The Soft Centre

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. Burnett... 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 the 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 immediate 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 find 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.

As he finished shaving, he thought bleakly that Burnett couldn’t have been found otherwise Joe would have telephoned. He thought of that nice Mrs. Burnett, and he felt sorry he had so far failed her. But what more could he have done? he asked himself.

When he entered the morning-room, he found his wife, Caroline, a large matronly looking woman, reading the newspaper headlines.

“Is it right this poor man is a mental case?” she asked, handing Terrell the paper.

“I guess,” he said and sat down. “Trust the papers to get hold of the details. Now they will be scaring everybody out of their wits.”

“But he isn’t dangerous?”

Terrell shrugged.

“He’s a mental case.”

He sat and read, and finally tossed the paper aside in disgust.

“Where the hell can he have got to?” he said more to himself than to his wife. “What’s he been doing all this time?”

As if to answer these questions, the telephone bell rang. Terrell put down his cup of coffee and hurried across the room. He lifted the receiver.

“Chief? This is Joe.” Beigler’s voice sounded tense. “We have trouble out at Ojus. A murder reported.”

Terrell scratched his forehead. A murder! He hadn’t had a murder in his territory for the past eight months.

“Any details, Joe?”

“The owner of the Park Motel phoned through. He reports a dead woman in one of his cabins. She’s been badly cut up.”

“Okay. Come out for me. Any news of Burnett?”

“The boys are still searching,” Beigler was obviously bored with Burnett. A murder was much more important to him. “I have the team together. We’ll be out for you in ten minutes.”

Terrell hung up and returned to the table to finish his coffee. He told Caroline about the murder, but this didn’t interest her. She wanted to know about Burnett.

“He’s still missing,” Terrell said irritably. “It’s my guess he’s miles away from where he smashed up the car. He must be. He probably had a blackout and has just gone off into the blue.”

As two police cars pulled up outside Terrell’s bungalow eight minutes later, and as Terrell was putting on his jacket, the telephone bell rang.

“Chief, this is Williams. We’ve found Burnett. He was wandering along the North Miami Beach highway. We have him here in our car. What shall we do with him?”

Aware that Beigler was standing in the doorway, scarcely restraining his impatience, Terrell said, “How is he?”

“Well, he acts as if he’s been knocked on the head. He doesn’t know where he’s been nor what he’s been doing.”

“Stay right where you are,” Terrell said. “I’ll call you back.” He broke the connection and then dialed the number of the Spanish Bay hotel. As he waited, he said to Beigler, “They’ve found Burnett. I have to fix him first. You go on to the Park Motel. I’ll come on after you.”

Beigler nodded and hurried down the flagged path to the waiting car.

When Terrell got to the hotel, he asked to speak to Travers.

“Mr. Travers? Police Chief here. We’ve found Mr. Burnett. He seems in a dazed state. He is right at this moment in a police car out on the North Miami Beach highway: that’s about thirty-five miles from you. I don’t think it would be wise to bring him back to the hotel. He’d have to face the newspapermen who are waiting there. I suggest my men drive him straight to Dr. Gustave’s sanatorium. Mrs. Burnett and you could meet him there. What do you think?”

“Yes,” Travers said. “Thank you. We’ll go over there right away.”

“He’ll be there within an hour,” Terrell said. He broke the connection and got back to Williams. He gave him instructions, then briefly telling his wife what was happening, he hurried out to his car and drove fast towards the Park Motel at Ojus.

Ojus on U.S. highway 4 was originally an Indian trading post. Its name, in the Indian language, means “plentiful”, and the town of some six hundred people was named so because of the luxuriant vegetation surrounding the place.

Just outside the town, on the main highway, was the Park Motel: second rate, but conveniently situated on the direct route to Miami. It consisted of forty small, shabby wooden cabins, a bathing pool, a Self-Service store, a children’s sandpit and playing ground and a square of flattened ground where visitors could dance to the blaring swing coming from loud speakers strung up in the trees.

Terrell arrived at the motel five minutes after the police team had pulled into the vast parking lot.

Fred Hess, in charge of the Homicide team, said Beigler was in the Reception office, talking to the owner.

Terrell told him to wait until he was ready and then walked across the rough grass that led to the cabin over which was a large neon sign that read:

Some ten to twelve men and women in holiday garb were standing near the office, gaping. They stared at Terrell as he entered the office, and there was an immediate buzz of conversation.

The hot, small office was divided by a counter on which lay the register, a telephone, several ballpoint pens and an ashtray overflowing with cigarette butts.

Beyond the counter was a desk, three chairs and on the wall a large-scale map of the district.

Beigler sat in one of the chairs, a cigarette hanging from his lips. Behind the desk sat the owner of the motel: a tall, thin man, around fifty-five, with a mop of iron-grey hair and a sallow complexion. His face was thin with an over-long nose. His shabby grey Alpaca suit looked as if it was meant for a man of much heavier build. His white shirt was grubby and his string tie greasy.

“This is Henekey,” Beigler said, getting to his feet. “Okay. Henekey, go ahead. Let’s have it all over again.”

Terrell nodded to Henekey who gave him a quick, uneasy stare. Terrell took a chair near Beigler.

“Well, like I told the Sergeant,” Henekey said, “this girl had a call in for 7.30 a.m. I called her. There was no answer, so I went over and found her.” He grimaced. “So I called headquarters.”

“Who is she?” Terrell asked.

“She booked in as Sue Parnell. She’s from Miami. She arrived at eight o’clock last night: a one night stand.”

“Ever seen her before?”

For a split second, Henekey seemed to hesitate, then he shook his head.

“Not as far as I can remember. We get a lot of people here during the season. No, I guess.”

“Did she have any visitors?”

“I wouldn’t know. I’m in this office from seven-thirty in the morning to one o’clock at night. Then I shut clown and go to bed. I’ve no means of knowing what goes on in any of the cabins.”

Terrell got to his feet.

“Let’s take a look at her.”

“It’s cabin 24,” Henekey said and put a key on the desk. “If it’s all right with you, Chief, having seen her once, I don’t care much to see her again.”

“That’s okay,” Terrell said as Beigler picked up the key. The two men left the office and walked across to the double row of cabins some fifty yards ahead of them.

The group of tourists straggled after them, but came to an abrupt stop as two uniformed policemen stepped into their path. The rest of the Homicide team, with their cameraman, moved from their parked cars to join Terrell and Beigler.

They arrived at Cabin 24 and Beigler unlocked the door.

“Wait here,” Terrell said to his team and he and Beigler entered the cabin which was a twenty-foot square room with a shabby carpet, two lounging chairs, a TV set, a hanging closet, a dressing-table and a double bed.

The stench of death made both men grimace and Beigler, after one look at the bed, went to the window and hurriedly opened it.

Terrell, his hat tilted to the back of his head, looked at the naked body lying across the bed.

Sue Parnell had been twenty-eight or nine, blonde and strikingly attractive. She must have taken good care of herself, Terrell thought, for her finger and toenails had been recently manicured and her hair was attractively arranged. She had obviously been a sun worshipper for her body was heavily tanned.

Whoever had slaughtered her had done so with the frenzy of a madman. Four stab wounds made purple mouths in the upper part of her body. Lower down, she had been ripped. The sight of her made bile come into Terrell’s mouth in spite of years of hardened experience.

Beigler said hoarsely, “For God’s sake!” and feeling his stomach begin to revolt, turned hurriedly and left the cabin.

Terrell looked around. On one of the chairs stood a blue and white suitcase. He passed the bed and opened the door leading into a tiny shower room. On the glass shelf stood a bottle of perfume, a tube of toothpaste and a tablet of soap. On another shelf by the shower was a yellow sponge and a shower cap.

He moved back into the room. Keeping his eyes away from the bed, he walked out on to the narrow veranda where his men were waiting.

“Get a sheet,” he said to Hess. “Doc arrived yet?”

“He’s on his way,” Hess said. “Should be here any second now.”

As he spoke a car pulled up and Dr. Lowis, the police M.O., came hurrying over, his bag of equipment in his hand.

“Go right on in,” Terrell said. “She’s all yours, and you’re welcome.”

Dr. Lowis, a short, fat man, gave him a questioning stare and then entered the cabin.

Terrell called his men together.

“When Doc’s through, go over the place as if you’re looking for a speck of dust. I want everything that can tell us anything. This is one of those jobs that has to be cleared up fast. A foot-loose sex killer usually strikes again.”

He went back into the cabin and picked up the blue and white suitcase.

“Enjoying yourself?” he asked Lowis without looking at the bed.

“I’ve seen worse,” Lowis said mildly. “Nice looking girl.”

“You mean she was a nice looking girl,” Terrell said and went out into the sunshine.