I guess they’ve already checked with the bus companies, railways and so on to see if she may have left town?”
“I understand that they’ve done that, but they pointed out that she may simply have gotten a ride out; they have photographs of Marisa. But if she simply upped and left town I’m sure she’d have let me know.”
“When she last used her debit card do you know what the nature of the transaction was?”
“It was a withdrawal of a hundred dollars I’m told.”
“We can narrow down the date she went missing. She used the card on the twenty seventh and failed to call you on your birthday; that’s a period of about six days. She was presumably fine between the twenty third, when she arrived in Springfield and at least the twenty seventh, perhaps longer. Somebody somewhere must know where she was and what she was doing during that period. It’s going to take legwork, Mr. Roberts, and the sooner we start the better. We’ll fly out this afternoon and start looking.”
I started to get up, but Roberts motioned for me to sit again.
“There’s something I need to ask you,” he said.
“Okay.”
“When I spoke to you yesterday I told you that you might need to spend a week or so on this investigation, but it may take longer than that, I know.” He paused to take a few shallow breaths. “However long it takes, Kane, I want you to stay with it.”
“I’ll do what I can, Mr. Roberts, but if I exhaust all avenues of inquiry there may come a time when you’ll be wasting your money; I’m sure you understand that.”
“What good is money?” he said. “But I understand your situation too. You can’t afford to be away too long from a business point of view; I fully understand that. So I propose this: if you have no success after ten days but there’s still hope then you must stay with the hunt. In th
ose circumstances I’ve made arrangements with Timpson to see to it that your daily fee will increase by fifty percent. I hope that’s not presumptuous of me and that you’ll accept my terms.”
“We’ll stay with it, Mr. Roberts. You have my word.”
“I’ve prepared a check for ten thousand dollars. You’ll keep me informed if you require anything additional by way of expenses,” he said.
I stood up again and Roberts reached over and picked up a small brass bell with a teak handle from the table next to him. He shook it and Timpson appeared within a few seconds.
“Please show Mr. Kane and Lucy out, Timpson,” he said. “And please give the young lady the check I prepared earlier.”
Lucy followed Timpson out of the living room, but as I went to follow her Roberts made a slight beckoning movement with his left hand. As I walked over to where he was seated he beckoned me again with a slight movement of his hand and a slight backward tilt of his head. It was as if he had something confidential to impart so I leaned towards him, putting my hand on the arm of his chair. As I did so he grasped my wrist with his left hand with a grip that belied his frail appearance. He looked me straight in the eye.
“Find her Kane,” he said. “Bring her home to me.”
I nodded and walked over to the living room door.
Chapter Five
Springfield
“I don’t mean to sound unduly pessimistic,” Lucy said as we drove home to pack, “but it seems like a hopeless task. It’ll be like looking for a needle in a haystack.”
“Not necessarily,” I said. “There are plenty of avenues to explore.”
“Like what?” she said.
“They were two girls together and we have Marisa’s photograph. We know when they arrived in Springfield and we know they planned to stay for a month. And what else do we know?”
Lucy looked over at me blankly.
“Think,” I said.
“They’d be looking for work as well as a place to stay?”
Missing - Mark Kane Mysteries - Book Five: A Private Investigator Crime Series of Murder, Mystery, Suspense & Thriller Stories...with a dash of Romance. A Murder Mystery & Suspense Thriller Page 3
