McNally's Risk by Lawrence Sanders

Author:Lawrence Sanders [Sanders, Lawrence]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 978-1-4532-9825-1
Publisher: Open Road
Published: 2013-01-23T19:16:00+00:00

Chapter 12

I MIGHT HAVE SLEPT forever on Wednesday morning but I was gradually nudged awake by the persistent ringing of my bedside phone. I opened one eye wide enough to see the clock dimly. It was either 9:05 A.M. or a quarter to one P.M. But since a low sun was striking through my bedroom window I judged a new day had just begun.

“H’lo?” I said in the middle of a jaw-cracking yawn.

“Don’t you ever get to your office on time?” Sgt. Al Rogoff complained.

“That’s why you called?” I said sleepily. “To comment on my working habits?”

“Wake up,” he said sternly, “and try to listen. Have you seen Marcia Hawkin lately?”

I woke up. I saw no reason to prevaricate. “Yesterday afternoon,” I told him. “At the McNally Building. We had a talk.”

“About what?”

“Pure craziness. She was off the wall.”

“That I can believe,” Al said. “We’ve got a sheet on that young lady. Picked up for strolling naked on Ocean Boulevard at midnight. Picked up for throwing rocks at seagulls. Picked up for setting off illegal fireworks. Nothing serious. No charges. But the girl is a total fruitcake. What was she wearing when you talked to her?”

I tried to recall. “Uh, blue middy blouse with white piping, pleated silk skirt, scuffed running shoes.”

“Uh-huh,” Rogoff said. “That tallies. She have wheels?”

“Black Jeep Cherokee. Al, what’s this all about?”

“Her mother called this morning. The kid didn’t come home last night. She’s gone and so is the Cherokee. We usually wait forty-eight hours on things like this. People stay overnight at a friend’s house or pull off the road to grab some sleep. But since the Silas Hawkin homicide is still open, I got interested and decided to give you a call. Did she say anything about leaving home?”

“No.”

“Meeting someone?”

“No.”

“Going somewhere in particular?”

“No.”

“Thank you for your kind assistance,” the sergeant said with his heavy irony. “Would you care to make a wild guess as to where this loony might be?”

“Haven’t the slightest,” I said. “Al, did you hear anything from Michigan on those two names I gave you?”

“Nada. I told you these things take time. When I do hear, you’ll be the first to know—after you tell me why you want the skinny. Archy, if you hear from Marcia Hawkin give me a shout.”

“Sure I will,” I said.

I hung up and crawled out of bed. It was just what I needed—a moral dilemma first thing in the morning. Should I open that cursed envelope or shouldn’t I? Recalling my promise to Marcia, I decided not to. Only if she died, not if she was merely missing. I told myself she was sure to show up. Told but not convinced.

There was no one in the kitchen when I clattered downstairs, so I fixed my own breakfast: a large GJ, instant black coffee, and two toasted English muffin sandwiches with fillings of brisling sardines in olive oil. Look, you eat what you want for breakfast; don’t give me a hard time.

I should have enjoyed that mini-meal but I didn’t.

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