Owls Don't Blink

Chapter Three

Hale pushed away his plate so as to clear a place on the table in front of him. “I’m taking the ten-thirty plane to New York,” he said, “so I’ll have to talk while Mrs. Cool finishes her waffle — if you don’t mind, Mrs. Cool?”

Bertha said, her words thickened somewhat by a mouthful of her second pecan waffle, “Go right ahead.”

Hale picked up his briefcase, propped it on his lap, and folded back the flap so he could have ready access to the interior of it.

“Roberta Fenn was twenty-three years old in 1939. That would make her approximately twenty-six at the present time. I have here some additional photographs — I believe Mrs. Cool sent you some photographs by air mail, Lam.”

“Yes, I have them.”

“Well, here are some additional ones showing her in different poses.”

He shot his hand down in the briefcase, pulled out an envelope, and handed it to me. “There’s also a more detailed description in there. Height, five feet four; weight, one hundred and ten; hair, dark; eyes, hazel; figure, perfect; teeth, regular; complexion, clear olive, skin very smooth.”

Bertha Cool caught the eye of the Negro waitress and beckoned her over. She said, “I want another one of those pecan waffles.”

I asked Bertha, “Are you trying to fit those clothes you threw away a year ago?”

She became instantly belligerent. “Shut up! I guess I—” She realized a cash customer was present and bottled up her temper. “I eat only one good meal a day,” she explained to Hale with something that wasn’t a smile, not yet a smirk. “Usually it’s dinner, but if I eat a heavy breakfast and go light on dinner, the result is the same.”

Hale studied her. “You’re just the right weight to be healthy,” he said. “You’re muscular and vigorous. It’s really surprising the amount of energy you have.”

Bertha said, “Well, go ahead with the facts. I’m sorry we interrupted you.” She glared at me and added, “And I didn’t throw those clothes away. I’ve got them stored in a cedar closet.”

Hale said, “Well, let’s see. Oh, yes, Roberta Fenn was twenty-three when she disappeared. She was an agency model in New York. She posed for some of the ads, the petty stuff. She never got the best-advertised products. Her legs were marvelous. She did a lot of stocking work — some bathing-suit and underwear stuff. It seems incredible a young woman who had been photographed so much could disappear.”

Bertha said, “People don’t look at the faces of the underwear models.”

Hale went on: “Apparently it was a voluntary disappearance, although we can’t find out why. None of her friends can throw any light on it. She had no enemies, no financial troubles, and as far as can be ascertained, there was no reason why she should have vanished so suddenly — certainly not the usual reasons.”

“Love affair?” I asked.

“Apparently not. The outstanding characteristic of this young woman was her complete independence. She liked to live her own life. She was secretive about her private life, but her friends insist that was only because she was too independent to have confidants. She was a very self-sufficient young woman. When she went out with a man, she always went Dutch, so she wouldn’t feel under any obligations.”

“That is carrying independence altogether too far,” Bertha announced.

“Why do you want her now?” I asked. “In other words, why let the case lie dormant for three years, and then get in a dither about finding her, rush detectives down to New Orleans go flying around the country, and—”

The two rows of regular teeth glistened at me. He was nodding his head and smiling. “A very astute young man,” he said to Bertha. “Very smart indeed! You notice? He puts his finger right on the keynote of the whole business.”

Bertha’s waitress handed her the plate with the waffle. Bertha put on two squares of butter. The waitress said, “There’s melted butter in that pitcher, ma’am.”

Bertha tilted the pitcher of melted butter over the waffle, piled on syrup, said, “Bring me another pot of pure coffee and fill up that cream pitcher.” She turned to Hale. “I told you he was a brainy little cuss.”

Hale nodded. “I’m very well satisfied with my selection of the agency. I feel quite certain you’ll handle the matter satisfactorily.”

I said, “I don’t want to seem insistent, Mr. Hale, but—”

He laughed aloud. For the moment, his teeth almost parted. “I know. I know,” he said. “You’re going to come back to the original question. Well, Mr. Lam, I’ll tell you. We want to find her in order to close up an estate. I regret that I can’t tell you anything else. After all, you know, I am working for a client. I am governed by his wishes. It would be well for you to adopt a similar attitude.”

Bertha washed down a mouthful of waffle with a gulp of hot coffee, said, “You mean he’s not supposed to start backtracking in order to find out what it’s all about?”

Hale said, “My client will see that you are given the necessary information, and inasmuch as he is in reality your employer — well, I think you can appreciate what an embarrassing circumstance it would be if friction should develop.”

Bertha Cool frowned across at me. “You get that, Donald,” she said. “Don’t go playing around with a lot of theories. You stick to the job in hand. Find that Fenn girl and quit worrying about who wants her. You understand? Forget that romantic angle.”

Hale glanced over at me, to see how I was taking it. Then he looked back at Bertha. “That’s being put a great deal more bluntly than I’d have said it, Mrs. Cool.”

Bertha said, “I know. You’d have done a lot of palavering around. This gets it over with. There’s no misunderstanding this way. I don’t mince words. I hate beating around the bush.”

He smiled. “You’re a very direct woman, Mrs. Cool.”

There was a moment of silence.

“What else can you tell me about Roberta Fenn?” I asked.

Hale said, “I gave Mrs. Cool most of the details while I was on the train.”

“How about close relatives?” I asked.

“She had none.”

I said, “Yet you’re trying to find her to close up an estate?”

Hale put a big hand on my arm in a fatherly gesture. “Now, Lam,” he said, “I thought I’d made myself clear on that.”

“You have,” Bertha said. “Do you want daily reports?”

“I should like them, yes.”

“Where will you be?”

“In my New York office.”

“Suppose we find her, then what?”

Hale said, “Frankly, I doubt if you will. It’s a cold trail, and a tough assignment. If you do find her — I shall be very much pleased. You will, of course, let me know at once. I feel certain my client will make some substantial acknowledgment by way of a bonus.”

Hale looked around cautiously. “I feel that I should tell you: Don’t do any talking. Make your inquiries casual. If you have to ask direct questions, ask them in such a way as not to arouse suspicion. Pose as a friend of a friend. You happened to be coming to New Orleans, and your friend suggested you should look up Roberta Fenn. Make it casual and entirely natural. Don’t be too eager, and don’t leave any back trail.”

Bertha said, “Leave it to us.”

Hale looked at his watch, then beckoned the waitress. “The check, please.”