Nighttime Is My Time

56

The first person Carter Stewart saw when he walked into the Glen-Ridge House at three-thirty was Jake Perkins, who was, as usual, sprawled on a chair in the lobby. Doesn't that kid have a home? Stewart wondered, as he walked to the phone at the end of the front desk and dialed Robby Brent's room.

There was no answer. "Robby, I thought we were supposed to get together at three-thirty," Stewart snapped in response to the computerized suggestion to leave a voice message. "I'll be in the lobby for another fifteen minutes or so."

As he hung up, he spotted the investigator Sam Deegan sitting in the office behind the front desk. Their eyes met, and Deegan got up, clearly on his way to talk to him. There was something decisive in the way Deegan moved which made Stewart aware that this would not be an idle conversation.

They stood across the desk from each other.

"Mr. Stewart," Sam said. "I'm glad to see you. I left a message for you at your hotel and was hoping to hear back from you."

"I've been working with my director on the script for my new play," Carter Stewart said, his tone abrupt.

"I see you were on the house phone. Are you meeting someone now?"

Stewart found himself resenting Sam Deegan's question. None of your business, he wanted to say, but something about Deegan's attitude made the remark die on his lips. "I have an appointment with Robby Brent at three-thirty. Before you ask me why I have an appointment, which is clearly your next question, let me satisfy your curiosity. Brent has agreed to star in a new sitcom. He has seen the first few scripts and feels they are off-target-that, in fact, they fall flat- and he asked me to take a look at them and give him my professional opinion as to whether or not they can be salvaged."

"Mr. Stewart, you've been compared to literary playwrights like Tennessee Williams and Edward Albee," Sam said sharply. "I'm just a run-of-the-mill kind of guy, but most of those situation comedies are insults to the intelligence. I'm surprised that you'd be interested in judging one of them."

"It was not my choice." Stewart's tone was icy. "After dinner last night, Robby Brent asked me to look at the scripts. He offered to bring them to my hotel, but as you can understand, that would have involved my having to dislodge him from my suite after I'd glanced at the material. It was much easier to stop by here on the way back from my director's home. And even though I do not write sitcoms, I am a very good judge of writing in any form. Do you know if Robby is expected soon?"

"I have no idea of his plans," Sam said. "I came here to talk to him also. I didn't get a response when I called him, and then realized that no one had seen him all day, so I had the maid go into his room. His bed had not been slept in. It appears that Mr. Brent is missing."

Sam was not sure that he wanted to give that much information to Carter Stewart, but his instinct told him to divulge it and watch for Stewart's reaction. It turned out to be stronger than he had anticipated.

"Missing! Oh, come now, Mr. Deegan. Don't you think this scenario has played itself out long enough? Let me explain: There is a part in this proposed series for a sexy blonde not unlike the vanished Laura Wilcox. The other day at West Point, specifically at the lunch table, Brent was telling Laura that she might be perfect for that part. I am beginning to think that the entire three-ring circus surrounding her disappearance is nothing more than a publicity stunt. And now, if you'll excuse me, I won't waste any more of my time waiting around for Robby."

I don't like that guy, Sam thought as he watched Carter Stewart leave. Stewart was wearing a somewhat tattered dark gray sweatsuit and dirty sneakers, a hobo's outfit that Sam figured had probably cost a fortune.

My feelings for him aside, has he put his finger on everything that's going on? Sam wondered. In the more than three hours that he had been sitting in the office, he had been doing some hard thinking and in the process had become more and more irritated.

We know Brent made the phone call impersonating Laura, he reasoned. He bought a cell phone that appears to be the one that the call to Jean was made on. The clerk who sold it to him saw him dialing at exactly the time Jean thought Laura was talking to her. I'm beginning to think Stewart may be right, that all this is a way of getting publicity. And, in that case, why am I wasting my time here when I have a killer loose in Orange County who dragged an innocent woman into his car and stabbed her to death?

When he had arrived at the Glen-Ridge House, Eddie Zarro was waiting for him, but Sam sent him back to the office, saying there was no need for the two of them to hang out in the lobby waiting for Brent. Sam debated, then decided that now he'd get Zarro to relieve him and go home. I need a decent night's sleep, he decided. I'm so tired I can't think straight.

As he opened his cell phone to call the office, he realized that

Amy Sachs, the desk clerk, was at his elbow. "Mr. Deegan," she began, her voice little more than a whisper, "you've been here since before noon, and I know you haven't had a single thing to eat. May I order coffee and a sandwich for you?"

"That's very kind, but I'll be leaving soon," Sam told her. As he spoke, he wondered how close Amy Sachs had been when he was talking to Stewart. She didn't appear to make any sound when she walked, and she made very little when she opened her mouth. Why do I bet her hearing is acute? Sam wondered sardonically as he watched her exchange a glance with Jake Perkins. And why do I bet that the minute I'm out of sight, she fills Jake in on the fact that Brent isn't around and that Stewart thinks all this hoopla is a publicity stunt?

Sam went back into the office. From there he had a good view of the main entrance. A few minutes later he saw Gordon Amory come in, and he hurried to catch him before he got on the elevator.

Amory was clearly not in the mood to talk about Robby Brent. "I have not spoken to him since that vulgar display last night," he said. "As a matter of fact, since you witnessed it, Mr. Deegan, and also heard Robby's attack on Jack Emerson, I think you should know that I have been out since ten o'clock this morning with Emerson, looking at real estate. He is the exclusive agent on some genuinely fine parcels of land. He also showed me the properties he had offered Robby for consideration. I must tell you, they were fairly priced and, in my opinion, excellent long-range investments-which is to say that anything Robby Brent insinuates, says, or does should be examined for motivation beyond the obvious. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a number of phone calls to make."

The elevator door was opening. Before Amory could step into it, Sam said, "Another moment, please, Mr. Amory."

With a resigned smile that was almost a sneer, Amory turned back to him.

"Mr. Amory, Robby Brent did not sleep in his room last night. We believe it was he who imitated Laura Wilcox on the phone call to Jean Sheridan. Your colleague, Mr. Stewart, feels that Brent and Wilcox may be carrying on a hoax for publicity for Mr. Brent's new television series. What do you think?"

Gordon Amory raised an eyebrow. For an instant he looked dumbstruck; then a look of amusement came over his face. "A publicity stunt! Of course, that makes sense. In fact, if you look at Page Six of the New York Post, they're already suggesting that very thing about Laura's disappearance. Now Robby vanishes, and you tell me that he made the phone call to Jean last night. And the whole time we're all sitting around worrying about them."

"Then you think it's possible we're all wasting our time worrying about Laura?"

"Au contraire, it has not been a waste, Mr. Deegan. The one positive thing is that Laura's supposed disappearance has proven to me that I still have the milk of human kindness flowing in my breast. I was so concerned about her that I was planning to offer her a role in my new series. I'll bet you're right The dear girl has other fish to fry and is doing it most successfully. And now I really must go."

"I assume you'll be checking out soon," Sam suggested.

"No, I'm still looking at property. But I guess I won't be seeing you around, since now you can get back to solving real crimes. Goodbye."

Sam watched Amory get into the elevator. Another one who thinks he's intellectually superior to an investigator, he thought. Well, let's just wait and see. Sam could feel his nerves fraying as he walked back across the lobby. Whether or not Laura's disappearance is a publicity stunt, the fact still remains that five women from the lunch table are dead.

He had been hoping Jean would get back before he left, so he was delighted to see her standing at the front desk. He hurried to her side, anxious to hear about her meeting with the lawyer.

She was asking about messages. Always afraid she'll get another fax about Lily, Sam thought. And who can blame her? He put his hand on her arm. When she turned, he could see that her eyes looked as if she might have been crying. "Buy you a cup of coffee?" he offered.

"A cup of tea would be great."

"Ms. Sachs, when Mr. Zarro returns, please ask him to join us in the coffee shop," Sam said to the room clerk.

In the coffee shop he waited until Jean's tea and his coffee had been served before he spoke again. It seemed to him that Jean was still trying to regain her composure. Finally he said, "I gather it didn't go well with the attorney Craig Michaelson."

"It did and it didn't," Jean said slowly. "Sam, I would stake my life that Michaelson handled the adoption and may know where Lily is now. I was rude to him. I practically threatened him. On the way back here I pulled the car over to the side of the road and called to apologize to him. I also pointed out that if he does know where she is, she might remember where she lost her hairbrush, and that might be a direct link to whoever is threatening her."

"What did Michaelson say to that?"

"It was odd. He said that that had already occurred to him. Sam, I'm telling you he knows where Lily is, or at least how to trace where she is. He did say, using the words 'I urge you most strongly,' that I should have you or at least the district attorney's office petition a judge to open the records immediately and warn her parents of this situation."

"Then I would say that he obviously takes seriously what you told him."

Jean nodded in agreement. "I didn't think he did when I was in his office, but maybe my outburst-I swear I was on the verge of throwing something at him-may have convinced him. His attitude had done a one-hundred-and-eighty-degree turn when I talked to him twenty minutes later on the phone." She glanced up. "Oh, look, here's Mark."

Mark Fleischman was making his way to their table. "I told Mark about Lily," Jean said hurriedly, "so you can talk in front of him."

"You did, Jean? Why?" Sam was dismayed.

"He's a psychiatrist. I thought he might be able to offer some input into whether or not these faxes are real threats."

As Mark Fleischman came nearer, Sam saw that Jean's smile became genuinely pleased. Be careful, Jeannie, he wanted to warn her. In my book this guy is carrying a lot of baggage. There's a tension bubbling under the surface in him that a cop like me can feel.

Sam also did not miss the way Fleischman momentarily covered Jean's hand with his at her invitation for him to join them.

"I'm not interfering?" Mark asked, looking at Sam for reassurance.

"As a matter of fact, I'm glad to catch you," Sam told him. "I was about to ask Jean if she had heard from Robby Brent today. Now I can ask you both."

Jean shook her head. "I haven't."

"Nor, thankfully, have I," Fleischman said. "Is there any reason you thought we might have heard from him?"

"I was about to tell you, Jean. Robby Brent must have left the hotel after dinner last night. So far he has not come back. We've pretty much determined that the call you thought came from Laura was made on a prepaid cellular phone that Brent had just bought, and we're also fairly confident that the voice you heard was actually his. As you know, he's a superb mimic."

Jean looked at Sam, astonishment and distress reflected in her face. "But why?"

"At the luncheon at West Point on Saturday, did you hear Brent talk to Laura about possibly being on his new television series?"

"I did," Mark Fleischman said. "But I didn't know whether or not he was joking."

"He did say there was a part Laura might want to play," Jean confirmed.

"Both Carter Stewart and Gordon Amory think Brent and Laura may be pulling a hoax on us. What do you think?" Sam's eyes narrowed as he looked at Mark Fleischman.

Behind his glasses, Mark's eyes became thoughtful. He looked past Sam, then directly at him. "I think it's entirely possible," he said slowly.

"I disagree," Jean said emphatically. "I absolutely disagree. Laura is in trouble-I feel it; I know it." She hesitated, then decided against telling them that she felt as if she had heard Laura's plea for help. "Please, Sam, don't think like that," she begged. "Don't give up trying to find Laura. I don't know what Robby Brent is up to, but maybe he was just trying to throw us off the track by pretending to be her and saying she was fine. She's not fine. Really, I know she's not fine."

"Take it easy, Jeannie," Mark said gently.

Sam stood up. "Jean, we'll talk again first thing in the morning. I'll want you to come to my office on that other matter we were discussing."

Ten minutes later, with Eddie Zarro waiting in case Robby Brent returned to the hotel, Sam wearily got into his car. He turned on the engine, hesitated, thought for a moment, then dialed Alice Sommers. When she answered, he was struck once more by the silvery tone of her voice. "Any chance you have a glass of sherry for a tired detective?" he asked.

Half an hour later he was sitting in a deep leather chair, his feet on the ottoman, facing the fire in Alice Sommers' den. Taking the last sip of sherry, he put the glass on the table beside him. It had not taken too much persuasive power to have Alice convince him to catnap while she prepared an early dinner. "You have to eat," she pointed out. "Then you can go straight home and get a decent night's sleep." As his eyes began to close, Sam gave a sleepy glance at the curio cabinet beside the fireplace. He was asleep before whatever object he saw there had triggered a startled response in his subconscious.