sense spreading rumors.”
A few blocks away, the press was faring no better at the Sutherland Agency. Ed Haskane was perfectly willing to talk, but he had nothing to say. Yes, he was Karen’s boss, but he’d never met her husband. No, she had never spoken about him except when he was discharged from service; then she’d been very excited that he was coming home. Afterwards, he’d just taken it for granted that everything was fine. He had been shocked to learn that Bruce Raymond was in a sanatorium. What was Mrs. Raymond like? A very bright girl, wrote good copy. All of which might well be true, but it didn’t make good copy.
In midafternoon, Tom Doyle closed the door on would-be interviewers at Karen’s apartment. They had to make do with neighbors, but no one could tell them very much. Only a few of the women around the courtyard pool could remember seeing Bruce Raymond at all, and nobody had actually spoken to him during his brief stay over six months ago. Apparently Karen was looked upon as a loner; she had no friends here and never came down to the pool herself. When Bruce ceased to put in an appearance, most of the other tenants hadn’t even noticed his absence. The few who did merely assumed there’d been a separation or a divorce.
Late in the afternoon a mobile TV unit descended on Griswold’s sanatorium. They’d come out in the morning, only to find the place was off-limits, and the situation now was still unchanged. Squad cars guarded the gates, and Sergeant Cole was supervising an investigatory team inside. If anything had been turned up, it wasn’t ready for release. The camera crew had already picked up exterior footage during their first run, and there wasn’t much point in taking more. They did get a few shots of long-haired local residents clustered across the road, but since the observations of these curiosity seekers were largely confined to mumbled asides about pigs, fuzz and other four-letter commentaries, the visit proved to be a waste of time and film.
It was already dusk when the mobile unit broke its return run downtown to stop at Raymond’s Charter Service. Once again they drew a blank; patrol cars stood before the entrance, and a uniformed officer politely refused admission to the newscasters. There was some debate inside the mobile unit about the advisability of sticking around until the police left, but it was getting late and the ten o’clock news waits for no man; they’d never be able to put coverage on the air in time.
Inside the office, Rita Raymond happened to glance through the window just as the mobile unit drove away. She didn’t say anything about it; she was doing her best to say as little as possible.
But it wasn’t easy, not with Sergeant Galpert asking the questions. She didn’t care for the sergeant; he had the persistent manner of a terrier worrying a bone.
“You’re positive that your brother made no attempt to get in touch with you?”
“He may have tried. All I know is he didn’t succeed.”
Galpert frowned. “Meaning he might have come here?”
“I haven’t seen him.” Rita lit a cigarette as she glanced out of the window again. “And neither have your men, apparently.” Rita exhaled, and the fan behind her whirred, weaving the smoke into a weblike tracery. “Tell me, Sergeant, isn’t it customary to bring a search warrant when you conduct an operation like this?”
Galpert looked as though he was going to growl at her for trying to take away his bone. “You admitted us to the property on your own volition. Of course, if you want to bring up technicalities—”
“I don’t want to bring up anything.” Rita checked herself; any show of antagonism would only provoke barking and snapping. “Believe me, I’m as anxious to locate Bruce as you are. But I’ve told you—he hasn’t contacted me.”
“When was the last time you saw your brother?”
“He’s been in the sanatorium since last winter—you know that.”
Galpert nodded
A few blocks away, the press was faring no better at the Sutherland Agency. Ed Haskane was perfectly willing to talk, but he had nothing to say. Yes, he was Karen’s boss, but he’d never met her husband. No, she had never spoken about him except when he was discharged from service; then she’d been very excited that he was coming home. Afterwards, he’d just taken it for granted that everything was fine. He had been shocked to learn that Bruce Raymond was in a sanatorium. What was Mrs. Raymond like? A very bright girl, wrote good copy. All of which might well be true, but it didn’t make good copy.
In midafternoon, Tom Doyle closed the door on would-be interviewers at Karen’s apartment. They had to make do with neighbors, but no one could tell them very much. Only a few of the women around the courtyard pool could remember seeing Bruce Raymond at all, and nobody had actually spoken to him during his brief stay over six months ago. Apparently Karen was looked upon as a loner; she had no friends here and never came down to the pool herself. When Bruce ceased to put in an appearance, most of the other tenants hadn’t even noticed his absence. The few who did merely assumed there’d been a separation or a divorce.
Late in the afternoon a mobile TV unit descended on Griswold’s sanatorium. They’d come out in the morning, only to find the place was off-limits, and the situation now was still unchanged. Squad cars guarded the gates, and Sergeant Cole was supervising an investigatory team inside. If anything had been turned up, it wasn’t ready for release. The camera crew had already picked up exterior footage during their first run, and there wasn’t much point in taking more. They did get a few shots of long-haired local residents clustered across the road, but since the observations of these curiosity seekers were largely confined to mumbled asides about pigs, fuzz and other four-letter commentaries, the visit proved to be a waste of time and film.
It was already dusk when the mobile unit broke its return run downtown to stop at Raymond’s Charter Service. Once again they drew a blank; patrol cars stood before the entrance, and a uniformed officer politely refused admission to the newscasters. There was some debate inside the mobile unit about the advisability of sticking around until the police left, but it was getting late and the ten o’clock news waits for no man; they’d never be able to put coverage on the air in time.
Inside the office, Rita Raymond happened to glance through the window just as the mobile unit drove away. She didn’t say anything about it; she was doing her best to say as little as possible.
But it wasn’t easy, not with Sergeant Galpert asking the questions. She didn’t care for the sergeant; he had the persistent manner of a terrier worrying a bone.
“You’re positive that your brother made no attempt to get in touch with you?”
“He may have tried. All I know is he didn’t succeed.”
Galpert frowned. “Meaning he might have come here?”
“I haven’t seen him.” Rita lit a cigarette as she glanced out of the window again. “And neither have your men, apparently.” Rita exhaled, and the fan behind her whirred, weaving the smoke into a weblike tracery. “Tell me, Sergeant, isn’t it customary to bring a search warrant when you conduct an operation like this?”
Galpert looked as though he was going to growl at her for trying to take away his bone. “You admitted us to the property on your own volition. Of course, if you want to bring up technicalities—”
“I don’t want to bring up anything.” Rita checked herself; any show of antagonism would only provoke barking and snapping. “Believe me, I’m as anxious to locate Bruce as you are. But I’ve told you—he hasn’t contacted me.”
“When was the last time you saw your brother?”
“He’s been in the sanatorium since last winter—you know that.”
Galpert nodded
Similar Books
