I'll Walk Alone - Mary Higgins Clark [75]
I know she’s in trouble and it’s the fault of that Longe guy.
Toby thought about how his sneakers had made a stain on the carpet in Longe’s reception area. Hope they can’t get it out, he thought as he dodged a homeless woman pushing a cart laden with clothes and old newspapers.
Longe’s private office looks phony, too, Toby mused. Real formal. You’d think you were in Buckingham Palace, but not a paper on the desk. Where does he do all that fancy planning of those houses he decorates?
Deep in thought, Toby almost stepped from the curb after the light turned red. He had to jump back to avoid being sideswiped by a sightseeing bus. I better watch where I’m going, he told himself. I didn’t come to New York to get splattered by a bus.
His thoughts immediately turned back to Bartley Longe. I wasn’t born yesterday. I know why Longe snowed Glory into going up to his country home. That’s the way he talked about his house in Connecticut. “His country home.” Glory was a sweet, innocent girl when she came to New York. Longe didn’t bring Glory up to Connecticut to play tiddlywinks. He took advantage of her.
If only Glory had married Rudy Schell right out of high school. He was crazy about her. Rudy went to work when he was eighteen and has a big plumbing business now. Big home, too. He only got married last year. When I’d run into him, he always asked about Glory. I could tell he still really liked her.
Toby realized he was not that far from the 13th Precinct, where he’d met Detective Johnson yesterday. A thought struck him. That guy never asked to see Glory’s postcard. She printed what she wrote on it, and I thought it was because the card was small and her hand writing was kind of big with all those loops. But suppose she never sent the card herself? Suppose someone figured that I’d be getting nervous about her and decided to put me off looking for her? Maybe that person knows that I’m on my way out.
I’m going to see that Detective Johnson again and sit at his desk, that he says is such a privilege to have, Toby decided, and I’m going to ask him to check this postcard for fingerprints. Then I’m going to tell him that I want him to see Mr. Bartley Longe right now if he hasn’t already. Does Detective Johnson think he’s kidding me? All he’s probably planning to do is to call up Longe and apologize for the inconvenience and then tell him that this old bird came in and he has to follow through. Then he’ll ask him if he knew Glory, and what was the nature of their relationship. Longe will give him the same kind of bull he gave me about trying to help Glory’s career and that he doesn’t hear from her anymore. And Detective Johnson, sitting at his window desk, which doesn’t have a view, will apologize for bothering Mr. Longe and that will be that.
If I miss the flight, I miss the flight, Toby thought as he turned down the block heading to the 13th Precinct. But I can’t go home until that detective checks the fingerprints on that postcard and until he goes face-to-face with that creep Longe and pins him down about when he last saw Glory.
48
Ms. Moreland, you are not under arrest, at least not at the present,” Billy Collins told Zan as she started for the door. “But I would suggest you wait.”
Zan looked at Charley Shore and he nodded. As she sat back down, to give herself time, Zan asked for a glass of water. While she waited for Collins to get it, she tried to steel herself against making another outburst. Charley had immediately put his arm over the back of her chair again and for a brief moment pressed his hand on her shoulder. But this time she did not find the gesture reassuring.
Why wasn’t he objecting to their insinuations? she asked herself. No, they’re not insinuations. They’re accusations. What good is it to have a lawyer if he won’t defend me against these people?
She turned her chair a little to the left to avoid having to look directly at Detective Dean, then realized that Dean was looking down into a notebook that she had taken from her