Obviously Boozy Tim was still trying; he was studying every move the Snake Woman made, his face clouded and somber. The Snake Woman retired and the Professor appeared on stage, and Boozy Tim watched him closely, too. After the Professor, thought Mrs. Pollifax, there would come Jasna and her father, and then El Flamo the Fire-Eater, and she began to admit a feeling of deep uneasiness. He shouldn't, he really shouldn't, she thought, because in his attempt to identify the person who had stepped on his foot two nights ago he would soon become conspicuous; and with a shock she recalled Willie saying, "It's more likely someone feels watched."
She wanted to say to him, "Stop watching like that, it's dangerous," but her decision was distracted by the ending of the Professor's act and Kadi appearing at her side. Nevertheless as they passed Boozy Tim, Mrs. Pollifax stopped. "Boozy Tim," she said in a low voice, "come outside with us, won't you? Kadi and I are off to Pogo's and you can keep me company. Do come!"
"Yes'm," he said politely, not removing his eyes from the stage. "In a little while. Not yet."
He was still watching as they left the Ten-in-One.
15
Bishop did not receive kindly the news that on Saturday morning he was to fly to Maine and interview Kadi Hopkirk. "Damn it," he protested, "I've a date tomorrow to lunch and play golf, I've only just met this blonde, she's stunning and she likes me."
"I like you, too," said Carstairs dryly. "So does Mrs. Pollifax. Even Kadi Hopkirk may like you."
Bishop sniffed indignantly. "I might point out that none of you are blonde, with sylphlike figures, work for the Treasury Department, and can talk in depth about the Federal Reserve."
Carstairs raised an eyebrow. "Talk about the Federal Reserve? Oh, please, Bishop."
"Oh well." Bishop grinned sheepishly. "If I've expressed my disappointment clearly enough I'll stop, but there are times—"
"What we're paid for," Carstairs reminded him. "However, you'll be at Willie's by two in the afternoon and should be back by evening, I promise you a free Sunday and you're the only person I trust for the job."
Having admitted this he returned to his usual brisk self.
"Now I want two things done: I want inquiries sent out to the state police in New York, Connecticut, and New Jersey regarding a white van with the name Chigi Scap Metal on its panels, license unknown. Mrs. Pollifax didn't happen to notice the color of the plate, did she?"
Bishop shook his head. "It could very well have been neatly muddied and obscured for daytime, and unlit for night driving, but since it was always behind them it's not too surprising if they didn't notice." He glanced at his watch. "I'll get to work on the police calls, but what was that second job?"
Carstairs smiled. "Whenever it feels right for you—at the proper time this afternoon—you might give Jed Addams a call at the FBI and learn whether this morning's ransom drop-off met with any success. Now let me get back to work, you know how Fridays are."
"On my way." At the door Bishop hesitated, turning to say with a grin, "I admit there are compensations in regard to the trip to Maine. When I spoke with Mrs. Pollifax she was about to happily interview a Snake Woman. I'll be interested in how she deals with a carnival, it should be quite a change from her Garden Club."
"Even more interesting if she's learning who knifed Lazlo," pointed out Carstairs, but Bishop had already closed the door behind him and didn't hear.
Promptly at 11:57 the television was turned on; a soap opera was just ending and Bishop watched a voluptuous blonde actress with enormous interest. After two commercials came the excited announcement that Henry Bidwell had at last been heard from, and was presumably still alive, and the film was flashed on the screen. It had been filmed by an amateur, the lighting was poor, the background blurred, but Bidwell's face was close to the camera and clear enough for a bruise on one cheek to be seen, and smudges under his eyes. His voice was tired. He said that he was George Bidwell, that he was not being ill-treated but the ransom had still not been paid, he had been told that the police had fouled up several attempts and he was begging them to expedite the payment because he was now in fear of his life. "I beg of you," he pleaded, "for God's sake return me to my family before they kill me, these are not patient people."
Abruptly it ended.
"Dramatic," said Carstairs, nodding.
"Dramatic!" exploded Bishop. "Not ill-treated, but did you see the bruise on his cheek? The FBI had jolly well better stop fooling around or they'll have blood on their hands."
Carstairs gently pointed out that pick-ups were not so easily arranged.
Bishop sniffed. "Jed Addams said the last attempt was out on a country road in New Jersey, no doubt with an agent up every tree and a helicopter circling."
Amused, Carstairs said, "And just how would you plan delivery and pick-up, then?"
Bishop scowled. "Well, I'd—" He stopped. "A busy street corner in New York? Drop it maybe in a litter basket, one of those wire things?"
"You'd leave fifty million in unmarked bills in a litter basket on a street corner, and hope no vagabond would get to it first?"
Bishop said irritably, "Well, I don't know, but it's their job to come up with something creative, isn't it?"
"Yes," agreed Carstairs, "but not so creative they scare off the kidnappers who want to be certain they're not being watched, photographed, or followed." He glanced at the clock. "Now 12:07 .. , well, we've seen Bidwell. Don't get so bogged down in paperwork you forget to check with Jed Addams about the latest attempt."
"How could I forget? I thought about 2:30?"
"Sounds good."
Once alone Carstairs attacked his own paperwork, was called Upstairs for a conference with Mornajay and returned at three o'clock to find Bishop looking pleased. "It's finally happened," he said. "The ransom. I don't know how, but at first light—at 5 o'clock this morning—the Bidwell son proved useful after all. He accomplished the delivery on a motorcycle or bicycle somewhere near the estate, and before he even reached home the kidnappers confirmed by a prearranged signal that the pick-up was successful. Now all they have to do is wait in suspense for Bidwell to be delivered safely, too."
"Not bad for a week's work," said Carstairs. "And somebody had a good head on his shoulders—not too light, not too dark at 5 a.m. Good show!"
At half-past five in the afternoon Carstairs was dictating notes to Bishop and finishing up the last work of the day when the buzzing of the phone interrupted them. "Carstairs here," he said and a minute later, placing his hand over the receiver, he told Bishop, "It's the New York police, they've found the Chigi Scap Metal van." He returned to the phone, said, "Where?" in a startled voice, and then, "Empty? And how long?" He made a face. "Right. I appreciate your help, we'll be in touch." He hung up, looking sober and a little sad, until Bishop forced himself to ask, "So where did they find the van?"
Carstairs sighed. "It's just been pulled out of the East River. Someone on the docks heard a big splash over an hour ago and saw the last of it go down and called the police."
Bishop whistled through his teeth. "Anyone in it?"
"One body. That of the driver, but they say the window and door on the passenger side were open so there may have been two of them. Poor devils, no matter what their crimes."
Bishop stared at him, appalled. "Does any of this make sense?"
"It could," said Carstairs noncommittally. "It might. It may." Turning his attention to Bishop he said, "It's getting late, you'd better go home and pack your bag, you've a plane to catch in the morning to Maine."
"Yes, but if anything else is going to happen—"
"Nothing else is going to happen," Carstairs told him, "I'll be leaving shortly, too."
With a wry smile Bishop said, "But not immediately? What's left to do?"
"Think," said Carstairs wearily.
"Oh," said Bishop, and went out.
When he had gone Carstairs switched off his phones to sit quietly at his desk and go over the same old puzzle again, updating it by rote: an a
bduction, a stabbing .., a man in Boston who spoke of a ransom pick-up in April . . . Lecler and Romanovitch . . . Desforges's report .., a girl from Ubangiba pursued by a Chigi Scap Metal van, and to this he could now add Bidwell's $50 million ransom paid and one Chigi Scap Metal van hauled out of New York's East River.
"Their usefulness over—they knew too much," he said aloud. "Very well thought out and engineered. Very!"
But there were still several pieces of the puzzle missing—important ones—and he frowned over these for a long time until he glanced at his watch, realized he was hungry, and decided that he might think better if he had some food.
In the table-service room he ordered a lamb chop, spinach, and a baked potato and tried to remember if he'd had any lunch. He doubted it, and congratulated himself on his decision to inject nourishment into his thought processes. He was trying to decide whether to order apple pie or ice cream for dessert when he saw Allan from the Africa Department heading toward him, a lanky young man with a head of bright red hair whose last name he couldn't remember.
It was possible, he thought, that he'd never known it.
"Hi," Allan said. "I was just leaving and spotted you. Didn't realize you were still in the building or I'd have called you."
"Called me?"
Allan nodded amiably. "Yeah. Don't know whether it would interest you or not, but you did ask for that geological report on Ubangiba, right?"
"Yes indeed," said Carstairs.
"The news was on the BBC an hour ago that their President's dead."
Carstairs looked at him in surprise. "Are we talking about Ubangiba?"
"Right."
"And President-for-Life Simoko is dead?"
Allan nodded. "Just thought I'd tell you in case it's of any interest," he said, and with a smile and a nod he continued on his way toward the exit.
Carstairs sat very still, thinking how very much this did interest him, so much so that he forgot dessert and returned at once to his office to begin a series of phone calls, several of them to Europe, and one of them to Bishop.
16
On Saturdays the life of the carnival changed drastically because it was matinee day, the gates opened at two in the afternoon, the acts in the Ten-in-One were reversed—the last one seen first—and the take was the biggest of the week, barring rain. Whether there would be crowds today was a matter of speculation, since under normal circumstances the carnival would have left during the night to establish itself sixty miles to the north. Now it remained to be seen whether their attractions had been exhausted; over lunch in the cook-house there was still a fair amount of grumbling over no tear-down during the night, and their being trapped here for an additional day. A Saturday, too.
Any worry about the weather had dissipated: it was June-hot with a small breeze distributing the usual smells of the carnival: hot popcorn, grease, sawdust, and the freshly cut grass in the field beyond. As Mrs. Pollifax and Kadi left the grab-joint they were accosted by Willie with an odd expression on his face. "I don't get it," he told them, "I can't find Boozy Tim. Jake hasn't seen him, Shannon hasn't seen him today, nobody knows where he is. Do you? Have you seen him?"
Mrs. Pollifax stiffened. "You're sure he's not in his trailer?"
Willie shook his head. "It's locked up tight. I looked through the back window and nobody's inside. What's the matter?"
"What's the matter," said Mrs. Pollifax slowly, "is that last night in the Ten-in-One, waiting for Kadi, Boozy Tim was there studying each of the acts and watching intently, apparently still looking for the person who stepped on his foot. I tried to stop him, but—"
Willie, staring at her in astonishment, said, "You mean he kept at it, when damn it he promised me?" And then, assimilating the reality of it, "Where was he standing, was he conspicuous?"
"Anybody in the aisles is conspicuous from the stage," pointed out Mrs. Pollifax, "but at least when Kadi and I left he was pretty much in shadow. I don't know how obvious he became after that."
Willie said grimly, "And here I thought he was sleeping late because of his damnfool walk into town yesterday. He's frail, you know. I think we've got to call in the gawer on this."
"Gavver?"
"Police. They're still guarding the exits but there's one of them in my trailer now making a phone call, the sandy-haired one called Bix."
Kadi said earnestly, "I can help look, everybody can help, Willie. You think he had a heart attack or something?"
Mrs. Pollifax caught Willie's eye and held it. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"
His lips thinned. "You're damn right, but let's keep this quiet, we open in forty minutes. No panic. Wait here. No, come along with me."
"What is it?" asked Kadi, hurrying behind Willie with Mrs. Pollifax.
She said, "You remember my telling you what Boozy Tim saw on Wednesday night, the man with a white beard hurrying away from the crowd. He thought—felt—there was something familiar about him; now we're afraid Boozy Tim may have discovered who it was."
"You mean he's been trying to find—and maybe did?" gasped Kadi. "Oh God, if anything's happened to him!"
They were close behind Willie when he flung open the door to his trailer, and they followed him inside. The officer he'd called Bix was sitting at his desk, phone in hand. Willie said, "Trouble, Bix, Boozy Tim's missing. Nobody's seen him since last night."
Startled, Bix said, "The little guy, the one who saw—"
"Yeah." Willie was leaning over his desk and opening a drawer and Mrs. Pollifax's eyes widened as she saw him draw out a small, snub-nosed black gun, load it, and tuck it into his belt.
Bix returned to the phone to say, "Trouble, Chief, better call in a few state police. Got to hang up." At once he was on his feet. "Where do we look? Going to announce this over the loudspeaker?"
Willie shook his head. "The exits are still guarded, so he has to still be here. It's best we don't broadcast this, or who-ever's fooling with Boozy Tim might—might—" He didn't finish, saying instead, "Let's you and me do the empty warehouse trucks—the trailers can wait until they're empty—and Emmy here, and Kadi, you check the booths. Under, over, and behind. Damn it, we open in thirty minutes and the place will be full of people—impossible!" Handing both Mrs.
Pollifax and Kadi flashlights he added, "Let's meet in fifteen minutes at Boozy Tim's trailer."
They separated quickly, Mrs. Pollifax and Kadi heading out into the midway. Most of the booths were already open and at Lubo's their reception was hostile. "Why the hell should I let you prowl around my counter?" he demanded.
"Because Boozy Tim's missing," Mrs. Pollifax told him crossly.
"What—that nice little guy?"
"Just get out of our way and don't waste our time."
To Mrs. Pollifax's surprise he immediately stepped back and allowed them to open a coat locker in the rear and inspect every dark corner.
Up and down the midway the two of them went: the fortune teller's tent, Wheel of Fortune, the slum skillo joints, the Milk-bottle and Spindle games, the Bingo tent, Penny arcade, the merry-go-round, Whip, ferris wheel, and Dodge-'em cars. . . . There was no Boozy Tim, and their search consumed twenty minutes of precious time, so that it was only ten minutes before opening-time when they rushed back to Boozy Tim's trailer to find that Willie and Bix were late, too.
Waiting outside, Mrs. Pollifax peered into Boozy Tim's trailer through the only window at her level and found her glance meeting an opposite wall inside, on which movie-star cut-outs occupied nearly every inch, running the gamut from Janet Gaynor to Madonna. She could see a tiny sink piled high with unwashed dishes, and a corner of his dining table on which lay the white paper bag that Boozy Tim had carried with him on his return from town yesterday. But there were other objects on the table as well, puzzling shapes she couldn't identify from this vantage point, and half of them cut off from view.
"You're frowning," said Kadi, "what is it? Is Boozy Tim there?"
"No, but I'm seeing the paper bag he brought fro
m town yesterday, and something strange on the—go find Willie, Kadi—fasti"
"I see them on the midway talking to Jake."
"Then get them here quickly!" commanded Mrs. Pollifax.
After one look at Mrs. Pollifax's face Kadi raced toward the two men, shouting, and returned with them. "You didn't go inside earlier?" Mrs. Pollifax demanded of Willie. "I think it's terribly important."
"I'll get the skeleton key," said Willie.
"No—break down the door," she told him. "Now."
"Break down—but why?"
"I don't know why," she cried in frustration, "it's a feeling I have. Please."
The door resisted, splintered and opened, and Mrs. Pollifax led them to Boozy Tim's dining table.
There was an open tin of white paint, a tin of talcum powder, a smear of ketchup, a paint brush, and two dark false beards, one of them half-painted white, the other one pure white with talcum dust surrounding it, as if the entire tin of talcum had been emptied over it.
This, thought Mrs. Pollifax, was what he'd walked into town to buy: Boozy Tim, deeply troubled, doubting himself, and afraid of what he suspected, had wanted to be sure.
Kadi, leaning over the small splash of red, said, "This isn't ketchup, it's blood."
They stared in shock at the splotch of red.
Willie said, "It must have happened last night, then, his trailer lighted, someone at the window seeing what he was experimenting with—"
"—and walked in on him," finished Bix.
"Oh dear God," whispered Kadi.
In a stunned voice Mrs. Pollifax said, "But there's only one person working in this carnival with a full beard."
"That's true," gasped Kadi. "It's true, she's right."
With a glance at his watch Willie said grimly, "It's 2:03 and we're open now. And the acts are reversed in the afternoon shows."
They stared at one another in shock, and then Willie shouted, "RUN! And Bix—call in your police!"
It was proving a profitable afternoon for the Ten'in-One; the bleachers were full, the Snake Woman was just completing her act, and as the audience applauded and she left the stage Jasna took her place, strolling in casually, all silver in a sequined jumpsuit, very tall and very calm. With a curt bow to the audience she placed her case of knives on a tall stool, opened the case and displayed the knives that glittered in the spotlight. The audience settled into silence, watching intently. Selecting one of the knives she gestured toward the curtain, which slowly rose to reveal the backboard and her father standing against it, but in a strikingly different costume this afternoon: a long black robe and a hood that concealed half of his face.
Mrs. Pollifax Pursued Page 11