Travis McGee 17 - The Empty Copper Sea by John D. MacDonald

Author:John D. MacDonald
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 2011-03-20T05:00:00+00:00

“There was always the chance you’d come out of it.”

“I feel as if I had.”

“She seems to be an exceptional person.”

“Gretel? Yes. Yes, she is. I like these dunes. They give it a nice wild unspoiled look. We’ll have to cruise this coast sometime. Maybe head north from here.”

“What are you smiling at?”

“Me? Was I smiling?”

Eleven

THE LIGHT breeze was out of the southwest. The sky was cloudless. The late afternoon sun was hot. Shopping centers were jammed. So were the beaches and tennis courts. Meyer took the Dodge to go find out about the rental Mazda. I walked north along the uplands above the beach until I came to North Pass Vista.

I walked around the place for a few minutes and located Symphony, where John Tuckerman had lived, and Melody. Each was a cluster of four small two-story town houses. Melody Three was where Kristin Petersen had lived. Someone else was in there. A slight baldheaded man was in the narrow carport, painting a small chest of drawers, biting his lip as he made each careful stroke.

The office was in a unit farthest from the water. There was a sign stuck into the lawn and another over the-doorbell. A man opened the door and looked out at me. He had half glasses and a bootcamp haircut. He looked to be about forty.

“Yes?” he said, managing to inject hostility and disbelief into that single syllable.

“I want to ask some questions about Kristin Petersen, please.”

“I have no interest in answering them.”

As he started to close the door I put my palm against it and gave a hearty shove. It drove him back and banged the door open.

“Hey!” he said. “You can’t force your way in here!” The foyer was a shallow office, with a secretarial desk two chairs, and a gray file cabinet. He picked up the phone and dialed the operator. I took my time finding the To Whom It May Concern card from Devlin Boggs. He asked the operator for the police. I held the card up in front of him. He told the police it was a mistake and he was sorry. He took the card, turned it over and read the message, and handed it back.

“What’s your interest in Miss Petersen?”

“My interest is enough to drop subpoenas on you if I think you are holding back.”

“Oh. You’re an attorney?”

“What is your name?”

“Stanley Moran.”

“Mr. Stanley Moran, I don’t want you to keep asking me questions. I am not here to answer questions. I am here to ask them. Maybe you would like to phone Mr. Boggs and get his opinion on whether or not you should ask me a lot of questions.”

“But how do I know you-”

“Or I can come back with Hack Ames, or Deputy Fletcher, or anybody you might think of who can reassure you.”

“Why are you smiling like that?”

“Because the angrier I get, the more I smile. It’s a form of nervous anxiety. When I break out laughing, I usually hit people.”

He sat down behind the

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