Surprise Party by Katz William

Author:Katz, William
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2014-11-30T16:00:00+00:00

11

"Frankie Nelson," Cross-Wade said, speaking on his office phone. "That was his name, although we assume he's changed it. We've checked every Frank Nelson in the United States, without result. The incident occurred just outside Omaha, Nebraska, on December fifth, 1952."

He waited for the party on the other end to ask a question.

"There are no available, legible pictures," Cross-Wade replied, "even as a child. Don't ask me why. What I'm simply going on is a hunch—that my target may live outside the United States part of the time. You see, in the Yard this is a common problem because there are so many countries in the Commonwealth. I thought that if the Passport Office could keep watch, we might come up with something." He paused again. "Thanks."

The conversation ended. Of all the shots in the dark, this was the darkest. The Passport Office of the U.S. State Department was hardly a criminal investigation agency, but everything had to be tried.

Cross-Wade knew that thousands of interviews over a period of months, or years, would probably lead to some useful clues. But he didn't have months, or years, or even weeks. He had days.

And then another day passed. Another day without progress.

He checked off the date on his calendar. Murder minus nine.

A batch of memos appeared on his desk. Routinely, Cross-Wade went through missing-persons reports, not in search of the calendar schizophrenic, but in search of his victim—some woman with auburn hair who might be missing, lured by her potential murderer. He'd checked out a small number of missing auburn-haired women without result. Most had shown up, had sent goodbye notes, or had been found dead far from home, usually the victims of alcohol or drugs.

He went through the reports quickly, yet thoroughly, a dogged believer in detail. It was just after 3 P.M. on a sunny, unusually warm autumn day, with the heat at headquarters naturally turned up much too high. Cross-Wade felt a bead of perspiration on his brow, and the increasing dampness of his wilting collar.

And then…

He almost went past it. It was a memo, impeccably written by Sergeant Yang, whom he knew and respected. The subject: one Samantha Shaw. It wasn't the physical description of Samantha that grabbed Cross-Wade. In fact, her hair color wasn't even mentioned. It was something else, something far more intriguing. He reached for his phone and was connected to Yang.

"Yang, this is Cross-Wade."

"Yes, sir," Yang responded in a clipped, military style. He was in awe of the living legend.

"Yang, my dear boy," the legend asked, "do you recall a Samantha Shaw?"

"Do I?" Yang replied. "One of my toughest, sir."

"Ah, so she's in your memory. A question: This December fifth reference, did she elaborate?"

"No, sir. Just what's in the report."

"Ah. Tell me, Yang, do you recall her hair color?"

Yang thought for a moment. "Uh, no Mr. Cross-Wade. She wore one of those babushka-type objects. We're kind of more interested in the missing person's description."

"Of course," Cross-Wade commented. "Did the lady feel she was in any danger?"

"No, not directly.

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