Nightmare Time by Hugh Pentecost Page B

not looking for the Willises from the time they took off from their suite at nine o’clock to go down to the Blue Lagoon until after one in the morning when Guy notified us that they were missing. That’s a stretch of four hours in which no one was concerned about them, looking for them, had any special interest in them. There are more ways than I can think of that they could have been moved around, alive or dead, in that four-hour stretch without attracting any attention.”
    “How long had Tim Sullivan been dead when he was found?” I asked. “He must have been caught in the middle when they were moving the Willises around. No?”
    Hardy answered my question. “The Medical Examiner thought Sullivan had been dead about three hours. He was found around two this morning, which would suggest that he was done in somewhere around eleven o’clock last night. But—that trash bin is as hot as an oven on warm, which makes it impossible to be dead certain. It could have been earlier, later—who knows?”
    “It’s all my fault!” the boy suddenly cried out. “If I hadn’t fallen asleep watching the television I’d have let you know right after ten o’clock that something was wrong. I let them have hours to work on Mom and Dad!”
    “You’re not to blame at all, boy,” Chambrun said. “You weren’t told to stay awake, were you? If anyone is to blame, I am. I let this happen to a cherished friend in my hotel!” Something of the enormous fatigue Chambrun must have felt showed in the deepening lines of his face. He had been on the go since seven-thirty the previous morning, his normal rising time. There had been the pressures of the regular daily routine, then the growing tragedies of this early morning—the murder of a trusted employee, the disappearance and the threat of terminal violence to a friend he owed, now this boy to protect and care for. He looked down at the boy now with something that looked like genuine affection. “I can’t promise you everything will turn out all right, boy,” he said, “but I can tell you that every resource I have, every bit of manpower, every ounce of special skills at my disposal will try to make it come out all right. Play it the way I am, Guy. Hope for the best. It can happen, and we’ll fight to make it happen.”
    Guy still hung on to this man his father had told him to trust. “If Rozzie took that poison while I was sleeping—”
    “If you had warned us at ten o’clock we might have had no better luck than we’ve had later,” Chambrun said. “I’ve got to check with our security people who are searching. Mark will stay with you. Try to get some sleep. Win or lose, it’s going to be a pretty hectic day coming up.”
    “Sleep isn’t easy,” I said. “It’s nightmare time.” I gave Chambrun a brief sketch of Guy’s gory dream.
    “Try thinking about all the good times you’ve had with your parents, Guy,” Chambrun said. “Perhaps that’ll help.”
    A FEW MINUTES after Chambrun left me alone with Guy in the penthouse, I began to be aware of how vital sleep was to all of us. The boy, in spite of what must have been a shattering anxiety for his parents, dozed off, twitching and turning on the bed where he lay. It must have been nightmare time again, I thought. I remembered leaning my head back against the chair where I sat and closing my eyes because they felt raw and tired from more than twenty hours without closing. The next thing I knew, early-morning sunshine was streaming through the bedroom window. I glanced at my wristwatch. It was almost quarter of eight. Betsy Ruysdale would be relieving me any minute now. I glanced at the boy. He seemed to be sleeping quietly now.
    I tiptoed out into the kitchenette and got the Mr. Coffee machine going. There must not be any news, good or bad, I thought, or I would have heard from Chambrun.
    I realized that one of the morning news shows must be showing on TV. I switched on the set in the kitchen, keeping the volume