'Dulac tells me your husband isn't very well. He didn't go into details. Would you care to tell me a little more about him?'
'Why, yes ... if—if you think it is necessary,' Val said.
'What exactly is the matter with him?'
'Two years ago he had a motor accident. He suffered severe head injuries. He was unconscious for over five months. Before the accident he was a brilliant man and worked with my father. When he came out of the coma, he—he ... well, to use my father's words, he acted like a Zombie.' Val paused and looked out of the window, struggling to control her tears. 'He spent months in a sanatorium. Nothing anyone did seemed to help him. There was nothing physically wrong with him, but he just lost interest in everything ... including me. He remained in the sanatorium for about eighteen months. He neither got better nor worse. I decided I couldn't leave him there, and against my father's wishes, I insisted that we should try to give him a more normal life in the hope, away from the sanatorium, he would make a recovery. The doctors agreed. So I brought him here. We have been here a week, and he did begin to show a little improvement.'
'In what way?' Terrell asked.
'He began to take an interest in certain limited things. Before he came here, he would just sit and stare into space for hours. Here, he found a copy of Oliver Twist and he began to read it. He asked me to get him the complete works of Dickens which I did. He planned to read right through Dickens. He also began to show interest in the people here: discussing them with me.'
'Did he show any awakening interest in you?'
Val lifted her hands helplessly.
'No.'
'I understand he has consulted Dr. Gustave,' Terrell went on after a pause. 'Why did he do that?'
'He has been in the hands of doctors for two years. He hasn't any confidence in himself. He seems to feel lost without a doctor close at hand.'
'I know Dr. Gustave well,' Terrell said. 'He is a good man. What did he think of your husband?'
'Oh, he said he showed signs of improvement, but it would take a long time.'
'He didn't warn you that your husband could suddenly run off like this?'
'No.'
'Wasn't your husband nervous about driving a car when he came out of the sanatorium?'
'That is one of the things that is worrying me. He hasn't touched a car since the accident ... until this morning. I have always done the driving.'
Terrell thought for a moment, then got to his feet.
'As soon as we have found him. I'll let you know. Perhaps it would be better for you to come to headquarters and bring him back here yourself. I guess Dr. Gustave should be alerted. I'll handle that. You must try to relax. It won't take long to find him. I have men patrolling all the main highways leading out to Miami.'
When he had gone, Val sat down near the window where she could watch the drive below, and began her long wait.
chapter two
Sergeant Joe Beigler ran stubby fingers through his close cut hair, a frown of concentration on his freckled face. He sat at a battered desk in a large room that contained other desks at which uniformed policemen worked, talked into telephones or scribbled in notebooks.
Beigler was reading through a report to do with a minor jewel robbery. He was the senior Sergeant and Terrell's right hand man. Unmarried, aged thirty-eight, an addict to coffee drinking and cigarette smoking, he was regarded by his Chief as the best Sergeant he had had in years.
The telephone bell tinkled and he dropped a large, hairy hand on the receiver, picked it up and growled, 'Yeah? Beigler,'
'The Chief s just come in,' the Desk Sergeant said. 'In his office now.'
Beigler grunted, tossed the file he had been studying into - his Pending tray and walking with heavy strides, he made his way to Terrell's office.
He found Terrell about to pour coffee from a can one of his men had just brought to him.
Seeing Beigler in the doorway, Terrell took another cup from his desk drawer and filled that too.
'Come on in, Joe. Anything on the Burnett business?'
Beigler came in, closed the door and sat on the straight back chair before Terrell's desk. As he reached for the cup of coffee, he said, 'Nothing yet. Every patrol has been alerted. What's the excitement about?'
Terrell began to fill a blackened and well-used pipe.
'Important people. The guy's the son-in-law of Charles Travers, and in case you don't know who he is, he's the one who built the New York Palace hotel, a Ferry bridge, a dam in Havana and a number of Little items of the same weight and standing.'
Beigler drank some of the coffee, then lit a cigarette.
'So?'
'So we have to find the guy. There's a complication.'
Terrell paused while he puffed at his pipe. 'He's a mental case. On my way back from talking to his wife, I dropped in on Dr. Gustave who knows about the case. This guy sustained bad injuries to his head in a car smash. Dr. Gustave says there are brain adhesions. They could clear up, given time, but in the meantime, he's not responsible for his actions. He hasn't driven a car for two years, and now he's in a Mercedes somewhere on his own. He could cause a lot of damage to himself and to others in a car as fast as a Mercedes.'
'What do you want me to do?' Beigler asked, finishing his coffee. 'Put another call out to the boys?'
'I guess so. Tell them this is urgent. I want this guy found and found fast I It's more than two hours since we put the first call out. Can't be all that hard to find a white convertible Mercedes.'
'He could have taken to the dirt roads.' Beigler said, get tin to his feet.
'I don't give a damn what he's done. I want him found pronto!' Beigler nodded and went down to the Operations room.
He sat at a desk, picked up a microphone and began calling the patrol cars. Even as he began to talk, an officer came up and touched him on the shoulder.
'Harry's calling, Sarg. He's found the Mercedes.'
Beigler handed over the mike.
'Tell the boys.' he said and went over to another desk. He picked up the telephone receiver lying on the desk.
'Harry?'
'Yes, Sarg. I found the car: White Mercedes. Licence No. 33567. Registered New York on the Old Dixie highway. Bust off side tyre: on side fender smashed. Skid marks across the road. The car finished up against a tree. Must have been travelling fast.'
Beigler rubbed the end of his nose.
'The driver?'
'No one in the car, Sarg.'
'Hold it,' Beigler snapped and swivelled around in his chair. 'Hi, Jack, how many cars we got near the Old Dixie highway?'
'Three.' The plotter who kept tabs on all the patrol cars informed him. 'Two within twenty miles: the third within ten miles.'
'Tell them to converge on Harry and fast. He'll want help.' Beigler went on to Harry.
'Three cars are on their way. I want a thorough search of the district. The driver can't be far away. You stay where you are. Bud will give you a description of the guy.' He beckoned to another officer, handed over the telephone receiver and went quickly back to Terrell's office.
***
At twenty minutes to three in the afternoon, Val was still sitting by the window and still waiting. She kept telling herself that there was nothing she could do, and she just had to be patient till the police found Chris. But as the time moved on, she became more and more anxious. This lone vigil was beginning to tear her nerves to shreds. She was already asking herself if Chris had met with another accident ... this time, was he dead?
Suddenly the telephone bell buzzed. For a moment she just stared at the instrument, then getting to her feet, she ran over and lifted the receiver.
'Mrs. Burnet ... this is Captain Terrell.'
'Have—have you found him?'
'Not yet, but we have found the car,' Terrell told her. It was found on the Old Dixie highway ... not often used these days. Had a burst tyre and hit a tree. Looks as if your husband left the car and started to walk. I have four cars out there and our men are searching th
e district. It's difficult country: lots of shrub land, orchards, disused barns. He might have gone into some derelict building to rest. I thought I'd let you know what's happening. Don't worry. We'll find him soon.'
'But he might be injured and ... '
'I don't think so. It wasn't a bad enough smash for that. Just a bent fender. He's probably a bit dazed and is resting somewhere.'
'Perhaps I had better come. I could get a taxi and...'
'Best for you to remain where you are, Mrs. Burnett.' Terrell said firmly. 'Then we'll know where you are. As soon as we've found him. I'll call again.'
'All right ... thank you for calling me.'
'You're welcome,' Terrell said, a little embarrassed to hear how unsteady her voice sounded.
'Shouldn't be long now,' and he hung up.
Val went over to the window and looked out across the sea. There were a number of people sunning themselves and swimming. It was a gay scene, but there was no gaiety in Val's heart.
When there was no call from the police headquarters at five o'clock, she began to get desperate.
She waited until twenty minutes past five, then unable to bear the suspense any longer, she put a call through to her father's New York office.
From babyhood, Val's relations with her father had been on good, sound terms. She had come to worship this successfull, handsome man. She had always been convinced that he could solve any of her problems once she appealed for help. She had been careful in the past to appeal to him on only the very important things, and they had been few, but each time she had appealed to him, he had dropped everything and had put the whole of his massive energy into solving the problem. She was sure that the reason why he was so impatient with Chris was because Chris presented a problem that defeated him: the first problem to do with Val he hadn't been able to solve.
After a ten minute wait, she got his office and was told by his secretary that he was in conference.
'This is Mrs. Burnett. Will you please tell my father I must speak to him immediately?'
'Yes, of course, Mrs. Burnett. Will you hold on? It may be a few minutes. I'll have to send in a note.'
What were a few minutes, Val thought after all these awful never-ending hours?
'I'll hold on.'
Less than five minutes crawled by before her father's voice came on the line.
'Val'
'Daddy he's gone! I'm frantic! After I had spoken to you, I looked out of the window and he had gone.'
'Did he take the car?'
She drew in a deep breath. Her father's voice was calm. She had expected him to fly in a rage: to tell her he had warned her, but this practical, quiet question had an unmediated steadying effect on her.
'Yes. He's been missing now for over five hours.'
'Have you consulted Dulac?'
'Yes. He got the Chief of Police here. The police have found the Mercedes, but not Chris.'
'Are they still looking?'
'I suppose so ... I don't know.'
'Tell the operator to hold this call and then call the police. I want to know what the position is right now!'
'I'll do that. Oh, darling, do you think ...?'
'Val! Do what I say! Don't let's waste time.'
She got the operator to hold the New York call and then put her through to Terrell.
'Have you any news?' she asked when Terrell came on the line. 'My father ...'
'No news yet, Mrs. Burnett.' Val was quick to hear a worried note in Terrell's voice. 'My men are still looking, but out there, it's difficult country. I can't spare more than eight men. Frankly, if we are to find your husband before dark, we'll have to get help, and this will mean publicity. I was about to call you when you came through. What do you want me to do?'
Val tried to think, then she said unsteadily, 'I'll call you back.' She asked the operator to give her New York again.
'They haven't found him,' she told her father. 'I told the Chief of Police I didn't want any publicity. He says if we are to find Chris before dark, he'll have to get help: then the newspapers will hear about it.'
'Tell him to get help.' Travers said. 'Tell him I expect to find Chris with you when I arrive. I'm flying down right away. I'll be with you as soon as I possibly can. Don't worry. Val. I'm on my way.'
'But, darling, aren't you terribly tied up? Has Newton...?'
'We're wasting time! I'm coming! Just tell this policeman to get all the help he needs. Stay in your suite. Tell Dulac to handle the press. I'll fix everything when I arrive. God bless,' and the line went dead.
Val called Terrell.
'My father is coming down. Will you get all the help you need? We must find my husband tonight.'
'Yes, of course,' Terrell said. 'I'm sorry about this, Mrs. Burnett, but we're just not getting the breaks. It'll be on the radio in half-an-hour. I'll get the farmers to search all their outbuildings. We'll check the motels, hospitals and hotels. The press will have to come into it.'
'Yes,' Val said and hung up.
She put her hands to her face. After a while, she began to cry.
The gold and green enamel clock on the overmantel in Val's sitting room struck eleven. Val lay on the settee by the open window, looking out at the starlit sky. It was a dark night: there was no moon.
Her father sat near her in a lounging chair, a whisky and soda on the occasional table by his side, a cigar smouldering between his fingers.
Neither of them had said anything to each other for the past half-hour. When her father had arrived, he had been unexpectedly kind and sympathetic. They had re-established the bond between them that had suffered since Chris had been in the sanatorium. Val now felt more relaxed. The presence of her father gave her confidence and acted as a solace.
Below in the hotel grounds, newspapermen and photographers had gathered. Val could hear the hum of their voice and now and then, there was a sudden sound of laughter that made her flinch.
Then out of the silence, the telephone bell buzzed. Travers picked up the receiver.
'Captain Terrell is here, sir,' the clerk told him.
'Send him right up,' Travers said and replaced the receiver. Val jumped to her feet and looked anxiously at him.
'Terrell coming up,' her father said.
'Have they found him?'
'We'll know in a moment,' her father said as he got to his feet.
At the age of sixty, Charles Travers was an impressive looking man. He was three inches over six foot, square shouldered and powerfully built. He had bright, searching blue eyes, thinning white hair and a lean hawk-like face. As he crossed the room, he gave Val renewed confidence by the power and assurance of his movements. He opened the door as Terrell came along the corridor.
The two men regarded each other, then shook hands.
'No news yet,' Terrell said as he entered the room. 'I thought I'd look in and tell you what we have been doing.' He nodded to Val who stood by the settee, white-faced, her hands into fists.
'He's been missing over twelve hours,' Travers said, a snap in his voice. 'I certainly would be interested to know what you have been doing.'
'I understand how you feel, Mr. Travers,' Terrell said. 'We can't do more than we are doing already. The country is very difficult. There are swamps, mangrove thickets, acres of high grass and hundreds of farm outbuildings. We have now combed the district five miles around from where the car was found. It seems we must consider two possibilities: either Mr. Burnett is deliberately hiding or he has managed to get a lift from a passing car that has taken him right out of the district. If he is deliberately hiding, then our task is almost impossible. There is no better ground to play hide-and-seek in. If he has left the district, then we must put out a four State alarm and appeal to all motorists who have been in this district to help us.'
Travers stared searchingly at Terrell.
'What you are saying is bluntly this: you haven't the capability to find a missing man in your territory.'
'No State has the capability to f
ind a missing man quickly if he doesn't want to be found,' Terrell said quietly. 'But we will find him. It could take time.'
'You don't expect to find him tonight?'
'I don't know. We could, but it now seems unlikely.'
'That's all I want to know,' Travers said. 'All right, you carry on. We'll wait. Thank you for coming.'
Feeling dismissed and irritated by Travers' manner, Terrell moved to the door, then he paused to look at Val.
'We'll find him, Mrs. Burnett. I would like to think you still have confidence in me.'
'Oh, yes, I have,' Val said shakily.
When Terrell had gone, her father put his arm around her and pulled her close to him.
'You're going to bed now,' he said. 'I'll be around. This is going to work out. You see in a couple of weeks, probably less, you'll wonder why you got so worked up.'
Val moved away from him.
'Daddy, you don't really understand. I can't thank you enough for coming. I can't thank you enough for your kindness and your help, but you still don't seem to realize that Chris is my life. I love him. I mean that ... whatever he has become, however he behaves, he is now part of me. Without him, life would be meaningless to me. I'm telling you this because you don't seem able to accept the fact that he is so very, very important to me. He really and truly is all I now live for.'
Travers looked thoughtfully at her, then with a little shrug of resignation, he said, 'Come along, Val. You go to bed. You won't sleep, but you'll probably rest. They'll find him. While they are finding him, we'll sweat it out together'.
Val put her hand affectionately on his arm.
'I just wanted to be sure you know how it is between Chris and myself. I'll go to bed. Thank you, darling. I don't know what I'd do without you.'
She walked quickly across the room and into her bedroom. Travers moved to the window.
He stood for a long moment staring out into the darkness, a frown on his face, then abruptly, he tossed his half-smoked cigar down on to the terrace where the newspapermen waited.
***
The smell of grilling ham made Terrell hasten with his shaving. He had stayed with the search for Burnett until three o'clock in the morning, then weary and discourage he had handed over to Beigler and had gone home.
1964 - The Soft Centre Page 2