by Jan Burke
“Conn — it’s a homicide investigation. You think I give a damn about some guy putting his noodle into someone else’s soup? You’ve got to be—”
“One of the married guys is the chief of police.”
“Shit,” Dan said. “Stop the car.”
O’Connor obeyed, then said, “Maybe you’d like to hear my plan.”
“Shit,” Dan said again, holding his head in his hands.
“It’ll be my Nash at the gate, not your T-Bird. You stay in the car, I’ll see if Warren is still here, and if so, I’ll try to get him to leave with me. That way, if I’m wrong about where he is, you haven’t ruffled any feathers.”
Norton agreed to it, then said, “Thanks.”
The guard at the gate of Auburn’s Stand stayed in his shelter, opening the gate with the press of a button, and waving O’Connor in without looking closely at his passenger, or objecting to guests arriving at one in the morning.
“Party’s still going on,” O’Connor said. “Although it looks as if it has thinned out a bit.”
“Thinned out?” Norton asked in disbelief, seeing the wide, sweeping concrete drive crowded with cars.
“Oh sure,” O’Connor said, nudging the Nash into a narrow space in a gravel overflow parking area. “If we had come here last night, we would have parked outside the gate.”
“When did you leave last night?”
“Not long after midnight, which was a lucky thing, I suppose. I was home and sober by the time the hospital called me this morning.”
“Warren was still here at midnight?”
“Yes. Tried to talk me into staying.” He glanced up at the house. The mansion’s lights were on, although the windows of some of the upper rooms were dark.
“Wait here,” O’Connor said. “I’ll bring him out to you.”
“No argument from me,” Norton said, recognizing the chief’s Cadillac two cars away. “But I want to be the one to break it to him, Conn. I have to be able to see his reaction. You understand that, don’t you?”
“Sure.”
O’Connor borrowed Norton’s umbrella and walked uphill toward the house. When the wind threatened to turn the umbrella inside out, he closed it. He was soaked by the time he reached the front door.
Auburn’s butler welcomed him. Conscious of the muck on his shoes, at first O’Connor declined to come in, but seeing the man would stand there letting the heat out of the place until he crossed the threshold, he stepped just inside the door. He asked for Auburn. “I need to speak with him privately, please.”
The butler nodded.
Conn could hear men’s and women’s voices, soft music and laughter, coming from another room. The click and clatter of billiard balls on a pool table.
Within a few moments, Auburn appeared. He was in his late forties, neatly dressed in a sweater and slacks, and, O’Connor was relieved to see, wide awake and sober.
“Conn? Glad you could rejoin us!”
“I’m afraid I’m here on an errand you might not like, Auburn. Is Warren Ducane here?”
“Yes, in fact we’re playing billiards. Is anything wrong?”
“Forgive me, Auburn, but I think it would be best if I talked to Warren himself. Could you ask him to speak with me for a moment — without making anyone else curious about it?”
Auburn looked concerned, but said, “Certainly.”
As he began to walk away, O’Connor asked, “Has Warren been here all weekend?”
Auburn turned to him in surprise, but said, “Yes.”
“You’re certain?”
“Absolutely. Conn, is he in trouble?”
“Not if he’s been here the whole time.”
“He has, since Friday afternoon. I sent my car to pick him up from his home, and he has remained the entire weekend. I give you my word. And if my word won’t do, I’m sure the chief’s will.”
“Yours will do better than the chief’s.”
Auburn laughed.
“Don’t let Warren know I asked, Auburn.”
His brows drew together.
“I’m not trying to make trouble,” O’Connor said. “Not for you, and not for Warren.”
After a moment he said, “All right, Conn, I won’t tell him you asked.”
He came back a few minutes later, Warren in tow. Warren looked wary, but curious.
“Conn? What is it?”
“Warren, I’m sorry to bother you, but I need to ask you to come with me for a moment. I’ve got someone with me who needs to talk to you.”
When he hesitated, Conn said, “It will be all right.”
Auburn had apparently asked his butler to bring Warren’s coat to him, because he came to the foyer carrying it, and assisted Warren in putting it on.
“I — should I get my other things?”
“If necessary, you can come back for them,” Auburn said. “Or I can have them brought to you.”
They were both rain-drenched by the time they got to O’Connor’s car. O’Connor looked back and saw Auburn watching them from the front porch.
Norton got out of the Nash and introduced himself, showing his badge.
“What’s this about, Detective?”
“Let’s get inside the car, all right? Can’t talk out here in the rain.” He held the back door open. Warren climbed in. Norton came around and got into the backseat, on the other side, behind Conn. Conn started up the motor and turned on the heater.
“Is your car near here, Mr. Ducane?” Norton asked.
Ducane shook his head. “No. It’s in the shop. Auburn sent a car for me on Friday.”
“You’ve been here since then?”
“Yes. What’s this about?”
“If you don’t mind,” Norton said, “I’d rather we spoke at your home. Would that be all right?”
“Sure, but… am I in some kind of trouble?”
“No, Mr. Ducane. Not as far as I know.”
O’Connor got directions from Warren to his place. He glanced at Warren in the rearview mirror. Ducane looked boyish and scared. His straight, dark hair was sticking up in tufts — a result of his running his hands through it. His blue eyes had dark smudges beneath them — perhaps the result of two nights of partying at Auburn’s Stand — and his handsome face was drained of color.
Conn wished Norton would just tell him what was going on. It seemed cruel to make him wait. But this was Norton’s case, and he wasn’t going to interfere.
They didn’t travel far to reach Warren’s home — at least not in miles. In situation, the residences were entirely different. Warren Ducane lived in the back house of a “two on one” lot — his was a small house built at the back of a large lot, behind a bigger home, accessed from an alley rather than the street. One of many such places slapped together during the wartime housing shortage.
A uniformed officer stepped out of a patrol car parked in the alley.
“It’s all right, Officer Arden,” Norton said. In a low voice, he asked Warren if the young man could step inside with them. “I imagine Matt might appreciate a chance to use the bathroom. He’s been waiting for you to come back home, and it has been a long shift for the poor guy.”
O’Connor knew this wasn’t exactly true, but did nothing to give Norton’s game away.
Warren was agreeable. They crowded into the small living room of the house, and could see from there that they were in one of four rooms: the house had a kitchen, a bathroom, a bedroom, and a living room. Doors were open to all of them. The bedroom had men’s clothing strewn about, and the bed was unmade. Warren quickly pulled the door to it shut. The other rooms were relatively tidy. Warren allowed Arden use of the bathroom, then went to a narrow linen cupboard and brought out three clean, dry towels.
Arden started to go back out, but apparently reading some signal from Norton, stayed inside, near the door.
Warren turned on a small gas heater, then invited O’Connor and Norton into the kitchen, saying it was the largest room in the house. He started the coffee
percolator as O’Connor and Norton took seats at the kitchen table. O’Connor heard the cups rattle in their saucers as Warren set them on the counter.
Warren watched the coffeepot for a moment, then sat down with a kind of resignation, as if unable to come up with another way to delay hearing what was about to be said.
“The coffee will take a few minutes. What’s this all about?”
“I’m afraid it’s about your family, Mr. Ducane.”
“My family? My parents? Has something happened to my parents?”
“Your brother and his wife joined your parents on their boat late Saturday night. They haven’t returned.”
Ducane face went from chalk white to a gray color. “Not… not all of them? Not all of them together?”
“Yes… Are you all right? Maybe you should put your head down between your knees for a moment.”
Warren obeyed, and a little of his color returned to him. But when he sat up again, he still seemed dazed.
The coffee began to percolate, the coffeepot making intermittent burbling sounds.
Ducane sat staring and then asked, “Todd and Kathleen, too?”
It was always like this, O’Connor thought. People in shock thought if they asked the question in a different way, the answer would be different. As if enough questions would bring about an answer they liked, or one that made sense to them.
“Yes,” Norton said, perfectly patient. “Your parents and Todd and Kathleen.”
Warren trembled. “No… there must be some mistake. Yesterday was Kathleen’s birthday. There was a party. My parents were going to take their new boat out after the party. On their own. Not with Todd and Kathleen. Todd and Kathleen must be somewhere else.”
“Your parents invited them to go with them. Many people at the party have said they were told this, including Kathleen’s parents.”
For a moment, there was only the arrhythmic hiss and boil of the coffeepot.
“No,” Warren said again. “They didn’t take Todd. Not Todd.”
Norton said nothing.
Warren’s face crumpled, and he made a horrible, wounded sound, one O’Connor had heard a thousand times and never wanted to hear again. Norton, who had probably heard it a hundred thousand times, put a hand on Warren Ducane’s shoulder. Warren covered his face and sobbed in earnest.
The coffee percolator stopped, its red indicator light on, and O’Connor stood and poured the coffee. He placed cups before each of the other men and offered one to Arden, who politely declined. For a time, O’Connor was the only one who drank any of it.
Warren stood up, hastily excused himself, then moved back to the bathroom. They heard him retching, the flush of the toilet, then the sound of water running in the sink. After a while, he came back out.
“Sorry,” he said shakily.
He reached for his coffee and drank a little, then pushed it away.
“Are you sure the boat is lost? I mean, couldn’t there be a chance they’re all right?”
“Yes, of course,” Norton said. “We haven’t given up hope by any means. The Coast Guard is watching for it. The Sea Dreamer could just be blown off course. We’ve tried raising her on the radio, but so far, no luck. But then, it could just be that there’s some problem with the radio on board.”
Warren nodded, then fell silent. He looked at O’Connor. “Why are you here, Conn?” he asked, as if it had suddenly dawned on him that Conn was not a policeman.
“Jack Corrigan asked me to stop by Todd and Katy’s place tonight.”
“Oh.” He still seemed confused. “Will he be coming here, too?”
“No. Jack’s not feeling well, I’m afraid.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said. “Tell him I said hello.” O’Connor couldn’t hear any insincerity in that, just distraction. Warren suddenly hit upon another explanation for Conn’s presence. “Are you here to get a description of the boat for the paper? I think I have a snapshot of it. Maybe that will help.”
“I’m afraid, Warren, that I’m here—”
“Oh, you just said — because of Kathleen! Jack and Kathleen are friends. Kathleen…” Tears welled up in his eyes again. “And the baby? What’s going to become of that little boy?”
“Mr. Ducane,” Norton said, drawing his attention. “Mr. O’Connor assisted me in finding you. I’m afraid there’s more I must tell you.”
Warren looked at him wide-eyed, anxious.
“Your nephew Max — Todd’s son?”
“The baby! Oh my God! They weren’t crazy enough to take an infant on that—”
“No, sir.”
“I’ll take care of him. I will, somehow. My God, I just can’t believe that Todd—”
“Mr. Ducane, I’m sorry. There’s no easy way to tell you this, but tonight we’ve learned that the baby has probably been kidnapped.”
“Kidnapped?” he asked. Blank-faced again. Disbelieving.
“The child’s nursemaid was murdered.”
Warren seemed to sway, and for a moment O’Connor thought he was going to pass out. But he steadied himself and said, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I just can’t seem to understand. I just — Todd’s baby is missing?”
Norton went over it with him at least a half a dozen times. Finally, Warren got past the stage of simply repeating whatever was said to him. Norton kept pouring coffee for him.
“Tell me about your brother,” Norton said.
Warren seemed on the verge of tears again. Norton waited while he struggled to regain his composure.
“He’s a good man,” Warren said in a hoarse voice. “A great brother.” Deep breath. “The best. I — I can’t think why he would have gone with my parents. It’s crazy. They’re crazy.”
“Your parents?”
He nodded. “But not Todd. Todd’s smart. God! I hope it’s all some mistake.”
But he didn’t look as if he believed it could be, O’Connor thought. He looked as if he didn’t have any real hope.
“Your brother mention any problems lately?”
Warren seemed surprised at the question. “No, not really.”
“I mean,” Norton said, “most young couples have problems…”
“Oh.”
O’Connor could see him hesitate, trying to figure out what he should or should not say.
He sighed heavily. “I think they have a few. Adjusting to life with a new baby in the house, things like that. But nothing they couldn’t work out, I’m sure.”
“What about outside of his home life?”
“Todd didn’t mention anything to me. My God, he’s … he’s… he’s on a missing boat, and his child has been taken … how could any of that be his fault?”
“I’m not saying it is. Not at all. I just wondered who might want to put pressure on him.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Mr. Ducane, I suspect there will be a call or a letter or something of that nature sent to your brother’s home, asking for ransom. And I can only believe that this is going to come from someone who doesn’t realize that your brother himself is missing.”
“I see. Yes. All right. But who could it be?”
“Any enemies?”
“None that I know of.”
“Did he mention any strangers coming around, or persons who might have taken an unusual interest in the child?”
Warren shook his head.
“Any work done on the house recently?”
“No… at least … well, I don’t really know. Lillian — Kathleen’s mother would have arranged for anything like that.” He suddenly sat up straighter. “Lillian! Have you told her …?”
“Yes.”
“Poor Lillian. Kathleen’s her only child. My God. My God. What has happened?”
Norton continued to question him, about Todd, Todd’s friends, Katy, Katy’s friends. How the household staff had been hired. In the end, O’Connor wasn’t convinced that Norton had learned much, mostly because Warren Ducane didn’t seem to know much about his brother�
�s life since marriage.
When O’Connor dropped Norton off at his car, he reminded him that if they had taken the T-Bird, the seats would have been as damp as the ones in the Nash were, since they still hadn’t dried out from having three rain-soaked men in the car a few hours earlier.
“Not to mention all the mud on the floorboards,” he added.
“I’ll keep that in mind. Now you owe me about five thousand favors to one, but who’s counting?”
“What about finding Warren Ducane?”
“Four thousand nine-hundred and ninety-nine. But we’ll be keeping an eye on him from now on, so don’t expect future credit.”
“You suspect him of the kidnapping?”
“No, not really. I don’t think he faked that reaction. He was genuinely shocked. But… I don’t know. Something’s off with that guy. I’ve got to try to get in touch with the family lawyer, though, because unless his folks have cut him out completely, it seems to me that instead of being split two or three ways, the Ducanes’ fortune will now go to one man.” He was quiet for a moment, then added, “You sure he was at Auburn’s all weekend?”
“I’ll ask again — and try to get more details. But Auburn said he had been there since Friday, and he backs up Warren’s story about not having a car up there. Auburn’s never been one to lie.”
“Well, we’ll see. What are your impressions of young Warren?”
“He loves his big brother, is perhaps even fond of Katy, and doesn’t give a damn about his parents. Little Max was hardly a person to him, and the nursemaid, Rose Hannon, could have been murdered weeks ago for all he ever noticed of her.”
“Hmm. You ask me, the parents didn’t seem to give a damn about him, either. And young men usually don’t get attached to their nephews until the nephews can talk or throw a ball. I’ll bet most maids are invisible to everyone but their employers.”
“Oh no. They’re often invisible to the employers, too. My mother used to work as a maid before the war came along.”
“Don’t think we feel the same way about Rose Hannon as Ducane does — some of the other detectives you saw tonight will be making sure we pay attention to Rose’s life and not just her death.”